Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  Chapter 28

  “Where’s my boy?” Jack’s mother entered the hospital room whispering, waking him up. She held a small vase of colored carnations that reminded Jack of senior prom. “Oh, they still have you in your safety straps. You have to relax, honey.”

  “Get me outta here,” Jack mumbled, still groggy from whatever shit they pumped into his I.V.

  “I’m sorry. There’s no hope for your son, ma’am.” Lazarus chewed on his cigar.

  Jack’s mother gasped and hurried closer, setting the flowers on a table. “He looks worse than the last time I saw him.”

  “Don’t listen to him. I’m not dying.” Jack was exhausted. His head spun, but he was going to live. If he was dying, he wouldn’t feel so angry with the world, Nurse Disney, and Viv. Trade Evan Oliver? Like hell they would.

  “This is the hospice ward,” his mother continued to whisper. “I thought they’d made a mistake.”

  “I’m not dying.” But how to prove it? The beginnings of an idea surfaced through his foggy brain. “I can show you, Mom. I can walk to the bathroom.” If he had to use the bedpan one more time, they really would need to strap him down and commit him to a slow death.

  “Have you been walking?” She looked doubtful.

  Jack squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to yell at his mother. He never yelled at her, not like he yelled at Viv. But Viv could take it. His mother was fragile and gullible when it came to her son.

  “Yes, I’ve been walking. They only keep me tied up when I sleep in case the dreams are violent.”

  “He’s lying.” Lazarus deadpanned.

  Jack’s mother took in his roommate’s purple velvet robe, his cigar, and his untrustworthy smile. She turned to Jack. “Let’s wait for your father. He’s parking the car.”

  She didn’t believe him. Jack resisted the urge to shake the bed rails. What mother believes a stranger? He needed words. Smooth words. Lying words.

  “Mom, when Lazarus goes to radiation, the nurse has time to take me to the bathroom.” It took skill, but Jack held back his anger, trying to make his eyes look big, like a lost kitten’s. His mother loved to rescue kittens. At last count, she had ten cats at the house.

  “I’m dying,” Lazarus grumbled. “They stopped giving me radiation last year.”

  Then why aren’t you dead?

  “It’s the meds,” Jack whispered. “Just like Uncle Artie.”

  “Oh,” Jack’s mother softened.

  The pain at the end of her brother’s life had been managed with morphine. And with the drug came hallucinations.

  “Please, Mom.” Jack tried to pout like a little girl. “These ties are cutting into me and I need to go.”

  Still his mother hesitated. “I should call the nurse.”

  “Just loosen up one, Mom. Just one.” Anger pressed on the back of his tongue.

  “He’s a runner,” Lazarus noted. “You can see it in his eyes.”

  “Uncle Artie,” Jack whispered again, before she could turn away.

  “You’re going to get me into trouble, Jackie.” Here came his mother to the rescue, just like she always did. Only this time there’d be no Band-Aids, no homemade cookies, and no kiss to make his boo-boo better. She fiddled with the strap closest to her.

  “Now we’re in for it,” Lazarus grumbled.

  The moment she freed Jack’s wrist, he loosened the other three ties. His legs shook when he swung them over the bedrail. His head felt heavy. Unsteady, he nearly tumbled back in bed.

  “Not so fast, honey.”

  Jack reached for her, drawing his mother in for a fierce hug, surprising himself as much as her. They weren’t a hugging family. “I love you, Mom. You saved my life.” And his fortune. If he wasn’t too late.

  He used her strength to leverage himself to a standing position. The beige linoleum was cold beneath his feet. The I.V. painful in his hand. “I think a walk will do me good.” With one arm across her shoulders, he staggered to the cupboard where he assumed his things were. Cell phone. Pants. It was a toss-up as to which he’d use first.

  The cupboard was empty.

  “I took your clothes home to wash them,” his mother explained, shifting under his arm. “And your father didn’t want anyone stealing your wallet or cell phone. We took them home, too. Did the nurse tell you about the hot water heater?”

