Even through my leather jacket, I can sense the softness of her, the suppleness of her skin.
I throw on my helmet so Taryn can have no sense of how I’m feeling, and hope her hands don’t travel far enough down to feel that I’m rock hard.
Revving the engine, her tightening grip on my waist tells me she’s ready to move. I pull out from the alleyway, swing around the curb, and use one leg for balance on the asphalt as I navigate around the emergency vehicles and looky-loos wandering onto the road and gaping at the accident.
At a stoplight, I ask Taryn which hospital.
She shouts the answer, and I rocket onto the FDR Highway and motor up the island of Manhattan to the 72nd Street exit, curve into York Ave, and rumble to a stop in front of the emergency entrance of New York Presbyterian Hospital.
Taryn shifts behind me, letting go and leaving behind visible coolness as the warmth of her departs.
Once she’s on solid ground, she pulls off the helmet, her hair all over the place. “Thank you.”
“Hang on.” I swing off the bike and use my boot to toe out the kickstand. “I’m coming with.”
“You don’t have to. Please—”
“Taryn,” I say, once my helmet’s off and resting on a handlebar. “You’re about to pass out from fear. A level head might be good in there, someone to get to the bottom of things while you go see who’s hurt.”
She purses her lips, her brows furrowing, but doesn’t argue. “I just want to get in there.”
“Go, honey. I’ll be right behind you.”
Taryn swings around and sprints to the glass sliding doors.
The complimentary hospital valets are striding toward me, but I ignore any shouts of moving my bike and follow Taryn.
I’ve only ever known her to have a cool head. To make her arguments succinctly enough that losing will not be an option. In these days of celebrity obsession and everything they do making it to social media, she managed to keep my situation under wraps enough that I wasn’t scathed by the public.
Curiosity as much as concern has me following Taryn to the ER’s reception area. I want to know who could be causing her such strife.
Taryn lays her hands on the counter, saying to the nurse on duty, “James O’Neil. He was brought in here about forty-five minutes ago.”
“One moment.” The nurse clicks on her keyboard, her expression the type that’s seen many frantic friends and family members worrying over the latest guests of this establishment. “He’s on the pediatric floor. Take the elevators over there…”
As the nurse relays the instructions, Taryn is already a few feet ahead, listening and walking all at once.
Pediatrics? A kid is hurt?
We head to the elevators, but I’m not sure Taryn realizes I’m beside her anymore. She’s on that single track I’ve come to recognize in her, with a sole goal in mind.
Nothing is said as we take the elevators up a few floors, and by the time they slide open, Taryn’s sprinting to the next reception desk, getting a room number, and sprinting down the hallway.
Her frantic energy is addicting, and I’m following fast. It’s when we reach the correct room that I fall back and hang by the doorframe, propriety telling me to take it easy.
“Taryn!”
A petite woman with a short, black bob greets Taryn by taking her hands. “I’m so sorry. I had an eye on him, I swear, and I put him to bed. I fell asleep on the couch, and he must’ve snuck past me and gone outside. I can’t—he’s never done this before—”
“I know,” Taryn says, adopting the same soothing tone I used with her. “It’s not your fault, Harper. You’ve watched him for years without anything happening. I don’t blame you. Tell me how he is.”
I catch the shift before Taryn even realizes. She’s taking the time to calm down a person when we’ve spent the past twenty minutes with her gripping my leather and crying out, “Faster! Please! Just get me there!”
Her instant calmness pulses its waves into the room, flowing over the woman with the short hair, over me, and having the immediate effect of getting to the bottom of the situation.
Because someone’s watching her. A boy in the hospital bed.
My mouth opens at the same time it hits me.
She’s a…
Taryn’s acting like a…
Taryn looks behind her, noticing me, and my heart cracks a little at the crestfallen expression on her face. “Easton … this is my son.”
She’s a mom.
Taryn doesn’t wait for my answer, which is good, since I don’t know if there’s a correct reaction to give. Instead, she shows me her back, faces her son, then lifts her hands.
