9
Chapter Eight
Pax
Sweet Jesus, the pain.
My knee sends spirals of vise-like pain up into my leg, and it’s enough to take my breath away.
I’d gone to the doctor today, and heard the verdict. I need knee-surgery. The ligaments and tendons around my knee were torn badly in the accident, frayed beyond the ability to mend themselves. But I’m not putting Mila through the stress of that. Not until after she’s past the point of possible miscarriage.
I’ll deal with the pain for a couple more weeks. I’m no pussy.
I lay still until her breathing is deep and even, and she begins snoring in her cute little snorts. I smile in the dark, and then carefully, carefully, ease out of her embrace. She stirs a little, and I freeze on the edge of the bed. She settles back in without waking up. In her sleep, she reaches out for me, and I push my pillow toward her. She grabs it and pulls it to her chest. I smile and slip out of the room.
I feel like a wounded soldier as I limp down the long hall toward my study and switch on a lamp.
Once my grandfather’s, it is a huge room with a massive fireplace and wood-paneled walls. It’s a gentleman’s room, and the irony as I sit behind the desk is not lost on me.
I’m no gentleman. At least, not the kind this room was intended for.
This room was built back when men retired after dinner with scotch and cigars while the women huddled together and did cross-stich.
That’s so not Mila and me.
I stretch my leg out and rub at the knee.
Rubbing it doesn’t help much, but it makes me think I’m doing something for it.
“Mr. Tate?”
I look up to find Natasha in the doorway, clad in a floor-length robe.
“Is everything ok? I saw your light.”
Her hair is down now, and it makes her seem less stern, more her age.
“Everything is fine,” I assure her. “I couldn’t sleep.”
She glances at my hand rubbing my knee. “Can I get your pain pills for you?”
I’ve been trying not to take them, but Lord. Pain is pain.
“Ok. Thank you.”
She disappears, and comes back in a few minutes with a glass of water and two pills.
She pours them into my hand and watches me as I knock them back.
“Acknowledging pain isn’t a weakness,” she tells me quietly.
“I know that,” I say, more sharply than I intended. “Sorry.”
“Do you, though?” she wonders. “Because I see you trying to hide it.”
“My wife has enough to worry about,” I say stiffly. “She doesn’t need to worry about this, too.”
Natasha stares at me doubtfully. “I’m pretty sure she’d want to know.”
I know she would. But it’s not what is best for her. Not yet.
“You don’t understand,” I say, and I don’t know why I’m explaining. “Mila had a miscarriage last time. I just want to keep her stress-free for the next couple of weeks until she’s out of the danger. Most people miscarry in the first twelve weeks, if they’re going to miscarry.”
“You’re sweet to worry,” Natasha says finally. “I’ll help you however you want me to help.”
I didn’t ask her to help.
“If you can just make sure she rests,” I tell her. “When I’m at work. She has a tendency to do too much.”
Natasha nods. “Of course.”
“Thank you.”
“Anything else?”
I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
“Very well. I’ll keep this between us.”
I didn’t ask her to.
“As you wish.”
She nods and she’s gone.
I’m alone again in my study, and the pain pills have begun to kick in. They’re taking the edge off, at least. I can breathe around the pain now.
I answer a couple of e-mails, waiting to see if I get even more relief as time passes. I don’t.
With a sigh, I eye my grandfather’s bar on the other side of the room. A throw-back to times lost, it’s a full-bar.
Without giving myself a moment to second-guess, I cross the room, pour a couple fingers of scotch, and gulp it down.
That should help.
And it does. Within minutes, the pain has dulled. Hopefully, enough to sleep. I make my way quietly back to my bedroom, slip in next to Mila, and drift off to sleep.
* * *
“Mr. Tate, your two o’clock is here.”
Sasha’s voice is loud on my phone’s intercom. It snaps me awake, because I’d almost dozed off. Sleeping only a couple of hours because of pain sucks balls.
