by Liz Talley
“I’ll drop you, then park,” Rick said, swinging toward the entrance to the physical-therapy wing.
“No, just park. I’ll walk with you,” she said.
His foot hovered on the brake, slowing them, but then the car shot forward.
“Fine.” He narrowly missed a pickup truck as he turned into the parking lot.
“Rick.” She placed a hand on his arm.
He flinched. “What?”
“Let’s not ruin it.”
His dark eyes flashed as they met hers. He stopped the car in the middle of a row. “So we’re gonna pretend that everything’s okay? That you aren’t leaving? That you aren’t throwing us away?”
She drew back as if he’d slapped her. “What?”
“You know damn well what.” He ground the words out between gritted teeth. She could feel his anger burgeoning, crowding the interior of the vintage car.
A horn sounded behind them. Rick’s car blocked the row.
“Shit,” he said, stepping on the accelerator, jerking them forward. He rounded another row. There were no parking spots. Again, he spun the wheel and gave the car gas. It leaped to life, roaring down the next aisle.
“Please,” she said. “Calm down.”
“Ha. That’s funny coming from you,” he said in a not-so-friendly way.
So this is how it would end. Badly. Meanly. God, she hadn’t wanted it to be this way, but had known it would be hard to pretend parting didn’t hurt. That hearts hadn’t gotten knocked around and bruised. “Insult me if it makes you feel better. Maybe you can learn to hate me so it won’t be so bad.”
He finally found a spot and swung the car into it, braking hard, jerking her forward. “Maybe so.”
Kate pressed her hands over her face before dropping them in her lap. “Why are you doing this?”
He turned so his broad shoulders were squared with the door. They were wonderful shoulders, covered with looping ink, strong, capable of carrying burdens. How many times had Kate leaned on them over the past two weeks? How many times had she clung to them as he’d taken her to heights she’d never explored before? Now they tensed. “Because you are a coward.”
She could feel the color leave her face. “Bullshit. I’m not a coward.”
He shrugged. “I call ’em like I see ’em.”
He pulled the keys from the ignition, climbed out and walked away.
Kate felt blindsided by his anger. She’d always been straight with him. Never misled him. He knew she wasn’t going to stay. No way in hell did she want to go back to what she’d been, even if she had a better understanding of exactly who that was. She couldn’t take those steps backward, she’d worked too long and too hard. Fantabulous waited. Her clients waited. The IRS waited. It was time to return to the reality of her life.
How could he not understand?
She climbed from the car, wishing she could call Nellie and head to the airport right now. She even rooted around in her bag for her cell phone before realizing there was no way around saying goodbye to her father. No way of avoiding Rick’s uncomfortable anger.
And no way of ignoring the twangs of hurt vibrating in her heart. These past two weeks had taken a chisel to the flinty emotions once cemented inside her, chipping them away in big chunks. The problem with a heart that had been emptied of bad stuff was the space made for good stuff. Really good stuff. Hopes and dreams had found their way in, filling her up, making her think of possibilities instead of doom.
She’d been foolish to fall in love with Rick.
And that’s what she’d done. Allowed herself to fall head over heels. She’d never thought it possible. Almost didn’t believe in the shifty emotion, even though she’d seen people immerse themselves in it completely. And not only had she opened her heart to Rick, but she’d made room for Vera, Justus and Oak Stand. She was consumed with lots of tender, new emotions. And she wasn’t sure she could sort through them. Wasn’t sure if they could be enough to pull her from her past life. From all things she’d wanted for so long.
The hospital doors swooshed open and she stepped into the chilly interior. Hospitals always seemed to be cold and sterile, no matter how many prints of flowers lined their halls.
Rick wasn’t waiting.
Kate gave a mental shrug and headed to the bank of elevators that would take her to the Stroke Center on the second floor, where her father would be cranky and weary in a bed outfitted for his rehab.
She made it to her father’s room without seeing Rick. The door was half-open and she could hear Vera placating Justus.
