Snapdragon (Love Conquers None Book 1)

by Kilby Blades

  After he had finished, he held her there for a long moment, catching his breath as he softened inside her, but not letting go. Finally, he set her down, slipped out of her, and fixed his eyes to look at her as he gently massaged her hips, presumably to prevent them from cramping. His pants were still around his ankles and his shirt was slightly rumpled, but intact. She still wore his t-shirt and her lips felt swollen from his lust-filled sucks.

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, still breathless.

  “I have feline stealth and grace,” he replied, which made her smile.

  “I baked,” she offered needlessly. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I figured, everyone likes cupcakes, right?”

  “Good guess,” he smiled knowingly, her wit familiar to him by then.

  “Get changed. I’ll pour you a glass of milk.”

  FROM WHERE DARBY WAS SITTING, she could see hints of the sunrise coming up over the horizon. The window pane felt cool against her warm temple. She’d pulled on one of Michael’s t-shirts—she preferred the older ones, which were pleasantly soft.

  She usually loved sleeping at Michael’s place, and whenever he was away, she secretly craved the gentle rocking of his waterbed. But that morning she was wide awake and feeling restless. She simply had too much on her mind. Things moved so fast in her everyday life that she rarely stopped to take stock. But her personal life had gotten so much better while her work life had gotten so much worse that she could no longer ignore the reversal.

  She had changed. Everyone who knew her saw it. Proof came in the form of tiny observations. You’re smiling more, they told her. You look well-rested, they said. And Anne, being Anne, picked up on even more. Looks like Michael’s back in town, she’d say sometimes, and she was always right when she did. Somehow, whenever Michael was around, Darby had it written all over her.

  But apart from of those moments, when she wasn’t thinking about all the fun she was having with Michael, she was hiding behind a veneer. Her future at the hospital was still uncertain. She still went in to work every day, ready to help addicts and their families navigate precarious circumstances. She still believed in her research and felt that a breakthrough was within reach. But Huck was her boss. And, no matter her merit, her career couldn’t be what she wanted, let alone thrive, without his support.

  The worst part about it was that she couldn’t figure out how to appease him. Darby had never won any popularity contests, but she was the consummate professional and among those whose friendship she didn’t have, she had always been shown courtesy. She knew her fiery personality and straight talk weren’t for everyone, but when she spoke, she spoke the truth, and that fact earned her most people’s respect.

  Darby knew that she had competitors, that other doctors at the hospital coveted the same funds she did, vied for the same promotions, and aspired to the same status. She’d long since learned to coddle those who viewed her as a threat, and had her ways of standing down to disarm them. But Huck could not be disarmed. He’d racked the slide on his shotgun. And it was pointed straight at her.

  There was also the matter of her father. She hadn’t spoken to him again directly, but she’d been through enough election cycles to know how to interpret the political landscape. His predictions about Governors Prescott and Sanderson had come true. Prescott had fallen from grace two months ago at the Republican National Convention when humiliating pictures of him and a gay prostitute were discovered. Sanderson was centrist enough to capture the attention of critical swing voters, but he would need someone as far right as Frank to mobilize the more extreme right.

  “I’m on Sydney time. What’s your excuse?” came Michael’s voice, deep from sleep and a little bit hoarse.

  She hadn’t heard him come in, but it wasn’t the first time his sudden appearance had surprised her. The man moved like a cat. They’d met at his apartment the night before and shared a steamy reunion after another one of Michael’s business trips.

  She didn’t know how much more she should tell him. She knew that she could trust him, but she was beginning to fear that the weight of her real life was too much for their fragile arrangement to bear. She already depended on Michael more than she should.

  “Work stuff.”

  He didn’t press her. But he did retreat to the kitchen, and placed a steaming cup of hot chocolate by her feet several minutes later. She was halfway through the creamy beverage when he emerged, striking as always in sleek pants and a button-down shirt. She realized she probably ought to leave, so she stood to get up, setting her cup on the counter and wracking her brain to remember where her clothes may have fallen in their haste to get their hands on one another the night before. He stood by the same counter, and she put a hand on his stomach before standing on her toes to kiss his jaw. Her own cocoa-scented morning breath discouraged her from kissing him on the lips like she would have preferred.

  Her hand began to slide off of his stomach, but didn’t make it past his hip bone before his own hand stopped her from walking away. She looked back at him.

  “Go back to bed. Fire up the Jacuzzi if you want. Stay here and watch movies all day.”

  She started to say no but stopped herself, realizing how stupid it would be to turn down his offer. What she wanted right then was to stay in her ivory tower, to avoid returning to a house that would surround her with her things and her problems. She wanted to keep staring out at the city. She wanted space to think. Minutes after he kissed her goodbye, she climbed back into the warm comfort of his bed, staring out at the skyline before drifting into a deep, Michael-scented sleep.

  WHEN DARBY’S VIBRATING PHONE SIGNALED that a text was coming in, she was sure it would be from Ben. They were scheduled to meet for dinner that night, as he was in Chicago for a couple of days. Ben’s tardiness was a peculiar but lovable trait—the man was a stickler for punctuality, and though he himself was never on time, he was never more than seven minutes late.

