by Tina Beckett
She’d barely seen him since then, and the regrets she hadn’t had the night they had sex had been growing like weeds ever since. Now they were tall and thick and choked out anything that might have disagreed.
What had you pictured, Addy? A kiss on the cheek as he sent you off to work?
Maybe she’d expected a series of cozy little rendezvous with Garret. Well, that was not going to happen.
Thank God he’d used protection. For both of their sakes. The last thing she needed was to get pregnant by accident. Leo had wanted to wait a while before having kids. That “while” had turned into their entire marriage.
She should have seen it for the sign that it was.
And now she was thirty-five and wondering if it was too late and feeling like a fool. In more ways than one.
Well, she could consider this her free pass, redeemable for one dumb move.
And which move was that? Marrying Leo? Or having sex with Garret?
Well, if Garret hadn’t taken off like a shot, she might have considered that a casual dalliance. People did it all the time, right?
Just because she wasn’t built like that, didn’t mean there was anything wrong with it.
How about the fact that Garret seemed to be avoiding her like the plague?
Maybe she needed to confront him and clear the air. He hadn’t exactly apologized, but the way he’d left had bothered her.
Whatever it was, they couldn’t go on avoiding each other forever. Besides, they were down to a week and a half before the auction. She and the other volunteers were supposed to meet with him and some of the marketing team this morning to discuss everyone’s part in it. She was going to see him. Unless she dropped out of helping.
She thought for a second.
No. She’d given her word. He might be uncomfortable about what had happened, but that didn’t mean she was going to change her life over it. Besides, he was the one who’d asked her to participate in the fund-raiser, so he could just suck it up and deal with it.
And afterward? She was going to corner him and either figure this out or agree not to figure it out. But she wasn’t going to be made to feel she needed to duck for cover any time he was around.
With that decided, she headed off to the bedroom to take a shower and get dressed.
For work.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE HAD A pretty good idea why Addy wanted to see him after the meeting. But the last thing he wanted to talk about was what had happened between them.
Her mention of putting flowers on her mom’s grave had been a punch to the gut, reminding him that he’d avoided going to the cemetery for far too long. He and Patrice had gone together to put flowers on Leticia’s grave for the first year after her death. Then he’d somehow had to work, whenever his wife had suggested it, so she’d gone alone. Continued to go alone. Until the accident. And then he’d moved here.
He should have been there. Should have gone to put flowers on his own child’s grave, dammit!
His jaw clenched as he tried to rein in the emotions that were threatening to explode.
Addy had reminded him of everything he’d lost. And now she wanted to talk.
What the hell was there to say?
He had no idea, but right now, he needed to concentrate on getting through this meeting in one piece.
They were to the question-and-answer portion, and thank heavens this was Marketing’s area. He’d been all too aware of Addy sitting out there in her scrubs, the lanyard around her neck proclaiming her a doctor of Miami’s Grace Hospital.
And he was up here with the people who took care of the building and employees—but not patients.
“Last thing. We’d like to have a screen as in previous years that flashes through some of our hospital’s success stories, so if you have any suggestions, please see me afterward so we can contact those patients and ask for a picture or two. We don’t need details, since we have HIPAA laws to consider.” Someone whispered something to the speaker. “Okay, I’ve just been told we’ve had some photographers floating around the hospital taking candids these past couple of weeks, so we’ll intersperse your suggestions with those shots.”
Garret leaned a shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms and scanning the twenty people in the room. When he got to Addy, she averted her eyes.
She’d been looking right at him.
That made him swallow. He’d walked away from her house without an explanation, without even eating the breakfast she’d obviously made for him.
And when he’d awoken, he’d found a sheet over him. That had turned him to warm mush. He’d gone to the kitchen intent on dragging her back to bed, and then she’d mentioned her mom’s grave. About wondering if she knew she was loved. It was as if she’d dumped an icy bucket of water over him. All he’d wanted to do was get out of there.
Had Leticia known? Could she somehow see that he couldn’t be bothered to go and visit her grave?
The meeting was over, but instead of coming over to talk to him, she went up to the front to talk to one of the presenters, instead. He gave her a piece of paper and she scribbled something on it and then handed it back to him.
What was that all about?
A second later, she headed his way and his whole body tensed. Here it came.
“Can we go to your office, maybe?”
That made it official. Whatever she wanted to talk about was something she didn’t want anyone to overhear.
“Sure.” He tilted his head to indicate the table where the marketing person was still standing answering questions. “What was that about?”
“They asked for suggestions about the slideshow. I decided to give them Grace Turner’s name.”
“Grace...” His head cocked as something jogged his memory. “The house-fire family?”
“Yes. I thought they’d be a great choice.”
