by Tara West
Say Yes
Something More, Book Two
Tara West
Copyright © 2013 by Tara West
Published by Shifting Sands Publishing
First epub edition, published July 2013
Edited by Theo Fenraven
Cover Art by Tamra Westberry
Formatting by Danielle Blanchard
All rights reserved.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Prologue - Andrés
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
About the Author
Additional Novels by Tara West
Dedication
Jodi, your friendship means so much to me. Thank you for helping run my fan club and for your continued faith in my books. You rock!
Special thanks to Becky, Carrie, Christina, Emma, Jacklynn, Kelly, Merissa, Raven, Sheri, Tammy and Vickie for your support and input. I couldn’t do this without you.
Theo Fenraven, you are editing gold. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Elle, thanks again for the formatting love, and for making my books so pretty. J
Prologue
Andrés
“I haven’t seen you in a while, Andrés. How have you been?”
My hands go clammy as I give the military doctor a blank stare. Why did I think it would be a good idea to come here? Oh, yeah, closure. That’s what I kept telling myself on the drive to the VA hospital. I wanted to let Doctor Barnes know I don’t need to see him anymore.
Because I don’t. I’m better now.
I wipe my hands on my jeans, trying to get rid of the excess moisture. It must be hot in here. I have no reason to sweat. No reason at all.
“I figured as much.” He crosses one leg over his knee, looking casual as he leans back against the upholstered leather chair, but there’s still that expectant look in his eyes. Despite the glare on the doctor’s glasses, I can see the man’s impatience. “How else have you been?”
This shrink is never one to waste time. He’s not afraid to pressure me to get to the point, which is one reason I have always liked him.
I sip from my water bottle, clear my throat, and then answer. “I haven’t had a bad dream in months.”
After the roadside bomb had flipped our truck and killed my best friend in Afghanistan, I couldn’t escape the nightmares that plagued me. Although the occurrence of those dreams slowed after I met Christina, they completely stopped three months ago, after my best friend’s wife, Letty, contacted me on Facebook. She’d written me a long letter apologizing for blaming me for James’s death. She’d even invited me to San Antonio for her youngest son’s birthday party. It seems I just needed Letty’s forgiveness for the nightmares to stop.
“That’s great news.” The doctor smiles wider this time.
I can tell this smile is genuine, and I release a pent-up breath of air.
Then the doctor hits me with the next question. “Are you adjusting to life as a civilian?”
“Oh, yeah.” I nod before sticking one clammy hand in my pants pocket. The little velvet pouch is still there, and though it takes up no more room than a wadded-up tissue, it feels heavy. The weight of it presses into my thigh. What’s worse is, the strain is somehow tethered to an invisible noose that is wrapped around my neck. Each day the pouch feels heavier, and the noose feels tighter, so tight I feel I may suffocate from the pressure. “I’m learning how to take over my uncle’s businesses.” I say the words I rehearsed on the drive over. “Working out and….” I pause and finger the pouch again. “I met a girl.”
I shift in my seat, trying to suppress my arousal as I envision last night in bed, when Christina’s long auburn hair had been fanned around my thighs. I can’t forget the expression in her emerald eyes when she looked up at me, flashing that seductive smile right before she took me in her mouth.
“You sound hesitant to talk about her. Are you having second thoughts?”
“No, never.” I vehemently shake my head before I force myself to stop.
Doctor Barnes has that look in his eyes again. Damn, he’s too smart for his own good. I remind myself I need to find a new shrink, maybe one a little less observant. Maybe one who nods and agrees with everything I say.
I avert my gaze, but I can’t escape the feeling Doctor Barnes can see through me, straight into my soul. But I came here to talk, didn’t I? No. I came here to tell the doctor I no longer need him, as soon as I get help with this one little problem.
I look the doctor in the eyes, take a shaky breath, and slowly exhale, even though the invisible noose is making it harder to breathe. “Ever since we moved in together, my family has been pressuring us to get married.”
He gives me a pointed look. “How do you feel about marriage?”
I answer without hesitation. “I love her. I’ll do anything to marry her. I even had a ring made, but I don’t think I have the nerve to pop the question.”
I shouldn’t have asked Tia for my grandmother’s ring. That was a bad idea. A very bad idea. We’ve only been together six months, and I’ll scare her off. Then I remember Tia wagging a finger in my face and clucking her tongue, telling me the church frowns on sex out of wedlock.
I don’t want to offend God, but I don’t want to lose Christina, either. Her parents were unloving and abusive. How can she possibly be ready for marriage and family after what she’s been through?
Slowly, I pull the velvet pouch out of my pocket, loosen the drawstring, and dump the ring in my palm. I hold the shining silver band beneath the soft glow of the overhead lights.
“The emeralds came from my grandmother’s wedding band,” I say to the doctor as I press the ring between the tips of my fingers. “They’re the same color as Christina’s eyes.”
