Keep

by Rachel Van Dyken

  I sobbed against his chest. “No.”

  He let out a curse. “Why the hell not?”

  “Because…” Tears continued to stream, I couldn’t stop them, I couldn’t. “Because she left you, even though she had to go, she left you, and you needed her. And now you’re going to leave me, don’t you see? I need you. I need you!” I slammed my hand against my chest with little effect. “It’s unfair to tell me you’re going to keep me, only to toss me away when we need each other the most. It was unfair of your sisters to abandon you, unfair that you had to fend for yourself. And the minute you gave yourself to me, I swore I would never be that person. I swore you would never see my back. Ever.”

  “You have a sexy back.”

  “Be serious.” My lower lip quivered.

  “I am.” He ran his hands down my spine. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Distraction won’t work. If you want me to leave, you’re going to have to physically remove me and note I’m not above using sex as a way to stay by your side.”

  “Damn it, stop being so stubborn.” His face twisted with anger. “Just go! What if I don’t want you? What if I’m tired of you?”

  I kissed him.

  As hard as I could.

  As hard as he asked me to.

  Until I couldn’t breathe.

  Until I couldn’t think.

  When our mouths broke apart, he let out a rough curse. “That wasn’t playing fair.”

  “Keep me,” I begged. “Please.”

  “That’s my line.” His eyes locked on mine. “That’s been my line all my life.”

  “And now it’s mine.” I kissed his hands. “Let me stay.”

  “And if something happens?”

  “You’ll know you were kept.”

  “Yeah.” He sighed resting his forehead against mine. “And so will you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Zane

  I SHOULD LET HER go.

  It was my new mantra, the damned sentence kept going on repeat over and over in my head until finally I just tuned it out and watched as she made a little marshmallow tower on my hospital tray.

  “It’s going to fall.”

  “Shhh!” She placed a marshmallow on the top of the pyramid and pulled back just as it took a tumble sending the thing crashing down. “Ugh.”

  “My turn.” I rubbed my hands together. “You forget,” I licked one side of the marshmallow. “It’s about the lick.”

  Her face turned bright red.

  “I’d love to know where that little mind of yours went right now.”

  She turned redder.

  “That good huh?” I whispered, wishing like hell we weren’t waiting for the stupid results from the surgeon to see if we were moving forward or just waiting for my little bomb to go off. I would have loved nothing more than to lock the door, pull the curtain, and devour those red lips.

  “I can be quiet.”

  “Hell…” I wiped down my face with my hand. “Are you seriously trying to kill me?”

  She maneuvered her little body next to me, tossing a thigh over mine as her knee slowly raised up and rubbed against me. “Really. Quiet.”

  “How…” I cursed as she ran a hand down my chest and cupped me. “Quiet are we talking? Like church quiet? Library quiet? Parents are downstairs quiet—holy shit—” Her hand moved beneath the blanket and under my hospital gown, finger gripped around me and slowly began something I knew I wouldn’t ever want to end.

  “This quiet.” She kissed my mouth and pulled back. “See? No screaming.” A pitiful moan escaped my lips followed by another dirty curse as she moved faster. “No yelling.” She gripped harder. “Just. Silence.”

  The buzz of the hospital was the only sound.

  That and my heavy breathing.

  Just as a knock sounded at the door.

  She jerked her hand away and covered my lap with a blanket and pretended to be stacking marshmallows again while I was left wondering what horrible existence I must have led to deserve the type of pain I was experiencing. Not just pain, lust, blinding lust.

  Shit.

  “Doc.” My voice came out hoarse, great. “How’s it going? How are the kids?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you hot?”

  “So hot,” Fallon said under her breath.

  I was going to strangle her.

  “Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “I’ll open a window later.”

  “They don’t open.” Still deadpan. Why couldn’t they have given me the funny surgeon? The one who works on kids and hands out lollipops with stickers that say I have an ouchie.

  “Right. A walk then.” I tried to tell my dick to stop straining against the blankets in blind search of Fallon. “Walks are. Awesome.”

  Fallon giggled.

  I elbowed her.

  The doctor’s raised brows showed boredom and a bit of irritation as he crossed his arms and sighed. “With your permission, we’ve elected to do surgery.”

  “Surgery.” I repeated. The word tasted funny as it crossed my lips. “Do you think it’s completely necessary?”

  “Dr. Thomas has consulted on your case, and she feels if you were to leave today, it could stop growing, maybe heal itself, but if it doesn’t, it will eventually kill you. Perhaps now? Perhaps years from now. The point is, you need to get to Portland as soon as possible.”

  Fallon gripped my hand in hers.

  “Portland.” I sighed. “Okay, so are you guys discharging me now or—”

  “We have an ambulance waiting to take you. Dr. Thomas and her team are already prepping for surgery this evening. No eating anything until after surgery, you can have clear liquids and ice chips.” He nodded. “Any questions?”

  “Yes.”

  He turned, paused.

