False Hope (McKay-Tucker Men Book 2)

by Marianne Rice

  “Who was naked?”

  “Cole.”

  “Cole was naked?”

  Paige groaned. “Emma, two minutes ago you were ranting and raving around here like a lunatic, all pissy about Cole acting like the typical ‘guy’ and all of a sudden you forget? How much have you had to drink?”

  Emma sighed and slumped down on the couch. “Not Cole, Mason.”

  “You slept with Mason!” Paige shrieked.

  Emma winced. “No! Not even close. The man won’t even make eye contact me much less touch me. He hates me, and I don’t know why the hell he does.”

  “Holy crap. Give me a minute to digest. My head is spinning.” Paige sat on the coffee table facing Emma. “Back up and start at the beginning.”

  “Mason has been coming to me for physical therapy. Well, twice. Monday and today. So we’re in the pool, all is going well. I finally get him to speak in a complete sentence, he finally loosens up, and then he bolts out the pool like the place is on fire and leaves. He doesn’t stay to make another appointment, even though I told him he needed to keep coming.”

  Paige eyed her quizzically. “So, you’re mad because he took off. Maybe he had an appointment. Why are you so bent out of shape about this? Unless…”

  Emma squinted at her friend. “No ‘unless.’ Leave your thoughts to yourself. Let’s go eat.” She stood up and headed to the front door.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “Shut up, Paige. Let’s go.” Emma walked out, not waiting for her nosey friend, and let herself into Paige’s passenger seat. Paige got behind the wheel and smiled at Emma.

  “Wipe that smirk off your face, or I’ll never talk to you again.”

  “You’ve got the hots for Mason.”

  “Do not.”

  “Do too.”

  “Do not. Shut up and drive. We’re not in high school anymore.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest and sulked while Paige grinned like a kid at Disneyland.

  “Can I ask one question?”

  “What?” Emma growled.

  “Does this mean Brent is available?”

  Emma had to laugh. “He’s all yours. But for the record, I don’t have the hots for Mason.”

  Paige snorted.

  “Okay, yeah, I think he’s hot, but we have nothing in common and he’s practically family. He is family. And he’s so not interested anyway…not that I’m interested. Now, let’s change the subject, or I’m going after Brent.”

  The rest of the evening was exactly what Emma needed. They reminisced, laughed, and ate unhealthy girls-night-out cuisine of nachos, potato skins, and margaritas. Only one for Paige, but Emma made up the difference. They didn’t return to Emma’s until nearly midnight.

  “Thank you Paigey-wagey.” Emma squeezed her best friend’s cheeks. “You da best.”

  “And you’re trashed. Come on, up to bed.”

  “Let’s have a snack first.” Emma opened a box of crackers and rummaged through the fridge for some cheese. “Oh, gotta pee first.”

  “Seriously? How many drinks did you have tonight? I think you wore a path to the bathroom, and how the heck can you still be hungry? Are you…” Paige poked her head in to the bathroom.

  “What? I’m peein’.” Emma’s eyes were nearly closed, ready to pass out at any minute.

  “You’re not pregnant are you? Because if you are, you so shouldn’t have gotten drunk.”

  Emma snorted. “Preggers?” She finished up, washed her hands, and then bumped Paige out of the way. “One must do the nooky-nook to get preggers, girlfriend.” She stumbled upon her cheese and crackers and ate with satisfaction.

  “You’re totally messed up. Finish your snack so I can put you to bed.”

  “Yes, Mommy Dearest.” Emma dragged herself upstairs to her bedroom and fell onto her bed and into complete darkness.

  After nursing a terrible hangover on Saturday and babysitting her little brother and sister over the weekend while her mom and Connor got away, she was unfortunately back to reality and all thoughts, unfortunately, reverted back to Mason. Like a magnet to her thoughts, the image of his perfect chest kept invading her brain, and she hated him for it. Who knew when she’d see him again—hopefully not until the next family get-together where she’d have lots of people around to distract her.