“Thank you, Sasha,” I answer, punching at the button. “Send them in.”
I don’t even know who my two o’clock is. That’s how dim-witted I feel today. I rub at my eyes, and then rub at my knee.
I’m a fucking mess.
“Dude, you look like shit.”
Gabe strides in, with Brand on his heels. They are both dressed in slacks and button-up shirts.
“You’re my two o’clock?” I roll my eyes and stand up. “I thought it was a real meeting.”
Gabe stares at me indignantly. “We are a real meeting. We have fourth quarter profit and loss statements to go over with you.”
“Snore,” I tell him.
“Why do you look like shit?” Brand asks me curiously, as he sets his briefcase down on my conference table in the corner.
“I didn’t realize that I do.”
“You do,” he assures me.
“You still hurtin’?” Gabe asks, his brow furrowed. “I’ve got the name of a damn good PT if you want it. He can get you straightened out.”
I sigh. “I apparently need surgery on my knee. I blew it out. But I don’t want to for a couple of weeks. I don’t want to upset Mila.”
Gabe lifts an eyebrow. “Mila is the most unflappable person I know.”
“She’s pregnant,” I tell them. “I don’t want to stress her out.”
“Dude,” Brand exclaims. “Congratulations!” They both slap me on the back, and I cringe because that pain ricochets down into my hips, straight into my knee. I grit my teeth and hide it though. Damned if I’ll show my pain to these two.
“Thanks,” I say instead.
“Ok. Well, how about this. We made money in the fourth quarter,” Gabe says. “A lot of it. We can send the specifics to Peter, if you want. But tonight, let’s go celebrate. Cancel your afternoon.”
Peter is the business advisor I inherited from my grandfather. I’ll gladly relegate paperwork to him.
I eye my calendar. There’s nothing on it for the rest of the day.
“Fine,” I tell them. “I’ve got til five o’clock.”
“That’s all we need,” Brand tells me.
We walk out of my office, and Sasha scrambles up. “I’ll have your car waiting for you,” she calls after me.
Gabe stops in his tracks. “Your car? As in, a car that you don’t drive yourself?”
“No need,” I tell Sasha. “I’ll ride with these yay-whos.”
They continue to rib me all the way to Brand’s truck.
“Seriously. You’re too important to drive now?” Gabe asks as we climb in. “You’ve gotta be kidding, bro.”
“I love to drive,” I argue, and I wistfully think of my beloved ’69 Charger sitting in my garage at home, covered with a tarp. “My grandfather just liked the idea of being driven. He thought it was a good image for the employees to see.”
“Well, guess what?” Gabe tells me as Brand fires up his truck. “You’re the boss now.”
“That’s very true.” I don’t tell them that at the moment, I don’t think my right knee would be able to take the workings of the pedals.
I start to text Mila, to let her know I’ll be out of the office for a few hours, but my phone is dead.
“Shit. I really have to be home on time.”
Gabe rolls his eyes. “Dude, we�
�re having a drink. Not kidnapping you to Tijuana.”
I know I should just go home. But the idea of dulling the pain a little is appealing. And seriously… what could happen? I’m with Gabe and Brand. I don’t know why I’m hesitant.
When I climb out of the truck at the pub, my knee almost gives out. Brand grabs my arm, catching me from collapsing onto the pavement.
“Dude, this isn’t good.” He’s concerned. “I don’t think you should be bearing weight on that.”
I shouldn’t be. The doctor told me as much.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him.
After I limp inside and get situated in a booth, I prop my foot on a nearby chair. I don’t intend on leaving this spot.
I signal for the waitress, and order a whiskey. Gabe and Brand get one too, and when the girl is gone, Gabe glances at me.
“You know, I guess I should’ve asked… is this ok? You haven’t been out drinking in a long time. I don’t want it to cause you a problem. You know, after…”
“After what?” I stare him in the eyes and make him say it.
