by Avery, Joy
He nodded, the room spinning around him. A minute later, she returned.
“This may sting a little.”
Before he could protest—or prepare—she poured the alcohol onto his cut. He sucked air through his clinched teeth. “Shit.” Why did he get the feeling she enjoyed his discomfort? Maybe it’d been the mastermind smirk she flashed.
While she focused on his injury, he focused on her. What in the hell had happened between them? What’d he done so wrong that would force her to end their relationship? What could—?
“What?”
It wasn’t until Emory spoke that he realized he’d been starting at her. He shook his head. “Nothing.” Because that’s what it had to be between them. Nothing. “How bad is it? Do I need stitches?”
“I think you’ll live without them.” She wrapped his finger in a bandage. “All done.”
Replacing the first-aid kit, she said, “You should really pay more attention when handling razor-sharp objects.”
That included her. “I was distracted.” Before she got the urge to ask by what, he lifted his middle finger. “Thank you for this.”
“Did you just flip me off?”
Christian laughed. Just as he was about to dismiss the accusation, Emory’s cell phone rang.
“Excuse me.”
The way she smiled when she glanced at her phone screen, Christian assumed it was her lover. But then he remembered Chauncey telling him she wasn’t dating anyone. Why had he experienced a sense of relief?
Emory’s expression changed and worry spread across her face. “Oh, God. I’m on my way.”
“What’s wrong?”
“My mother—” Emory slapped her hand over her mouth and tears glistened in her eyes. Allowing her hand to fall, she said, “I have to get to the hospital.”
He captured her trembling hand, ignoring the intense sensation her touch caused. “Let’s go.”
They wasted no time sprinting from the building.
Chapter 4
Emory hadn’t realized she was bouncing her leg until Christian rested his hand on her knee. It was something she did when she was anxious. The phone call she’d received about her mother had her rattled. Blinking tears away, her eyes settled on his touch.
Christian snatched his hand away, as if he’d just realized what he’d done. “Sorry.” Clearing his throat, he said, “We’ll be there shortly. Don’t worry.”
Don’t worry? How could she not worry?
A short time later, they sprinted through the emergency room entrance of Rex Hospital. Emory hurried toward the help desk. “Anne Chambers,” she said, interrupting the two chatting women. “What room is she in?”
“Ms. Emory.”
Emory glanced toward the familiar Nigerian accent to see her mother’s nurse aide. Rushing to the woman, she said, “Ifede, what happened? Is my mother okay?”
The woman was in tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The words knotted Emory’s stomach as she contemplated the worst. She rested her hands on Ifede’s shoulders, attempting to maintain a level of calmness. “It’s okay. Just tell me what happened.”
Ifede glided a trembling hand across her cheek. “I was fixing her meal. I thought she was still sleeping. I heard a sound. Then a crash. When I went into the room, Ms. Anne was on the floor, the Christmas tree laying on top of her.”
“Oh, God,” Emory said, a queasy feeling overwhelming her. She placed a shaky hand on her stomach. “Where is she? I need to see her.”
“She is in x-ray now. The lady said someone will come for you when she’s done. I am so sorry,” Ifede repeated.
“It’s not your fault.” Her words were sincere, but she didn’t have the energy to comfort the woman beyond that. Emory cradled herself in her arms, feeling absolutely helpless. A beat later, she wandered away from a chatting Ifede and Christian. Standing in front of a large window, she stared out into the darkness.
Her thoughts raked over everything she had on her plate: her overextended business, her ailing mother, the mountain of bills… Christian. She eyed his reflection in the window, then rolled her eyes away. Now this. The weight of it all broke her down, and she began to sob.
Without prompting, Christian was at her side, wrapping her shaking body in his arms. She didn’t fight or deny his embrace. Instead, she clung to him. Being in his warm arms was the most peace she’d experienced in months, maybe even years. His arms had always been her serenity, her safe haven. Clearly, that hadn’t changed because for a brief moment, the voices of defeat silenced.
“It’s okay, Em.” A reassuring hand glided up and down her back in a slow, deliberate manner. “It’s okay.”
Why did his soothing tone still have the ability to calm her frayed nerves? Being in his arms felt so right, but deep down she knew being there was wrong. Him holding her, him comforting her… All wrong. Sure, she could say they were friends, and he was only doing what friends did for one another. But it would be a lie.
They weren’t friends. They were ex-lovers. Ex-lovers who’d once shared a connection so deep they could have been one body. Ex-lovers who’d planned a beautiful life together. Ex-lovers who’d not gotten their happily ever after. Ex-lovers who shouldn’t be entangled in each other’s arms.
“The doctor’s here,” Christian said in a tender tone.
Emory pulled away from Christian’s chest, their gazes locking briefly. What she saw set her soul on fire. Denying the burn, she forced her gaze away before she was consumed by Christian’s scorching flame. “How is my mother?”
The doctor—a tall, thin man with auburn hair and a face full of freckles—flashed a warm smile. “Just fine. Luckily, there are no broken bones or internal injuries. She’s a little battered and bruised, but otherwise okay.”
