by Melissa Blue
Pain creased every line on Baird’s face. “Ten minutes ago.”
Victoria knelt down beside him, her eyes wide and her breathing just as unsteady as Baird’s. “What do we do?”
“Call the ambulance.” Callan saw her hit a one after the nine. “Wrong country, lass. 999.” His directive sounded so calm. He didn’t feel any of it. His heart raced and he had the urge to punch something, like that would somehow help.
She shook her head. “Sorry.” Her hands were shaking.
Understandable, because his were too. Sweat dripped down his uncle’s face as his breathing became short and choppy. Callan’s brain shut out everything else but Douglass. His uncle’s face was too pale, but his lips weren’t blue. That had to be a good sign. This had to just be a mild heart attack.
A mild heart attack? Are you fucking kidding yourself, Callan?
Guilt dug its way in as he talked to his uncle in a soothing tone. They’d left him alone for hours. He’d brushed off the man feeling ill as a ploy. Nausea rolled in his stomach and he swallowed to keep down the bile. Not again. He couldn’t watch someone else he loved die right in front of him.
He gripped his uncle’s hand and fought the need to pace. He put his other hand on Baird’s chest. The heartbeat wasn’t steady but it was there. Baird was still here. “Asprin,” Callan said absently.
“What?” Victoria asked.
“In the top cabinet in the bathroom. It’s what you’re supposed to take when you’re having a heart attack. Get it and some water.”
The ambulance showed before she came back and his mind went on autopilot. He answered all the questions that he could, grabbed Baird’s wallet out of the bowl near the door and followed them to the hospital. He did his best to ignore Victoria’s nervous buzzing energy beside him the whole time. He had to keep it together until Douglass was okay. Baird had to be. So Callan accepted the numbness that kept his mind from drifting to worse-case scenarios. The hospital made it easy with the white walls and antiseptic smell. And the waiting.
Heart attacks went ahead of the line but that didn’t change the fact that for hours they didn’t know if Baird would be okay or if drastic measures were needed to keep him alive. Callan sat there in the quiet, Victoria’s hand clutched in his.
He didn’t know how much time had passed, but his arse had gone well past a tingling numbness before a female doctor came out and zeroed in on them. Victoria rose first and dragged him with her. He tried to read the young woman’s face to see if the first thing she would say was an apology or, “we did all we could,” but her green eyes gave nothing away.
“He’s asking to see you both,” the doctor said.
“Is he okay?” Victoria asked in a breathless rush.
“Yes. The heart attack was minor…”
Callan’s world spun as relief turned his knees to jelly. The doctor continued to talk but he squatted just to keep upright and dragged his hands over his face. His breath came out in short pants and it felt like he hadn’t drawn in a good amount of air in hours. He had to pull it together or he’d cry from relief like a fanny.
Soft words finally broke through the loud buzz in his ears. Victoria’s voice washed over him. She’d pressed his head to her stomach and was speaking to him in a murmur. What else could he do but pull her closer, breathe her in and know that he wasn’t alone?
They stayed like that for a while before she urged him to get up. Her smile was soft and beautiful. “Baird wants to see us. I’m sure he needs to be reminded now is not the time to pinch a nurse’s ass.”
He dragged her up to his mouth, a laugh building in his chest. “Aye.”
She gave him a quick kiss. “He’s okay, for now. Too much drinking and carousing finally did him in, but he’s going to be okay, Callan. It’s all right.”
He shut his eyes for a second and then nodded. “Aye.”
“Come on.” She fisted her hands in his shirt and tried to tug him forward.
He kept nodding but didn’t move. “It’s just that…I hate hospitals. I hate this hospital. Fucking St. Jude’s.”
Her mouth formed into an “O” as understanding lit her gaze. “I see.” She hesitated. “We’ll stand here for a minute and adjust and then we’ll go see him. Okay?”
He started to feel like a bobblehead. “Aye.”
She wrapped her hands around him and put her head on his chest. They just stood there and breathed until he found his nads again. Eventually, they left the cold waiting room. He didn’t breathe easy until they entered Douglass’ room and saw his grinning face.
“You should see my nurse, laddie.” Baird had tubes in his arm and up his nose, but that didn’t stop him from being an old, dirty bugger.
Callan glanced at Victoria and she smiled back at him. She shook her head and moved to Baird’s side, fretting over him and chastising him in equal measure. A certainty washed over him. Maybe more like a truth. This could be his family, and if he were smart, he wouldn’t let them go.
First, he had to let Diana go and stop living between worry and apathy. He had to risk loving someone else.
