When we finally pull apart, I turn to Ronan. I’d love to hug him, too. Not only for this but the freedom he’s giving me to come and go as I please.
“I really am proud of you, Amelia,” he says, sticks out his hand for me to shake. I take it gladly. We’ve recovered from my nasty outburst months ago. He pats me on my back. His congratulations to me came out with not one ounce of his counselor's voice. It was friendly. Fatherly. He’s truly proud of me. It makes me realize that my life isn’t where I want it to be, but it’s getting better day by day.
“I’m off to work,” Zoe announces, sending me one more delightful smile.
“Me, too. Keep up the hard work, Amelia.” Ronan pats my back one more time before leaving.
I rush to my room, setting up the letter on my desk, and smile at it one more time before changing into a T-shirt and shorts.
The orange basketball rolls back and forth between my hands as I make my way to the outside court. It’s empty, the sun is out, and the birds are singing. I breathe in the fresh, clean air into my lungs before shooting around.
Basketball helps relieve the endless energy always cycling through my body. I understand it’s all a part of being an addict. I don’t need the numbness anymore to survive. Still, I find it impossible not to be doing something with my hands.
I start sinking free throws, one right after the other. Back in the day, I always nailed them. I’d love it when the other team would foul me, because free throws were my specialty.
Backing up, I begin nailing three pointers one right after the other. Sweat begins dribbling down my forehead, so I place the basketball between my tennis shoes, use the bottom of my shirt to wipe away the sweat, then pull my wild blond hair into a messy bun on the top of my head.
After hitting five three-pointers in a row, I hear a voice and turn to see who it is coming from.
“Steph Curry in the house.” Zeke’s standing there with his hands on his hips.
He’s not dressed in his normal scrubs but in loose, black gym shorts and a T-shirt.
“Hey, you.” I walk over to him dribbling the ball. “Not on duty today?”
“Nah. A rare free day off. Doesn’t happen much, and since I’ve been really busy at work, I wanted to stop in today.”
“But it’s not a normal visit day.”
He shrugs, then before I can react, he swipes the ball out of my hands, sprinting over to the basket, going up for a layup. The ball swirls around the metal rim of the hoop and then falls over the edge not going in.
I can’t help but laugh at him missing the basket.
“That’s the easiest basket to make, you know?” I announce rather smugly.
“Is that so? Prove it, smartass. One on one?” he asks.
“Half court,” I tell him.
“Ladies first.” He bounce passes me the ball.
I roll my eyes but give no sign of my skills. Zeke’s not a dumb guy, that’s for sure, but maybe a bit cocky for his shorts at the moment. I begin dribbling in a sloppy manner, making it easy for Zeke to steal the ball. He takes the bait hook, line, and sinker, and when he reaches out to steal it, I juke just in time, whizzing past him. I have the advantage with nothing between the hoop and me. I go into a layup easily, sinking the ball.
“That’s how it’s done, doctor.” I chest pass him the ball with force behind it. “2-0.”
Zeke shakes his head with his friendly smile in place. “I see how this is going to go down.”
We play for hours not speaking until the sun kisses the horizon and our bodies are covered in sweat.
“Don’t forget the coffee next time,” I say as we begin to part ways.
Him, going home and back to his life, and me going to the comforts and safety of my room.
“Deal.”
We both turn going in opposite directions, then I halt in my tracks.
“Zeke.”
He turns around slowly, staying put. I don’t go to him. My damn fingers begin to fidget, but I know what I’m about to say is okay. There’s an immediate urge to share with him my good news. I have no idea where it’s coming from, but the urge is there.
“Yeah, Amelia.”
“I did something and want to tell you about it.”
This gets his attention, causing him to step closer to me but still keeping a good distance between us. In the three times he’s come to see me since the first visit where he brought me another new addiction—Starbucks—he’s never pushed me into feeling uncomfortable, making our friendship seamless and easy. Which is a first for me on any level. I mean, he’s a man. A very good-looking man whose eyes seem to want to reach into my soul to get to know the real me.