“They would.” He’d wondered a couple of times how that family was doing. Hopefully Grace was feeling better and had made her peace with what had happened.
He led the way to his office, which thankfully was just down the hallway from the meeting room. He started toward the desk and then changed his mind when he saw the exercise balls still sitting on top of it. He didn’t want to pave the way for any more lectures on her part. Especially since he’d just stood in that meeting and wished he were sitting in one of the chairs instead of standing up at the front.
Motioning her to the sofa, he chose one of the chairs and then waited for whatever it was she had to say.
“So...” She leaned forward and clasped her hands on her knees. “I’m not sure exactly how to say this, but things have been awkward since—Well, you know. I’m not quite sure how to fix it.”
“There’s nothing to fix.” That came out a little bit harsher than he’d meant for it to, so he tried again. “We work together. A relationship of any kind between us would be hard.”
Her brows went up. “You think that’s what this is about? That I want something more than what happened? Um, no. I’m in the middle of a divorce and I was mourning my mom. The last thing I want is to start something.” Her face hardened. “Is that why you left so suddenly, and why you seem to be going out of your way to steer clear of me now? If so, don’t worry. What happened was a onetime thing.”
Despite her words, a flash of something that could have been hurt appeared in her eyes. He owed it to her to tell her the truth.
“I left like I did because I can’t—didn’t—put flowers on my daughter’s grave.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I did, but I don’t understand. What does that have to do with what happened?”
“You mentioned getting flowers for your mom’s grave and it brought back things I thought I’d dealt with. Evidently I haven’t.” He swallowed. “I didn’t put flowers on Leticia’s
grave, even when I could. Even when I was still in New York. Her death did something to me. It changed me, and not for the better.”
“I had no idea. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t want to explain that morning. Didn’t think I could get through an explanation, actually. So if you think I’ve been avoiding you, you’re probably right. I just didn’t stop to think about how it might look.”
“Maybe you should go.”
He froze, her words cutting like a scalpel. “You want me to leave Miami’s Grace?”
“Oh, no! Not at all. But maybe you should take a week and go take flowers to your daughter.”
He frowned, not expecting that suggestion. “Maybe someday.”
“If you have other children, you might want them to—”
“I won’t. I’m not having any more children.”
Her head tilted. “Not ever?”
“No. Losing her was too hard.” If he couldn’t even visit his daughter’s grave, how the hell would he be able to look into another baby’s eyes without thinking of her—without wondering if that child, too, would be taken from him. Even the thought made a spurt of bile shoot up his throat.
She nodded. “I can’t even imagine. But thank you for explaining.”
“You’re welcome.” He heaved out a gust of air, relief washing over him. “So we’re good?”
“I thought I did something wrong.”
That was the problem. She hadn’t. She’d done everything right. A little too right.
“Nope. Not at all.” He smiled. “I didn’t drive you to working too hard, did I?”
“Possibly.”
“What?” Tension began building at the back of his head all over again.
“I was joking, Garret. But it wouldn’t be a tragedy even if I did. Working actually helps clear my head—it takes my mind off myself.”
“Using it to dull your pain can backfire, though. I know from experience.”
“That won’t happen to me.”
“You know that for a fact?”
Her mouth twisted as she seemed to think about how to respond. “I won’t drive when I’m exhausted. I’ll take a cab. And at least I’m helping people in the process. I’m not burying myself in a bottle or drugs.”
“You’re right.” He sat back and crossed an ankle over his knee. “And now I’ll get off your case about it.”
She laughed. “Thank you. So what are you going to do with your weekend? Take your new surfboard out for a spin?”
“I thought about it, but I don’t think I’m proficient enough to go out on my own. Buying it was probably a mistake.”
“It wasn’t a mistake. Learning a new skill is always good.” There was an obvious hesitation before she added, “And it might even help your hand more than those therapy balls.”
Her glance went to his desk, making him wish he’d put the balls away. He’d begun using them again, even though he wasn’t sure why. “Surfing will? How?”
“It’s a natural way to add to what you’ve already done.” Ticking down on her fingers, she named a few ways. “Carrying your board helps with grasping skills. Paddling out to a wave—the water creates drag on your hand and fingers, like resistance bands would, but there’s a better range of motion used in the ocean. Planting your hands on the surfboard when you pop up into your stance. You’ve said you have problems flexing the fingers on that hand. I noticed when we went out that you curled the fingers and used your fist. Why not flatten your hand as much as you can instead and let the weight of your body do the work? I would say do the same with push-ups, if you do them. It might hurt, but as long as your tendons aren’t in danger of snapping, it can be a good way to coax them to lengthen.”
She took a breath to continue, but he cut her off. “You’d make a great physical therapist. I hadn’t thought about surfing being good for anything but recreation, but maybe you’re right. You thought about all of this when we were out on the water?”