  But the text was from Michael.

  My problems with the zoning board have miraculously disappeared.

  Imagine that.

  She could see him writing back immediately.

  You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?

  She smiled.

  Today must be your lucky day. You should buy a lottery ticket.

  The truth was, when she’d found out that Michael’s firm was running into major delays in breaking ground on a building downtown, she had quickly offered to help. Chicago being one of the oldest, most corrupt cities in the country meant that getting things done was rarely straightforward, let alone for major construction projects like the kind Michael worked on. But Darby knew some of the most influential people in the city from the years when her father had been the mayor. She’d known just who to call to cut Michael’s red tape. Without a second thought, she’d done it. She replaced her phone in her pocket at the exact moment that she saw Ben approach.

  Ben had grown into exactly the man she’d expected him to when she had known him in boarding school, yet she would never voice as much out loud. Where looks were concerned, he was turning into a carbon copy of his father. He had the same sandy colored hair as the older man, the same aquiline nose, the same proud stature and effortlessly lean build. Despite living in New York, his perpetual Floridian tan spoke of his life of relative leisure, and his ubiquitous, relaxed manner made him look as if he’d just stepped off of the links. Ben was a breath of summer, a warm ray of light wherever he went.

  Unlike Darby, who had abandoned her teenage dreams of becoming a writer, Ben had ultimately defied his father, and done well for himself as an editor at Vanity Fair. She envied him that sometimes. What might her own life have been like without the interference of her father?

  “How long are you in town?” she asked after she had asked him about Tami and newlywed life.

  “Got in yesterday, leaving tomorrow…you know the routine,” he said. “My meetings were today but last night I had dinner with one of my colle
ge buddies. You’ve met Michael, my roommate from Tufts, haven’t you?”

  Darby was mid-sip on her drink, and kept her lips on the sugar-rimmed cocktail glass of her sidecar for a few moments longer than was necessary. When she had asked to see Michael the night before, he had told her he had plans, but she’d have thought he might mention those plans were with Ben. It wasn’t the first time Michael had been vague about times he couldn’t see her on nights when he was in town. It bothered her, but she knew she had no right to feel that way, let alone to ask.

  “Actually, he and I met at your wedding. We hang out sometimes. We’re kind of seeing each other.” She studied Ben, for clues as to what he might know. Something tugged in her at witnessing the surprise that flashed in Ben’s eyes. Why hadn’t Michael mentioned that detail the night before?

  “No shit, I thought you two had met before,” Ben said, seeming to search his brain for a long moment to recall an introduction. “I’m not surprised you hit it off. He’s a good guy, right?” he said finally, not waiting for an answer. “Really going places. My buddy told me he’s on the short list for Top 40 Under 40.”

  “As in Forbes?” The surprise was evident in her voice.

  “I know, right? That guy’s seriously impressive. Back in school, we all knew he was going to do well, but he’s been crazy successful,” Jon said, drawing out the ‘a’ in ‘crazy’. “He was at Tufts a few weeks back, to accept the young alumnus award. He’s the youngest person to even be nominated. He’s always on TV and in magazines and shit. I just saw a feature of him in Philanthropy Digest—last month alone, he raised $15 million for his youth arts foundation. He’s pretty modest, so I’m not surprised he’s never mentioned anything but, I mean it, Google him.”

  Darby barely knew what to say. The idea of checking him out had never occurred to her, partially because she hadn’t grown up in the generation in which you Google the people you’re seeing, but also because doing that had always seemed a little creepy. As a matter of principle, she wanted nothing to do with Googling Michael. As a matter of wanting to know things that apparently thousands of people knew about the man she was sleeping with, she wanted everything to do with it.

  “I hear you’re pretty impressive, too,” Ben continued with a knowing smile. “How’s your research going?” he asked with what she knew was more than casual interest.

  Ben was a connector. He knew everyone, which meant he knew everything, even information about her otherwise specialized career. Theirs was a small, high society crowd—the boarding school brats, Ivy Leaguers, and global elites all knew one another—so Ben’s observation came as no surprise.

  “It’s all fucked up,” she felt perfectly comfortable, even relieved, to admit. “The project itself is bearing fruit, but I’m in a serious war with my boss. I won’t bore you with the details, but he’s got it in for me lately, more than usual. And I have no idea why.”

  Ben shook his head.

  “Darbs, what are you still doing there? Northwestern needs you more than you need them. And don’t tell me it’s because your research is there. You could easily pick up where you left off someplace else.”

  It was a legitimate question, one she’d been thinking about more and more. Though the situation with Huck was troubling, in some respects, Darby was in a different position than she had been even six months before. It may have looked strange if she had left Northwestern earlier in her tenure, but she had now been there more than a respectable amount of time. If anything, moving on to a new place would be better for her career by signaling that she was upwardly mobile and in high demand.

