Crossing the Line

by Kendall Ryan

  The flight gets underway, and since I’ve never spent any one-on-one time with Bailey, and I’ve certainly never flown with her before, so I have no idea if she wants to spend the flight talking or if she plans to read or watch a movie. But since she doesn’t make a move to grab her phone or headphones, I don’t either.

  “So, who am I meeting?” she asks, rubbing her hands together like she’s excited.

  It’s kind of freaking adorable. I figured she’d endure this week, at best. Being stuck with someone else’s family for seven days seems like a very specific kind of torture.

  “Everyone,” I say. “My mom, sisters, my grandma, my aunt Darby . . . who makes the best peach pie on the planet. My inappropriate, crazy uncle Jim.”

  Bailey laughs, the sound soft and feminine. “Everyone has one of those, right?” she says teasingly.

  “An inappropriate uncle? Totally. Standard issue. And I have three sisters, but you’ll only meet the two younger ones. My oldest sister, Nora, would be there, but she’s very pregnant right now. Didn’t want to travel so close to the baby’s due date.”

  “Aww, so you’re going to be an uncle?”

  “Yup. In a couple of weeks. It kind of feels like a technicality, though. There’s a bunch of kids in the family, and they all feel like nieces and nephews rather than second cousins. Oh, which reminds me, my cousin Tad and his wife and family will be there, and so will my other cousins, Mack and Tyson.”

  “Any of them hot?” she asks.

  I give her a pointed look, and she chuckles. “Next question.”

  “Fine. Be a cock-block.” She smirks. “Anything weird I should prepare myself for?”

  “You mean other than my hot cousins trying to talk the panties off you?” I offer up a smile, but there’s a weird knot of frustration stewing in my stomach.

  Bailey doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy hunting through her dish of nuts to find the last cashew.

  I hand her mine. “Here.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Actually, there is something, I guess. My parents are divorced, and they’ll both be there, but my mom will be there with her new husband and my dad is still single. It’s kind of our ‘new norm’.” I make air quotes with my fingers as I say this.

  “Hmm. Okay.” Bailey chews, looking thoughtful. “What else?”

  I take a drink of my water, thinking about what other fun facts I can tell her about the Reed crew. “My grandma is called Lolli.”

  “Lolli?” One side of Bailey’s mouth lifts with a crooked smile.

  “It used to be Lolli and Pop—my grandpa was Pop. He passed ten years ago, but her nickname had stuck by then.”

  “Lollipop. I think it’s cute.”

  “She’s a firecracker. You’ll love her.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  Strangely, neither can I.

  We spend the entire flight talking, and then somehow, our plane is already touching down in San Diego as if no time has passed. Listening to Bailey’s stories—about medical school, the odd jobs she’s had over the years, and her cringe-worthy performance of Annie in high school—has kept me entertained, that’s for sure.

  As much as I resisted bringing a caretaker on this trip, I’m starting to realize that this week is going to be way more fun with Bailey by my side.

  And that could be very, very dangerous.

  4

  * * *

  California Air

  Bailey

  Asher may have insisted on the plane that he has no plans of being a handful, but the second we touch down on the tarmac, he hits me with a piece of information that suggests the opposite.

  He rented a car.

  My first clue that this wasn’t a regular rental car was that we didn’t go to one of the rental car counters. Heck, we didn’t even go to the rental car building at all. A guy dressed in a suit and dark sunglasses met us just outside the terminal and brought us the car.

  And not just any car, mind you. A bright yellow convertible with a super-charged engine. I guess this is what happens when you’re a celebrity or pro athlete—luxury car dealerships want you to be seen driving their brand. As we stand at the curb while our bags are loaded into the trunk, Asher doesn’t seem to be giving any indication of giving up the keys.

  “I just don’t think that driving when your right leg is injured is a good idea, Ashe.” I drop the handle of my rolling suitcase and fold my arms over my chest, making it quite clear that he’s not winning this fight easily. “Maybe I should give Trey a call and clear this with him.”

