She stared at his back. The wide brick wall concealed more than it showed. Her heart raced, pumping the tainted blood through her body, sweat beaded on her upper lip, and her breathing became rapid. Emma closed her eyes and concentrated on her bearings. Her heart and mind swirled with emotion and confusion.
When Connor had wanted to adopt her a few years ago, she thought him foolish. She wasn’t a child anymore, but he said it was symbolic. He presented her with some lawyerish papers she didn’t care to read and signed where he told her to sign. Maybe if she actually read the packet, she would have learned sooner about her birth father.
Grappling with the physical anguish before she could deal with the mental, Emma breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. Once the head spins diminished, she opened her eyes and saw Mason had turned to face her again. His head hung low and both hands remained on his face, shielding him from her glare, her words.
As if he could sense her eyes on him, Mason dropped his hands and lifted his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Calmly, she breathed deeply and softly pleaded. “I need to know.”
Mason shook his head in defeat.
*
How the hell did he get himself smack dab in the middle of family drama? Mason prided himself on staying out of uncomfortable situations. Keeping his mouth shut had never been a problem before. Of all possible times, all possible situations, this was the one time he opened his mouth, and as he feared, stupidity slowly dripped out like an ice cream cone in a toddler’s hand on a hot summer’s day.
Mason rubbed his hands across his face for the four hundredth time and tried to compose his thoughts, his words. He stepped closer to her bed then stopped. Emma, the beautiful angel he admired from afar for so many years, lay helpless, at his mercy. Her touch had become electric, healing. Her personality contagious, not that he ever let on to being mesmerized by her inner or outer beauty. She was and always would be out of his league. Untouchable.
The sterile surroundings, white walls, white sheets, pale blue hospital gown, were incongruous to Emma. She deserved color, flowers, music, and friends. Mason texted Meg and Connor when Dr. Doom had first arrived, and he expected them here any minute. He checked the door again, wishing they’d hurry and alleviate him from the burden of talking to Emma. He worked so hard over the years to sound normal, but her presence erased the years of training and set him back to his childhood. The many years of speech therapy. The many memories of ridicule.
When focused on his physical therapy, he could handle the brief conversation; it was controlled and the topic was clear—his shoulder. Here, in the sterile hospital room with Emma weak and needing him, he felt insecure again. Words didn’t come naturally. He had no idea what to say, how to say it.
“Please,” she pleaded again. “Tell me who my father is.”
If Cole were here he’d break the tension by doing some lame ass impersonation of Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker. But Mason couldn’t do the comedic one-liners that came so naturally to his twin. Shit. She didn’t know. How ironic that the man of so few words leaked a family secret. Hell, he had no idea it was a family secret. Mason glanced at the clock on the wall and swore under his breath.
“Your m-mom will be here any minute.” He evaded.
“Damnit, Mason! My mother has been keeping this secret my entire life. I don’t want to hear it from her! I want to hear it from you. And why the hell do you know anyway?”
The insults he could handle, he’d grown up with them and had learned to block them out at a young age. It was the soft-spoken hurting Emma he couldn’t deal with.
“It’s none of my business, Emma. Ask your mom.” Mason shoved his hands down into his pockets and toyed with his smartphone, willing it to vibrate and distract him from his misery.
“Come here,” she begged.
Damn. Her soft side showed again. He couldn’t deal. Forced—lured—by her, Mason walked to her bedside. Emma reached out and grabbed his hand and looked up into his eyes. A tear spilled out of the corner of her desperate, blue eye. He didn’t do tears. Especially Emma tears.
“I know you haven’t meant to keep this from me, Mason.” The way she said his name made his knees buckle. Tender, as if she cared about him. “I’m mad at all of them for keeping secrets from me, but not at you.”
As in, he didn’t mean anything to her, not like the rest of his family. His hurt must have shown on his face.