And starts signing.
13
Taryn
Tell me exactly what happened.
I bump both fists together close to my heart, extending my thumbs, then forming them into an apex, then extending again. Sweetheart.
I wanted to ride my bike, Jamie signs, and I sigh in exasperation.
At night? With no helmet? Are you kidding me?
You won’t let me do it any other way. I want to ride like a normal kid. He places a thumb under his chin with an open hand. Mom.
Complete silence when talking to my son is standard in our household. Subtle hand-claps and the brush of skin-on-skin are the only breaks of sound, but in a hospital room, I’m acutely aware of Harper beside me. Easton behind me. The beeps of machines and hush of voices creeping in from the hallway.
God. Easton. What could he be thinking?
The moment I remember the man, Jamie’s wide, grass-green eyes shift past my shoulder and notice the hulking shadow in the door frame.
Jamie lets out an audible gasp and lifts from the pillows. His fingers fly as he asks, Is that who I think it is?
I’m in no way ashamed of my son, but this has to come as a shock to Easton. Especially on a first date.
I gulp. Here we go.
“Easton, meet Jamie,” I say, stepping aside so they can see each other.
Easton takes a tentative step into the room. His attention doesn’t leave my son. “Uh…”
“Jamie’s a huge fan of yours,” I say softly, signing as I talk for Jamie’s benefit.
“I’m going to grab some coffee,” Harper says. She’s almost as fluent in American Sign Language as I am, taking up the task of learning the moment she learned Jamie was deaf, determined to communicate properly with him. For six years, she perfected the language, and it is part of why I love her with my kid so, so much.
Harper, bless her, also knows when to bow out of sticky situations.
“If you can stop at the nurses’ desk and let the doctor know I’m here,” I say to her before she leaves.
“Sure thing.”
Once Harper departs, Jamie takes over the conversation, his eyes peeled wide as he signs, silently pleading with me to get the translation right. It’s not often he meets one of his idols.
This isn’t a reward, I warn him. You’re in big trouble, James Patrick O’Neal.
“It looks like you two are casting a particularly epic spell,” Easton says as he watches Jamie and me.
I let out a laugh.
“Shit, I didn’t mean for that to sound disrespectful,” he says.
“It’s not.” I sign what Easton said to Jamie, without the cursing, and in response, Jamie lets out sharp exhales filled with tiny honks of sound. His version of a laugh.
Jamie signs, Just call me Jamie O’Neal, the latest wizard at Deafwarts.
I shake my head in exasperation but communicate what he said to Easton.
“And he’s funny, too,” Easton says. “How are you buddy? What the hell happened?”
Jamie raises a brow at me, preparing for his defense. I wait, with hands on my hips, for what he has to say. I won’t let it show, but I am so utterly relieved that he’s not so injured he’s unable to be a smartass.
Mom thinks I’m too fragile to ride a bike. She’s so strict, I have to sneak out in orde
r to do it—
I cut him off, signing and saying, “You’ve done this more than once?”
You gave me no choice, Mom! My bike already looks like it belongs in Back to the Future. There’re so many mirrors on my handlebars, I could fry all the ants I ride by.
“And yet, you hurt yourself tonight. You fell of your bike, on a busy street, without a helmet, and hit your head. This is serious, Jamie,” I say, with both my hands and voice.
“I, uh, I should leave you two to it,” Easton says. He swallows. “I don’t want to intrude any more than I—”
Jamie gestures for us to look at him. He’s adept at reading lips, even more so at body language. Don’t let him leave, Mom. Please. I have so many questions for him! Do you think he can take a picture with me? Evan will be so jealous…
I shake my head and sign. You don’t deserve it, problem child. I’ve got some serious lecturing to do. And then I’m going to take away your tablet.
I’m struck dumb when Jamie doesn’t blink at the prospect of being grounded from his tablet. It’s that important to him that Easton stays.
