“What in god’s name–” she whispered, her hand hovering over his body—almost too terrified to touch it.
Wesley groaned.
Chloe rushed over to the head of the bed. Wesley rolled, turning upright. His hair was in disarray over his face, his bright, iridescent blue eyes staring up at her, all the more vibrant in the surgical lighting of the room.
“Chloe?”
“It’s me.” She gently pushed back the hair away from his face, her palm gently resting against his forehead.
He smiled briefly, that lazy, gentle smile that made her heart flutter with nerves and lust and a million other feelings that raced through her body.
Then he yawned, stretched, and Chloe could hear the bones in his body realigning with a crack.
“Wesley—what the hell’s going on? I thought you were…”
“Shit.”
He looked around the room, past Chloe. It finally dawned on him that he was in a hospital. He sat up, his eyes darted downward, taking in the surgical gown, the bed, then he looked over at the equipment—the surgical tools, knives and the heart rate, pulse and respiration machines he was hooked up to.
“There are going to be questions,” he muttered.
“What’s going on? Were you actually hurt? Knocked out? I heard the doctors. They said something about your spine being detached. Did they get it wrong?!” Chloe tried to keep the alarm out of her voice. Wesley was clearly fine, but she couldn’t understand what had just happened.
“We need to get out of here, then I’ll tell you everything, but, help me, first?”
Chloe nodded.
“I need some clothes–”
Before he could finish the sentence, another doctor entered the room. Chloe hadn’t seen this one before. He looked older than the others. The badge on the coat and his suite beneath made him appear more senior.
“You’re up.” He observed slowly, his face a blank look of astonishment.
“Yeah, I’m good to go doc.”
“I need to check you. Again. I think we may have made some error’s in our original diagnosis…” he trailed off, staring at Wesley like he was a ghost.
“It happens,” Wesley replied with a good-natured shrug.
“Not in my department. It never happens…not like this.” He walked over to Wesley, stethoscope out, and placed it against his chest. Without any preamble, he placed his hand on Wesley’s back, running it along his spine.
“Stand up, please.”
Wesley did as he was told, moving off the bed with apparent ease. The doctor staggered back.
The doctor’s hands clasped his chart to his chest, staring at Wesley with an intensity that Chloe herself was experiencing. Looking at Wesley, after seeing the accident on television, after seeing him being operated on…she could hardly believe that he was standing there, so healthy, so strong.
“We must have made…a mistake,” the doctor said again. He sounded like he didn’t really believe his own diagnosis, but faced with Wesley—what else could he think?
“Can I go, doc?” Wesley asked. “I’m pretty sure we won the game. I don’t want my teammates celebrating without me. You a football fan?” Wesley asked the doctor.
“Y-yes, I suppose I am.”
“I’ll hook you up with season tickets if you get me out of here pronto.”
The doctor nodded dumbly.
Before anyone could say another word, two men entered the room—one was a large, white haired man wearing a three-piece suite, and the other was a portly, smaller man dressed in an orange t-shirt and large jacket, both sporting the Chicago Bear’s insignia. Chloe took the latter to be the Chicago Bear’s coach.
“What the hell is happening here?” The suited man roared in a thick Irish accent. Then, “Jesus Reed—thank God you’re alright! They kept us in the waiting room. Wouldn’t let us up!”
He clasped Wesley in a huge bear-hug, while the coach stood back, his face so white it looked like all the blood had been drained from it.
“It’s a false alarm!” Wesley said cheerfully. “I think I just got knocked out. Number fifteen packs a wicked punch. I landed pretty badly, but no harm done.”
Slowly, the coach broke into a beatific smile.
“I thought you were a goner, Reed. It’s a damn miracle! A goddamn miracle is what it is!”
“Sweetheart, you a nurse?” The Irish man turned to Chloe, continuing before she could answer. “Will you go down to the waiting room? The whole team is down there. They’ve got his clothes. He needs to freshen up. We’ve got grown men crying down there. They need to know their star player is alive and well!”