“You said you don’t have the nerve to ask her,” he asks in an annoyingly impartial monotone. “Why?”
“It’s just….” I swallow against the tightening knot around my throat as I place the ring back in the pouch. “I’m afraid she won’t say yes.”
Chapter One
Christina
God, I hate hospitals. They’re cold, not just physically, but emotionally, from the stark white walls to the constant beeps and buzzing, and the sickeningly sweet smell of lemon disinfectants. I can hear a woman screaming in the distance, and from the sounds, she is in agonizing pain.
My heart is pounding a wild staccato in my ears, and I brace myself as I set my hand on the door to the Critical Care waiting room.
The woman screams again, and this time the desperation in her cries is even worse.
I close my eyes and take a shaky breath, trying to block her out.
You must do this, Christina. Tyler needs you.
Tyler’s image resurfaces in my mind: his cherubic cheeks, that dimple in his smile. My adorable little godson, just over a yea
r old. So cute, so sweet, and until a few months ago, so happy and healthy. I’ve noticed the last few times I’ve visited him, he’s been cranky, and his eyes seemed less vibrant. I assumed he had a cold. I had no idea his condition would worsen.
This evening, after I came home from an exhausting day at work, Tyler’s grandmother called me. Tyler had been hospitalized. Doctors are calling his condition, “failure to thrive.”
“What does that mean?” I asked her, but she was crying so hard, I could barely understand a word. I vaguely remember jotting down the name of the hospital. My brain had turned to mush by this point, my breaths coming in shallow gasps.
Though this is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, I need to go inside that waiting room.
I’ve got to be strong for Tyler. Even if I have to watch him die.
* * *
I look around as I walk into the waiting room. Tyler’s mom, Karri, and her mom, Mrs. Peterson, are huddled together, quietly sobbing on the vinyl sofa. Mrs. Peterson looks more tired and worn than usual as she dabs her swollen eyes with a tissue.
The baby’s daddy, Jackson James, and his dad and stepmom are sitting on the opposite end of the room, scowling at Karri and her mom as if they have a case of the plague.
“Christina, thank God you came!” Karri practically screeches as she jumps up.
“Where’s Ty?” I ask her.
Karri’s pink spiky hair is a tousled mess, her eyeliner is running down her face in streaks, and her pale face is covered in angry red blotches.
“The doctor took him away.” She wipes her watery eyes with the back of her hand, and then flings herself into my arms. “Oh, Christina, I’m so scared.”
I’m scared, too. My limbs feel like deadweights, as fear has numbed me from the inside out. But Karri is Ty’s mom, and I suspect she’s suffering even more than me, so I do the only thing I know to do. I wrap my arms around her even though we aren’t on best friend terms anymore, not after I’d discovered Tyler was actually the result of Karri’s one night affair with Jackson James, my fiancé.
Correction, my former fiancé.
While I was away at a sorority retreat, Karri screwed the man I almost made the mistake of marrying. Nine months later, she’d had Tyler, claimed the father was one of three other guys, and then named me the baby’s godmother. If I was a hateful bitch like my now estranged mother, I would turn my back on Tyler and Karri. Because I care so much for the baby, I’m forced to make nice with his mom, but she’ll never, ever be restored to BFF status, and I sure as hell won’t trust her again.
Six months ago, after Karri finally admitted to Jackson’s family, and then to me, Ty was Jackson’s baby, Jackson’s dad and stepmom assumed care for Tyler and even paid for Karri’s rehab. Given Karri’s history with drug use, Jackson’s family has kept custody of Tyler, and I suspect they don’t ever plan on giving him back. Since they can afford the best lawyers in Austin, I know they won’t have to, either. That’s why I only get to see Tyler every other Sunday now when I visit Karri’s mom.
I’m surprised Tyler still recognizes me, but whenever he sees me, his face lights up and he squeals, “Teeny! Teeny!”
The irony is “Teeny” was Jackson’s pet name for me. I hated it, and still do, but the way Tyler says it makes me smile. I really do love that little guy. I feel my throat tightening again as I am nearly overcome with emotion.
“What in hell is she doing here?”
I pull out of Karri’s embrace to see Jackson’s dad looking as austere and cold as ever. He’s tall like his son, with the same blue-green eyes. He’s clutching his cellphone in one hand, while his other is balled into a fist at his side.
I swallow as my gaze flits nervously from Karri to Mrs. Peterson, and then back to Jackson’s dad. The lines around his eyes are more pronounced as he juts one foot forward. I’m reminded of a bull preparing to charge.
What have I ever done to him other than break it off with his cheating, controlling son?
Karri laces her fingers through mine and squares her shoulders. She levels Mr. James with a glare, and for once, I’m actually grateful for her friendship. “Christina loves Ty, and he loves her.”
