by Lyz Kelley
She quieted the thought, determined to break her habit of constructing a what-if future because there wouldn’t be one. She intended to keep her promise and let him go when the time came. Enjoying the now must be enough. “So what’s on the agenda today?”
“I thought we could do the paint touch-ups and finish boxing your stuff. If the crib arrives, I could help put it together.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
Concentrating on flipping the omelet, he gave her the sense with his quiet movement that a question was brewing. She pushed back from the counter and walked to the stove.
“What’s up?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know.
“Don’t you think this is too easy? I mean, we’re both grown adults, set in our ways. Us, together, here—seems too domestic.”
He had a point. Sharing space, especially in-your-face space, had never worked for her in the past. What made it work now? If she had a resume, control freak and micro-planner would have been listed at the top. She had checklists for her checklists. So why had she put her organizer and all that discipline in the closet and shut the door?
He slid an omelet onto a plate.
“What did you expect, that I would wear curlers to bed and hang my pantyhose in the shower?”
A red flush of embarrassment rolled up his cheeks.
“You did, didn’t you?” she said, more a statement than a question.
“I grew up with tampon boxes, makeup, purses, and clothes all over the house. I honestly didn’t know women lived any other way. And yes, I like to keep things put away where I can find them quickly.”
“You didn’t grow up in our house. I swear my mother has a military background. Inspections took place weekly. If we didn’t pass, our weekends were spent scrubbing, folding, and organizing.”
“Where’s the fun?”
“It’s how my parents were raised. They didn’t know any different. I’ll be breaking that cycle. If Ellie wants to wear overalls and stomp in the mud, it will be allowed. All I care about is that she grows up happy and healthy. Do you think her heart will heal properly?”
His hand paused in the middle of beating two more eggs. “She’ll need at least one more surgery, but after that, she should be good to go. The drugs, though, might cause a learning delay, and she might not be at the top of her class.”
“I’m ready for that, too, but more worried about being an over-protective mother.”
“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.” He poured the beaten egg mixture into the pan and added the sautéed vegetables.
“Not being heard as a child or being able to follow dreams can be frustrating.”
“Are we talking about Ellie or you?”
“Both, I guess. I don’t want to become my mother. When I was young, I wanted to pursue my art. My teacher told my parents I have a gift. The next year, I wasn’t allowed to take art. Instead, I was forced to take calculus. My mother chose my classes, my clothes, my friends—I had very little input.”
“Do they disapprove of the hospital mural?”
“Surprisingly, no. My parents were the ones who helped me convince the hospital Board to let me paint it. A few years ago, I gave my parents a painting for their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. The family portrait made my dad realize how much I loved to paint, and he apologized for not allowing me to follow my dreams.”
“But you’re following them now. That’s all that counts.”
“Better late than never, right?”
He scooped up the second omelet, put it on a plate and handed it to her, before grabbing his own. “Bon appetit.”
She picked up a fork and cut a chunk off the end, rolling her eyes and making happy groans after popping it into her mouth. “Wow. The flavor is fantastic. I’m impressed.”
“Why, because I’m a guy?”
“No because you can cook. There’s a reason I don’t have much food in my apartment. I suck at cooking. Meaning, I burn water.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, she has a flaw.”
“I figured, why cook when some of the best chefs in the world live in this city? And you never run out of options.” She took another bite, allowing her taste buds to dance around on her tongue.
“Just admit it. You don’t cook because you don’t have the patience to learn or practice.”
“Yep. Busted.”
Laughter bubbled inside her until he leaned in and placed his lips on hers. The urgency of his kiss felt beautiful and scary. Her appetite for the man matched his for her, and she wanted more than just tenderness. The subconscious need to feel sexy, confident, and even a little bold made her push for more.
An eyebrow raised, questioning. “You sure you want this?”
Gone was the apprehension. She wouldn’t pretend she didn’t know what he asked. “I’m sure.”
Pushing his plate back, he stood and lifted her in his arms. With no further words, he moved down the hall to her room, sat her on the bed, and kissed her hard.
The raw passion he unleashed took her by surprise. The hunger of his touch made her body respond and come alive. Her bathrobe and his apron somehow vanished. Warm skin against skin made her shiver. His hands searching, feeling, encouraging her to respond. He slid her on top.
“No,” she said, not thinking about the interpretation. He stiffened. “I want to feel your weight on me. Please, Garrett.”
Without a millisecond of hesitation, he rolled, taking her with him, his mouth drinking her words.
She lifted her hips, moaning and encouraging. He searched her eyes, silently asking permission.
“Yes! Hurry!” she responded with desperation.
He reached for a condom pack. Seconds later, he took her hard, pushing deep, claiming her. She gave a sharp gasp of pleasure, encouraging him to press even deeper. With another moan, he pushed, taking her to a level of ecstasy she’d never experienced or expected, pushing her higher again, and again, and again, until she screamed with pleasure. He pumped a few minutes more before his head fell forward with a groan.
Several moments passed. He lay still, unmoving, before shifting her into his arms. Her legs still possessively wrapped around his body.