  “He had no problem with me driving at home,” Asher says, swinging the key ring around one thick finger as if he could hypnotize me into letting him have his way. “Besides, it’s only a fifteen-minute drive. There’s no way I’m passing up the opportunity to drive down the coast in this thing.”

  When Asher gives me a persuasive imitation of puppy-dog eyes and runs his fingers through his messy blond hair, suddenly I’m opening the door and sliding inside, resigned to riding shotgun. God, this man is lucky he’s so damn good-looking. I have a feeling his looks have been getting him his way for a long time.

  As I buckle my seat belt, it occurs to me that I’d better put a caveat on this whole driving with a serious injury situation. “If your leg gets tired or starts hurting again, you’d better pull this car over. Deal?”

  He nods. “It’s a deal.” But the words are hardly out of his lips before he peels away from the terminal like a bat out of hell.

  Holy speed demon. I grip the handle of the door, my knuckles instantly turning white.

  “Jeez, Ashe!” I gasp. “You couldn’t have rented something practical, like an SUV or something?”

  He lets out a hearty, full-bodied laugh that puts a flutter in my stomach. “If we’re going to do Southern California, we’re doing it in style. And I figured you might need a proper getaway car when you realize how crazy my family is.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

  A devilish grin twitches across Asher’s lips as he flips down the sun visor and swerves into the far left lane, picking up speed. “You say that now. We’ll see if you’re singing that same tune after a few days with these weirdos.”

  The drive from the San Diego airport to where Asher’s grandma lives on Coronado Island is absolutely stunning. I knew we would cross over water to get to the island, but when I get my first look at the Coronado Bridge, I flinch in my seat, pressing my hands over my eyes.

  “I guess it’s not a great time to tell you I’m scared of bridges,” I say, peeking out at him from between my fingers.

  “Not the best time, no,” he says, his voice laced with concern. “I didn’t know that about you.”

  I’m tempted to make a comment about how there are a lot of things he doesn’t know about me. After all, in the two years we’ve known each other, we’ve only had a few one-on-one conversations, most of which were practically med-school pop quizzes. He’d ask me about some ache or pain he had, and I’d give him a medical explanation and tell him not to play so rough on the ice. Lather, rinse, repeat. I can’t help but think that maybe if he’d listened to me, he wouldn’t be facing the possibility of spending the rest of the season on the sidelines, but that’s neither here nor there.

  I pull in a slow, stuttering breath, trying to calm my ragged heartbeat.

  “Would it help if I held your hand . . . for moral support?” He slides one big hand my way, palm up, but I swat it away.

  “Yes. But in this instance I’m going to need both of your hands on the wheel. Ten and two, mister.”

  “Are you going to be all right?” he asks.

  “I’ll be okay. Just distract me until it’s safe to look.”

  “Distract you. Can do. Have I told you the story about Lolli and the mechanical bull?”

  Asher goes on to tell some story that I’m sure is riveting, but I don’t soak any of it in. I’m too busy gazing down at the sparkling blue water as we cross ove
r the San Diego Bay.

  “You made it. We’re on land again,” Asher says, reassuring me.

  “It’s quite the view,” I murmur, looking out into the distance now that my hands have left the comfort of my eyes.

  The harbor is full of giant gray Navy ships sitting in water that’s such a vibrant blue, it almost doesn’t seem real. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the salty California air. It feels like the first real deep breath I’ve taken in years.

  “This . . . this is gorgeous. Your grandmother lives here?”

  Asher nods. “Pop used to work at the naval base down here, and when he got sick, Mom and Steve moved here to help take care of him. And then they all just stayed. I think we always thought Lolli would sell the place after Pop died, but she couldn’t part with it. You’ll see. It’s a pretty amazing house.”

  And it turns out by house, he means beachfront oasis.

  When we pull up to the quaint, two-story house, I’m immediately dazzled. The pale yellow house with pink shutters and an inviting front porch is absolutely adorable. There are two large palm trees in the front yard and a funky flamingo sculpture stuck into a flower bed.

