Salvatore runs to Brock and helps him steady himself from how he’s leaning over from the blow of Brian’s punch to his face.
Brock is a big man, so the fact that Brian got him off his toes is pretty impressive. And stupid. Brock’s face is red and flummoxed. He looks ready to charge toward Brian when I snap out of my stunned position and rush over to Brock to calm down the beast.
“Okay, just relax. You had that one coming,” I explain to Brock, who’s wiping his mouth to see if he’s bleeding.
He’s not. I mean, Brian doesn’t hit that hard.
Brian gives him a vicious pointed finger. “That’s for fucking over my baby sister.”
I give Brian a surprised yet satisfactory nod. An apology and an achievement of vengeance on my part in one morning? He can be a dick to me for the rest of the year, and I’d still be a happy little lady.
Dad ushers Brian toward the doors, but I stay back.
“I’ll see you guys at the hospital.” Dad looks unsure, but I assure him, “I just need five minutes.”
Neither of my family members seems happy about my staying with Brock, but I’m a grown woman who does what I set my mind to. They also can’t stay because Brian might end up breaking a bone from attempting to fight Brock. And, next time, he wouldn’t be catching the brute off guard.
“Do you need anything, Mr. Lannister?” Salvatore asks nervously.
“Ice,” Brock spits out.
“Yes, sir.” Salvatore goes to a back room, leaving me alone with Brock.
I move him to the bench, and the two of us take a seat. I cross my legs and arms. Brock sits with his legs wide open and rests his elbows on his knees.
“Your brother punches like a girl.”
“You’re just jealous because he got one in on you.”
Brock sways his head in annoyed agreement.
“You can’t keep stalking me in lobbies.”
Salvatore comes out with a Ziploc bag filled with ice and hands it to Brock, who takes it and rests it on his jaw. “I’ll give you two a minute,” he says and then walks outside to stand on the sidewalk, looking through the glass to make sure I’m okay.
I give Salvatore a thumbs-up and then look over at Brock. This six-foot-three, two-hundred-twenty-pound mammoth of a man is sitting here with a baggie of ice on his face. I start to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” His thick brows curve in at the sight of my laugh.
“You’re such a wimp.”
He looks at the bag of ice in his hand and chuckles at himself. He puts the ice on the seat beside him. “For the record, I’m not stalking. I wanted to stop by and say hi like an adult. This place looks good. They redid the floors.”
“Yeah. Last summer. The construction was a mess, but the new marble is good.”
“Did they ever fix the window that wouldn’t open all the way?”
I nod. “A few weeks after you left.”
“Good. Good.” He leans forward and plays with his ring. He clears his throat and says, “Sal looks tired.”
“Yeah. Carol’s been having some health issues, which is why he won’t retire. He says the property service union has great benefits.”
“It’s easy work, and he has nice people like you to buy him candy.”
I grunt, knowing Brock’s attempt at being charming is flattery. “Okay. Talk to me. Why are you here at eight o’clock in the morning? And I know it’s not to talk about the marble floor.”
“The baby is due in September. She wants to raise her in Boston.”
“It’s a girl?” My brows rise with the chill that shoots up my spine.
Brock having a child was ominous until he gave it a sex. He’s going to have a little girl. I bet she’ll be in skates before she can walk. An image of a chestnut-haired girl in an Islanders jersey comes to mind. Ironically, I never thought about what our kids would look like when we were together.
“Congratulations.”
He rubs his forehead and puffs out his lips. “Thanks, I guess. I don’t know what the hell to do.”
“That doesn’t matter anymore. She’s coming whether or not you want her to.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want her.” He sits up straight. “I don’t want her mother or the responsibility. I know that’s a horrible thing to say.”
“It is,” I state as I grip the bench and tap my fingers on the edge. “And it’s honest. You didn’t plan on it, so no one can blame you entirely. What they can blame you for is what you do, moving forward.”
“I want you to tell me what to do.”
I tilt my head at him. “Why me?”
“I don’t know,” he says seriously. I squint my eyes at him, and he laughs, looking up at the chandelier and letting out a loud, “I’m so fucked up.”
I lean back against the window and look up for divine guidance. What do you tell your ex-husband who is having a child with a woman who is not you, and, oh, he doesn’t want her … just the baby he didn’t have with you?
When we were together, I took the motherly role for him. Brock’s mother had left when he was a kid, and his father based his love for Brock on how well he did on the ice. I tended to be more mother than a wife to him at times.
It’s also another reason my family didn’t like him. Brock didn’t have respect for my family. He thought they were too clingy, and he couldn’t understand the emotion. He resented them, and they resented him for the way he’d behave. Then, I’d pick up the pieces.
“You’re not fucked up. You just have a shitty support system.”