Emory cupped her hands under her chin. “Thank God.” Christian stood beside her, giving her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. His touch rippled through her like an electric current.
“We’ve placed her in a room. We’re going to keep her overnight,” Dr. Ripley—as his nametag read—continued, “Just for observation.”
“Of course,” Emory said. “Can I see her, doctor?”
“Absolutely. Keep in mind, we’ve given her something to calm her down. She was a bit…rambunctious when they tried to do the x-ray. We see that frequently in Alzheimer’s patients.”
God, she hated that word. When her mother had been diagnosed with middle-stage Alzheimer’s two years ago, Emory’s life came to a screeching halt. Her mother became her number one priority. Which meant everything else took a backseat.
Turning to Christian, she said, “Thank you for everything.”
“Do you mind if I come with you?” he asked.
Emory stilled a moment, the question taking her by surprise. “Ah, sure.” Though she doubted her mother would recognize him.
When they entered the room, her mother lay flat on the mattress wringing her hands and staring at the ceiling. Emory approached the bed cautiously, not wanting to startle her. “Mom?” she said in a whisper.
Her mother’s face lit up. “Emory, baby? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me.” She took her mother’s outreached hand. “How do you feel?”
Her mother frowned. “I’m so tired.”
“I know. The doctor said they gave you something that will help you rest. You sleep. I’m right here.”
Ms. Anne’s gaze slid past her. “Who’s with you?”
“Hello, Ms. Anne,” Christian said, moving closer.
Ms. Anne’s eyes brightened. “Christian St. Claire?”
Emory’s head snapped back in surprise. It’d been so long since she’d seen him. She took it as a good sign that her mother recognized him.
Christian donned a confident smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, come here, son, and give me a hug.”
Christian bent and her mother wrapped him in her frail arms. Emory loved days like this. When her mother remembered the small things. Wh
en she wasn’t forgetting the address of the house she’d lived in for forty-five years, or her phone number, or the fact that her husband had died. Emory loved when there weren’t mood swings or empty stares out the window. Loved when there was no confusion about what year it was.
On the days Anne Madell Chambers—ex-school teacher, ballroom dancing instructor, songbird—surfaced, Emory rejoiced.
“It’s so good to see you, son,” Ms. Anne said. “I’m so glad you two are back together. I prayed about it. God don’t make no mistakes.”
“Mom, we’re—”
“I prayed about it, too, Ms. Anne,” Christian said.
Emory nearly choked on her own tongue. When Christian tossed her a glance, she understood why he’d said what he’d said. He simply wanted her mother to experience some form of happiness. She swallowed any protest she may have had about the statement. Tomorrow, her mother wouldn’t even remember the conversation.
Emory eased into one of the chairs near her mother’s bed. A short time later, Jordyn arrived. Christian and Jordyn kept Ms. Anne entertained, while Emory vanished into her own thoughts. It was like old times, the four of them sitting around chatting and laughing. For a moment, things actually felt normal in her life.
When Emory checked her watch, it was close the nine o’clock. Where had the time gone? “Mom, we have to go now, but I’ll be back first thing in the morning. You’ll get to go home.” The fact that Jordyn had volunteered to stay the night with their mother eased Emory’s reservations about leaving.
Ms. Anne laughed. “Sweetie, what are you talking about? I am home.” She searched the room. “I…think.” Her brow furrowed. “Where am I?”
And just like that, her mother had been snatched away again.
“You’re in the hospital, Mommy,” Jordyn said. “I’m going to stay the night with you.”
Her mother smiled brightly. “Okay. You girls are so good to me.”
Emory bent and kissed her mother’s forehead. “I love you, songbird,” she said.
“I love you, too, sweetie.”
Christian squeezed Ms. Anne’s hand. “I’ll see you soon, Ms. Anne,”
Ms. Anne took Christian’s hand into hers, a somber expression spreading over her face. “Please forgive me.”
Jordyn tossed Emory a questioning glance and Emory shrugged. For all Emory knew, her mother could have thought Christian was a priest to whom she could confess her sins. Emory feared what would come out of her mouth.
Christian smiled down at Ms. Anne. “Forgive you for what?”
“For being the reason my daughter broke your heart.” She snuggled under the covers and closed her eyes.
Christian and Jordyn tossed questioning glances in her directions. If she had to guess, they both wondered the same thing: whether or not the statement was true. Emory shrugged, suggesting she had no idea what her mother was talking about and hoped to end it there. Unfortunately, by the look in Christian’s eyes, she knew it wouldn’t be that simple.
Chapter 5
Christian tried to force Ms. Anne’s words out of his head. But they lingered—torturing and teasing him. What did she mean by being the reason Emory had broken his heart? Could that truly have been the reason Emory ended their relationship? Nah.
The idea was ridiculous, right? Emory had known him better than that. Had to have known he would have stood by her side. He tossed a quick glance at his passenger. If he asked her, would she tell him the truth? Did he want to know the truth? Could he handle the truth?
No way was her mother’s condition the reason she’d walked away. Again, he attempted to force the thought away. Had to force it away, before it drove him insane.