“After a few years ago. When you had… your issues.”
“My issues were never being an alcoholic,” I remind him. “Did I use it to lose myself? Yeah, I guess I did. But that was a choice I made. When you’re an alcoholic, it’s a need. I didn’t need to. I wanted to. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t look completely convinced, but doesn’t say anything more.
Our drinks are delivered, and I drink mine quickly.
Within a minute, my chest is warm, and within another five, the pain has dulled. I signal for another. If one is good, two is better.
10
Chapter Nine
Mila
There is something wet between my legs.
I realize that as I watch Zuzu play in the back gardens, and I am sitting in the shade of the house, curled up a chair.
I’m bleeding.
I call for Natasha. She comes out, casually at first, then she sees my face.
“What’s wrong?” she asks in alarm.
“I need to go to the doctor, I tell her. “Please watch Zuzu.”
I am out the door, leaving her staring after me in confusion.
I try to call Pax from the car, but his phone goes straight to voicemail. I call his office.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Tate,” Sasha tells me. “He left for the day over an hour ago.”
“Are you sure?” I ask her. Because he hasn’t come home.
“Quite sure,” she assures me.
“Ok,” I answer, hanging up. I call Maddy next.
“I’ll meet you at the hospital,” she responds, after I explain.
She actually beats me there, and when I arrive, she is pacing in front of the ER doors.
“Where’s Pax?” she asks, glancing around me.
“I don’t know.”
We head to the admittance desk, and within thirty minutes, I’m in an exam room, with my gown tied in the back.
“If you could like flat,” the doctor tells me, “We’ll have a look-see.”
He’s got a sonogram wand in his hand, and the gel is warm on my belly. I hold my breath as he searches for a heartbeat and Maddy clutches my hand.
Then,
Then,
There it is.
A strong whirring noise, fast and loud, like a hummingbird’s wings.
“There it is,” the doctor says triumphantly. “It sounds good.”
He pushes and prods, and examines the sonogram screen.
“I don’t see any visible signs of distress,” he tells me. “Sometimes, vaginal bleeding can occur for unexplained reasons. Let’s put you on bed-rest this week, and you can follow up with your doctor on Monday.”
I nod, and I’m so relieved. Maddy hugs me.
“It’s ok,” she tells me. “It’s ok.”
I feel weak and relieved, and Maddy slips out so I can wipe the goop off and get dressed. I try to call Pax again.
No answer.
What the hell?
I feel shaky with my relief, and Maddy wants to drive me home.
I shake my head. “No. Then we’ll just have to come back for my car. It’s easier this way.”
Maddy stares at me. “You can send someone for your car. You have that luxury now.”
I forgot. “You’re right.”
I leave my car and climb into Maddy’s. She makes only one stop, and that is in the drive-through of a hamburger joint to get food and milkshakes.
“You have to keep your strength up,” she justifies, as she shoves fries in her mouth.
“What about you?”
“Sister solidarity.”
“Valid,” I nod, sipping on my chocolate shake. I keep one hand on my belly protectively, as though it will help.
“You’re ok,” Maddy reminds me at a stoplight. “All is well.”
I nod. “Ok.”
“Quit worrying. That only makes things worse.”
She calls Gabe through her Bluetooth.
“Hey, babe!” he answers on the speaker, and it’s loud in the background. “What’s up?”
“I’m just driving Mila home from the hospital,” she tells him. “I might be a little late coming home.”
“The hospital?” Gabe is surprised, and I hear him talking in the background with someone. Then Pax is on the phone.
“Maddy, why was Mila in the hospital? Is she all right?”
The sound of his familiar voice makes me relax into the seat, immediately comfortable.
My Pax.
“I’m fine, babe,” I tell him. “Just a little blood. I freaked out and went to the ER. I couldn’t get ahold of you…”
“My damned phone was dead,” he tells me quickly. “Gabe and Brand took me for a drink, and I planned to be home on time. I still will be. In fact, we’ll leave right now. I’ll meet you at home.”