  “What are my chances in surgery?”

  He frowned. “Dr. Thomas is one of the top brain surgeons in the United States, you’re very lucky she chose to stay in Portland for—”

  I waved him off. “I don’t need to see her degree. I’m sure she’s great. What I want to know is, what are the chances that surgery will go well? That I won’t wake up needing to be spoon-fed oatmeal every morning while someone changes my diaper?”

  His eyes darted to Fallon and then back to me. “Attitude is everything, Mr. Andrews. If you believe it will go well, it will. If I tell you your chances are ten percent, you may give up.”

  “Ten percent?”

  He cracked the first smile I’d seen grace his grumpy face. “See? Already you look defeated. And ten percent is a made up number. You’ll be happy to know Doctor Thomas has a ninety percent success rate with cases like yours. You’re in very good hands.”

  I exhaled. “Okay.”

  “She’s not family.” He directed this at Fallon. “She can’t ride in the ambulance.”

  “I’m the only family he has,” Fallon said in a stern voice. “If you need me to go marry him right now so I can jump in that ambulance that’s fine by me. But sometimes you don’t need blood to be family. Family is a word that means life or death, and this is one of those situations, which means I’m family.”

  His shoulders tensed. “But the fact still remains, you aren’t family.”

  “I’ll ride with her.”

  Yeah, he was going to murder us before I even made it to surgery. “You can’t just drive to the hospital!”

  “Who said anything about driving?” I shrugged. “It’s less than two hours away.” I squeezed Fallon’s hand. “We’ll get there just as fast.”

  “But we can’t monitor you.”

  “I probably need those discharge papers now,” I said in a cold voice. “Since my family…will be taking me to Portland.”

  With a scowl, he looked heavenward. “You’ll have to sign off that you left AMA—against medical advice.”

  “I won’t sue you.”

  “You still need to sign.”

  “Done.”

  He muttered a curse under his breath and started toward the
door. “I’ll have someone check you out and give you the address along with your papers, remember no solid foods, only clear liquids.”

  The doctor’s soft-soled shoes slapped heavily against the shiny tile floor as he stomped from the room.

  A sense of relief settled over me.

  Ninety percent.

  That was better than ten.

  “Sorry,” Fallon interrupted my thoughts. “I was just…angry he wouldn’t let me go, I mean clearly he doesn’t realize that I’m your assistant.”

  She was teasing, trying to make light of our relationship, trying to make me feel better about her place in my life, just in case, but I already knew, I was done.

  She owned me.

  “Well, I could have just told him you were my prostitute, that would have gone over better.”

  “Every man needs sex before surgery.” She nodded seriously.

  “Yes! You get me!” I raised my hand for a high five.

  She rolled her eyes then hit it. “I need to stop encouraging you.”

  With a laugh, I brushed a kiss across her lips, “We should probably call Jay.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Zane

  AN HOUR LATER, WE had a rented stretch limo.

  With two SUV’s following.

  Alec, Demetri, and their wives plus the baby in one, and Jay’s crew in the other.

  Dani and Lincoln decided to ride with Jay, but I knew they were probably regretting it by now. Jay drove like a maniac and still managed to forget to drive on the right side of the road. Often. It was his thing, well that and threatening Lincoln, who was still sleeping with his wife Pricilla’s sister, Dani.

  Fallon read all of the instructions out loud while I tried to get her to underage drink so she wouldn’t stress out.

  She said no to wine, champagne, beer—everything.

  If you can’t have it—I don’t want it.

  That was Fallon though.

  She even handed me her chapstick for safekeeping. Ugh, I was so far gone if chapstick did it for me like a freaking promise ring or something.

  Her parents weren’t thrilled that she was traveling with me to Portland. Then again, all she did was explain the situation. They were completely silent, both of their expressions blank, purposefully blank.

  Like they were both afraid to stare at me with pity but at the same time, what could they do when their daughter left town with one of the biggest celebrities in the world, only to know, deep down, that she might not be the same person when she got back.

  Because that would all depend on the celebrity.

  And his ability to not turn into a vegetable.

  Something I couldn’t really control, no matter how much I wanted to.

  Her father’s stern expression wasn’t at all helpful when Fallon ran around the house and started packing a weekend bag.

  “Son,” His lips thinned into a tight line. “These doctors, you trust them?”

  What an odd question. “Sir, I don’t know them.”

  His frown deepened. “Do you need me to come with you? Talk some sense into them? Maybe give them the run down on how important you are?” His grip tightened on the gun he was cleaning. I swallowed a laugh. “Because, I’d be more than happy to put my foot down.”

  “And if it just so happens to land on the doctor’s foot?” I asked, smiling.

  “Then at least the doc will know I mean business.” His face paled. “I don’t trust doctors.”

  “She’s one of the best in the country, but I appreciate the gesture.” I held out my hand to shake his, it seemed like the right thing to do.