Please, Mom! When am I going to get a chance like this again? I’m already so isolated. You barely let me go anywhere … I’m always holed up at home.
I drop my chin and level my gaze at him. “You make it sound like I have you under lock and key.”
You might as well.
I sign and say, “This city is busy, and crowded, and cars don’t stop for pedestrians. Accidents are all over the place. I had difficulty getting to you tonight because of one. I worry about you, Jamie, and when you do stuff like this, you don’t make me worry any less about you going out on your own.”
I’m almost a teenager! What else do you expect?
I tsk, but Easton is shuffling his feet, hands shoved in his pockets. Manners are probably preventing him from just up and running out of here and not looking back.
“Jamie has a few questions for you, before you go, if that’s okay,” I say to Easton. “I’ll translate anything he can’t read on your lips.”
Easton meets my eyes. “He reads lips?”
“Very well. Body language, too. He’s essentially the best lie detector there is, save for his own lying.”
Nice one, Mom. Jamie rolls his eyes.
I hold back a smile, since I’m still pissed at him.
Jamie signs, When is your next single? Can I watch you play some time? Can I meet the rest of the band? Can I have a picture—
“Slow down, sweetheart,” I say, though my heart is light. I love how eager Jamie is, how alive he is outside of his fantasy video games.
And thank God he’s alive, after tonight.
“Well.” Easton clears his throat and stands at the foot of the bed. “I think, first and foremost, I should shake your hand. Greet you properly.”
Jamie thrusts out his hand, so small in Easton’s grip.
“Nice to meet you, kind sir,” Easton says. “Now, I’ll answer anything you want to know, if you promise to listen to your mom for the rest of the night.”
Jamie slides his gaze over to me, preparing for another eye-roll, I’m sure.
“I mean it, bud.”
Sensing that Easton’s speaking again, Jamie goes back to him. Easton says, “Your mom means well, you know that. You really scared her tonight.”
Jamie shrugs it off, but I can tell he’s feeling a little shame in front of his idol. He isn’t the only one who’s learned body cues throughout the years.
Easton moves so he’s sitting at the foot of Jamie’s bed, just past his toes. “As for our next single, I’m thinking it should be,” Easton glances up at me, “‘Heartfall.’”
My lips pull up into a smile before I know it’s happening.
That’s the most cootie-filled song you guys have, Jamie signs.
Easton laughs after I interpret. “Guess you’re not into the ladies just yet.”
Jamie scrunches his face.
The two of them continue to talk, and I stand at the sidelines, jumping in to translate Jamie’s side of the conversation, but Easton never looks to me when I do it. He continues to regard Jamie, as if it’s him speaking, giving my son the respect of conversing with him as if Jamie’s doing all the talking.
“Mrs. O’Neil?”
The doctor knocks lightly on the open door and wanders in.
“Oh, it’s Maddox, actually. Taryn Maddox. I’m Jamie’s mom.”
If Easton is thrown by the use of a different last time—clearly Jamie’s father’s last time—he shows no curiosity and continues to focus on Jamie.
When Jamie sees the doctor, he quickly grabs his notepad and pen beside him so he can keep the conversation with Easton going without me.
“I’m Dr. Janis. James is a very lucky boy,” the doctor says. I notice a nurse coming in to sit at computer screen beside Jamie’s bed and start typing the doctor’s words in large font, so Jamie can read and be included if he wants. But he’s so engrossed in Easton, he barely pays attention to it.
The doctor doesn’t seem to mind. He says to me, “His head hit the curb, so I’d like to keep him overnight to monitor any concussion sustained. X-rays have come back, and it looks like his wrist is only sprained—no fractures.”
“That’s such a relief,” I reply.
“I have to say…” Dr. Janis glances over at Jamie, then at the nurse to stop typing. “That is one very precocious ten-year-old. He must keep you on his toes, despite his handicap.”
I bristle at the use of the word, but know, through much experience, that ignorance does not always mean maliciousness.