Callan ran a hand through his hair and again tried to find that easy breath he’d had only seconds ago. Between the small debt left on medical bills, and Diana not having a proper headstone, he still hadn’t really put her to rest. How could he move on if he hadn’t done that much? Baird had a minor heart attack and Callan had lost his shit. No matter how much he wished differently, he wasn’t ready to make a new family.
He pushed the thought aside and smiled at his uncle although bitterness filled his mouth. “If you wanted me to visit more often you should have just asked. All this…” Callan gestured to the room. “A bit melodramatic.”
Douglass pffted, but he put out his hand for Callan to take. The simple motion rocked him and he bowed his head for a moment. This man wasn’t his father but close enough. Callan’s stride ate up the distance as he went to take the older man’s hand.
He held it until his uncle fell asleep.
*****
Callan lifted his face toward the sunrise outside St. Jude’s Hospital. With an objective eye, he could admire the impeccable grounds, and how no matter the time of day it seemed to be awash in light. Lush bushes and curvy walkways surrounded the hospital. It was pretty if you only came to visit or drove by, but more than once he’d come to St. Jude’s and stayed for an inordinate amount of time, worry gnawing at his guts.
Last night had been no different with more tests, questions and no rest. At least for him. Douglass and Victoria had fallen asleep sometime around three in the morning and had yet to stir.
He rolled his stiff neck before glancing down the long driveway that led to the entrance. From what Baird’s doctor had told him, Douglass would be fine as long as he changed his diet and stopped drinking like a fish every week. Callan couldn’t feel comfort in those words. While Victoria and Douglass had slumbered, he’d made hard decisions about what needed to happen next.
A taxi pulled up to the main entrance. His hands balled as he waited. His cousins stepped out. They weren’t mirror images. Ian was lean compared to Tristan, though they both had dark hair and their father’s blue eyes. A person could look at Ian and accuse him of always appearing too serious for his age. Tristan seemed to constantly have a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. But this morning his cousins had grim expressions and carried no luggage. Their significant others were at home, holding down the fort until their men came back.
How wonderful that must be. The bitter thought thinned his mouth and stiffened his back. “Morning.”
They returned the greeting and kept walking. He fell into step beside them and caught them up on Douglass’ diagnosis.
Tristan frowned and stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets as they waited for the elevators. “What happened?”
He unclenched his fists, weariness replacing irritation. The answer to that simple question had kept him up all night as he watched both Papa Baird and Victoria sleep peacefully. Ca
llan wasn’t the kind of man who used words like cherish, but that had bounced around his mind. So he hadn’t wasted a single moment sleeping away the time he had left with them both, because no matter how he replied, the consequences he’d so deftly ignored would bite him in the arse.
He looked Tristan dead in the eye. “He and Victoria made plans to see Macbeth. He bowed out because he wasn’t feeling well. In his stead I took her. When we came back, he was on the couch, complaining of an ache in his arm and pains in his chest.”
Tension bristled through Ian as he looked at him in disbelief. “Burke? Victoria Burke? My employee?”
“Gets your nads out of a twist,” Callan snapped, not having to feign an ounce of anger. “She was alone in Scotland and wanted to play tourist. I took her to the pub when I needed to make a visit and she liked Papa Baird enough to boss him around. She was better than any companion we could have hired. She became his friend.”
Tristan laughed but Ian’s brows furrowed. “Boss him around?”
“Aye,” Callan said, keeping a light tone. “Apparently she saw his fridge. She took it upon herself to get him to clean it and the rest of his flat.”
Tristan chuckled again. “She got him to clean? That’s impressive.”
Ian muttered something about overstepping boundaries. Callan’s gaze narrowed. “If she hadn’t befriended him and Douglass hadn’t taken a liking to her, she wouldn’t have been there and neither would have I. Your father would be dead.”
The elevator doors opened as silence fell after his declaration. He stayed back as his cousins stepped inside. He added, “You owe her.”
I owe her echoed back. Victoria would want to see the Baird. She’d worry about him and that innocent association would be questioned. A tough spot he’d seduced her into because he was a selfish bastard. He’d been so focused on proving that she was ordinary it had never occurred to him she’d fall in love with him. Ironic really, now he had to act as though she was just another woman—Ian’s employee. All that he’d done, all the signs he’d ignored made his stomach roll. Victoria was anything but ordinary, and she’d lost her heart to him.
He didn’t have to poke at the cold, hard rock in his chest to know what he’d find—Victoria fucking deserved better. Anyone who wasn’t still grieving for his wife. A man who didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for needing to kiss her and wanting to somehow punish her for making him need it. Someone who wouldn’t have locked his heart away until it was a cold, dead hard rock.