  “Welcome to Lolli’s place,” Asher says warmly as he shuts off the ignition and pops the trunk. “Are you ready to meet the fam?”

  Ready or not, it doesn’t matter. Because the next thing I know, we’re not alone.

  “Hey, everybody, Asher’s here!” A petite old woman with a styled white pixie cut and sunglasses the size of dinner plates is standing on the porch, calling into the house. “Come on, you nincompoops! Don’t make the old lady or the boy with the busted crotch carry all of his stuff!”

  “That would be Lolli.” Asher laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “And if you hadn’t guessed, I believe the boy with the busted crotch would be me.”

  “I pieced that together,” I say with a giggle. “I’ll get your bag. Go hug your grandma.”

  He gives me a stubborn look, but I’m not letting him win me over about this like he did in the driving argument. Besides, the least I can do is carry his bag so he can see the family who has probably missed the crap out of him.

  When I make it to the porch, his duffel slung over one shoulder and my rolling suitcase in my other hand, a whole gaggle of relatives has joined Lolli on the porch, and each of them are fighting for their turn to hug Asher.

  “You must be Dr. Bailey,” Lolli says in a syrupy voice, and before I can stop her, she’s pulling me tight into a hug with arms that are surprisingly strong for a woman of her age and stature.

  “Lolli, let the poor girl go.” A woman with graying blond hair unties the apron from her waist and swats Lolli with it, then introduces herself. “I’m Asher’s mom. You can call me Tess.” She shakes my hand, then gives the convertible a skeptical squint. “I’m guessing the sports car was my speed demon son’s idea?”

  My gaze flicks to Asher, a smirk twitching at the corner of my lips. “Yeah, Speedy Gonzalez insisted on driving despite his injury.”

  Asher holds up his hands in defense. “Hey now. I’m an excellent driver. Don’t I at least get brownie points for distracting you so you didn’t freak when we crossed the bridge?”

  Tess pulls her son into a tight hug and kisses his scruffy jaw. “We’re just giving you a hard time, honey. I couldn’t be more thrilled that you’re here.”

  “And I couldn’t be more thrilled that we have an air-conditioned house!” Lolli fans her face to keep the sweat at bay. “Can we move this love fest inside before one of you has to mop me up off the porch?”

  Asher grabs his duffel and slings it over his shoulder. “I’ll lead the way.”

  Lead the way to what, you ask? A kitchen full of even more relatives to meet and greet. I’m going to need flash cards in order to remember everyone’s name this week.

  “Is there somewhere I can put our bags?” I ask Asher’s mom, half yelling over the hubbub.

  She nods, grabs Asher’s duffel from off his shoulder, and motions for me to follow her upstairs, which I’m not so secretly relieved to do. Holy family reunion, there are a lot of people to meet at once. While they’re all lovely so far, traveling always has the unique ability to make me sleepy, despite the fact that I’ve done nothing but sit in a plane and then a car.

  I follow Tess down a long hall of rooms to a particularly sunny one at the end. It looks like this will be my home for the next week, and I must say, it’s a whole lot nicer than the studio apartment I call home the rest of the year. There are beautiful framed pieces of abstract art on all the bright white walls, and the queen-sized bed in the center of the room is draped with a plush coral comforter and more throw pillows than I’ve ever seen outside of a home décor display.

  “We figured you’d better have the room nearest to Asher’s in case there’s some medical emergency at night,” Tess says, lingering in the doorway as I leave my suitcase next to the dresser. “I’m no doctor, but if you need any help with him, I can give you my number. Steve and I live just down the street.”

  “Maybe you’re not a medical professional, but you are his mother. I’m sure you nursed many a hockey injury of Asher’s when he was a kid.”

  She laughs, her eyes kind when they meet mine. “I took care of plenty of injuries that probably should have been the responsibility of an emergency room. It’s a relief to pass on the torch to an actual professional.”

