by RB Hilliard
After several minutes of heavy breathing, he pulled out and flopped onto his back beside me. A minute or so of silence passed before he lifted up and scooted off of the bed. I watched him walk to the bathroom, and tried not to cry. What was I thinking? Once he was out of sight, I crawled across the mountainous pile of pillows to see what time it was. Two minutes until midnight. Oh, Thank God! As quickly as humanly possible, I scrambled from the bed and darted across the floor to my dress. The beeper went off as I was pulling up the zipper.
Snagging it from my purse, I loudly exclaimed, “Oh, no!”
Conor appeared in the bathroom entry with a look of concern on his face. “What’s wrong?”
I held up my beeper. “I just got paged. It’s one of my patients. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
His concerned expression quickly morphed into one of speculation. “Aren’t there other nurses on call? Surely they can take care of it.”
“When I’m on call, I have to go,” I explained.
His face turned a scary shade of red. “This is preposterous. You’ve been working like a slave for days. Maybe I should speak to the board.” His words brought me up short. How did he know how much I’d been working? And what did he mean by speak to the board?
“This is my job, Conor. It’s what I do. I have to go,” I calmly repeated.
After staring me down, he finally relented. “Fine, but I need your number. I need to be able to reach you.”
My pager went off again, and I mentally thanked Gavin. I was going to bring him a week of takeout for this. I finished zipping up my dress before grabbing my shoes and purse.
“Thanks for a great night.” Before he could reply, I bolted from the bedroom, sprinted across the expansive living area, and shot out the door. I didn’t stop to breathe until I was safely inside a cab with the doors locked. That’s when I realized that I was visibly shaking. What a nightmare!
Gavin texted to make sure I’d arrived home, and promised to stop by the next morning. It took me a long time to get to sleep that night. I felt as if I’d dodged a bullet. One thing was for sure. Conor O’Brien was one creepy man.
I woke the next morning to Gavin standing over my bed with a cup of coffee in each hand.
“I have an hour before my shift, so talk fast,” he ordered, before handing one of the cups to me. After taking a sip, I told him all about my night. When I finished, there was a long, very pregnant pause, before he commented, “That’s seriously fucked up, Gillian.” He wasn’t kidding. We talked a little more about my stupid decision to sleep with the man before Gavin had to leave for work.
Today was my day off. I’d planned to do laundry and watch television, but after last night, I needed to deal with my father. Not only was he going to get an earful about Conor, but I was officially done with granting him favors. Gavin was right. I was lucky I made it out of that hotel room in one piece. What was my father thinking by setting me up with that man? How much trouble was Dad really in?
The five block walk to my father’s store gave me time to think. If there was one thing I was sure of, it was that my father loved me. If he’d known what Conor was really like, he wouldn’t have set me up with him. Poor Dad. All he saw was dollar signs. Mom had grounded him. When she died, he lost his way. Now, all he did was float from crazy idea to crazy idea, one get rich scheme after another. Well, enough was enough. I had my own life now. It was past time my father learned to respect my boundaries.
The bell above the door dinged upon entry. The head cashier’s eyes shifted from the book she was reading over to where I was standing.
“Good morning, Allison,” I greeted. “Is my father in?” She nodded her head toward the back of the store. As I made my way through the aisles, I started to second guess my decision to relocate to Florida. Perhaps I was being too hasty? I didn’t have to go all the way to Florida to find a new job. After all, there were plenty of hospitals in New York. What if something happened to my father while I was away? Shaking the negative thoughts from my head, I stepped into the hallway, and was surprised to see his office door closed. He never closed his door. As I neared it, I heard voices. One was my father. The other sounded like…Conor. A bad feeling washed over me.
What is he doing here?
I hesitated outside the door and peered through the window. My heart sank when I saw Conor leaning over my father’s desk. From what I could see, my father looked angry. The walls were paper thin, and I could hear every word they spoke.
“We had a deal,” Conor growled. “No Gillian, no money.” As if sensing my presence, he glanced over his shoulder at the door. I jerked back and pressed my body flat against the wall.
“We still have a deal. Gilly is a stubborn girl. Just let me talk to her. I will make her understand,” My father stammered.
My eyes smarted with tears as I realized my money hungry father was going to try to whore me out to this man that I now detested. Oh, Dad, what have you done?
I managed to hold it together until I got home. After a good, long cry, I packed a suitcase. Then I texted Gavin and had him meet me in the hospital parking lot. I wanted to say goodbye before I left.
The moment I saw Gavin, I started crying. After telling him what my father had done, we made plans. As soon as I was settled in Florida, Gavin would ship me the rest of my things. He even mentioned taking some vacation time and driving down for a visit. Running might not be the answer, but neither was staying. My father had betrayed my trust. There was no way in hell that I would ever be that man’s whore. That left me with only one choice.
Florida, here I come.
Chapter One
The Road to Hell is Definitely Paved
Nash
September, 2016
Not once, in the four years that Meltdown had been together, had I complained about going on the road. Not when we pulled Dale from the band. Not when my mom was first diagnosed with cancer. Not even when Grant had his stint in rehab. The band was both my outlet and my escape. My instrument gave me meaning, the music gave me a sense of purpose, and touring gave me a way to connect with the people who loved our music.