“Whenever I’m around you, I can’t control myself.” Nibbling on her neck, he sent a tingling sensation down her spine.
“Is that a bad thing?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t agree.
“I don’t want to push too hard. There’s a line. I’ve crossed it once. I don’t want to do it again.”
Why, because you think I’m broken? she wanted to ask. Would anyone ever be able to love her without believing they had to be careful, treat her like she was breakable? She was damaged goods. Who would deal with all her ghosts? An unexpected tear rolled down her face and fell on the pillow.
He closed his arms around her. “Oh, Mac. I’m sorry. It’ll be all right.”
“Don’t be sorry. I don’t want your pity, and I definitely don’t want you to think I’m fragile.”
Her muffled words suddenly turned into a torrent of sobs. The grief of a shattered life, pent up and never released, broke loose like water from a dam.
She lay in his arms, his body locked around her, for almost half an hour, until her tears ran dry. She turned toward him, kissed his chest, and felt him stir. Reaching for him, she guided him back to her.
“You kill me, woman. I want you to be sure, but…”
“No, buts. I want….”
With her arms and lips and legs, she showed him what she didn’t have words to convey. He folded into her body, the two becoming one, rising and rising until they both pushed over the edge.
Time passed. His deep, relaxed breath made her smile. Garrett Branston snored, and she didn’t mind.
In his arms, she found peace.
When she opened her eyes, she discovered the sun descending.
Contentment filled her, until the what-ifs descended.
No. No what-ifs. No should.
Stay in the moment.
<
br /> Make these memories enough.
Chapter 20
“A large, three-pump, Chai Soy Latte, extra hot,” McKenzie said to the young barista with pink highlights and a nose ring. “And a large Vanilla Latte, two percent, with an extra shot and extra foam.”
Six days of floating in dream-filled clouds with Garrett had made her giddy. Exploring the doctor’s likes, his dislikes, and his dreams, made her feel connected to the world again.
“Anything else?” the cute girl asked.
“A cinnamon roll.” Indulgent. That was how she felt. The smells, the chatter, being on her own, the sense of normal, made her skin tingle with renewed energy. She checked her watch. Fifteen minutes. Just enough time to find a table and read the New York Times highlights.
Picking up the drinks, she eyed a couple about to vacate the overstuffed chairs by the window and rushed to slide into the spot behind them. The city street outside provided curious entertainment.
He came in just as she shrugged out of her coat. A pair of jeans, a button-down shirt, and loafers on him looked anything but ordinary. A smile spread across her face, and then drooped with concern. He scanned the room. When their eyes connected, a sense of dread made her breathing shallow. The lack of a smile and the weighted concern on his face made her hold her breath as he walked to the table.
“Hi. I got your coffee.”
“Thanks.” He leaned in and kissed the top of her head before removing his coat and taking a seat.
The formality of his tone and the reserved greeting made her retreat further into caution. “Are you okay?”
He looked out over the street. She didn’t need a college psychology class to recognize his avoidance behavior. Not a good sign.
She placed a hand on his knee. “Tell me.”
“Dr. Cowell called. The review Board cleared me of any wrongdoing.”
Preparing for this day, she figured she’d feel excited, vindicated, something positive, but she didn’t. Hearing the words sliced her heart. The sting expanding with each breath.
She adopted an air of lightness. “That’s great. I told you it wouldn’t take the hospital board long to decide. What did they say?”
“A report is to be issued later this week. Remember that nurse who was stealing the drugs?”
“The one the cops arrested?”
“That’s the one.” He picked up his coffee and took a sip. “Seems she was having an affair with Dr. Gouder.”
“Dr. Gouder?” She ran through the list of medical professionals. “Isn’t he that anesthesiologist? A little man with glasses and acne scars?”
“You got it. After they fired the nurse, she threatened to tell his wife about their affair unless he paid her rent and her mother’s medical bills.”
Her thoughts spun, putting all the information together. “And in turn, Dr. Gouder blamed you for having her terminated and filed an anonymous complaint.”
His lips formed into the intimately familiar crooked smile. “Sounds like a TV drama, doesn’t it?”
The knot in her stomach eased. “I’m glad the investigation is over.”
“Are you?”
She wanted to renege on their agreement, but she’d promised—no strings attached. Regret stuck in her throat. She debated whether to eat the cinnamon roll to avoid his penetrating gaze. “Absolutely. The hospital needs you back.”
“Dr. Cowell said I resume my full schedule tomorrow.” He leaned forward until she had no choice but to look at him. “If you’re so happy, why does your smile no longer reach your eyes?”
“Do you want some of this roll?” she asked, avoiding his eyes.
“Now who’s avoiding questions?”
“I guess I’m a little distracted. I have a lot on my mind.” She blinked her eyes, pretending dust had flown in, to hide the threatening tears. She needed to cut the cord. She’d made a promise. He already struggled against the thin bindings that held them together. She had to cut the ties and let him go.
