Uncovering Hope (Uncovering Love Book 3)

by Kacey Shea

  “I miss my naughty nurse. Be home soon.”

  She probably won’t answer back. She’s probably sleeping right now. Maybe she’s spending time with dick face doctor. Fuck. Of course the first woman I go and fall in love with wants nothing to do with me. God, if I didn’t have this band right now, my music, I would be depressed as hell.

  And to top that off, Luis is getting worse. The last few nights on video chat he barely kept his eyes open to talk more than a few minutes. I make it a point to send him lots of stupid memes and funny YouTube clips throughout the day. Anything that will put a smile on his face. I scroll through my stash of funny crap and send one his way.

  Luckily, my mom’s Alzheimer’s hasn’t progressed this month the way I feared. It’s as if life knows I can’t take everything falling apart at once and she’s gracing me a little more precious time. Mom still has bad days but her caregivers assure me that we’re at a standstill, for now.

  That can change at any moment but isn’t that the truth with time anyway? We live as if it’s never ending, flowing freely, yet it can be snatched away in a second—by disease, by misfortune, by a simple decision or turn of events.

  “Dude, you up?” Trent says from the bunk above.

  “Yeah. I’m up.” I roll out and stretch my limbs, working out the kinks from sleeping in such a strange position.

  Trent swings his legs out and then hops down, tucking his long hair behind his ears. “Oh, man, I’m jonesin’ for a real bed. Tonight’s going to kick ass. Staples Center and then a hotel room. Livin’ large.”

  “I hear you, bro.” I move to the kitchenette and brew two cups of coffee. Trent sits at the table, his gaze on the world whizzing by, concrete mile after mile.

  “I was thinking about the first time we played in LA. You remember that?” Trent asks, accepting the coffee mug I hand him. I grab my own and take the seat across, stretching my legs under the table and onto the bench beside him.

  “How could I ever forget that shithole?” I chuckle and Trent joins in.

  “I remember thinking, dude, this is it. After all the hard work. We’re making it, being hired to play. And then Austin goes and fucks it up—puking his guts out minutes before we went on.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. Headlining in LA, that was big stuff. What were there, like thirty people at that show?” A smile plays at my lips and I mix in a few more packets of sugar.

  “I think if you count the waitress and bartender, yeah.” Trent laughs. “But I’m proud of us man. We stuck it out. There were times I considered quitting, and then you or Austin or Sean would talk some sense into me. I’m really fucking proud of us. Thankful. You know?”

  “I know, Trent. I know.”

  “I’m really glad I met you, D. I know you write your own stuff, but this band . . . we wouldn’t be the same without you.” He meets my gaze and though his tone is light, his eyes ascertain my reaction.

  “You worried I’m quitting on you?” I tease.

  “You can’t quit me, bro.” He laughs. “Who could ever give up this?” He waggles his eyebrows and flexes his chest muscles so they bounce up and down.

  “You’re one pretty bastard.” I say. Trent scoffs.

  “Pretty?”

  “You heard me, fucker.” I take a drink and gaze out the window. “I’d never leave you guys. You’re my brothers, you know that?”

  “Aww . . . we’re getting sentimental and shit.”

  “You’re the one who started it with the trip down memory lane.”

  His eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Yeah, I guess I did.” He looks back out the window. “It’s just—you weren’t yourself this tour. You hardly ever came out with us and did you even score any pussy? I don’t know, it got me thinking . . . I know you’ve been writing more. I just . . . I guess I need to know if you’re considering leaving the band.”

  I blink my eyes and sit up straight in my chair, grounding my feet on the floor.

  “Trent. Dude. I’m not leaving the band. You know me. You know I live for music. I’d never give this up.”

  He shrugs and studies my face. “People change, though.”

  “But do they really?” I shake my head. “I know I’ve been distracted. It’s how I get when I’m writing. You know this.”

  “You’re writing like a fucking maniac though, and I’ve never seen you like that. What’s going on? It is your mom? A woman? Something else?” He asks.

  I laugh humorlessly. “All of the above.”