“She’s not a nurse,” Wesley interrupted abruptly. “This is Chloe.”
“Hi,” Chloe added weakly, holding out her hand on impulse. She had no idea how she was supposed to be handling this situation. It felt like she’d stepped into some strange, alternate universe and had no idea what she was supposed to say or do next. Seeing Wesley for the first time in so long was enough to shake her to the core, but under these circumstances, it was all the more dislocating and strange.
“Hello there,” said the Irish man, shaking her hand warmly.
“I’ll get the stuff. Then you got to see the boys,” said the coach gruffly. He seemed suddenly overwhelmed by emotion.
“Wesley,” Chloe turned to him. “I need to go–”
“No, wait, please Chloe,” Wesley insisted instantly.
“No. I’ve got to go. I have a long ride back. Go be with your teammates. But I want answers Wesley.” She opened her bag, and with shaking hands retrieved a pen and paper. She scrawled down her cell number, tearing the page off the notebook and holding it out to him.
“Call me tomorrow. I have classes in the morning, but I’m free in the afternoon.”
“Chloe.” Wesley replied with a voice that sounded tense and horse. Their eyes met, and Chloe didn’t understand the meaning behind his gaze. It looked like longing and regret—but he was the one that had abandoned her. Why now was he looking at her like he needed her? Like he wanted her to stay?
“You’re well. You don’t need me here. I probably shouldn’t have come. But call tomorrow. I want to hear everything.” She emphasized the last line, wanting him to know that she wanted serious answers—not some brush off. There was something strange going on here, and the only thing she knew for certain was the Wesley was hiding something. He was doing a good job of it as far as his coach and the Irish man went, but she wasn’t as easily fooled. She wanted the truth.
Wesley nodded.
“Tomorrow.”
12
Wesley waited on a bench in the park.
He wore a baseball cap low on his forehead and was dressed non-descript grey sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’d been getting recognized more and more as he went out now and couldn’t bear the thought of his time with Chloe being interrupted by fans.
Wesley was already aware that he was playing with fire.
He had walked away from Chloe once, and it had nearly broken him. He didn’t know if he had the strength to do it again.
But she deserved answers.
He had taken the coward’s way out before—leaving in darkness, not saying goodbye. In his own self-loathing and hatred, he hadn’t thought about the effect it might have on Chloe. Not really. He thought she’d forget about him over the first summer—miss him a little, but not too much. That her life would become so full, the memories they shared would fade away for her—as he hoped they would fade away for him. It hadn’t happened, not for him anyway.
He hadn’t thought about what would happen, or how Chloe might feel, when she discovered he’d been living a three-hour drive away from her college. How she might feel when she watched an NFL game—seeing him, knowing that he hadn’t bothered to call, to let her know how he was.
In the name of love for her, he had inadvertently done some shitty, hurtful things. All of which were unforgivable. All of which he knew she would forgive. And that was dangerous.
When he came awake on the hospital bed with her worried face peering down at his, he had known that he’d underestimated Chloe’s capacity for love, for forgiveness, for caring. He should have known better. She may never love him the way he loved her, but she loved him all the same—like a brother, he thought disgustedly, or an old friend. He sometimes wished he could convince his heart to go back to the old days when his love for her was platonic, easy, free.
But he couldn’t. He’d tried—but he couldn’t.
He wanted her too much. Wanted her skin against his, her lips to fasten to his, to feel her fingers trail across his skin—to feel alive. He wanted to worship her, with every breath in his body—wanted her to be the person he came home to at the end of the day, to be the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes in the morning. There would never be enough of her in his life. There would never be enough knowing her, enough talking to her, never enough time with her.
He scented her before he saw her.
She had entered the park, smelling like spring, the first bit of honeysuckle in hazy afternoon sunshine. She put the dead smell of winter and the cold, crisp air to shame. Instantly, Wesley’s gut clenched. His bear tugged, the buzzing of electricity running through his veins was deeper and more potent than any man-made adrenaline. Wesley adjusted his cap, trying to pull himself together.