She tapped on the door and pushed it open. The arguing stopped.
“Kate.” Vera smiled. “I wondered when you would be by. Is Rick with you?”
She shrugged. “He’s here somewhere. I don’t know where he went.”
Her father stilled and managed a lopsided smile. “Hello, Katie. Glad you came to see me before you left.”
She still didn’t feel exactly comfortable with the man she’d so recently forgiven, but she was trying to be nicer. More open. “Hello, Justus. How are you today?”
“Tired of them jerking me left and right, pulling me this way and that like I’m a piece of taffy.”
“In other words, you’re feeling normal?”
Vera laughed. “Didn’t take you long to figure him out, did it?”
“Not really,” Kate said, stepping into the room. Flowers covered every surface. She moved a planter from a guest chair and slid it next to Vera. “It looks like a flower shop in here.”
“Yes, Justus has many associates.” Vera looked around the room at the tulips, daisies, yellow roses and bluebonnets perfuming the air. Obviously, everyone thought the Texas state flower appropriate. “We should see if there are other patients who might be cheered by a few bouquets. Or a nursing home perhaps?”
“I’ll check on it,” Rick said, entering the room with a cardboard tray of coffees.
“There you are,” Vera said, taking the coffee from him. “Kate said she didn’t know where you were.”
Rick didn’t look at her. “She wouldn’t.”
His words were heavy with meaning. Vera’s brow crinkled, but she didn’t say anything, just shifted her gaze from Rick to Kate.
Kate tried to smile, but it felt pained. Shit.
Rick took a cup and positioned himself against the hospital wall.
“Thank you for the coffee,” Vera said, moving the cardboard tray from Justus’s reach. He’d inched his good hand toward the cup. “None for you, dear.”
“I’m sick of juice. Feel like a toddler with all the grape juice they push my way,” he grumbled, his blues eyes narrowing as he studied Kate and Rick. “What the devil is going on with you two?”
Kate stiffened and Rick shrugged.
“Nothing,” Rick said. “Having some trouble at the center with one of the guys.”
This was news to Kate. She echoed his response. “Nothing.”
Her father opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it closed. He looked at his wife and Kate could see something pass between them. “What’s the problem at the center? Thought things were going fine.”
Rick stared out the window, meeting no one’s gaze. “Nothing I can’t handle. Just got my thoughts tied up.”
Silence pressed down, interrupted only by the chirping of one of the machines hooked to Justus. Seconds ticked by, but it seemed like hours.
Finally, Vera waded into the tension. “Justus should be released the day after tomorrow. His regular physical therapist has been briefed and the doctor says they can find no significant damage from the last stroke.”
“That’s good,” Kate murmured.
“When will you come back?” Justus asked. She jerked her gaze to her father. His blue eyes pinned her against the striped wallpaper behind her.
“Well, I—” Kate paused.
“She’s not coming back.” Rick’s harsh words echoed in the small room. He’d turned to glare at the Mitchells. “She did what you
asked. Stayed two weeks. The money is hers.”
Justus didn’t react.
At that instant, Kate wished for a natural disaster to sweep through and save her from the sheer hell of the moment, but the sunshine beaming in from the window declared it impossible. So she closed her eyes and tried to propel herself through space to Vegas. Or the Bermuda Triangle. Or anywhere other than here.
“I never said I wouldn’t come back.” She opened her eyes. “But I need some time. A lot has happened, stuff I haven’t even had time to process. I need a little space.”
Vera nodded. “I understand, Kate. What I think Justus is trying to say—” she patted his shoulder “—in a rather abrupt manner, is that we hope you will choose to be part of our lives…even if it’s in a small way.”
Kate pressed her lips together and nodded. Rick had spun toward the window and no longer looked at any of them. His muscles were bunched beneath his long-sleeved T-shirt, and her hands itched to soothe them, to ply the muscles beneath her fingers, make him calm and at peace. But she couldn’t. His anger at her would have to burn itself out. And that might take longer than a day. Or a week. Or a year. He might never get over his anger at her.