  We’ve been absent from the family gathering for all of five minutes, but apparently, that’s a few minutes too long. A voice that is unmistakably Lolli’s comes thundering from the kitchen and up to the rafters, telling us to “get your tushes back down here.”

  A giggle escapes me. Asher wasn’t kidding. His grandmother is a firecracker.

  Back in the kitchen, the hugging has stopped, but the chaos is far from over.

  While one of Asher’s relatives takes notes of everyone’s preferred pizza toppings for dinner tonight, another is helping Lolli press snickerdoodle dough onto pans. And in the center of all of this, Asher is sitting at the breakfast bar, halfway through telling his aunt and uncle the story of how his injury happened. Or at least his version, which sounds more like a horror story. I’m sensing some exaggeration going on, so I interrupt him halfway through a description that makes the player who body-checked him sound like a rabid Sasquatch on skates.

  “I hate to interrupt the sports talk, guys, but I need to get my patient here set up with an ice pack. It’s been a long morning already.”

  Lolli, who’s had her pointer fingers stuffed in her ears to keep from hearing the gory details of Asher’s injury, leaps at the chance to volunteer a bag of frozen peas from her freezer, which I happily accept. Trey sent along a bunch of instant cold packs, but they’re all still packed somewhere in my luggage.

  “Mind if I head to the screened-in porch?” Asher tilts his head toward the sliding glass door at the back of the kitchen. “Might as well feel a little sunshine on my skin while I ice this thing.”

  Frozen peas in hand, I follow him through the sliding glass door, which he pulls closed behind me before situating himself on a wicker chair facing the beach. A soft drizzle has started to fall, although the sun is still shining full force. With the smell of rain mixing perfectly with the sweet, sugary smell of the snickerdoodle bars Lolli has in the oven, I feel like I’m breathing in a deep breath of pure happiness.

  “So, was I right or was I right?” Asher asks, lifting his leg onto the matching wicker ottoman in front of him.

  I crouch down level with Asher’s leg so I can check the swelling on his thigh. Surprisingly, it’s not as bad as I thought it would be after a full morning of travel.

  “Right about what?” I ask, hitching up his shorts to the pale skin of his inner thigh.

  Asher doesn’t blink, even though my hands are damn close to his underwear. “My family. They’re crazy.”

  I shake my head, positioning the bag of peas against the most swollen part of his inner thigh. “They aren’t crazy.
They’re sweet. There’s just so many of them. It’s a lot to take in at once.”

  Asher flinches a little at the cold of our makeshift ice pack. I have to admit; it’s kind of cute. He may be a big tough hockey player, but he’s still a little sensitive to a bag of frozen peas.

  “Well, I know it can be overwhelming,” he says, “but it means the world to me that you offered to come here with me. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have come. I didn’t want some random team doctor here watching my every move and scrutinizing everything I did. I haven’t seen some of these people in years, so . . . thank you.”

  I can hardly believe it, but for the first time, I’m seeing Asher’s guard come down a little. I’ve never seen this tender side of him before. It’s intriguing. As a cloud shifts in the sky, the sunlight hits his blue eyes just right. They’re nearly the color of the ocean, and just as mesmerizing.

  “So, maybe your injury was a blessing in disguise.” I lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “An excuse to have some time off to visit your family.”

  Asher scoffs, and I drop my hand. “Yeah. Something like that.”

  He’s not convinced, and who could blame him? I wouldn’t be looking for silver linings either if an injury were keeping me from doing what I love more than anything in the world.

  “Hey.” I tug at the sleeve of his T-shirt, and he swings his gaze back to me, those sapphire eyes locking with mine again. “We can’t control everything. I know it sucks, but maybe it was fate.”

  His frown softens into a skeptical smile. “Fate? Do you believe in that? I thought you’d be too scientific for that kind of thing.”

  A smile lingers on my lips as I push up to my feet. “Maybe I’m losing my touch, being on my first break from med school in four years.”

  “I think it’s just the California air getting to you,” he says, adjusting the bag of peas. “Be careful. All that sunshine and salt water will make you do some crazy things.”