  “I want my phone.” A bit of toddler impatience flooded his words, raising his mother’s eyebrows. He tried another fake smile. “Never mind. Can you get my toothbrush out of the bathroom? I’ve got hospital breath.”

  She looked doubtful again.

  “I’ll be fine standing here.” He leaned against the cupboard.

  She went into the bathroom. Jack closed the door after her, dragging a visitor’s chair in front of it and collapsing into it. He ripped out his I.V., staunching the flow of blood with his gown.

  “Why didn’t you tell her my toothbrush wasn’t in there?” He stared at Lazarus, whose visage swam out of focus.

  “And miss you trying to break out of here with your nuts hanging out of your hospital gown?” He snorted, then coughed thickly. “I’ll run blocker for you if you come back and visit me. I like Cubans.”

  Jack didn’t need an old man running interference for him.

  “Agree or I’ll press the red call button,” Lazarus threatened. “I’ve been missing out on a lot of things while I’ve been dying. I’m not missing out any more. I also want tickets to see the Flash play. It looks like you signed one of those Duck Dynasty boys. I didn’t know they played sports.”

  Jack had no idea what the old man was talking about. He rubbed his hands over his forehead, willing the world to stop spinning. “Whatever you want. Just be nice to my mom.” He drew a deep breath, taking stock. His toes stung with cold. The burlap chair cushions threatened to sandpaper his bare ass. His muscles felt rubbery, as if he hadn’t gotten out of his seat once on a flight from L.A. to London. At least the blood had slowed to oozing where he’d yanked out his I.V.

  “Jackie?” The door handle jiggled. And then an angrier, “Jack!”

  Lazarus stood in front of Jack. He’d moved with ninja prowess. Or Jack was just as high on meds as Uncle Artie had been. This didn’t bode well for his escape.

  “Shove out of the chair,” Lazarus said. “I’ll need to sit there if you want her to stay inside.”

  His mother continued her muffled cries. She threw in a choice cuss word or two. He’d forgotten she’d been in the Navy. It wouldn’t be long before she used the nurse call button.

  Jack stood, his legs as unsteady as a seasick sailor’s. The room started to rearrange itself.

  “Move!” Lazarus pushed him toward the door.

  Jack leaned his shoulder against the wall and started walking, holding up the wall as he went.

  ~*~

  “Good morning, Coach.” Vivian was the last person Trent wanted to see this morning.

  His team was sluggish. None of them would look at him, not even his staff. FrankenViv was the only person with the balls to talk to him.

  Not that he wasn’t in a bad mood, too. Cora hadn’t come to his hotel room last night. It was the first time since they’d started seeing each other that he’d slept alone.

  When he’d texted her last night, asking how her evening went, she replied: Disaster. Will explain tomorrow. Like any good Southern boy, he replied with a helping hand: Bad days deserve foot rubs. She hadn’t responded.

  “Did you read the L.A. Happenings column today?” Vivian purred like a barnyard cat about to pounce.

  “No.” Trent veered around her toward the practice gym. The morning’s cardio was over. The scoring drills were about to start. With their first pre-season game in two days, all Trent had time to read was the sports page.

  Vivian trotted next to him and held out her phone display. “I think you should read this.”

  The team was docilely starting a scoring drill, attacking the basket as aggressively as a litter of sleepy pups.
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  Trent sighed and took Vivian’s phone. The first line made him smile – Cora being a rule-breaker. So true. The second line about corrupting the Reverend should have been a warning, a precursor to the report of her kissing some movie producer dude. That sucked the smile off his face. He scrolled down to see a picture of a man in a tuxedo bending Cora over backward while in a lip-lock. Trent scowled. He scrolled back up to the date of the post, hoping it was old. It wasn’t.

  Jealous anger rushed through him with dam-bursting intensity, sucking him under, muffling all sound. And then came the cold reality – she’d tarnished the Reverend’s reputation. Her lack of principles risked what he was trying to do for Randy and Archie.

  He’d told Cora he wanted to be exclusive. He’d asked her out for ice cream. How much clearer could a man be?

  And what had she done? Run into another man’s arms. Literally! No wonder she hadn’t texted him back last night. She was sleeping with someone else.