She walked down the main footpath, wrapped up in a thick fur-hooded parka. Her hair tumbled down in waves, contrasting with her pale skin, her lips a creamy, soft pink that had always amused him when he was younger. He had teased her constantly about wearing lipstick, or raiding Heather’s cosmetics—till one day she had lost her temper, grabbed his thumb and wiped it brutally across her lips. Nothing had come away. Ashamed of himself, Wesley had realized that her lips were entirely natural. Chloe didn’t need artifice. She’d never tried to impress anyone—let alone him. He had become fascinated by those lips. Watched them changed ever so slightly through the seasons, darkening in summer, growing paler and more pinkish in the winter.
Chloe saw him, waving her hand awkwardly in greeting.
Wesley stood up to greet her.
They embraced, Wesley wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in toward the warmth of his chest. Her head rested against him, and Wesley buried his face in her hair—breathing in the smell of shampoo and all the smells he’d long tried to forget. He didn’t want to let her go. He could feel her heartbeat, hear her breathing—everything about her calling him home.
Chloe was the first to move away. Wesley followed her lead, releasing her from his grip and stepping backward.
“Hey,” he said, awkwardly.
“Should we sit?” Chloe offered, gesturing to the bench.
He realized she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, looking down or away when he tried to catch her gaze.
“Sure.”
They sat down, both giving the other so much breathing space it almost ended up looking like they were virtual strangers who had happened to choose the same bench.
“Looks like you’ve made a total recovery, then,” said Chloe. “A complete, miraculous recovery. When a whole stadium of people thought you were close to dead. Or, at least, you were never going to play football again.”
“Yeah.” Wesley cleared his throat. “About that–”
“I think I know what you’re going to say.”
“You do?”
“I’m not a complete idiot,” Chloe laughed humorlessly. “I thought about it all last night. Who else do I know that can make a recovery like that? I’ve only seen it once. When Uncle Derek had the motorcycle accident—ran off the road to the house. Busted his leg straight into that tractor. I swear I saw the bone sticking out—but dad didn’t look that concerned. I remember him leaning over Uncle Derek’s body, yanking his leg back into place—then lifting him into the house and handing him a shot of whisky. I was young, but even I knew that wasn’t the way most people dealt with accidents. A few hours later, Uncle Derek was walking around the kitchen. It made sense years later—after I realized what Dad and Uncle Derek were.” Chloe paused, taking a deep breath.
“Are you a shifter too, Wesley?”
Wesley nodded stiffly. He felt unaccountably guilt-riddled. He should have told her straight, rather than have to go around digging into old memories to piece the clues together. Once again, Wesley felt as though he’d failed her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m so sorry. I wanted to. So many times—but I kept dragging it out, and then it was too late. I regret it.”
Even to Wesley’s own ears the excuse sounded lame. Chloe was silent. He looked over at her. A single, solitary tear slid down her cheek. She hastily wiped it away. It broke his heart.
“I’m so sorry.” He whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I don’t understand.” Chloe took a shaky breath. “Is that why you left? Because you were a shifter? It just doesn’t add up—wouldn’t you want to be with Uncle Derek and Dad?”
Wesley looked helplessly at his hands. He couldn’t tell her the truth, could he? He shoved the thought aside, brutally. It wouldn’t help anything. Nothing was going to change. The reasons he left would always remain. Chloe deserved better. She deserved a future.
“I thought I needed to get out on my own. I’d relied on your dad for too long. He’d done too much for me—”
“That’s such bullshit,” Chloe spat out. “You’re lying to me again. Stop lying. I can take anything but that! I want the real reason you left without saying goodbye! You just left me—all of us—without saying a word. Did you for a second imagine how I might feel? Did you even care a little?”
Chloe’s cheeks had grown bright crimson, her eyes now directly meeting his—sparkling with fury.
“Does it matter? It’s done now. I fucked up. I don’t expect you to forgive me. And of course I cared. You’ll never know how much—like you’ll never know how sorry I am, or how much I hate myself for hurting you.”