  Monday morning had actually been packed with clients, which was the perfect remedy for keeping Emma’s mind at bay. Becca lightly tapped the open office door. “I have a few messages for you. The phones were ringing off the hook today. Looks like business is picking up.” Becca handed over a pile of pink message slips and took a seat in one of the chairs opposite Emma’s small work desk.

  “Thanks. You’re doing a great job, by the way. I really appreciate how confident you are.”

  “Thank you. Can I ask your opinion?” Becca bit her lip and tapped her foot.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking.” Becca played with her long blonde ponytail and sat up straighter. “I’ve been watching what you do around here, and it seems like a pretty cool job. I’m thinking of going back to school for physical therapy. Would you write me a recommendation?”

  “Absolutely! I think it’s a great idea. I’ll be sad to lose you around here though.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t afford to quit. I’ll be taking classes at night. And maybe I could help out more around the place.”

  Emma leaned back and studied her hard-working receptionist. “You can start job shadowing me during slow hours too. It will give you a good leg-up on the competition out there.”

  Becca beamed. “That’s awesome. Thank you so much, Emma.”

  In the meantime, Emma needed to work off the gallons of alcohol and mountains of calories she consumed with Paige and while hanging with the kids. She didn’t know how they stayed so tiny after eating macaroni and cheese, hot dogs, Cheetos, and ice cream all weekend.

  Emma laced up her sneakers and headed out the front door, locking it behind her and tucking the key in her shoe. Despite the heat and humidity today, she really needed to get her workout in. Besides, she drank nearly a gallon of water already today; she wouldn’t become dehydrated on a quick five-mile run.

  * * * *

  The heat did nothing to cure his mood. Mason thought about the infamous line by computer guru Richard Powers, In the old days, people robbed stagecoaches and knocked off armored trucks. Today they’re knocking off servers. The steadiness and constant challenges of work kept his mind from wondering. Too much.

  A good climb up the rocks of the White Mountains would have helped settle Mason’s mind. Unfortunately, his shoulder wouldn’t allow him to do any rock climbing for a while, and it was too damn hot for a run. Mason knew he should stop in to see Emma. No, not to see her, but for physical therapy for his stupid shoulder.

  The first time he blew out his shoulder he had been a shy, awkward kid in high school. He wished he had a cool injury story like Connor had, but he didn’t get hurt playing in the NFL. Contact sports, team sports for that matter, were never his thing. Track, cross-country, swimming, those appealed more to Mason. A sport he could do alone and where he didn’t have to converse much. Unfortunately, it was the last hurdle in the track and field events during his senior year that did him in. Not very glamorous.

  He could still see scrawny, long-legged sophomore Johnny Rutebager from Manchester gaining speed on him, but Mason had a good five-yard lead. All he had to do was make the last hurdle and sprint to the finish line, and the state championship would have been in his hands. But the sudden cramp in his calf had taken him by surprise, and he missed the hurdle, landing square on his left shoulder, instantly dislocating it. Grimacing through the pain, he had found the adrenaline to help him up and finish his race. He didn’t care so much about the pain at the time. It was the humiliation of watching Rutebager pass by him and capture the trophy that belonged to him. That was his life. Always second.

  Mason shook the memory away as he found himself pulling up to a
vacated parking lot. He studied the sign on the door: “Creative Care Therapy” Harry Radley & Emma Fulton PT. She impressed him in more ways than one. Not only had she made a career for herself in such a short time, but she could light up a room simply by entering, making everyone around her feel welcomed. With Megan Fox looks, he’d expect her to be self-absorbed, but in Emma’s case, what you see is not what you get. She truly cared for other people. Even him.

  He took a quick survey of the parking lot and noticed Emma’s Honda in a far corner under a maple tree. Bracing himself for the heat, he got out of his jeep and attempted to open the front door to the office. Locked. She obviously didn’t want to see him. Fine with him. He didn’t need her insults or her damn therapy.

  Muttering under his breath, he made his way back to his air-conditioned car. Locking him out was an obvious sign she wanted nothing to do with him. She could have called to cancel their appointment. He had better things to do than sit around and wait for a girl he shouldn’t be interested in anyway.