  “Shit. You wanna talk about it?”

  “Not really,” I say and he nods, looking relieved at my answer.

  “But you’re not quitting the band?”

  “Never, man.” And I won’t. No way. We’ve worked too hard for this. I’d never let them down. I don’t like living on the road, that’s just how it is for me, but this career choice demands it so I make the best of it.

  “Good.”

  Two more days. I can do two more days. Then I’ll see my mom, visit with Luis, and go see my girl. She’s not your girl.

  Two more days and we’ll see about that.

  “HOW’S MY FAVORITE SKINHEAD?” I call into Room 412 as I push open the door and stop dead in my tracks. Some girl of maybe six or seven is asleep in the bed. Her mother glares, both angry and horrified at my disruption. The little girl moans and turns to her side. I quickly whisper an apology and back out of the room.

  What the fuck?

  Where is Luis? My heart hammers in my chest and I struggle for air. I haven’t talked to him in a few days. There was no time and it was a whirlwind of activity between the last concert in LA, sessions in the studio to record our next single, and a press junket. Fuck. I knew he was getting worse, weaker, sicker, and I’ve been down this road before. Why? Why is life such a cruel bitch?

  I run down the hall to the nurses’ station. Cranky ass lady is at the helm tonight but I don’t even try to play nice. “Where’s Carly?”

  She glares at me from beneath her glasses before going back to her chart. I tap the rhythm of my pulse on the desk and either she finishes her task or grows annoyed at my refusal to move on.

  She blows out a breath and rolls her eyes. “She’s on break. Downstairs, I think.”

  With a pat on the counter I run to the elevator bank, but I’m too amped to wait for a car so I push open the stairwell door and race down, taking two steps at a time. My mind drifts to another moment in time. One that increases the growing fear of what I know to be true but can’t admit.

  Finishing my day at school I catch the city bus to Children’s. It’s my daily ritual. I know Mom will be there and our apartment will be empty. Dad’s always working. It’s strange how home feels empty and the hospital has become more of a home than I’ve ever had.

  I get off at the stop and pull my backpack over my shoulder, following the familiar steps to my brother’s room. I open the door and find the bed empty. Mom sits in a chair crying. Again. She cries a lot. I know she tries to wait until she’s alone. Until Dave is off getting tests done or when I’m at school or asleep, but we both know she’s sad.

  “Hey, Madre.”

  She doesn’t look up or try to hide her tears. A tinge of fear crawls up my spine. Something’s not right. I drop my backpack and go to her. I place my hand across her back where it shakes with each sob. She sobs louder and the sound physically hurts. My gut heaves but I swallow it down.

  “Mom? Mom, where’s David?”

  “He’s not here.” She looks up and the whites of her eyes are tinged with pink. Snot and tears cover her face and it’s terrifying. My Mom always looks pretty, put together, presentable. I’ve never seen her like this. She looks broken. Like someone or something physically broke my mom.

  “What do you mean? Did they take him up for another MRI?”

  She blinks back the tears and rubs her hands over her face before meeting my gaze. “No, baby. He’s gone. David passed on. Your brother’s with the angels.” On that she crumples into the chair and her wai
ls pierce my ears.

  I never cry. Even when someone hits me in the nuts. But I don’t even try to fight the warm salty drops that drip from my eyes. My body’s too heavy for my legs and I tangle myself into Mom’s lap and hold on to her. Let it all out. My brother is dead. I’ll never be the same.

  “Carly!” I shout across the quiet hall. Only a few people mill about and her tired eyes find my approaching form.

  “Derek! I’m so sorry. I should’ve called you,” she says with sad eyes, and the pain that hits my chest is greater than if someone dropped a five hundred pound barbell across my body. Crushing. Breath stealing. Agonizing.

  “No! Fuck! No!” I drop to the floor. Carly falls to her knees before me.

  “Derek? What’s wrong?” She’s confused and suddenly I am, too.

  “Where’s Luis?”