He swallowed though his throat felt thick. The least Callan could do was make sure she didn’t lose her job too. He may be an utter shite but he was an utter shite who kept his promises.
He let out a frustrated sigh, but knew in his bones this was the right thing to do. Callan pushed the issue. “So for one moment hop off the stick you have up your arse about fraternization,” his voice hardened, “and thank her for saving your father’s life.”
Ian nodded, begrudgingly. “Aye. I’ll thank her.”
Tristan tilted his head as though he’d heard something more. “You look tired. Go get yourself some coffee.”
“Aye,” is all that could get through his lips, because they’d bought the lies.
Victoria’s job would be safe, and they were…over. His cousins were here. She wouldn’t sneak around to be with him, not when she knew…
And he couldn’t…
The elevator dinged, dragging his gaze up, but he didn’t really see anything. They were over. He’d known they would be, sooner or later. Known it with a certainty before he’d come down to greet his cousins. It’s why he’d kissed her brow and inhaled her scent while she slept. Still…
Callan stood there for a while just staring at the closed elevator doors, because the deed was done.
*****
Male voices roused Victoria from her sleep. Douglass held her damp palm but his laughter filled the room. His baritone wasn’t as strong, and yet that laugh was the most beautiful thing she could have woken up to. She opened her eyes, smiling, and a laugh lived right there on the tip of her tongue.
It died when she saw the two other men in the room. All the blood in her head whooshed out, making the room spin a little. Up until that moment, she’d only seen her boss in severe suits. Ian wore them in three colors: gray, navy blue and black. Often his expression was as severe as his suits. Today, he wore a rumpled white shirt and well-worn jeans. Tristan stood beside him in something similar, but that wasn’t too surprising.
Standing side by side at Douglass’ bedside…Oh. The room made a good impersonation of a spinning top. If that kept up, she’d need a bed right along with the Baird.
Tristan spoke first, “And Sleeping Beauty is finally awake.”
Dread filled her stomach to the brim, watering her mouth. It was a small miracle that she didn’t need to lurch to the bathroom to throw up.
“Hey,” she said and tried to think up a million different lies for why she’d fallen asleep at Douglass’ bedside. Not just that, but why and how did she know Douglass existed. She ran a hand through her hair and tried to look presentable while also stalling for time. Neither man filled the silence. For the first time in her life, Victoria didn’t feel the need to fill it either. Lord, help her. If they didn’t ask, she wouldn’t tell.
Douglass turned to her. They’d taken him off oxygen so he looked like his old self, just a little paler than usual. “My boys are here.”
Victoria took in a long, slow breath as the truth hit her in the gut. Callan had called Douglass’ boys, because their father had a heart attack. If her mother or father ended up in a hospital someone better damn well call her. That was understandable.
He’d also known they were on their way and hadn’t bothered to give her a heads up. No. He’d let her sleep and wake up right into a clusterfuck. He put her job on the line without so much as a warning.
Anger started to dig into her bones like a dull throb. Very carefully, she uncurled from the seat, parts of her aching and everything from last night came rushing back.
They’d had sex in a car and she’d cried during sex because the truth had slammed into her—she’d fallen for Callan. He’d kissed her, comforted her until the tears had dried. They’d found Baird on his couch suffering from a heart attack. They’d sat for hours in a waiting room holding hands, both of them scared and worried about the Baird. She’d held him when relief had buckled him.
And he’d thrown her under the fucking bus.
Victoria swallowed down the anger threatening to close her throat. This was a family moment and now, more than ever, she was extremely aware of her status—an employee. An afterthought to everyone. She did her best to gather her things and creep out the room, but every step she made Douglass would drag her into the conversation.
When she stood at the door, he asked, “How was Macbeth?”
Victoria clutched her purse to staunch the urge to throw it at him, because despite everything she understood his motives. Douglass was loyal to one thing in his life—family. That she had no doubt about. The problem was he considered her family. He wouldn’t out her directly but indirectly was fair game. The man had a heart attack and still he was trying to set her up with Callan.
Her eyes narrowed. She did her best to answer his covert question. “I enjoyed the play, but I have to say Macbeth should have let it go. Some things just aren’t meant to be.”
“Or maybe he was too dumb to accept the truth.”
His words only added more fuel to her anger. “Same difference, same pointless ending,” she answered in a harsh tone. She backed closer to the exit. “I need to head out and work. I’m happy that you’re going to be okay.”
It struck Victoria then this might be the last time she’d see the man. Some of her anger ebbed. She cleared her throat, softened her tone. “Later, Douglass?”