  The team’s drill ground to a halt.

  A whiff of vanilla drifted on the air.

  Trent thrust Vivian’s phone into her chest, releasing it without waiting for her to take possession. It clattered to the ground. Glass shattered. He spun.

  Cora stood in the gym entry, easing the door closed behind her, like a teenager sneaking in after curfew.

  The roaring in his ears intensified, funneled his vision, until he could only see Cora.

  Trent charged across the distance between them, not stopping as he dragged her on his way out. “I can put up with a lot of shit from people, but not public infidelity.” He trapped her against a wall in the hall corridor mere feet from the janitor’s closet. “We’re through.” Despite his words, he didn’t let her go. He paused, waiting to hear what she had to say. He wanted her to beg and apologize and promise it wouldn’t happen again.

  News flash: He was pathetic.

  “After the night I had, you want me to apologize? Me?” She pushed off his arms and swung him around so his back was to the wall. “If I was a man, I’d deck you.”

  The fire in her eyes and indignation in her voice calmed the roar in his ears, broke through his tunnel vision.

  “How do you know I didn’t misjudge…” She trailed off and pulled back. Hurt flashed in those dark eyes before disappearing. “I thought you trusted me.” Cora may have been looking at Trent, but she wasn’t seeing him. A war started raging behind her dark eyes. He’d bet it was the desire to defend herself against the need to represent the Dooley Foundation against the worst of betrayals – the man she trusted with her body had leapt past trust to accusations.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  He should have set aside the Reverend and asked her what happened last night. He should have known anything Viv showed him was crap. It wasn’t too late. “Cora, I – ”

  “For the love of God,” Vivian interrupted in her goddess of hell voice. “We all know you used to sleep with Cal. Admit you cheated so Coach can move on with his day.”

  Cora turned, but instead of telling Vivian to go to hell, she told her to follow her into Jack’s office. “I have something I need to say and I’m not going to say it in front of them.” She pointed toward the gymnasium doors.

  The basketball team was pressed against the double doors. Antoine was holding one open a crack. Trent hadn’t noticed them following. Randy shouldn’t have let them.

  “I’m sure whatever you have to say will be public knowledge soon, anyway,” Vivian said, but she strutted down the hallway.

  “Get back to work,” Trent snapped at his team.

  He wanted to take Cora’s hand as they walked shoulder to shoulder. He wanted to believe Vivian had no reason to wear a winner’s attitude. More than anything, he wanted to shred the picture of Cora kissing another man from his mental file cabinet. But he didn’t claim Cora’s hand, and he didn’t hold onto more than a small grain of hope.

  They sat in the office, Vivian on one side of the desk, he and Cora on the other.

  “Viv, I’ve tried to help you reclaim your confidence and get your husband back, but I can’t do it anymore. As of now, I’m no longer your life coach.” But Cora didn’t launch into some tirade about Vivian being a bitch. Instead, her voice softened. “Honestly, I thought we could be friends. But the hatred you have for the Flash gets in the way, just like your hatred of the Flash gets in the way of your future with Jack. Sometimes you just have to say what the hell, and move on.”

  Vivian looked mildly uncomfortable.

  “I have to clear the air.” Cora stared at her shoes. “I’m not perfect. I’m trying to grow as a person and move on from my mistakes. But people like you two…You can’t let me do that. You’ve pigeon-holed me.” Cora’s voice pitched high and stretched taut. “What does it matter that I’m only seeing one guy now? You still want to rub my nose in the past. You want to judge me by who I used to be.” She drew a deep, shuddering breath and lifted her gaze to Trent’s. “Fine. I’ll make it that much easier for you to judge so that we can all move on. I’ve had sex with my share of L.A.’s movers and shakers, including Cal and Jack.”

  A fast ball of disappointment struck Trent’s gut.

  The office door was flung open and banged against the wall.

  ~*~

  To say Jack Gordon stormed the castle trying to reclaim his throne would be an overstatement. To say he knew how to make an entrance at the wrong time would be precisely on the mark.