  “He’s at home. Oh, God. You thought . . . Oh, Derek, I’m so sorry. I should’ve called you. He went home today. I swear, I just found out. My shifts been so bu—”

  I don’t think. I don’t wait. I just do what I’ve been dying for. I cup Carly’s face in my hands and swallow whatever she was going to say next with my lips. I kiss her softly. Tenderly. Tasting. Melting. I relish that her body melds into mine for a full minute before her hands push at my chest.

  “Derek,” she whispers, touching her lips with her fingertips. “You can’t do that.” She stands and I push myself off the floor.

  “I missed you, Carly.”

  She opens her mouth and then snaps it shut. Shit. I pushed my luck. She didn’t want me to kiss her. I know this.

  “I won’t apologize for kissing you.” Her eyes widen and I continue, “I’ve been thinking about those pretty pink lips every damn day since we went on tour. The way they move when you’re concentrating really hard. The way they look like the sweetest cotton candy but taste even better.

  “I missed your words. I missed your kindness. I missed everything about your mouth, but most of all I couldn’t stop thinking about the woman those lips belong to.”

  “Derek, I—”

  “Look, I know you’ve been dating the douche bag doctor.” Anger seeps into my tone. “Luis already told me but I don’t care. I need you to know what I’m—” She shakes her head, her lips in a tight line.

  “Derek, we’re not—” I cut her off, invading her personal space until her back hits the wall.

  “I miss you, Carly. And I don’t do drugs, and I’m not an addict. That was your ex. I’m not him, so don’t compare and don’t use him as an excuse to push me away. I won’t go on pretending I don’t want more than just friends.”

  “But Derek, I—”

  “No. Hear me out. I want you to give me a shot. Give us a shot. We can go as slow as you want. I’m game for anything as long as you’re in it.” I reach for her, but her hand covers my mouth before I can say another word.

  “Stop interrupting me!” She almost shouts and then looks around, lowering her voice and her hand. “I can’t have this conversation right now, Derek. I’ve got to get back to work.” O-fucking-kay. I grind my teeth and exhale through my nostrils.

  “Why, you worried your precious doctor might come down and hear us?”

  “What are you talking about?” She scowls and shakes her head.

  “Am I too late? You’re with him, aren’t you? That cocksucker doctor? You’re really wasting your time on a dickwad like that? Someone who walks around here like his shit don’t stink. He’s probably fucking half the nurses in this place!”

  “Derek!” Carly whisper shouts and the glare she gives me causes me to take a full step back.

  “This is where I work. Go home. We’re done talking tonight.”

  She turns on her heel and stomps down the hallway, and as much as I want to chase after her I know she’s fucking right. I need to respect her. I shouldn’t have said those things here in her workplace. I shouldn’t have pushed her.

  I should leave her alone, but I’m selfish enough to not. I make myself leave before I do something else I’ll regret.

  I TURN AND MAKE MY way to the elevators in a daze. Derek wants me? No. Surely he doesn’t. What we’ve shared has been a powerful friendship, more so because of our connection with Luis. But that’s it. Right?

  My past is always at my back, taunting me, causing me to second guess the intentions of every man I meet. I irritate myself with my inability to discern Derek’s feelings for what they truly are. Could someone like him really want me for me?

  And furthermore, what he wants I’m not sure I can give. It would never work between us. He’s going on the road again soon and I’ll be left alone with my boys and the hospital, and that’s what’s important. I need someone who fits into that. I don’t have room for partying. Rock star lifestyle. Travel. Music. Groupies. Drugs.

  No, I need to separate myself from him. It’ll only lead me and my boys down a path paved in disappointment. I’ll never be enough for a man like that.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to see a message from Marilyn. They messed up meds for one of my patients. Again. I type a quick reply. Shit. It’s not even a full moon. I blow out a breath. Could this night get any worse?

  The pharmacy is just one floor down so I opt for the stairs. One foot in front of the other, the stairwell turns and I’m met by soft moans and two forms gyrating together against the wall. The sure movements of coupling.

  I clear my throat. The man and woman hurriedly separate and right their clothing. The man turns and I gasp. “Garrett?”