  And Darby was reaching her limit with all of Huck’s hazing; she’d been getting more and more calls from hospitals looking to poach her. Despite Huck’s best efforts to submarine her, word of her research was spreading to major institutions. She was slated for four speaking engagements over the next several months, two of them international, and had been asked to write papers about her preliminary findings for two pre-eminent medical journals. She saw that Ben was absolutely right. She had options.

  “I know…you’re right,” she sighed. “It’s time to move on. I’ve been working so many hours and I’ve been so stressed out about surviving that I haven’t been thinking strategically. There are a few places on my wish list—places that would have been a stretch a year ago but that might consider me now. I’ve been getting calls. Maybe it’s time I start taking them seriously.”

  “Ya think?” Ben asked, his sarcastic look matching his tone. “So where would you go?”

  “I’m not sure…” she mused, taking another sip of her drink.

  “Well, start thinking about it quick,” he said. “If you’re gonna leave, you’re in the strongest position to do it now. Anyone interested in you is going to want to take credit for the big breakthrough. What’s the problem? Is it Michael? Is this thing between the two of you serious?”

  She was used to Ben’s candor. They’d always given each other a lot of love, but, between them, brutal honesty was always preferred.

  “It’s kind of like it was with you and me,” she said just as bluntly. “We each had our own paths to walk. We knew that as soon as college rolled around, it would come to an end. It’s the same with Michael. It’ll last as long as it lasts, but with what our jobs are like, we know it won’t last for long. We’ve been totally open about it.”

  “You and I were in love, Darby.”

  She let that sink in.

  He looked at her in a way that looked like he was about to say something serious. “When we broke up, it was easier for you to walk away than it was for me. I’ve always envied you that ”

  He’d never said as much out loud. She hadn’t even known that he’d thought it.

  “It wasn’t easy for me, Benji.”

  “I know,” he shrugged. “But I think it was harder for me.”

  She had nothing to say to that.

  “Is Michael in love with you?” he asked openly. “Because you’re easy to fall in love with.”

  Ben had always complimented her generously, but for some reason, this also took her by surprise.

  “Not even close,” she replied, after missing just one beat.

  “Don’t be so sure,” he said. “Michael is a complex person. He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. And he doesn’t date just anybody. If he’s seeing you, he has feelings for you.”

  She didn’t dare to mention their agreement. It didn’t seem right to broadcast their business.

  “Trust me—it’s not like that. We’re just having fun together.”

  “Alright,” he surrendered, “but if it turns into something more, give it a chance. It’s not every day that the right person comes along. When it happens, don’t take it for granted,” he said, echoing Rich’s words.

  But she couldn’t let herself think that way. Chances were, she’d be somewhere else six months from then. And, with Michael’s punishing travel schedule, their meetings were sporadic at best. She wasn’t blind. In another lifetime, another situation, there was no question that she’d want something different with Michael. But for now, she knew, she had to stick to the plan.

  THE WINTER AIR WAS FREEZING cold on Darby’s skin as she stood in the ambulance bay, but the adrenaline made it easy to ignore. She didn’t have to wait long. She’d been out there for less than a minute when she saw the flashing lights and the vehicle with the words Chicago Fire Department written on the side come barreling around the corner. The driver performed a well-practiced three-point turn in order to back it up to the door.

  The doors began to open before it came to a full stop. One EMT was spread eagle on the gurney performing chest compressions on the patient. Darby recognized a second tech as he began to speak.

  “Unidentified female in her late twenties. Suspected overdose, and evidence of freebasing on the scene. Track marks on her arm, but they don’t look fresh.”

  “Who called it in?” she asked the EMT performing chest compressions. He paused just long e
nough to get the patient off of the truck, helping to lower the gurney. Darby looked down, wanting to see her face, needing to know whether she knew the patient.

  Many of the overdoses that came into the ER—too many—were people she had seen before. She recognized Allison immediately—she’d been in more times than Darby could count. Allison had three kids who’d been in foster care for more than a year by then. One time, her eldest son had been the one to call it in. She remembered the day CPS had taken all three of them away.

  Shit.

  “The boyfriend, we think,” the EMT continued as they walked. She helped him wheel Allison into one of the more private rooms the ER reserved for critical condition triage. “He wasn’t at the scene when we arrived,” the EMT said flatly, giving Darby a knowing look.

  “No.” Darby said emotionlessly. “It was probably her husband.”

  She helped hook up the monitors but barely needed to ask the next question to find out what she could already see. Allison’s lips were blue and her skin was gray. She’d clearly been down for a while.

  “How long?”

  The EMT looked at his watch.

  “Six and a half minutes since we found her. No heartbeat at the scene.”

  She nodded. They’d done what they were supposed to do, which was to start CPR until they reached the hospital. Only at the hospital or by a coroner on the scene could a patient be pronounced dead, and everybody had to follow the procedure, no matter how futile the process was. Darby pulled out a pen light and lifted Allison’s eyelids. By then an ER nurse named Lucy had joined them and stood on the sidelines, charting.