  Cora wanted to tell Jack to wait. She wanted to hear Trent’s reaction to her confession. She didn’t know what scared her more – the possibility that he’d reject her and what they had was over, or the possibility that he could accept her for who she was, flaws and all.

  Next to her, Trent frowned with the unreadable face of the Reverend.

  A vortex of disappointment swirled in her midsection, so powerful it seemed to suck her muscles into her core, until she wanted to give up and curl into a small, defeated ball.

  Jack sagged against the doorframe. “Viv,” he whispered hoarsely, clearly out of breath. His illness had taken its toll. His legs were scarecrow thin beneath his hospital gown. “Get out of my chair.”

  Viv, who’d paled at Cora’s admission, paled further at Jack’s appearance.

  The Flash owner stumbled across the plush carpet on unsteady legs and bare feet. There were red stains on the front of his gown.

  Cora stood to help him, but Trent brought her back down with a firm hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have a dog in this fight, sugar,” he murmured.

  “Viv, you’ve been trying to ruin me.” Jack’s words dipped and floundered as much as his steps.

  “I’ve been trying to save our marriage. You do remember what our marriage was like before you bought this team.” Viv gripped the arms of the chair and spared Cora a deadly glance. “Before you started banging every slut in town.”

  Cora opened her mouth to speak, but Trent subtly shushed her.

  Jack leaned against the desk and wiped his forehead. His bare ass parted the sides of the robe. His wrists were red and chafed, as were his ankles. She knew they’d confined him to bed for his safety. She should have realized he’d never allow anyone to tie him down. “Excuse me, Viv, if I don’t remember. You let them drug me and tie me up. You left me alone! Now, get out of my chair.”

  “No.” Viv’s declaration was one step removed from the childish, “Make me.”

  “I’ve done all this for you, you fucking fool. Get out of the chair so I can make things right.”

  Say what? Cora peered at Jack’s sickly face. Could it be that he loved Viv more than anyone realized?

  “Make what right?” Viv’s voice dripped with woman-done-wrong venom. “I didn’t ask for any of this. All I ever wanted was you.”

  “You left me. And then I was left with nothing. But women like her.” Jack pointed at Cora.

  “The slut in the room has already stolen your thunder.” Viv flung the words at her husband like a pot of scalding water. “You can’t hurt
me anymore.”

  “Get out of my chair, Viv, or I’ll tell you all the details of how we did it.”

  Cora felt light-headed.

  “The hell you will.” Trent stood. “There are ladies present.” Trent was sweetly Southern, but way out of his league.

  Cora stood, too. “We need to get Jack back to the hospital.” It didn’t matter if he returned to the room with Cal’s dad or not. He looked like he’d collapse at any moment.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Viv accused. “Before he spills all the sordid details in front of your boyfriend.”

  Squinting, Jack swung his head groggily in Trent’s direction. Cora wasn’t sure he’d realized Trent was in the room.

  “Nobody needs details.” Trent moved to Jack’s side, taking his arm. “Cora’s right. You shouldn’t be out of the hospital.”

  “Yes, let’s return him,” Viv said. “So I can proceed with the Evan Oliver trade. Golden State was interested.”

  Jack sneered, albeit weakly. “There was this one time – ”

  “Shut up.” Trent grabbed Jack by the front of his hospital gown, lifting the hem and exposing his junk to the room. “And act like a man.” He glared at Viv. “Get out of his chair before he collapses.”

  With her nose in the air, Viv slowly stood and stepped aside.

  Trent helped Jack into his throne, none too gently, and turned to Cora. “You slept with my boss? You couldn’t have given me that one piece of information?”

  Some of Cora’s indignation returned, elbowing back the pain of broken trust and fragile barely acknowledged dreams. “Are we back to counting?”

  “Get the women out,” Jack wheezed. Sweat glistened on his brow.

  “Do as he says.” Trent placed two fingers on Jack’s jugular, taking his pulse. “And have Nina call the team doctor.”

  “Viv didn’t switch up your hospital room. I did,” Cora admitted, holding her head up. “You paid us to find Viv a man. She paid the Foundation to help you realize life and love shouldn’t be taken for granted.”