  He straightens his spine, his expression neutral and unwavering as he tucks his shirt back into his pants.

  “It’s Dr. Brooks. I’ve asked you repeatedly not to use my first name.”

  What the fuck? Is it Crap on Carly day and I missed the memo?

  “Wh . . . what?” I sputter.

  The woman studies me and I recognize her immediately. Stephanie. One of the pharmacists.

  “Garrett? Who’s your friend?” she asks in a snotty, condescending tone. She looks down her nose at me but I can tell from her posture she knows something’s off.

  His attempt to dismiss me as if he’s never pursued me riles me further. I don’t cower from men who think they can use or disrespect women. Not anymore. I don’t care who the fuck he is.

  “I’m Carly.” I let my grin go wide. “Garrett and I have been on a couple of dates over the past few weeks.” I inform her, and tame my features to a sweet smile. “He failed to mention he was also seeing you. I don’t like to share, and I guess by your face you didn’t know about me either. Well, you can have him, though I don’t know why you’d want a cheating, lying asshole. I lift, then drop my shoulder. Your call.”

  I stalk past them and push open the door. Garrett’s expression is shocked, as if he didn’t expect me to say a damn word. Derek is right. What a d-bag. I don’t care that he has an MD. He’s dumb as dirt to date more than one woman in the same hospital. Before I let the door shut behind me I twist and glance over my shoulder.

  “Oh, and Dr. Brooks. In case I wasn’t clear, please don’t ever call me again.”

  By the time I finally make it back up to my floor with the right meds and check in with all my patients, I’m exhausted. I settle into my desk and shut my eyes for just a moment. Day three is always the toughest. I’m already wishing for my bed and four glorious days off.

  Just do it, Carly. Make the damn call.

  Ezra sits on the bench sucking on a juice box. His calculating green eyes watch me with an observance too knowledgeable and wise for his age of four. I bounce Eli on my hip. He’s completely clueless to the chaos that surrounds him.

  I did it. I took the gun and disposed of it, somewhere I hope it’ll never be found. But I’ve been living in hell since that night. Three days now, Josh hasn’t left the house. He’s high as a fucking kite and not even trying to hide it from our boys. And dealing straight from our kitchen door. An endless revolving line of addicts in and out of our home.

  I don’
t trust a goddamn one of them, and Josh won’t let me leave unless it’s to go to work. I know his paranoia is worse because of the drugs, but he’s right to be worried. I will do anything to keep my boys safe. He knows it. He holds this over me. It’s how he keeps me down.

  “Josh. Baby, I need to leave.”

  “The boys stay.”

  “I already promised Liz we’d meet for a playdate with her boys. I’ll only be a few hours. It’ll be weird if I cancel. We’ve had the plans for weeks.”

  “No.”

  I lick my lips and shut the bedroom door with a lock. I peel the clothes from my body and don’t break eye contact. This has to work and this is the only way I know how.

  “I need you baby. Please fuck me.”

  He growls and reaches inside his shorts to palm himself. His tattooed skin ripples with the movement and I can’t believe I once thought this man held the world. He makes me sick. I dip my fingers inside my panties and then walk to where he sits on the bed.

  “Please, baby. It’s been so long. I need you now.” He loves it when I beg.

  He grips my throat tightly and I try to not panic, to withhold the fear from my face, and remain steady as I meet his gaze. I must pass this fucked up test because after a few long seconds his fingers loosen and trace patterns over my breasts.

  “Yes, you dirty cunt. You need me. Don’t you forget that.” His hand appears so quickly the pain across my face doesn’t register and before I know it he’s flipped me onto my stomach and moves behind me. I shut my eyes and try to relax. He’ll be rough. Mean. Unforgiving. But if it earns me a trip outside with the boys I’ll never have to see him again.

  It makes my stomach roll. But I did what was needed and I only have a few short hours before he’ll expect me back. I’ve got one shot here. I can’t blow this. I pick up the phone from the community center wall with shaky hands and dial the number.

  An automated answering service picks up with options to choose. I press seven and wait as it connects.