But then the shit hit the fan.
Luke was dead, Grant was in love, and my mom was dying. As in leaving me forever – dying. The cancer was back, and this time it was taking her down. All the money in the world couldn’t save her. My love wouldn’t save her. I was helpless, hopeless, awash in a sea with no grip. There was no cure for this endless pain. Not sex. Not music. Nothing.
One week after Mom got her diagnosis, our manager, Blane, called a meeting. He was worried about the negative press the band had received from Luke’s death, and thought it would be a good idea to plan what he called “A mini tour.” My immediate answer was no. I was needed at home. Sadly, I was out voted three-to-one. Both Grant and Chaz agreed with Blane. A mini tour would not only get us back in front of a crowd, but would also allow us to work out our prospective new keyboardist, Evan Walker. So Mom’s illness be damned, Meltdown was going back on the road. In the scheme of things three months wasn’t a long time. When your mother was dying, however, three months seemed like an eternity. The clock was ticking. Time suddenly mattered. Every second I was away was time missed with her. My one and only solace was the sexy, extremely aloof but very competent, Rowan Burns, my mother’s oncology nurse.
A little over eighteen months ago my mother was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer. According to the doctors, the cancer had spread to her lymphatic system, but not her organs. The suggested treatment was surgery, followed by chemotherapy and radiation. Mom was the strongest person I’d ever known, but even I knew that this was going to kick her ass. I offered to take time off from the band, but she wouldn’t hear of it. After several heated arguments, she finally agreed to let me hire a private nurse. With Meltdown going on an extended tour, there was no way in hell I was leaving her in such a weakened state, so I made calls and put out feelers, which is how I landed Rowan. After undergoing a double mastectomy, removing
fifteen lymph nodes, and months of intensive treatment, the day of reckoning had finally arrived. The cancer was in remission…at least that is what I thought.
The doctors were wrong.
How did this happen? I must have asked myself this question a million times. No one had answers. At least, not the answers I wanted to hear. The screening didn’t reach the liver or the colon. The cancer was aggressive. The machines can make mistakes. Yada. Yada. Bullshit. It all came down to one thing. Someone fucked up.
My phone buzzed in my pocket indicating it was time for me to go.
After one last run through to make sure I hadn’t left anything important behind, I hefted my duffel bag over my shoulder and made my way down the hall to Rowan’s room.
One of the first things Miss Burns did upon her arrival was to alter the living arrangements in the house. For convenience, Mom needed to be downstairs. I agreed with her reasoning for this. However, I assumed this meant that I would take Mom’s suite upstairs. I assumed wrong. Since I was on the road so much, Mom thought it would be better for Rowan to take the upstairs suite, while I was subjected to the much smaller guest room down the hall. Had I known how bad things were going to get, I wouldn’t have complained. If I hadn’t complained, Rowan wouldn’t have called me a spoiled little boy, and I wouldn’t have spent the past nine months trying to convince her otherwise. Now, it all seemed so trivial. As I stood outside her door, I thought about what to say. As usual, my mind blanked. For someone who wrote songs for a living, I sure had shit to say when it counted. Finally, I gave up and knocked.
“Coming,” I heard her call out. Rowan was originally from Ireland. Even though she’d lived in the U.S. for years now, she still had a slight lilt to her voice. It was fucking sexy-as-hell. The door swung open and there she stood, the woman I wanted but would never have. Not because I couldn’t, but because I wouldn’t let myself. Okay, maybe because I couldn’t. Either way, I wasn’t willing to try so what did it matter? Yes, fucked up was my middle name. She was wearing her daily uniform of scrub pants and a t-shirt. Today her pants had SpongeBob SquarePants chasing Squidward Tentacles across them. One of the many things I liked about Rowan was her sense of humor.
“Nice pants,” I pointed out.
“Is it time already?” she asked.
“It is, but I wanted to talk to you before I head out.”
She held open the door. “Do you want to come in?” The last thing I needed was to be alone in her bedroom with her.
“Naw, I’m good. Tell me I’m not making a huge mistake. I mean, I know she’s not going to get better, but tell me I have time.” I wasn’t sure what I was asking. I just needed her reassurance.
Compassionate, soulful eyes stared back at me, and I swallowed down the giant lump in my throat. “As of right now she is holding steady. I’m managing her pain. If anything happens, I will call, okay? I promise.” Who was I kidding? The only thing that would make me feel better was if I stayed. Rowan rubbed her hand up and down my arm. “She’s good, Nash. I promise.”
I stepped back, and her hand fell away. “I’ll check in with you daily. I can’t promise when, but…”
“Hey.” Her comforting tone pierced straight through my defenses, and I stepped forward and pulled her into my arms. I don’t know why I did it. Call it a weak moment, or even a momentary lapse of sanity. Whatever it was, I shouldn’t have done it. As we stood there body to body breathing each other in my traitorous cock started to rise. Right as he was about to give her a good, solid nudge, I took a step back and picked up my duffel.