I was incredibly wrong about him in every way.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“I took my GED test and passed,” I say. Shocked my words come out more like a high-pitched squeal. Damn Zoe and her girly motives she pushes on me. I like it, though. This newfound woman I’m slowly becoming. I like her. I like him, and then I’m shocked again when the desire to hug Zeke slams into me. I think it over for a beat and then act on it. He remains stiff as a board as I wrap my arms around his waist. I hold him there. His heart is pounding hard, the same as mine. His breathing is picking up and so is mine. A sense of warmth crashes through me. The first thing that crosses my mind to try and explain the way I feel would be a shockingly warm wave hitting me out of nowhere and knocking me down.
“I’m so proud of you, Bluebird,” he whispers at the base of my ear. Wrapping his strong arms around me. I’m blasted. Plowed over and in a daze.
The nickname strikes me as odd, too. It’s comforting, and yet I’m suddenly afraid to ask, even more, afraid to speak. We both step away after a hug that confuses me.
“Thank you,” I stutter my response. Tuck my loose hair behind my ear. He watches my every move.
Something strange is shifting between us. Unfamiliar. Downright scary.
“Rematch next week,” he says.
“Okay. Thanks for coming.” I’m at a loss for words, and as I watch him walk away, I’m more confused than ever over this feeling inside of me I know nothing about. This one really makes me feel alive.
I lay my head on my pillow, thankful for my life, the chances I have, and my new friends. The thought of leaving here doesn’t scare me anymore. I know I won’t die or go back to where I was when I leave, because I’ve learned to believe in me. I’ll have a support system at every turn. I’ll attend my meetings. Keep busy with my hands and take one day at a time. The question that keeps plaguing my mind is, what in the hell am I going to do? What do I want to be? Where do I want to live? The questions are exhilarating, circling in my head for hours before I finally fall asleep dreaming of Zeke.
10
Zeke
“It’s as if she’s a ghost, Zeke. Unless you can get her to open up to you, I have nothing.” I plow my way through my office doors at the hospital after another meeting regarding this charity auction, pull off my tie, and toss it on my desk.
My knuckles are going white around my cell phone. I’d break the bitch out of rage if that was an option right now.
If Katch is telling me he’s at a dead end with trying to find Amelia’s family, then I know I’m fucked. The guy can sniff out death in his Goddamn sleep. He’s a hired killer born to track anyone. This is not a good sign.
“It’s not that easy. This girl is broken.” My fist is thirsty to pound the living shit out of someone. Preferably those sick bastards. “I appreciate everything, Katch. We won’t stop until we find them,” I say, hang up, and pause my arm mid-throw from crashing my phone up against the door when it creaks open to reveal none other than Marissa. Jesus. She’s the last person I want to deal with. She won’t give up. This is what I get for thinking with my Goddamn dick. My dick that hasn't seen anything but my hand for months now.
“I saw you walking in just as I was leaving, thought I’d come up and see if you wanted to come to my place. Dinner, drinks, then go fr
om there.” The tone of her voice lets me know about all her dirty intentions. She wants to be entertained via my dick.
I would have sad yes in a heartbeat several months ago. Actually, I would’ve bent her over my desk, ripping down her scrubs, giving her round one then promising her round two through ten over dinner and drinks. Not at her place, though, and definitely not at mine. I’m fucking shameless. A pig.
That’s all changed now and my reason why doesn’t have a thing to do with not enjoying Marissa’s company. My dick has never been selective. It has everything to do with a certain blue-eyed woman who happens to be sixteen years younger than I am, and even though I know it’s wrong to think about her in a way I shouldn’t, I can’t seem to help myself. Age is only a number and all that fucking shit. Amelia Moore is one complicated woman with more to her than most people can handle. Everything about her calls out to me. Her voice, her strength, her internal beauty. My Bluebird.
“I can’t,” I answer, stuff my phone in my pants pocket, grab my tie, and head in her direction.
