by JA Lafrance
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” Ronan spoke up. “Fell on a—”
“Shut up,” Cruz snapped at his little brother. One of three, she knew. He was the second oldest boy of five.
It was only once Kisska had Ronan resting on one of the beds in the ER bay that she finally had Cruz remove his hand from his brother’s. Ronan moved his with her prompting, too, and she immediately understood Cruz’s earlier warning for the teenager.
He didn’t fall on anything.
The neat slice through his flannel button-down could only be done by a blade. At least, the bleeding had slowed which meant—
“It probably didn’t hit anything vital,” she said, snapping on gloves she had grabbed on the way through the door. “It’s definitely going to need stitches.”
“Fuck sakes,” Ronan grunted when Kisska leaned in for a closer look which meant pulling up the flannel and feeling the wound. “Easy.”
“Where’d you get that mouth?”
Ronan chuckled. “Ask that asshole.”
She didn’t bother to look for Cruz behind her.
Kisska was too busy, and everything she could see about him was a lie, anyway. She learned that lesson once. She didn’t need a second education on the topic.
“Right, well, I’ll have to—”
“No police,” Cruz said suddenly.
That did make her glance back. His stony stare bore into hers, the cold emerald gaze steady and sure and threatening. Something else the Montgomery family did particularly well. There was a reason why they ran the town, after all.
Why they owned the mountain.
Why she ran.
But every rumor she had ever been told about the Montgomery family had never come close to the reality when it was finally laid at her feet. By then, it was already too late.
When is a monster not a monster, she remembered asking Cruz so long ago. When you love me, he had told her.
She hated him for that.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
“I’m not going to call the cops,” Kisska said, wishing her tone came out stronger. “You said it was an accident. I can’t prove otherwise.”
Wasn’t that usually how his family worked?
“Good. And hey, welcome back to The Valley,” Cruz told her, “Ma likes to say we always come home, right? We have to—it’s home, Kiss.”
Her hands trembled. The glare of lights in the far windows told her that Miss Lee was finally back. She had a patient to deal with; a job to do, but she couldn’t look away from Cruz.
His face was made up of hard lines that chiseled out a jawline and cheekbones that screamed rugged. The remnants of grease on his hands that he kept limp at his sides—hands she had let touch her and hold her so many times—said he was still spending his days elbow-deep in engines at his family’s mechanic shop on the mountain.
She could only say one thing back to Cruz; even if it killed her on the way out.
“Yeah, welcome back to me,” she whispered, quickly going back to her work on Ronan’s obvious stab wound. “I guess not very much has changed.”
To say the least.
But she had.
Kisska changed.
Cruz made sure of that.
About Bethany-Kris
Bethany-Kris is a Canadian author, lover of much, and mother to four sons, three cats, and four dogs. A small town in Eastern Canada where she was born and raised is where she has always called home. With her boys under her feet, snuggling cats, barking dogs, and a hubby calling over his shoulder, she is nearly always writing something ... when she can find the time.
www.bethanykris.com
Worth the Wait
Scarlett Wells, Edits donated by Karen Hrdlicka
Worth the Wait
Day 1
Today was officially the first day of quarantine for me. Being a software developer, my job can be done from anywhere, so I am one of the lucky ones who will remain employed during this crazy time.
I started my day as usual, getting up and throwing on some workout clothes, hitting my treadmill for a run, then hitting my Pilates reformer for a workout. I showered, dressed, and then ate some poached eggs on avocado toast before grabbing my coffee and heading to my desk to get to it for the day. The day was long and relatively frustrating, with video meetings being dropped, a few internet outages, and other technical issues. It’s not unexpected, but it is still a pain in the ass.
While the last thing I want to do is cook dinner, I decide to go and grill up some shrimp and veggies on my balcony on my illegal barbecue. I mean, the lease says it’s against the rules, but everyone has them. No one has ever caught shit for it.
I take a tray with a plate of shrimp, another of veggies, and head out to plop them on the grate before I head back into the kitchen. The rice cooker dings to let me know the rice is done. So, I unplug it and put a bit on a clean plate, pour some coconut aminos over it, and then grab my glass of pinot grigio and head back to the balcony to flip over my shrimp and veggies.
It doesn’t take long for them to be done. I heap them onto my plate, turn off the grill, and take a seat at my little bistro table.
This really wasn’t my life five years ago. After my divorce, I didn’t exercise, and I ate my feelings. I got a wake-up call a year later when my doctor told me I was prediabetic and I needed to make changes. Those changes happened slowly, but they happened. I lost all of the weight I had gained—and then some—and I developed an exercise and eating regimen that I could live with and still enjoy.
To be honest, I actually like exercising. I crank up the music on my headphones—I’m not that asshole who plays loud music in a high-rise condo building—and I tend to zone out. It’s the one time of day my brain isn’t thinking about code or meetings or whether or not my coworker is trying to stab me in the back. It brings me peace before I start my day. Some days, I even do another workout after work. But today was not one of those days.