“Sorry.” Emma released his hand and wiped her tears away. “I didn’t mean it to sound cruel. It’s, uh, well, we’ve never really hung out or talked much before. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt that you didn’t intentionally leave me in the dark all these years. At least, that’s how it sounded a few minutes ago. I’m not angry with you, but I will be if you don’t tell me who he is. Now.”
Leaving him with no other choice, Mason told her.
“J.T. Spiller. James Spiller. You’ve probably heard of him.”
Emma’s blue eyes suddenly grew into giant marbles, ready to roll out of her skull. Her mouth stood agape, her breathing increased. Worried she would hyperventilate, Mason reached for a limp hand and stroked up and down her arm. He picked up her ice water and put the straw to her lips.
“Drink.”
She did. “J.T. Spiller? As in…former NFL quarterback? Connor’s friend?”
“Yeah. He and his brother use to visit Connor. His brother had…” Mason swallowed, remembering how uncomfortable he was with Emma. “He had…d-diabetes.”
“Well where is he? J.T.?”
“I-I haven’t seen him around in a long time. Not since…”
“Since when?”
“Um, five, six years?”
“What’s the story with him and my mom? She and Connor didn’t know each other in high school.”
“I have no idea.” Mason stood and paced, glancing at the clock again.
“Sweetheart!” Meg burst through the door and threw herself on Emma.
Mason let out a sigh of relief. The cavalry had come to his rescue. Connor entered right behind Meg and looked over at him curiously.
“Mace,” he spoke softly. “What happened? Is she okay?”
“Emma, sweet baby.” Meg sat on the edge of her daughter’s hospital bed and stroked Emma’s face. “We got Mason’s text. All he said was you were at the hospital undergoing tests. What’s going on? Are you okay? Do you hurt?” Meg lightly rubbed her hand over Emma’s body.
Emma’s face remained stern. “I have Type 1 Diabetes.”
Mason could see Emma reading her mother’s face for any sign of connection between her birth father’s family genetic connections. Mason turned to read Connor’s.
“Baby, my God. What does this mean? Can they cure you? Are you going to be okay?”
“Apparently it’s genetic.”
“What? But we’re all so healthy.”
Mason knew the minute Connor made the connection. Connor closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Mason wondered about Meg and J.T.’s relationship and how it connected to Connor. Meg and Connor only met a few years ago.
“Mom,” Emma said sternly. “I know.”
“About what, sweetheart? About diabetes? Good, good. Probably with all of your schooling. But you’ll need to fill me in because I’ve never met anyone with diabetes. I want to help you but—”
“My uncle has diabetes. Or don’t you remember?”
Mason inwardly groaned. Apparently Emma wasn’t going to go soft on her mother. But what he had learned about the fierce young woman over the past few weeks shouldn’t have surprised him.
“Your…who?” Meg let go of Emma’s hands and sat straighter.
“My father. J.T. Spiller. Apparently everyone but me knows. Why the hell didn’t you think it important enough to tell me?”
“Oh, God.” Meg slouched and toyed with her bracelet.
Connor rushed to Meg’s side and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Mason felt uncomfortable and wanted to leave but couldn’t seem to mo
ve his feet.
“How could you keep this secret from me? You knew all along who my father was and how to get in touch with him but lied to me! You told me he was some high school boy you slept with then he upped and moved. Never heard from him again. I believed you! All this time I could have known my father, but you stole that from me. I hate you for that!”
“Emma! Don’t talk to your mother that way,” Connor said.
“No, Connor, it’s okay. I deserve it,” Meg said weakly.
“I want you to go. Leave me alone,” Emma whispered, rolling to her side, putting her back to her mother.
Meg sniffed, obviously holding back tears.
“Okay, sweetie. I’ll respect your wishes. I love you. I was only trying to do what was best for you. What I thought was best for you.” Meg sniffed again. “Call me soon. Please.” She leaned over and kissed the top of Emma’s head and slowly walked out with Connor’s protective arm wrapped around her.
Mason followed suit but Emma stopped him. “Don’t go, Mason. Please. Stay with me.”