“Then why?” Chloe’s tears were flowing freely now.
She wasn’t even bothering trying to hide them from him anymore. All Wesley wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and take her far, far away from the city park, far away from football, from everything—far from Jackson, even—to a place where just the two of them could exist, without interference from the outside world. A place where he wouldn’t be selfishly ruining her life—or causing her pain.
Wesley swallowed. Perhaps the truth was the best thing, or close enough. At least then she would understand that his leaving was never about him not caring. The thought of leaving her now, and having Chloe walk away thinking that he was ambivalent towards her—that he’d just been selfish, that she’d meant nothing to him—was intolerable.
“You had such a big life ahead of you,” he began, the words feeling like they were breaking his jaw as he spewed them out into the open. Words he’d kept to himself for so long. “I didn’t want to get in the way. I didn’t want to hold you back. You had the world at your feet—and you looked at me like…like…like I was your world. And I wasn’t. I couldn’t be. It wouldn’t have been enough. Not for you. You were a young woman on the verge of taking on the world. I was meant to love you like a brother, and then—then I shifted, and I couldn’t love you that way anymore. I think I was maybe kidding myself even before then.”
Wesley felt sick. Just hearing the words made him want to rip out his own tongue, to disappear into the ground and never reappear.
“You thought you’d hold me back, by what, by loving me?” Chloe snapped.
Wesley removed his cap, running his hands through his hair in frustration, wishing he had the ability or was eloquent enough to say what he meant. It was all coming out wrong—wrong and hurtful.
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I was trying to protect you–”
“From what, exactly?”
“From me!”
“By completely abandoning me?” Chloe spluttered in disbelief. “How is tha
t protecting me? Do you have any idea how bad that hurt? I grew up crazy about you, Wesley. I loved you before I even knew what it meant—my whole world revolved around you–”
“That’s what I mean! What did you think was going to happen? You’d marry some small town farm-boy hick like me? I don’t have an education. I had nothing. What the hell did I have to offer you? Fuck Chloe, you deserve everything. You’re incredible! You’re so smart, and talented, and kind—Jesus. You think I’d let you fall for someone like me? Some dumb, cowardly asshole who wasn’t brave enough to stick around and be crucified when he had to watch you move on?”
“What the hell is so wrong with you, Wesley? You’re a shifter—so what? So’s my dad, my uncle—or is it the lack of education, or money, or what? Make your mind up! It’s just offensive that you think I care about any of that stuff! Do you really think so little of me?”
“No! Fuck—I just wanted something better for you.”
Chloe leaned back on the bench. She looked exhausted and baffled, the fight going out of her just as quickly as it had arrived. As it always had, since she was little.
“You don’t think I’m the best judge of what I deserve, and what I want?” She asked quietly.
“Not at sixteen, you weren’t. Not even now. There’s so much waiting for you.”
“And you weren’t even willing to try?”
Wesley laughed bitterly.
“You think I’d let you go once I had you? I left trying to save us both.”
Chloe stood up. She wiped her tears, turning to face him.
“I loved you so much. You broke my heart. Crushed and ruined—I missed you so much I ached. I’ve never felt so lonely in all my life. I spent a year going to sleep praying that you would be back when I woke up. I would rush downstairs, every damn morning, and every morning I would have that hope destroyed.
“Maybe you did it to save me. Maybe you did it to save yourself—I don’t really know. I don’t know if I even care anymore.”
Wesley’s blood drained from his face. He felt sick to his stomach, a cold, sick dread spreading across his body. He was losing her. For good. Urgently, he tried to remind himself that this is what was necessary—that this was the best thing. Let her hate him, if it meant that she would be free of him. But it didn’t feel like the right thing. It felt physically wrong. His body reacted with a dull ache, an emptiness that he’d never before experienced—almost like the link to Chloe, the link he carried around with him in his heart, even when he was thousands of miles away—was breaking.
Jackson Valley Shifters Complete Series: Bear Shifter Romance Page 26