“You’re at a bar?” I ask him, confused. This isn’t like him.
“Yeah. It’s no big deal, babe. I’m so sorry you couldn’t reach me. That will never happen again. My phone will always be charged.”
“Ok,” I answer, but I’m still a bit bewildered. Pax hasn’t touched much alcohol at all in years. I’m not concerned, just… startled, I guess. This is twice in a week.
Maybe he’s decided, after all this time, that he’s ok with it.
That’s probably a good sign. Maybe? I don’t know.
“Mila, I love you,” he tells me. “I’ll see you soon.”
He hangs up, and Maddy looks at me. “See? He’s fine. You’re fine. All is well.”
She drives for a minute or two longer, then gives me side-eye.
“Should he be at a bar?”
“Pax knows his limitations,” I say firmly, and I believe that. “He chose to give up alcohol. If he thinks he can handle it now, then he can. I trust him.”
“Of course!” Maddy answers. “I trust him too.”
But we’re quiet, and I think we’re both wondering the same thing. Does Pax know what is best?
“His grandfather did just die,” Maddy says a bit later. “And you’ve had to move. And his leg is hurting him. I can tell. That’s a lot of change. And he’s worried about you, too.”
“I know,” I tell her. “Trust me. But Pax would say something if he felt overwhelmed. He doesn’t keep things from me. Not anymore.”
“That’s true,” Maddy admits, and she sounds relieved. “That’s very true.”
“So stop worrying,” I tell her. “All is well.”
“Don’t use my own words against me,” she demands indignantly. “That’s a very wise line, and I’m the one who uses it.”
I roll my eyes. “Ok. You own the line.”
“Damn straight.”
I nibble at my hamburger for the rest of the trip, and when we get to my home, Maddy shuffles me out and into the house. She hovers like a mother hen, and makes sure I go straight to the couch.
“You’re supposed to be on bed-rest this week,” s
he reminds me. “No walking around. Just to the bathroom.”
“Yes, mother.”
She glares. “Don’t take this lightly.”
I roll my eyes again. “Do you really think I’ll take it lightly?”
“No. I suppose not.”
She’s in the kitchen getting me a drink of water when Pax rushes through the door. He’s limping, of course, but he’s moving fast. Gabe and Brand are on his heels.
“Are you ok?” he asks, and he sits next to me, shoving my hair out of my eye. “Are you ok?”
“Yes,” I assure him. “I’m fine. I swear to God.”
He swallows. “And the baby is…”
“Okay, too. I’m supposed to be on bed-rest this week, and then follow up with Dr. Sturgeon on Monday. It’s ok. All is well.”
Maddy clears her throat as she comes back in, and I stare at her. “It is,” I insist.
“I know,” she says, setting my tray down. “I coined the phrase.”
“You did not,” Gabe guffaws. “Brand taught you that.”
“Oh, did he?” I ask, my eyebrows raised, and Maddy has the grace to look sheepish. Brand grins.
“It’s something my grandma used to say,” he tells us. “Are you feeling ok, Mila?”
I nod. “Yeah. Thank you for bringing Pax.” I turn to my husband. “My car is at the hospital. We’ll have to go get it.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he reassures me. “It’ll be taken care of.”
Maddy covers my legs with a blanket. “Are you ok now? Do you need anything else?”
“If she does, I’ll get it for her,” Pax tells her. “Don’t worry, Mad.”
“As if,” I say under my breath, and Gabe hears. He grins.
“You know her too well. You’d better silence your phone tonight. She might try to call you at midnight to check on you.”
“Good idea.”
“Very funny,” Maddy announces. “You guys think you know me so well.”
“We do,” Gabe tells her. “Now let’s go and let your sister rest.”
She kisses me. “If you need anything, you call me. I mean it.”
My Peace (Beautifully Broken #5) Page 6