I had every intention of getting some work done tonight, but that’s going to have to wait. Marissa is not going to take no for an answer. She never does. Well, she’s in for a big dose called first, because the answer will remain no. Even if I have to remove her physically.
“It’s been months,” she whines. “You keep pushing me off claiming you are too busy. Zeke! I’m here and ready.” She’s here and ready? Good God.
“Marissa,” I growl. “No. Not interested. We’ve had our fun, and I’m done.” I do not make eye contact; I keep focusing on the paperwork on my desk.
“We’ve had our fun?” she bolts out, slamming something with her fist. “You mean you had your fun. Fine. You were never a good fuck anyway.” I ignore her snide remark.
I should feel like a dick. Beg for her forgiveness, but none of it matters. Marissa is a long-forgotten memory even with her standing in front of me. Just a bump in the road. It was fun while it lasted. My soul never connected with her. My dick, yes.
I glance down at the pile of paperwork once again that requires my signature, along with an even larger pile of doctors in the LA area. There has to be a clue about Amelia’s family hidden somewhere. It’s a puzzle I’m devoted to finishing. It doesn’t even matter if I’m dying to solve it for all the wrong reasons. Seeing Amelia in her state now only drives me harder and faster to find redemption for her.
Christ, I wish Human Resources would call me with a candidate to interview for my secretary position. It’s been one week since Lori came in here in tears telling me she was giving me her two weeks’ notice. Her mother fell, broke her hip, and she was moving back to Colorado to take care of her full time. I instinctively told her I didn’t want the two weeks. That family was more important, and I would get along fine. Family is more important. I know better than anyone how true that is. Now, though, as I stand here gazing at a woman who’s stalking my way, I wish I had taken all this shit with me and shot my ass straight for home.
“Come on, Zeke. You look tired. I know just the way to pull all that tension out of you,” she purrs. For fuck’s sake, I hope you’ve learned your lesson, Zeke.
What the hell happened to the shy woman from months ago? Ahh. I know she up and disappeared. Basically, the cunt never existed. Like all the rest of the women whom I use and who use me. Marissa is after my money, and I used her for sex. She’s being ignored, so she thinks if she lures me into bed, then all will be right in her delusional world again. Indulging in meaningless sex doesn’t appeal to me anymore. It never will again. I’ve got my work cut out for me with Amelia, and I know it. There’s just something about her that has me thinking past the boundaries of our friendship. Somewhere down the road where we take it past friends, and until that day gets here or until I know without a shadow of a doubt that Amelia herself feels that way, I’ll be damned if I risk it. Or her.
“I think I’ll pass,” I retort, take a step back when she advances on me by cupping my cock right through my jeans.
The brain that makes more decisions for me doesn’t even react. Fuck. I’m too far gone for a blue-eyed beauty.
“What the hell has gotten into you these past few months?”
Ouch. I almost feel sorry for her. Marissa hasn’t missed any of the signs I’ve thrown her way. She’s desperate for me to make her come.
“Not interested. Marissa, you’re a smart and amazing woman. Find a guy who appreciates those aspects.” I shift around her, pull open the door, and wait for her to exit.
“Is there someone else?”
There’s no need to answer her question. A couple quick fucks in the on-call room months ago are far from a nailed-down relationship. Jesus H. Christ. I’m a thirty-seven-year-old man, and I’m not standing here having a useless conversation. What I do is none of her business. The less this devil woman in disguise knows, the better.
“I’m leaving and so are you. Please stop begging. It does not suit you. You are not what I want. You will never be what I want.” I can’t be any blunter than that. I could be, but I’m not that kind of man.
The chill in my voice leaves no room for discussion. Marissa finally catches on. Do I feel like a dick? Yes, I do. Am I going to string her along for the ride? Nope. There are other priorities in my life that need my attention.
The large pile of paperwork on my desk is dumped into my briefcase. I’m done talking, so I usher Marissa out of my office with a hand gesture while I stand at the door knowing this will not be her last visit and request of me.
My night can now be full of sifting through paperwork while sipping sweet whiskey accompanied by visions of different hues of blue.