  With more force than needed, he turned on the ignition and gunned the jeep in reverse when someone suddenly appeared behind his vehicle.

  “Shit!” He stepped on the brakes and got out to rescue whoever he nearly turned into roadkill.

  “Damn, are you okay?” He rounded the car and took a sharp breath when he saw who it was. “Emma, I didn’t see you—” He lunged to her side as she started to sway backward. He caught her thin form and hauled her into his arms. Slippery with sweat, her tiny shorts and sports bra did little to help give his hands any traction.

  Mason managed to open his passenger side door and slide Emma in the seat. He reclined the seat and brushed her hair out of her face. Her eyes were closed and she looked deathly pale when she should have been red with heat and exhaustion. Pulling his water bottle from his cup holder, he uncapped it and held it to her lips.

  “Wake up, Emma. Take a drink. You’re crazy for running in this weather.” He shifted his left arm around her shoulder and tilted her head up. Slowly, she regained consciousness.

  “Wha—”

  “Shh. Drink.” He put the water bottle to her lips and said a silent prayer for her.

  Emma blinked but couldn’t keep her eyes open.

  “Emma! Wake up. Drink.”

  She didn’t move. Mason trembled with fear. He made a quick inspection of her body. Did he hit her with his jeep? Did she have internal damages somewhere? A concussion? He didn’t feel a thump while backing up; he stopped the jeep and didn’t hit her. He didn’t notice any cuts or bruises on her, but something wasn’t right. He pulled the seat belt around, buckling her in, and ran to the driver’s side.

  Gunning the engine, Mason drove straight for the emergency room. He parked his jeep haphazardly in front of the ER entrance and rushed to Emma’s side of the car. Carrying her limp body inside the hospital, he called out to the nearest nurse.

  “Does she have any I.D. on her? Her medical card?” the nurse asked as she brought over a wheelchair and helped him set Emma in it.

  “No.” Mason shook his head and stared down the corridor where an orderly had wheeled Emma.

  “Can you fill out some basic information for your friend?” The elderly nurse had kind eyes and held out a clipboard to Mason.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He read through the information. Name, address, and next of kin he knew. Everything else he had to leave blank. He had her work number but didn’t even know her cell number. Mason drew out his cell phone to call Meg and Connor when the elderly nurse, Milly, her nametag said, called him.

  “Sir, she’s awake. I’ll take you to her.”

  Mason shot out of his seat and shoved his phone back in his pocket before he could dial.

  She looked terrible. Her summer tan seemed to fade in a matter of minutes, as she lay nearly lifeless in the small hospital bed, an IV in her arm and oxygen pumping through her nose. Her dark hair had escaped from its ponytail and framed her gaunt face. He never noticed how thin Emma had become. Her running clothes, like her bathing suits, left little to the imagination. Too thin for someone as athletic as he knew her to be. She’d dropped at least ten pounds since the last time he saw her. When his libido wasn’t the driving force, he actually noticed how frail she really was.

  “You all right?” was all he could muster out of his hoarse throat.

  “Still a man of few words I see,” Emma teased. He couldn’t believe she could smile in light of the circumstances. She looked like death.

  Mason nodded, unsure what to say. If she had an eating disorder, it was none of his business. “Can I get you anything?” seemed safe.

  “Nah, I’m good. The doc’s got liquids pumping through me. I’m probably dehydrated. Passed right out. I was sure I had enough water but, well, I guess going for a run was stupid in this heat. They’re running some precautionary tests, but I’ll live. No brain tumor.”

  He stood staring, hands in his pockets, shifting from foot to foot.

  “What exactly happened? I’m a bit fuzzy on the details.” Emma shifted her legs and pushed the button to elevate the bed to a seated position.

  “You, uh, passed out.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets. Glanced around the room and put them back in again. “I caught you and put you in my car.”

  “You carried me? Mason, your shoulder. All the work we did last week and now it’s probably moot. We’ll have to start all over again. I guess I won’t make today’s session. You’ll be in tomorrow though, right?”