  He stared at my hand then pulled me in for a gruff hug, slapping me three times on the back so hard that had I been choking he would have just saved my life—with every slap.

  “You’re going to be just fine.” His voice was gruff. “A father knows these things.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” It slipped out before I could stop it.

  He pulled back and nodded. “Well, now you do.”

  Quietly, he went back to cleaning his gun, stabbing something into the front of it.

  “Yeah.” I said in a low voice. “Now I do.”

  “Sit down.” He pulled out a chair. “Pacing makes a man nervous. Now, hand me the grease.”

  We sat in silence.

  No more words were exchanged on my end, but he felt the need to talk to me about gun safety for the next ten minutes. I think it was his way of getting me to relax.

  Oddly enough, it worked, and by the time Fallon and I got into the waiting limo, I was a different person from the scared boy who had walked into that house.

  All because another man had told me it was going to be okay.

  I couldn’t wrap my head around it or even logically explain why his words calmed me down—but they did.

  Maybe because he was logical, thoughtful, didn’t just throw meaningless words into the air because he wanted to be heard. People like Fallon’s dad spoke with purpose; they made you want to listen because it was rare that they spoke in the first place.

  He was a real man, her father.

  I liked him. Maybe in another life, I could have gotten to know him better.

  But that choice was getting ripped from me, just like my grandmother, just like the family I’d always wanted but never had.

  “Hey, it looks like they’re going to have to shave part of your head.” Fallon scrunched up her nose as she kept reading the discharge papers, “Just the right side though.”

  “That’s going to look hot.” I laughed as the limo pulled onto the highway. “Watch it become a trend.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s going to be a hashtag in a few hours.”

  “Yeah.” I had to focus on the teasing, because if I thought about someone cutting into my skull it kind of made me want to puke.

  The car fell silent.

  I wanted to be that guy, the one that cheered her up, that made her laugh, that walked around naked and belted out shit about marshmallows, but my happy was gone, it was currently circling the drain and wondering if it was going to disappear altogether or suddenly get a life raft thrown at it.

  We were ninety minutes away from Portland.

  In ninety minutes, my life would change.

  I’d called Will, and he was already in Portland picking up one of his clients for filming, so it worked out.

  Yeah, let’s focus on that, how easy it was for everyone’s schedules.

  I groaned. At least my headache was gone.

  That had been caused by dehydration—the migraine was just what I needed to get my ass to the hospital though—both migraines I’d had in my life had shown symptoms of stroke. Lucky me.

  “Tell me the craziest thing a fan has ever done.”

  “Well, that came out of nowhere.” I chuckled, grateful for the distraction. As I turned to pull her into my lap, she straddled me, her dark hair kissing her chin and shoulders, taunting the living hell out of me. “Let’s see, the craziest thing was when a fan broke into my trailer and stole just my jeans and black boxers, nothing else.”

  Fallon squinted behind her black-rimmed glasses, I was thankful she’d decided against contacts in favor of her trendy new frames. I liked her this way. The way I met her, the way she blinked up at me with thick black eyelashes, blind as a bat and cute as hell. “That’s not very crazy.”

  “Story’s not over.” I tapped her chin with my fingers. “So, a week or so later pictures surface of this chick on Instagram, modeling my clothes, singing my songs, and writing in her own words about her undying love. At the end of each song, she would strip.” I laughed at the memory. “And light the clothes on fire then dance around it naked.”

  “No!” Fallon gasped with a smile, covering her face with her hands. “Was there a reason for the dancing?”

  “Well, after they arrested her for petty theft, the police questioned her and she said she was convinced that our spirits were one, and that all she needed to do was conjure my animal spirit th
rough her own little spell and I’d find my way to her house and apparently to my burning clothes.”

  Fallon nodded a few times, pressing her lips together. “Wow, that’s…very special.”

  “Yes. That’s what I thought, how special that this strange girl is chanting and setting my clothes on fire. Special. Totally special. My heart might just burst with all of the specialness of it.”

  Fallon smacked me on the chest. “Don’t piss off your spirit animal.”

  “Or hers.” I shuddered. “Anyway, she apologized and deleted her account, and I didn’t press charges. Had she stolen my marshmallows though—”

  “—life sentence.” Fallon nodded seriously.

  “Death row.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I mean who would do that?”

  “A madman.”

  “You get me.” I dug my hands into her ass pulling her closer to my body as I stole a kiss. “I love that you get me.”

  “I get your weird obsession.”

  “It makes sense if you know me.”

  “You use them as a comfort.”

  I frowned. “Well, yeah, but also, they’re marshmallows.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “A basic food group.”

  “They are not!”

  “Aw, did you even pass your senior year?” I patted her head. “Humans need sugar to survive, don’t judge me for wanting to live.”

  “Now who’s crazy?”

  “Still the dancing chick.”

  “Hey, Zane?”

  “What?”

  “Can you take off your pants so I can set them on fire?” She asked in a deadpan voice.