I look out over the city and the lake, enjoying every bite of my dinner, and wondering if I have any Halo Top ice cream in my freezer, when I hear the neighbor’s sliding door open.
I have never actually seen my new neighbor. He bought the condo next to mine two months ago and, as far as I can tell, moved in about two weeks ago. Due to the large frosted plate glass wall between us, I can’t actually see him now.
Me, being me, a huge dork, I pull out my best Ned Flanders and say, “Hi diddley ho, neighborino!”
I hear a deep chuckle from the other side of the glass before, “Well, hello there, neighbor.”
I hear a chair scraping on the concrete floor, and then the crack of a beer being opened.
“Tough day at the office?” I inquire.
“You could say that,” he mutters.
“Sorry, if you’d rather I not talk, just say so. I won’t be offended,” I offer.
“You’re good,” he tells me quickly. “I’m Alex, by the way.”
“I’m Hannah,” I introduce myself. We can’t shake hands, so I stick my hand to the glass. “Nice to meet you.”
That gets another chuckle before he leans toward the glass and gives it a high five.
“Nice to meet you, Hannah. So, what do you do?”
“I’m a software developer for one of those ridiculously large corporations that have way too much money and often get accused of spying on everyone. And you?”
He chuckles again. “Doctor,” he replies, sounding defeated.
“Oh dear,” I murmur. “Tough times, these are.”
“Too true,” he responds. “Especially when you’re a pulmonologist.”
“Oh dear,” I repeat myself. “So, I’m assuming you really did have a rough day.”
There is silence from the other side of the glass before I hear a heavy sigh. “I lost my first COVID patient today. It was… tough to witness.”
“I’m so sorry, Alex. I can’t even imagine,” I tell him.
I hear another heavy sigh. “Thanks, Hannah. I am hoping it will also be the la
st COVID patient I lose, but I’m not hopeful. This virus it’s… What it can do is awful. I hope like hell we can contain it, find a vaccine, find a cure, and move forward.”
“I hope so, too,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry to be a total downer,” he says. “I’m not normally like this.”
“It’s all good, Alex. I’m going to head inside and leave you to it. I’ve got a blind date with a book boyfriend.”
Another deep, rumbling chuckle comes from the other side of the glass. “A what?”
“I found this website that will send you a new book every month. They don’t tell you what it is, but based on your interests, they will pick one for you, wrap it in brown paper and string, and send it to you. Since I like romance…” I trail off.
He’s still chuckling when he says, “I see. Intriguing concept. Do they also do thrillers and mystery?”
“They do! You should check them out.” I rattle off the website for him.
“I absolutely will do that. Thank you, Hannah.”
“No problem, Alex. I hope you manage to have a good night,” I tell him, standing up and grabbing my plate and my wine glass.
“Thank you, Hannah. You, too.”
Day 3
“I’m sorry to hear that, Alex,” my tone mournful.
“I root for the Roughriders, Hannah, it’s not like I had to put down my beloved dog,” Alex says, laughing.
“You’re on the wrong side of the Banjo Bowl, Alex! You’ve got to come over to the Blue,” I inform him.
“Nah, I think you need some green in your CFL diet,” he says. “Please don’t tell me you root for the Argos here,” he begs.
“Hell no! My ex-husband used to play for them. He got the Argonauts in the divorce.”
It is the third night of the two of us sitting out on our respective balconies, shooting the shit. In getting to know each other, we have discovered we both grew up in the Prairies, him in Regina, me in Winnipeg. We both follow the Canadian Football League but not NFL. We both read a lot, with some of the same favorite authors; I don’t only read romance, you know. We both exercise daily and eat healthy, and we both love the diversity of restaurants Toronto has to offer.
It’s been fun getting to know him. I still haven’t poked my head around the frosted glass barrier and neither has he, for that matter.
I hear him laughing at my comment. When he sobers up, he asks, “So you’re divorced, too?”
I sigh, leaning my head against the back of my oversized wicker chair, tucking my feet up on the seat. “Yeah. It was five years ago. I’m over it. We met in college and married right after graduation. His dad’s accounting firm hired him, which allowed him to play football while still having a career. The first few years were great. But then he started cheating on me at away games and well… Let’s just say there are some things I can’t forgive.”
“I know the feeling,” he murmurs.
“You, too?” I ask.
A deep, heavy sigh. “Yeah. Been divorced for six months now. Evidently, I was so focused on my patients and building up my practice that I wasn’t so focused on her. She didn’t like that, so she found someone who was focused on her.”
“I’m so sorry, Alex,” I whisper.
“It’s all good, Hannah. It’s not like she didn’t know what she was getting herself into; we met during my residency. Just makes me wonder if she was cheating on me then, too, since I was working insane hours.”
“I know we haven’t known each other long, but…” I trail off and pause a moment. “Well, if you ever need it, I would gladly help you bury a body.”
Hearing his deep, rich laughter coming from the other side of the glass is exactly the outcome I was hoping for.
I put my feet on the balcony floor and push myself out of my chair. “And with that, I’m off to bed. Have a good night, Alex.”