“You’d never know he’s anything but a normal ten-year-old kid,” I reply.
Dr. Janis misses the shot. He nods, taps his clipboard, and says, “I don’t recommend he gets on his bicycle again until he’s fully healed. And only in daylight.”
I bite my tongue at stating the obvious. Jamie will be lucky if he gets to ride his bike again this year, if I have anything to do with it. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“Another nurse will check on him in a few minutes. At that point, it’ll be family only. You’re welcome to stay overnight in the chair beside his bed.”
I nod.
When he leaves, and Harper waltzes back in with two cups of coffee, I speak to her, through a glance, that everything the doctor said was positive. She and I have communicated many times through single glances, and she sags in relief that Jamie’s going to be fine.
“I’d better get going.” Easton rises from Jamie’s bed. He pats the empty spot, saying, “It was nice to finally meet my number one fan.”
Jamie splits into an ear-to-ear grin. He signs, I hope you’ll come back to visit, since you seem to know my mom. He cuts his stare over to me. Who never mentioned she knew you.
Easton laughs. “We just met through work. If we ever cross paths again, I’ll be sure to ask to see you.”
It’s unclear how I should react to that statement, but I appreciate that Easton’s lessened our meeting in front of my son. Even Easton can agree it’s much, much too early to include a little boy in our dating, well—single date.
And, I come to realize, it’s time to discuss my son with Easton in private, now that the excitement’s ended and the adrenaline’s ebbed.
I say to Easton, even though my heart is beating with a strange mix of fear and anticipation, “I’ll walk you out.”
Easton high-fives Jamie, then shakes Harper’s hand as he exits. She whispers to me as I pass, “That man has a fine grip. Just fine.”
I bat her away as I pass.
We head down the hallway much slower than when we came in, and I tentatively fall into step beside him.
I’m not about to apologize for failing to mention Jamie, but I feel the need to acknowledge it. “So, that’s a part of my life I usually keep private.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You didn’t. Haven’t. It was kind of an unavoidable situation.”
Easton holds the elev
ator doors open for me, and as I step in, I lick my lips. “The fact that it happened on our first date…”
“You’re finally calling it a date?” he asks.
Easton’s smile is half-cocked, and what I’m coming to know as his usual punctuation to a joke, but something’s off about the effort. I peer at him closer.
“I had a really good time with you, Easton,” I say. “And I could see this becoming … more.” More of your presence. More of your touch. More than your music. “But I have a son. And I completely understand if dating a single mother isn’t on your radar.”
As the floors descend, Easton remains silent. I can’t stop myself from studying him, searching for cues as to what he’s thinking, but he’s giving me nothing but stone.
When the doors slide open to the lobby, he lets me out first, but I pause on the non-slip mats, waiting for him to catch up to me. No, waiting for him to look at me.
Once he’s at my side, I say, “Um, so if you want to call me…”
I hate this moment so much right now. An uncomfortable concoction of fear, shame, rebellion and need. Fear Easton’s going to reject me, despite my reservations against dating him in the first place. The feeling that Easton thinks I’m ashamed of my son, which is why I kept it from him. Rebellion against such a thought, since I love my son and would lay down my life and kill anyone who speaks against him.
A need for Easton to want to see me again.
At last, Easton meets my eyes. “You’re right.”
Hope licks its tiny flame against my heart. “I am?”
“You being a mom … it wasn’t what I was expecting.”
The words, spoken so carefully, snuff out the burgeoning fire. I loosen my jaw, my internal lecture already in place: He’s right, this could never work, we were idiots in the first place. He’s a star. You’re a lawyer with too much in her briefcase.
“I’ve got the tour coming up in a few days. I’ll be gone for a month. It’s probably not the best time to start dating a woman.”
Then why did you ask me out in the first place? Why did you trace my skin the way you did, sing to me and me only in a crowded restaurant, drop your jaw at the sight of me tonight?
Players to Lovers (4 Book Collection) Page 86