  Was she serious? The woman nearly died, well, could have, and she was reaming him out about saving her life when she should be worried about her own health. He studied her as his heart raced and his hands turned clammy.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Yeah, heard that one before. I thought you were going to start being honest with me.” Emma took the tubing out of her nose and pulled her hair back out of her face. “You don’t happen to see an elastic around?”

  Maybe you should be honest with yourself. “Do you want me to call Meg?”

  “Nah, she’ll just worry. I’ll be out of here soon. Aw, speak of the devil…”

  A tall doctor entered, clipboard in hand. He typified the term doctor. Tall, thin, old, but seemed fairly intelligent.

  “How are you feeling, Emma? Still light-headed?”

  “Yeah, I’m great. When can I go?”

  Doc nodded at Mason and held out his hand. “I’m Dr. Porter.”

  “Mason.”

  The doc returned his attention to his patient. “Emma, I’d like to go over your results. Would you like to talk in private or…” he glanced back at Mason.

  “I’ll go,” Mason said and started to head out.

  “No, Mason. Will you stay?”

  Emma’s body tensed. According to her, everything was fine. But Dr. Porter’s body language told a different story, which surely impacted Emma.

  “Umm…” If the doc was going to talk about eating disorder, he really didn’t want to be there. So not his thing.

  “Please,” she pleaded.

  “Okay.” He sighed and sat in the corner, eyes fixated on Emma, ready to brace himself for whatever Dr. Doom had to say.

  * * * *

  “Please,” she pleaded with Mason. She’d been confident a few minutes ago, but Dr. Porter freaked her out. She didn’t want to be alone.

  Earlier she answered at least a hundred questions the nurses and doctors fired at her. She told them about the excessive hunger and thirst, trips to the bathroom, the surprising weight loss. Emma didn’t own a scale, had never needed to worry about her weight, so she had no idea she lost almost fifteen pounds. If she wasn’t living in denial for the past few months, she would have gone to her doctor to get checked out.

  “Your blood sugar was over 700 when you checked in, and you have ketoacidosis. Do you know what that is?”

  “No. Is it bad? Can you fix it?”

  “Yes, we can temporarily fix it. The fluids in your IV will help with your ket
ones, but your blood sugar will have to be regulated. Emma, you have Type 1 Diabetes.”

  The 700 whatever blood sugar—whatever that meant—in her body immediately drained. Now she’d need a transfusion.

  “What? Why? How did that happen?”

  “It isn’t anything you did or didn’t do. Juvenile diabetes, Type 1 Diabetes, happens when your pancreas stops or slows down its insulin supply. That is why you’ve been so thirsty and hungry. Your ketoacidosis has caused your weight loss. The good news is, with proper monitoring, you can live a long, healthy life.”

  She heard Dr. Porter continue talking, but his voice sounded more like the grown-ups in Charlie Brown. Type 1 Diabetes? How the hell did that happen? She was as healthy as they came. She heard about diabetics; she assumed they were overweight or addicted to sugar or…not her.

  “Emma, there is a lot of diabetic training we’ll need to do with you before you leave. It is helpful if your family is trained as well so they are aware of the signs of hypo and hyperglycemia.”

  “But…I don’t understand how I got it.”

  “It is hereditary. Does anyone in your family have diabetes? Thyroid issues?”

  “No. No one.”

  “Well…” Mason spoke softly from the corner of the room. She shot her head in his direction and scowled.

  “Well what?”

  “There is a family history.”

  “My mom and grandparents don’t have diabetes.”

  Mason stood and walked to her side. “Your father’s s-side.”

  “If there is on Connor’s side, it’s no relation to me.”

  He gaped at her.

  “Your father’s b-brother has diabetes. I-I remember seeing him do his insulin shots when I was in high school.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Mason?”

  His face drained, realizing what he said.

  “My father?” she whispered. “As in birth father? Mason, do you know who he is?”

  He turned around and rubbed his hands across his face. Dr. Porter shifted uncomfortably. “Emma, I’ll let you two talk. I’ll send in a nurse in a few minutes.” The doctor exited quickly, leaving Emma and Mason alone.

  “Mason! What the hell do you know about my birth father?”