“Okay.” Now what. Sit? Stand? Talk? Following Emma’s lead, he stayed quiet. He sat back in the chair in the corner and stared at the ball she had curled herself into. The silence broke when a new doctor and nurse entered the room with papers and a bag of supplies for Emma.
For the next thirty minutes the endocrinologist and nurse explained how to use the One Touch blood testing kit, how to count carbs, safely inject insulin with an insulin pen, and gave Emma enough reading material to last a lifetime. Her medical team insisted her family be trained as well, so she asked—or rather, demanded—Mason to stay and learn with her. With the news of her father and the lifetime diagnosis of diabetes, he figured he’d stay. There was no way Emma could absorb the flood of new information all alone. If anyone could detach emotion from a situation, it was Mason.
After a final round of test questions for Emma, and a few aimed at Mason, Dr. Porter and Nurse Mary-Jo left as Cole entered.
“Hey, poptart. I got here as soon as I heard.” He leaned in and kissed Emma on the lips and handed her a bouquet of flowers.
Emma didn’t accept the flowers but returned a glare at Cole.
“You bastard.”
Cole flinched. “You talkin’ to me?”
“Yeah, you. I didn’t think we kept secrets. I thought you cared about me. How could you look me in the eye all these years and lie to me day after day?”
Mason took it as his cue and quietly sneaked out the door, leaving the lovers to quarrel.
Chapter 4
After countless hours of research on the computer, Emma accepted the fact that she’d come to a dead end. “Information highway my ass,” she mumbled at her laptop and slammed the cover shut. She had obtained an overwhelming amount of information about diabetes, downloaded some low-carb recipes, and joined the ADA, American Diabetes Association. That was easy. It was the other research topic which had her in a foul mood.
The two days in the hospital were pure living hell. Between having to accept her diagnosis and coming to terms with her family’s betrayal, she was spent physically, emotionally, and mentally. She had no one to turn to. At least Paige hadn’t betrayed her. She’d had no idea J.T. Spiller was Emma’s father and was also miffed with the family for keeping Emma in the dark.
But Paige couldn’t hold a grudge against Emma’s birth father for long. Being fascinated with having two football hero fathers, one by blood and one by marriage, Paige tried to get Emma to see the wonderful side of the news: discovering a new identity, meeting new family members, meeting the most gorgeous football player known to mankind—it disgusted her, Paige lusting after Emma’s father. She was the most optimistic, cheerful person Emma knew, and now was not a time she felt like being around Miss Congeniality.
Which was why she couldn’t let Paige in on her plans for the weekend. That was if Emma could find the information she needed. It had to be somewhere out there: Google, Yahoo, ESPN, Entertainment Tonight, Paparazzi R’ Us. Racking her spent brain, Emma was about to completely give up on her plan when her knight in shining armor tapped on her office door.
“Mason?” Emma bounced out of her seat. “Mason! Yes! You’re my hero.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Come here.” She yanked on his arm and pushed him into the chair behind the desk she had just vacated. “Sit.” Emma perched on the arm of the chair and flipped open her laptop.
“What?”
“I need you to find something for me.” Emma typed in her password and the Creative Care Therapy homepage popped up.
“I thought I was having physical therapy.”
“Oh, that, yeah, I’ll work on your shoulder in a minute. First, I need some help. I need to find someone’s address. I searched everywhere but can’t find it.” It surprised her to learn Spiller had retired abruptly nearly five years ago. She found dozens of articles which speculated on the reasons for his sudden announcement during a summer training camp. He still had a few good, solid playing years left in him, but he made his announcement to retire and then fell off the face of the planet. Or so it seemed.
“Whose?”
She hesitated for a moment. “James Spiller.”
Mason yanked his hands away quickly as if they keyboard was on fire. “No.”
“You have to help me. No one else will. I need to talk to him. Ask him some questions.”
“What did your mom say?”
“I didn’t ask her. It’s none of her business. I’m a grown adult and can contact my father if I wish.”
“This is a bad idea.”