“I didn’t until you said you’d bought a board. Swimming is always good exercise, and surfing works a lot of muscles in a lot of different ways. Why not use it to your benefit?”
“Why not indeed? I’ll give it some thought.”
“If you don’t want to go by yourself, maybe we can set up one day a week when we spend a few hours out. I’ll have to plan my schedule around the tides on weekends, if those are the only days off you get.”
He wasn’t sure spending more time with her outside work was a good idea, but since they’d gotten any baggage off the table in regard to the night they’d spent together, what could it hurt? They were both aware of the lingering attraction between them, so they’d be on guard now. Right?
“Weekends are my official days off, but I can sneak away for a few hours every now and then.”
And that sounded a little suspect. But she knew what he meant.
He certainly wasn’t opposed to the idea, even if he wasn’t convinced his hand would reap much benefit from it. He could still go and have a good time.
“There are whole surfing communities, so it wouldn’t have to be forever. Just until you meet some people. I do understand about not wanting to go out alone. I have the same problem, which is why I don’t go out as much as I’d like to. So this will get me back into the groove as well.”
He didn’t see himself hanging out with the surfer crowd, but he didn’t contradict her.
“I don’t think you’ve ever lost your groove, from the way you looked out there.”
She smiled. “Well, thanks. I think. But you don’t have to be an expert surfer. There are people of all ages and abilities out there.”
“Easy to say when you’re one of the experts.”
“I’m not. I just enjoy the sun and surf.” She stood. “Let me check the surf reports and I’ll come up with some options for some days next week. How does that sound?”
“Are you sure?”
He didn’t want her to feel forced into babysitting him.
“I am. But only if you’ll admit that it might actually help your hand.”
He got to his feet as well. “I’m willing to admit the ‘might’ part, while retaining a dose of healthy skepticism.”
The skepticism outweighed anything else at the moment. But doing something other than working and sitting at home would be good for him in general.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
“Sounds good, then.”
He saw her to the door and closed it behind her before he could watch her head down the hallway, slim hips swinging as she went.
She was the one who’d offered, he reminded himself as doubts began popping up like surfers on their boards.
It was then that he remembered that images of popping up were the last ones he should be bringing to mind. Because the previous mental pictures of Addy on a surfboard were branded in his skull from here to eternity.
* * *
Okay, so Garret hadn’t quite expected to be on the water the day after she mentioned juggling her schedule. But he was. And each time he paddled his board out, he was aware of the tension of the water on his bad hand, the way the gentle pressure coaxed his fingers to stretch and release in rhythmic strokes. In fact, where he had always used his right hand to compensate for the weakness in his left, he purposely began to pull harder with his bad hand, making his fingers come together to form a cup that moved more water. Tendons strained, muscles burned, but it wasn’t painful.
He selected a wave in the distance and waited for it to arrive, then flopped his midsection onto his board and paddled. As soon as he felt that magical push, he flattened his hands on the board and tried to spring to his feet. Big mistake. Daggers stabbed at his fingers the second his weight fell on them and lights flashed behind his lids. He crashed into the water and came up sputtering, holding his hand to his chest as he trod water and waited for the ag
ony to subside. Too much too fast.
Hell, this was a terrible idea.
Addy paddled over to where he was. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. It just hurt more than I expected it to.” He let his hand sink below the surface both to cool the burning and to hide the vague sense of embarrassment. He’d told her he didn’t want to come out here alone, but he hadn’t really thought through the ramifications of her seeing him in pain. He didn’t like the feeling.
“Maybe try cupping your hand. I know I told you to try to keep it flat, but maybe somewhere in the middle of those two extremes would be better.”
She was so matter-of-fact about it that it eased some of his misgivings.
The next time, he kept his fingers curled more so that his weight was distributed along the base of his palm rather than the fingers themselves. Then he was up, hands held as he’d seen others do to get his balance.
Addy had caught the wave behind his and dropped off further in to shore than he did, making her way back to where he was. “How was that? Better?”
“It’s going to take some work, finding that balance between not protecting it and not hurting it.”
“Isn’t that the way with almost everything in life?”
He mulled over the words a time or two, then forced a lightness into his voice that he didn’t quite feel. “Adding philosopher to your list of medical titles?” What she’d said had hit way too close to home. He was still struggling to find that balance in life. The balance of retreating behind a wall of steel to avoid emotional pain, and exposing too much of himself and getting stung for it.
Kind of like the night he’d spent at her house. He’d allowed himself to become vulnerable only to take off at a sprint at the mere mention of flowers on a grave. She’d implied that she’d been confused and hurt at the abrupt way he’d left.
He wasn’t confused. But he was going to be more careful. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally cause Addy pain.