His pale face flushes, all the way to the greying roots of his blond hair. “She’s no relation,” he says in a menacing growl.
To my surprise, Jackson stands up and gives Mr. James a look. That’s when I notice how much my former fiancé has changed. His stomach paunch isn’t so pronounced, and his cheekbones are hollow. There are dark circles underneath his eyes, making him look far older than twenty-four.
“Dad, just drop it, okay?” His voice is firm, unrelenting. Kind of the way he used to talk to me whenever he insisted on getting his way, which was all the time. Then he turns to me and his features soften. “Tyler has been asking for you.”
I release Karri’s hand, speechless. Jackson and I haven’t spoken since I gave back the ring and started dating Andrés, and now he’s actually being nice to me?
“Really?” I finally manage to say. “How’s he doing?”
Jackson flashes a dimpled smile, the same smile I fell in love with. “He’s a little fighter. I think he’ll pull through. He’s been calling for his Teeny.”
Ugh. I cringe. Jackson doesn’t sound as cute as Tyler when he says my stupid nickname, and I’m reminded of why I broke it off with him in the first place.
After a while, dating Jackson was like living with a festering wound. First, little things started to annoy me. How he’d always eat the last cookie or the last scoop of ice cream without offering me a bite. I brushed off his bad habits and ignored the pain his selfishness caused me. But then he wanted to tell me how to dress, act, and think. He even insisted on choosing what I was going to eat at restaurants. The relationship got worse and worse, until finally it was so stifling, I could hardly breathe.
Of one thing I’m certain: leaving Jackson and finding Andrés is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Still, there’s no room in my life for animosity toward my former fiancé. Besides, if he hadn’t cheated on me, there’d be no Ty, so any pain and humiliation I might feel is worth it.
I want so badly to see the baby. I know he’s hurting and scared, and I have an overwhelming urge to hold him. “Can I see him?” I ask Jackson.
“He’s in surgery,” Karri blurts, sobbing again.
I swear a few moments with Karri, and I feel like I’m caught up in an emotional tornado, and all of her drama and angst just suck the life out of me.
“Surgery?” Nobody told me the baby needed surgery.
“It’s not surgery.” Jackson rolls his eyes. “It’s a biopsy.” Even though they managed to conceive Tyler, I sense no love lost between the two of them. Jackson has always made it clear he despises Karri, and she’s implied as much over the past few years. I still can’t understand why they slept together.
There is a gleam of loathing in Karri’s eyes as she sneers at Jackson. “Same difference.” She throws up her hands. “My grandpa had a biopsy when he had colon cancer. Three weeks later he died!”
Jackson storms up to Karri and scowls down at her like she’s a wayward child who’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “The doctor didn’t say it was cancer.” He wags a finger in her face. “They don’t know what’s wrong. That’s why they’re doing a biopsy!”
“God only knows what he’s got, considering his prenatal care,” Mr. James says from behind Jackson. There is venom in his voice as he adds another jab. “Or lack thereof.”
Karri drops her gaze to the floor.
Now is not the time to start pointing fingers, I want to tell Mr. James, but I don’t. This is Karri’s battle, and I can’t justify defending her, not when I know Karri has been a lousy mother. We’ve fought too many times over Tyler’s care, or as Mr. James put it, “lack thereof.”
A middle-aged man in surgical scrubs enters through the secured door at the end of the room, and I know our wait is over. My heart stops beating
for an eternal second as I see his concerned expression. Considering all of the heartache I’ve suffered over the past twenty-one years of my life, I’m not a very religious person, but I close my eyes and pray anyway.
Please, God, don’t let Tyler die.
Mr. James is the first to approach the doctor. “How is he?”
“He’s fine.” The doctor smiles. “He’s in recovery. You can see him in a few minutes.”
“Is it cancer?” Karri practically barrels over the doctor as she rushes up to him. “Does my baby have cancer?!”
Jackson’s family collectively groans behind her.
The doctor takes a step back, waving a hand at Karri. “No, no, nothing like that.”
Hope surges in my chest. Okay, not cancer, although I wasn’t expecting a baby to have cancer, anyway.
“Why don’t we sit down and talk?” The doctor grabs Karri by the elbow and leads her to one of the lounge chairs in the corner. We all follow his lead and crowd around him as he sits across from her.
The doctor smooths a hand down his face as he slowly exhales. “The villi in Tyler’s small intestine are severely damaged,” he says matter-of-factly, as if we’re supposed to know what the hell that means.
Karri’s eyes bulge as she gasps. I have no idea what villi, are, but I’m pretty sure it’s not a good thing they’re damaged.
“His gut has been compromised. Vitamins aren’t being absorbed,” he continues, “which explains why he’s underweight and sick.” He leans over and pats Karri on the hand. “The good news is, his condition is treatable with changes in his diet.”