“I’ll call you tonight.” Instead of properly waiting for a response, I turned and walked out the door.
Saying goodbye to Rowan sucked ass, but saying goodbye to my mother was excruciating. I found her downstairs in the recliner. She tried to put on a brave face, but I knew her like the back of my hand. We both were hurting.
“I shouldn’t go,” I said for the thousandth time.
“Oh, shut it. Those boys need you. Come over here and give me a hug.”
“You need me more.”
“I need you like a hole in the head,” she muttered.
“Seriously, Mom.” She let out a deep sigh.
“What I need is to know you’re living your life, Nash. If you were here, you’d just be moping around the house, staring at me, and waiting for me to die. Now, walk me through your schedule one more time.” After taking her through my tour schedule, I was officially running short on time.
“I have to go, Mom.”
“Give me a hug, son.” My eyes smarted as I wrapped my arms around her. As I held her fragile body next to mine, my conscience screamed, why are you fucking doing this? You shouldn’t be leaving.
“I don’t want to go,” I whispered.
“Rowan has it handled.”
“If you need anything,” I barely choked out.
“I promise I will call. I love you my baby boy. I always have and I always will. Now, go and make beautiful music.”
“Love you, Mom.” Before she could see my tears, I grabbed my bag and turned for the door. I stopped short when I saw Rowan standing in the doorway with tears in her eyes. We stood there staring at each other, our eyes saying everything our mouths never would. If only I was a different man, but I wasn’t. I was an emotionally stunted, fucked up commitment-phobe, and I was about to lose the one thing that anchored me to this world.
Life was a real bitch sometimes.
Chapter Two
Some Things You Just Can’t Fix
Rowan
My emotions were all over the place. I attributed this to Nash Bostwick, the only person in the world I both wanted to strangle and kiss at the same time. Earlier today, as I stood in the doorway watching him say goodbye to his mother, I was flooded with memories of the months before my own mother passed away. The mind was a tricky thing when it came to memories. I remembered things like how her eyes scrunched in the corners when she smiled or the way her lips pursed when she was deep in concentration, but for the life of me, I could not recall her smell, or the sound of her voice. Not a day went by that I didn’t miss her and wish that she was here with me. Not. One. Single. Day. It should have been my dad. The second I thought it, I wanted to take it back.
“Is it med time already?” Maeve’s question jerked me back to the here and now, and the tiny cup of pills in my hand.
I held them up and smiled. “How did you guess?”
“I have no idea,” she dryly replied, and we both laughed.
Maeve Bostwick was one-of-a-kind. Neither cancer nor the fact that she was dying had dampened her spirit. If anything, it had only made her shine brighter. She reminded me of my mother, minus the sarcasm, which was the reason I’d broken my number one cardinal rule – no emotional involvement. Care, but don’t love. Nurse, but don’t need. As long as I followed these rules I had a chance of walking away with my heart still intact. This was easier said than done with Maeve. She was funny, willful… special, exactly how I envisioned my mother to be, had she survived. Not only was I was fully invested, but I was emotionally entrenched. My mother may have taken a piece of me, but at the rate things were going, Maeve would take the rest – Maeve and her beautifully exasperating son. Nash Bostwick was the keeper of my heart, only he didn’t know it. If I had anything to say about it, he never would.
“What was she like, your mother?” Maeve asked. My heart ached as I stared into her light brown eyes. Maeve’s organs weren’t the only things affected by the cancer. So was her mind. Slowly, she was forgetting. It started with simple things like when to take her meds, but had recently extended to entire conversations. I’d only seen this happen once before. It meant that the disease was spreading more rapidly than the doctors had predicted. Nash was worried enough as it was. The last thing he needed was another reason to abandon the tour.
“Don’t you remember me telling you how much you remind me of her?” I prompted. Over the years I’d perfected the art of avoidance. Always answer a questio
n with a question. If that didn’t work, redirect. People loved to talk about themselves. Not Maeve. The moment we met she started digging. No bullshit was her motto and honesty her policy. I wanted to tell her my secrets, but couldn’t. Surprisingly, she’d never pushed too far, which only made me love her more.
“Lord, help us all if I remind you of your mama. Just ask Nash about my parenting skills,” she cackled. Her laughter ended with a wince of pain, which told me it was time for more pain meds, and bed.
“Time for bed, old lady.” As I reached for her arm, she wrapped her emaciated fingers around my wrist, and with a sudden burst of energy, she pulled me down to where her lips met my ear.
“Nash cares for you, Rowan,” she rasped. “He looks at you like he once looked at Rachel. He can be a stubborn ass, but he deserves to be happy.” Out of breath as well as energy, she let me go. “You deserve happiness, too.”
I jerked back to an upright position. Maeve had talked a lot about Nash’s childhood girlfriend. I couldn’t decide if it was her way of holding on or letting go. Either way, I tried not to let it annoy me, when in fact, it really annoyed me. I was a horrible person because I was jealous of a dead girl. There was no competition because the game had long been won. The infamous Rachel would always be the keeper of Nash’s heart. “Nash and I are just friends, Maeve.”