“Why? What do you know? I tried asking Mom and Connor about J.T., but she said she was scared she’d lose me to him. Connor gave me a look I can’t figure out. Well, I’m all grown up, and she’s not going to lose me to him. This is important to me.”
“Why?”
“Why? Are you kidding me? Oh, that’s right. You grew up in a picture perfect family with picture perfect sister and brothers and two loving parents. What the hell do you know about pain and misery?” Emma paced around her small office. “You have no idea what it’s like to grow up alone. I never had many friends ’cause mom would scare them all off with her overprotective rules. You…Mr. Perfect with your good looks, brains, master’s degree…”
She made no sense, and she knew it. Attacking Mason for no reason at all would not help her cause. From what she had learned about the mysterious man in front of her, he shut down completely when dealing with conflict.
Sighing, she perched herself on the edge of her desk and faced Mason. “I’m sorry. I’m just really emotional right now. Okay, the real reason I want to contact him is to find out about his family’s medical history. They could have something that could be passed down to my own kids. Hell, some other disease could pop up in my blood stream in a few years.” As expected, Mason avoided eye contact and stared at the computer screen. She got up and paced again.
“Okay.”
Emma whipped her head around. “Okay, you’ll do it? You’ll find out where he lives?”
“Yeah. But one condition.”
“What?”
“You don’t go see him alone.”
“Why? Is he some ax murderer? Is that why everyone is still so hush-hush about him?” Emma walked back to her desk and lowered her head so she was eye level with Mason. “Do you know more about him than you’re telling me? I trusted you when you said you didn’t know any details.”
“No.” Mason shook his head. “I don’t know anything.”
“So, why so protective?” Emma eyed him skeptically.
“Don’t go alone.” He leaned back in her desk chair and folded his arms across his chest.
The stare down lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like minutes. They were both stubborn in their own right. He wouldn’t back down. The overprotective gene definitely ran in his family. Emma growled and got up once again to pace her small space. Paige? No, she’d swoon all over J.T. Spiller and pose for pictures
with him. Her mom? Hell no. Apparently she hated J.T. with a passion, and Emma didn’t want their dispute to get in the way of her interrogation. Connor? No, he probably wanted to pound in J.T.’s face. Cole? Emma stopped and picked at the leaves of her Rubber Tree.
He would be good at taking her mind off her issues. Good for a few laughs. Good for her spirit, but not right for this job. Cole didn’t do serious or touchy-feely.
She couldn’t take anyone with her who would be distracted with the magnitude of J.T. Spiller’s presence. Emma slouched down in a chair opposite her desk and bent her head down to her knees. Her head hurt, her blood sugar was probably low from skipping her morning snack, and she wanted to cry. But Emma didn’t cry. She was too spirited, too fun loving like Cole, too happy like Paige, to cry. She fixed problems, didn’t create them. But this was one problem she couldn’t get past.
Too distracted in her own thoughts, she didn’t hear the tapping on the keyboard until Mason spoke.
“Got it. Now we have a deal, right?”
“You got his address? Where does he live?” She’d spent days trying to find her birth father, and in a matter of seconds Mason locates the mysterious man. She couldn’t believe his luck. Actually, she could believe it, and it wasn’t luck. That was Mason’s job.
“Deal?”
“There’s no one I can bring.” Emma shook her head and covered her face with her hands.
“I’ll go.”
“You?” She lifted her head. “But…” Emma blinked in disbelief. Why hadn’t she thought of Mason? He would be the perfect accompaniment: quiet, resourceful, and hot. Not that hot was a requirement for a travel companion, but it sure didn’t hurt. He would leave her to her thoughts, which is exactly what she needed. “Okay. So where are we off to? I’ll buy your ticket since you’re doing me a favor.”
“That’s not necessary.” Mason pressed a button on the laptop and the printer next to Emma’s desk spit out two sheets of paper.
“Sure it is. I’m inconveniencing you. The least I can do is—”
“We’re driving. He’s close.”
False Hope (McKay-Tucker Men Book 2) Page 5