There would be no more tangled sheets with Rick. No more sweet kisses and wisecracks. What they’d shared was what she’d intended all along—something wonderful but temporary.
And it was time to go home to Vegas, to move forward.
She looked at her father. Her eyes softened. “I’ll be back, Justus. But this time, I’ll come on my own terms.”
He nodded.
Rick walked out.
Kate looked from Vera to Justus, at a loss for what to say about Rick’s behavior.
A nurse came in with a big bouquet of red roses. She nudged a box of tissues aside and set the vase on the bedside table. “There. Happy Valentine’s Day!”
The lush roses were in full bloom, beautifully signifying the day for love.
Irony sucked.
CHAPTER TWENTY
KATE’S CONDO SMELLED like rotten Chinese takeout.
She’d forgotten to take the garbage out before she’d left Vegas, and so her homecoming was none too pleasant. Not that she’d expected it to be. But after the rollicking roller coaster of emotions she’d been on, a clean house would have been a small solace.
No balm for her heart.
And no more Chinese takeout for a while. Bluck.
Kate parked her rolling suitcase in the foyer and surveyed her domain.
White fluffy rug centered on slate floor. A Driade couch in fuschia, matching striped armchairs, funky George Kovac floor lamps and a glass sculpture made by her friend Billie filled the room. Very sleek, very modern, very designer.
And, oddly, not so welcoming.
Kate kicked off her flats and padded to the kitchen to remove the offending smell. Her answering machine blinked with messages, her one houseplant had died and she’d left a yogurt carton in the sink. Thank God she didn’t have a pet.
After setting things right, she grabbed her purse and looked for her cell. The check for fifty thousand dollars stared at her from the gaping opening of her bag.
She pulled it out, studying the tight signature of her father, looking at the zeroes following the five.
She’d gotten what she’d set out for…and more.
So why didn’t she feel victorious? Of course, she knew the answer. But she didn’t want to think about him. Couldn’t do that yet. Not when she felt so raw. And vulnerable.
She grabbed her phone, then stuck the check to her fridge with a magnet right beside the appointment for a dental cleaning she’d missed while in Texas. The check seemed to mock her, so she turned it over.
She punched out the numbers she’d dialed a million times. Jeremy answered on the second ring. “Let us make you Fantabulous.”
“Too late. I’m already there,” Kate said.
“Kate! You’re back already? Why didn’t you call? I would have picked you up, chickadee.”
She smiled even though it was hard. Her face felt tight. She was a patched piece of plaster, praying the cracks didn’t give way to crumbled dust. “I took a cab. Knew you were busy.”
“Well, get down here, girlfriend. I’ve got something to show you.” Jeremy sounded pretty cheerful, considering the last time she’d spoken with him Victor hadn’t been doing well.
“I’m gonna take it easy this afternoon. I’m pretty tired—you know how flying makes me.”
“How many pills did you pop? You’ve got your clothes on, don’t you?”
Kate laughed. “The cabdriver wouldn’t have picked me up if I hadn’t.”
“You’d be surprised,” he said. Laughter sounded in the background and she could hear Jay-Z playing. Singing about concrete jungles. Places so different from gentle rolling hills and open patios where people grew tomatoes in old whiskey barrels. “Okay, sugar, tomorrow it is. You’ve got two on the books.”
Kate frowned. Only two clients? Usually she was booked solid when she returned from a trip. But then again, business had been slow. She could sleep in, so it was all good. “See you then.”
She hung up and faced her empty apartment…and her wounded heart. Her place looked lonely. Sad. Empty.
The phone vibrated in her hand as Sade erupted. Her friend Trish.
“Hey, lady,” Kate said, tracing her finger over the dust on her glass table. She dropped into an acrylic chair shaped like a stiletto.
“Marshall’s guest deejaying tonight at the Ghost Bar. Wanna?” Trish sounded like she always did. Smooth as Scotch. Totally unruffled. Marshall Wainwright, aka DJ Rain, was her current flavor of the month.