* * *
“I know I’m ready, Ronan. I can feel it in my heart. I need to take the next step in healing.”
I’m about ready to round the corner to sign in when I hear a confident voice I barely recognize coming out of Ronan’s office. It’s her, though; I can feel her humming through my veins. Flapping her wings and wanting to soar.
“Like I said, my sister has a spare room that she’s already agreed you can rent. I believe you're ready to see what’s out there for you. You have excellent computer skills. Use them to find a job and promise me you’ll attend one of the support groups on a regular basis, and you're free to go.”
Go? Job? Shit. I’ve become accustomed to her being within walking distance from the hospital that I never put a thought to where she would go once she left here. Hell, no. I act on instinct, knock on the doorframe, and pray to God that what I came over here to run by Ronan first is the right thing to do.
“Hey, Zeke. Come in,” Ronan calls out from behind his desk, and there she is. The vision of my dreams. God, she looks like an angel sitting there. Her mouth tipped up, her hair down, framing her face.
Her beautiful face that would have been unrecognizable to anyone is now a work of art. I’m not talking about the makeup or the bright red lipstick across her lips that I want to taste as badly as my body needs its next meal. I’m talking about a combination of things.
It’s the work of doctors who took special care to make every marring scar disappear from what those rotten pieces of scum did to her. Those very same men who those cops haven’t done jack shit to find. It’s the way she holds her head up, shoulders back, and sits there wrenching her hands together in her lap. It’s the light in her eyes when she sees me. A beauty that honest to fucking God runs skin deep that it makes me want to kill her mother myself before I turn the gun on the men who stole the beauty that halos around her.
“Zeke, what are you doing here?” She stands, and if I don’t pull my head out of my ass, both she and Ronan are going to shut me down the minute I speak.
Hell, they might anyway. It’s a terrible idea. The worst for her probably but not for me. I can’t seem to help it; it comes tumbling out of my mouth anyway.
“I came here to talk, to offer you a job and a place to stay,” I half lie, then smile to myself and stand in the doorway l
ike a teenage kid picking up his first date.
Idiot. She’s going to shoot you down. She has yet to come out and tell me face-to-face what happened to her. Who knows? She may never. I won’t push her either. That’s her nightmare to revisit when she’s ready.
Ever since I stood outside this very same door several months ago and heard her start to confess what they did to her, I’ve had nightmares that would shake up the devil himself. I wasn’t there, but I sure as hell feel her pain, see her vacant eyes, and visualize nearly every night what those sick bastards did to take her natural beauty away from her.
“What?” Both she and Ronan say at the same time. Amelia sounds like a high-pitched squealing mouse, and Ronan, well, he plain and simple sounds not one bit surprised. Fucker thinks he has me pegged. Whatever he thinks, he’s got it all wrong.
“Get in here and close the door, Zeke.” Now he sounds pissed. Good. That’s the reaction I need. For him to stand up for her and show how much he cares. He looks to Amelia for some kind of silent answer, and when she closes her eyes and nods yes, my heart skips about a hundred fucking beats. The door. It has to remain open.
I internally want to punch myself. I’ve gone batshit crazy over a woman who more than likely hates every man who walks on this earth. Couldn’t blame her if she did, but I’ve never in my life been drawn to anyone as I am to her. I know the difference between right and wrong. Between wanting to help someone out of the kindness of your heart, letting them go their separate ways, or for whatever reason there’s a voice inside your head, talking to you constantly. Screaming at you to not let that person walk away. He or she was meant to be in your life. It’s the same type of feeling I had when we first met Curtis in that bar years ago. The same fondness I have for the club. For Katch. For Caitlin.
Amelia Moore was meant to be in my life.
And she knows it. I feel it every single time we play a game of basketball. The way her eyes bore into mine to give her the answer about the way we are drawn to each other. The way she felt up against me. The way my skin ignited in a burst of wildfire flames out of control when she hugged me. It was a simple hug. But powerful in so many ways.
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