I press my hand to the glass. After a moment, Alex returns the gesture. I drop my hand to pick up my tablet and phone, and then grab my wine glass in my other hand.
“Sweet dreams, crazy pants,” Alex says, still chuckling.
Day 36
“Hello, stranger,” I bellow when I hear Alex’s balcony door open.
“God, it’s so nice to be done with night shifts,” Alex says, and I can actually hear him taking a load off before he cracks open a beer.
“No doubt,” I tell him. “I can’t imagine my schedule shifting at all, let alone every two weeks.”
“I haven’t had to do nights since my residency. I forgot how much it sucks.”
“Well, you have two weeks of spending your nights out on your balcony with delightful company, so cheers to that,” I tell him, lifting my wine glass toward the glass partition and clinking it there. Alex taps his can on the other side before we both take big sips.
“I’ve missed this,” he sighs. “I’ve really missed your company.”
Oh my! I mean, I knew I missed his company, but I had no clue he returned the sentiment.
“Me, too,” I murmur. “Glad to have you back, Alex.”
“Glad to be back, Hannah,” he whispers.
Before he started night shifts two weeks ago, Alex and I exchanged phone numbers. We have been texting back and forth during that time, occasionally calling. We broke the seal on actually seeing each other when he sent me a selfie of him in his PPE. I put on my ski gear and sent him a selfie back. We eventually traded selfies without facial coverings, and I was extremely pleasantly surprised to see how handsome he is. He’s got dark brown hair with some gray in it; not much, it just makes him look distinguished. His full mouth is surrounded by carefully groomed scruff; his green eyes are incredibly kind and crinkle in the corners when he smiles, adding character.
He finds me attractive, too! No one has put a bag over my head, so I know I’m not awful. But it’s nice to have someone compliment you every once in awhile; especially when you haven’t been able to go out and get your roots touched up and you’ve been living in Lululemon yoga pants and tank tops for weeks on end. And his compliment was incredible. He simply said, “You’re stunning, Hannah.”
He is really sweet, picking up groceries and wine for me while he is out so I don’t have to leave my condo. He leaves the bags at my door and then texts me to tell me they are there. As a thank you for that—aside from electronically transferring what I owe him—I have been baking treats for him every week, leaving a little care package at his threshold.
I really enjoy getting to know him better. He is intelligent, he has an amazing sense of humor, and he cares a great deal about his patients. He also appreciates my special brand of crazy, which is always a great quality in a man.
“So, what shenanigans should we get up to this evening?” he asks.
“I think we start off with shots and then play ‘Never Have I Ever,’” I offer.
“Hmmm… Tempting,” he says, amusement in his voice. “Go look outside your door.”
“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word. I get out of my chair and head inside. When I open my door, I am surprised to see a gift bag sitting there. I pick it up, head back into my condo, and reach inside. There is a Battleship case. Totally something we could play through the divider. I smile as I place the bag on the counter, grab my bottle of wine, and head back out to the balcony.
“Battleship! Sweet! I haven’t played this for ages!” I tell him as I sit down. I open my case and start getting set up.
“Just a little something to break the monotony,” he says.
“You think spending time with me is monotonous? Huh. Guess I need to crank up the crazy,” I mutter.
“Spending time with you is anything but monotonous, Hannah,” he responds, his voice very low and solemn.
Wow.
“Well… good.”
I fiddle with one of the ships, suddenly quite shy.
“Do you have your ships in position?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him.
“Good.”
Day 40
“God damn it, Alex! For once I would like to sink your Battleship!” I shout.
“That’s what she said,” he mutters.
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing.
Day 45
I’m out on the balcony dancing to “Kissing Strangers” by DNCE, a large glass of wine clutched in one hand. It’s late and I’m being a tad noisy, but I just don’t care.
“Whatcha doing, crazy pants?” Alex says over the music.
“Jesus!” I shout, turning to the glass partition. “You scared the crap out of me, Alex!”
Pressing my hand to my rapidly racing heart, I’m thankful I wasn’t holding my glass of wine, otherwise, it would have been all over the floor.
I reach down and turn the volume down on my phone.
“You’re late tonight,” I tell him something he already knows.
“Sorry. I did text you to let you know,” he apologizes.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Um, check your phone, Hannah.”
I look down and see Alex has, in fact, texted me four times.
“Oops!” I giggle. “Sorry.”
“Are you drunk?” he asks.
“Maybe a little,” I tell him, holding my thumb and forefinger about a centimeter apart, not that he can see them. “I am celebrating!”
“Well huzzah!” he cries. “And what are we celebrating?”
“Well, remember I told you about that little punk, Michael, at work?”
“The one who keeps trying to make you look bad?” he asks.
I nod, once again, not like he can see. “That’s the one! His plan backfired on him! HR has all kinds of chats and email streams of him plotting my demise. Today they had a video chat and fired him! And then they called me and told me all about it.”
“Well, that’s awesome news,” Alex says, a smile in his voice.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “How was your day?”
“It was very long. To be honest, I kind of just want to go have a shower and crawl into bed,” he tells me.