“I don’t—” Maybe going with Trish would make her feel better. Get Kate back into her old vibe. She looked around the silent room. “Okay, sure.”
“You want me to swing by and pick you up? I’m not going home with Marsh. I’ve got a deposition at 9:00.”
Trish was an assistant district attorney for Carson County. She kicked serious butt in the courtroom, intimidating defendants like a hawk would a hapless mouse. She had an outstanding conviction record and was on the fast track to the top. She wouldn’t jeopardize a case even for the wickedly sweet Marshall Wainwright, who played a thug DJ but was really from the wealthy suburbs of Chicago.
“Okay, um, sure.” Kate glanced at the clock on her state-of-the-art stove she’d never used for anything other than boiling water for tea.
“You sound strange. What did they do to you down there in Texas?” Trish didn’t miss a thing. Not the slightest hesitation or inflection.
“They put me in cowboy boots and made me do the two-step,” she replied, trying to sound like her old self.
“Yeah. Whatever. I’ll be there at 9:00,” Trish said, sounding much more like she was saying, “I’ll interrogate you at 9:00.”
“Ciao,” Kate said, but the line was already dead.
She rose with a sigh and retrieved her luggage. A hot shower would melt away the travel stress and a little nap would rid her of the vestiges of the Xanax she’d taken in Dallas. She had a new baby-doll dress to wear tonight, not to mention a pair of Stuart Weitzman strappy sandals that made her legs look longer. Sure. She’d be back to her old self in no time.
“KATE THE GREAT IS BACK in the house,” Jeremy called out the next morning when she dragged herself in clutching a triple mocha latte and a bag full of clean towels she’d had at her condo for over three weeks.
“If you can call physically being here back,” she muttered, heading toward their shared office and dumping the towels in a side chair.
She slipped off the dark glasses she wore to hide her swollen eyes and glanced in the mirror above her desk. Ouch. She looked like reheated oatmeal. Pasty, lumpy and unappetizing.
She couldn’t go out into the salon looking the way she did.
She grabbed the tackle box she kept her lures in. No plastic worms or bright wooden fish with hooks. No, this tackle box contained a palette of lip glosses,
concealers, mascaras, sparkling eye shadow and various liners and brushes. These were the real lures in life.
While she tried to hide the damage done from a late night—too many beers and a crying jag—she berated herself for going out with Trish.
It had been miserable. She’d sat on a stool in a corner, swilling beer and watching happy people get their groove on. The whole time, all she could think about was how this used to make her happy, and how it now seemed so stupid.
People pumped their hands in the air to the beat of the music, shot neon-colored liquor from test tubes and prattled about their Facebook status and how much they’d lost doing P90X. Thirty-something men wearing too much cologne roved in packs and behaved like a bunch of frat boys on spring break. Women her age, wearing cheap clothes that barely contained their store-bought boobs, tottered on heels that were too high and actually invited the wolf pack to sample the wares.
She’d spent the whole night drinking and wondering if her life had always been this way.
But she knew the answer deep down inside.
Vegas hadn’t changed. The club scene hadn’t changed. She had.
That hacked her off so much that she’d drunk too much. One Newcastle after another flew through her hands until she could see two Trish’s when her friend finally came to tug her to the dance floor. But Kate wouldn’t go.
And that pissed her off even more. She was supposed to get her groove back, put Rick behind her and move forward. Instead, she’d sat like a lonely sourpuss, warding off gelled-up dudes with a get-away-from-me death stare. She’d felt like a bitter, washed-up old maid. And in her beer-soaked mind, all she wanted was the man she’d left behind.
For this—thumping music, lukewarm beer and an empty bed.
She was a dumb-ass.
Jeremy stuck his head in the office, jarring her from her sad-sack memory. “Hey, you. What’s going—”
He paused when she turned around. His waxed and perfectly tinted eyebrows crinkled. “Jeez, doll. Have you been crying?”