Emory’s stomach growled. They’d been at the hospital for hours. The only thing either of them had consumed was a cup of lukewarm coffee. “Are you hungry?” As if he really needed to ask.
“No.” Her stomach protested the answer. “Maybe a little.”
“So am I. Let’s get something to eat.”
“I… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
Emory shifted toward him. “What would your fiancée say about you having dinner with your…florist?”
“I’m not having dinner with a florist. I’m having dinner with an old friend.”
“Old friend?”
“Yes,” he said, cautiously. Though, by the emphasis she’d placed on the word, he had a feeling he’d regret using the label.
“Does your fiancée know you and your old friend used to be lovers?”
Yep, he’d walked right into that one. No, he hadn’t told Yasmin about their history because, at the time, he hadn’t seen the need. And truthfully, he didn’t see one now. What would it accomplish? Other than making it an even more awkward situation than it already was. Plus, he was pretty sure Yasmin would fire Emory on the spot. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. Emory needed the business.
Christian redirected his attention in front of him without answering her.
Emory chuckled. “I didn’t think so.”
She straightened in her seat and returned her focus outside the window, fingering the pendant dangling from her necklace.
Approaching a red light, Christian said, “You still wear it.”
“What?” Emory asked, clearly lost in her own thoughts.
“The angel wings. You still wear them.”
She dipped her head and eyed the diamond encrusted piece he’d given her. Tucking it beneath the sweater she wore, she said, “Got to stay protected, right?”
“Is that the only reason?” Damn. Where had that come from? And how’d he allow the reckless words to escape?
“What other reason would there be?”
He could think of a few, but none of them really mattered. They eyed each other for a long moment that bordered uncomfortable. For the first time since he could recall, something terrified him. That something… the feelings reconnecting with Emory brought to the surface and his inability to deny them.
“The light is green,” she said.
“What?”
Before she could repeat herself, a car horn blared behind them.
She tossed a glance over her shoulder. “You better go before there’s a case of road rage. You know how grumpy people get at Christmas.”
He pulled off. “Everyone except you. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who loves Christmas as much as you do.”
“Yeah. I used to. The last few years…” She sighed heavily. “Christmas just doesn’t feel the same. I can’t seem to get into the holiday spirit.”
With everything she had going on, how could she possibly be in a festive mood? But he asked anyway, “Any particular reason?”
She eyed her fidgeting fingers. “There’s just a lot going on in my life. I don’t really want to go into detail.”
He nodded, respecting her decision, but wished she’d talk to him like old times. Then it hit him. These weren’t old times. These were new times. And in these new times, he was no longer the shelter she ran to when she needed refuge from the storm.
A short time later, they pulled in front of Emory’s ranch-style home. Something inside of him hated their time together had come to an end. The same something that told him he knew he had to see her again. Another something reminded him of the fact that he was weeks from getting married, which meant whatever this was drawing him to Emory had to be contained. This had to be the last time he saw her. He had no other choice.
“Thank you so much, Christian, for altering your day for me. You didn’t have to, but I’m grateful you did.”
“What are friends for?”
Unfastening her seatbelt, she said, “Yeah, what are friends for?”
Why had her words sounded so condescending? Did she believe he was trying to be patronizing? “I’ll walk you to the door,” he said.
“That’s not necessary. Besides, it’s freezing out. You hate cold weather. Or, at least, you used to.”
He still did, but he wasn�
�t sure even the forty degree temperature outside could penetrate the heat raging inside of him. The kind of heat he should feel for the woman he was about to marry, but never had. The kind of heat that reminded him when you play with fire, you get burned.
“Have a good night, Christian.” She smiled and closed the door.
He watched as she strolled toward the house, growing more and more anxious with each step she took away from him. Don’t do it, Christian. Don’t do it, his inner voice warned. Lowering the window, he called out. “What time should I pick you up in the A.M.?”
Emory stopped but didn’t readily face him. When she finally did, he swore moonlight glistened off of her cheeks. Had she been crying?
“You don’t have to do that, Christian. Jordyn can pick me up.”
“Jordyn has class in the morning.” When she flashed him a questioning expression, he added, “She told me when you stepped out of the room.”
He couldn’t decipher whether or not she bought his fib. But if she called to verify it with Jordyn, he would be in a pickle.
“I can get Lucas to pick me up.”
Who the hell was Lucas? Then he remembered the man with the Australian accent that’d showed him into the conference room. Dismissing her option, he said, “What time, Emory?”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Don’t you have a job you should be reporting to?”
“Not for another month or so. Six o’clock… Seven o’clock?”
She nestled her coat tighter, glanced up and down the street as if she were trying to ascertain whether or not anyone was watching, then sighed heavily. “Nine.”
“Nine o’clock it is.”
“Goodnight, Christian.” She turned, jogged to the house and disappeared inside.
“Goodnight, Emory,” he mumbled to himself.
He’d masked his motives behind a thick cloak of “just being a friend,” but this was far more than being there for a friend in need. This was dangerous. Yet, he continuously chose to ignore the risks.
Had he forgotten that this was the woman who’d shattered his hearts? Damn. He really needed to get his head straight.