She struggled to swallow. “Weston called this morning and said he needs that marketing project done. He already extended the deadline once. I committed to having a marketing concept draft by the end of the week.”
“I guess we both have jobs to do, then.”
“Your job is more important. Marketing the newest medical gadget will not shift the planet off its axis.” She forced the smile she’d manufactured to stay in place.
He captured stray strands of her hair and looped them behind her ear. Her stomach twisted, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to push anything else past her lips. She couldn’t pretend like nothing had happened. Everything had changed. They both knew it.
He scanned the building across the street, and then looked at her, and then away again. “I got more news this morning.” The tone of his voice and the way his thumb rubbed the palm of his hand put her on edge. “The State called. Ellie’s adoption went through.” A twenty-pound weight burdened each word.
She twisted the paper cup on the table, round and round, mimicking her thoughts. “But, I didn’t sign any papers.”
“I’m sorry, Mac. She’s being adopted by a family in upstate New York.”
A clamp tightened around her heart. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.
Losing Garrett hurt enough, but losing Ellie as well? Didn’t she deserve at least a teaspoon of happiness? A deep abyss opened in her chest and pooled with pain.
Her fingers tingled from lack of blood and her mind crumpled in agony. She wanted to crawl back to her apartment and disappear.
She stood on unstable legs. “I have to go.”
“Mac. Don’t leave. Let’s spend the day together. Go to the museum. Or go to my place. We never made it there.” He stood.
Stinging eyes full of hurt and bewilderment lifted. “I can’t.”
“This is goodbye, isn’t it?”
“No…no, it’s not.” With each word, the pain grew stronger. Oxygen barely reached her lungs. “I’ll see you at the hospital and at charity functions. You’ll do fine. Just remember, no posting memos without buy-in from the nurses.”
“Lecturing me again, Mac?” He attempted a lazy smile.
Somehow she swallowed the hurt. “No. Cheering you on to success. You deserve a great career. Don’t you know? I’m your biggest fan.”
She leaned in, pressing her mouth to his. “I promised our fake engagement and intimacy would end when you went back to work. So as of today, this is ‘see you around, Doc.’”
“Mac—”
“Don’t. Please don’t. I need to go.”
Squeezing her eyes closed, she turned and moved her feet away, away from the one man who would for the rest of her life hold a piece of her heart.
With each step, she continued to remind herself how lucky she was for having had the time—the brief interlude—she could treasure for the rest of her life.
The time had come to get back to reality. Back to her life.
For the past several years, she’d been standing on the sidelines, not wanting to play, not wanting to take the chance of getting tackled or busted up again.
If she’d played it safe, she’d have missed the time with Garrett. No more. She wouldn’t play the victim. He had given her a gift, a very special gift. She wouldn’t waste it. She stopped at the street corner and listened to the traffic noise. The anger and frustration and anguish made her feel alive, bold, and ready to vanquish any lingering fear.
Red, orange, and cobalt blue paint swirls gripped her by the purse loops and pulled.
The painting—the one she’d been working on at the time of the assault—called to her. She didn’t want to think or feel. She wanted to paint, paint until the pain and anguish bled away. The need to finish that piece, to go back to the place where her life derailed, became essential. Maybe if she finished the painting, it would be like starting again, at that exact moment. She could move forward, erasing all that came in between, everything except those she loved.
Garrett and Ell
ie.
She needed to grieve, to make a new start.
The marketing campaign, motherhood, planning…all of it…could wait one more day.
Chapter 21
McKenzie admired the cut of Weston’s European-style suit and the way the boardroom fit his style. He deserved the executive confidence he wore. In the past thirty days, he’d outmaneuvered the competition and Carver International had won an important distribution battle. He still vibrated with the victory.
“Sorry I’m late. Liam can’t make it,” he said, stopping to deliver a peck on her cheek before taking a seat at the head of the table. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”
“Abby asked me the same thing at lunch. It’s nothing. I ran out of my regular vitamins, and I purchased a different brand. The new ones are making me nauseated.” She opened her organizer, turned to a fresh note sheet, and poised her pen over the page. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What did you think about the campaign? What changes do you want me to make?”
“Nothing needs adjusting. It’s brilliant.” Her brother leaned back, bouncing his pen on a stack of folders with her marketing presentation on top.
“You always have suggestions for improvement.”
“Not this time. Something’s different about this one. It’s vibrant, has more energy. I never thought you could top that last one, but you do always manage, somehow.”
Pride filled her. “The idea came together quickly. You should thank the Marketing Department. They worked hard to make the concept pop.”
“I already have.” Weston twirled his pen, threading it through his fingers, a trick he learned as a boy. “How’s that doctor of yours?”
“Garrett? He’s not my doctor, and I suppose he’s okay. Dad says things are settling at the hospital, and he’s finding his way. Why are you asking?”
“You haven’t seen him?”
She fought the urge to turn her wrist to calculate the exact hour and minute. It had been sixteen days since she’d walked away. She’d spoken to him twice on the phone, but the calls seemed strained to the point she’d stopped answering his calls.