My answer causes his face to ignite in agreement and a bit of surprise. He puffs a large breath from his lips and then leans back, too. He turns his head, and I stare into his eyes.
We used to end our days like this, except we were lying in bed, looking at each other. The days that I refuse to erase because they are part of me. They happened. There were bad times, but there were so many good times, which is probably why I decide to cut Brock some slack and help him.
“Be a dad. Buy a place in Boston, so your daughter can have a place to go to where she feels welcome. Lord knows, you have enough money to do so. You like it there anyway. Maybe that can be your home base when you’re in the off-season.”
“I’m away so much—”
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re getting old. How many more years will you be playing? Think about what you want to do next and include your daughter in your decision.” I close my eyes and remember the advice Thomas gave me. “You’ll never regret it. One look at that child, and you’ll be so in love, so fulfilled, that you’ll know it was the right thing to do.”
Brock grimaces as he takes in my words. As they seep in, a smile builds on his face.
“You think so?” he asks.
“A wise man once told me so.” I stand up and adjust my purse on my arm. “Good-bye, Brock.” He stands up and looks like he wants to say something, but I answer for him, “You’re gonna be a good dad.”
As I walk out of my building, Brock doesn’t follow. It’s fulfilling this time to walk away from him, not feeling lost or sad. For the first time in years, I don’t have this unfortunate feeling of a failed marriage and a longing for what could have been. Brock might have done me a favor by being unfaithful. Our love affair was intense, but it wasn’t for ever.
It was fast.
Insta-love is addicting because it’s so much fun to fall in love. Problem is, you get hurt when you fall.
Brock Lannister swept me off my feet in a bar, and I was blinded by his whimsical nature—so blind that I crashed. If love were the Brooklyn Bridge, I jumped off the rails and crash-landed into the East River.
The relationship didn’t work because he didn’t value my love. He didn’t earn my trust or get to know my inner thoughts. Honestly, I didn’t know his either. I loved the idea of him and thought that was love.
I don’t want to fall again. I want to walk steadily with my eyes open and looking ahead. There is someone who walks beside me, over th
e rushing waters and onslaught of traffic, who holds my hand and keeps me from focusing on the creaky boards of my fears. A man who knows my inner soul and crazy thoughts yet still wants to be by my side when we step off the bridge.
I know I told Brian I fell in love with Christian. That was a lie.
Christian Gallagher slowly walked his way into my soul and built a home in there, stirring a fire in my belly and a hearth over my heart.
That kind of love, you can’t walk away from. It’s firmly rooted with two feet on the ground.
“Good to have you back, Mrs. Lerry,” I tell the patient who just came out of the hospital and is here for her follow-up.
“I feel good and have you to thank for it.” She beams at me.
“I taught her everything she knows,” Thomas says as he writes the results of today’s examination in her file.
“He’s so modest.” I undo the blood pressure cuff from her arm.
Mrs. Lerry holds her finger out, so I can check her oxygen level. “Even the hospital staff was fantastic. I had this wonderful nurse, Natasha, who calmed me in the middle of the night. I think I had post-surgery anxiety, and she stayed with me until I relaxed.”
Thomas lifts a brow at me.
I ignore him and agree with Mrs. Lerry, “Natasha is a fantastic nurse. She cared for my mother as well.”
She smiles. “My nephew came to see me in the hospital, and I think I saw a few sparks fly between the two. Wouldn’t that be something? Maybe everything happens for a reason.”
I check the level on my monitor and remove the device from her finger. “I am a firm believer in Karma.”
“And wishes,” Thomas says.
I have a lot of wishes that have come true. A few I’m still waiting on.
The appointment ends, and I head to the next exam room.
It’s a busy day of appointments, and when I get my stack of files back to the front desk, Angela is sucking on a lollipop, eager to talk.
“Guess who has upgraded to having a drawer?” She swivels in her chair. Her long, dark hair sways with the turns.
I look around, trying to figure out what the hell she’s talking about.
“Me, silly! Denny gave me a drawer in his place. Told me I could leave my clothes there for sleepovers.”
I give her a congratulatory smile. “Let me guess; you gave him a whole dresser?”
She grins. “Damn right! That boy can move himself in anytime he wants. Although his building has a doorman, so I’d much prefer to move in there.”
“You’ve gone from toothbrush to beyond a box in a short time. I have high hopes for you. Pun intended.”
“Don’t knock it. I’ve been using his hemp conditioner, and my hair has never been so smooth.” She hands me a piece of paper. “Your mother called while you were in your appointment. She told me not to bother you while you were with a patient but to please ask you to bring her hairspray and compression socks because she didn’t like the ones from the hospital.”
I laugh, happy to know Mom is back up to her usual self. “How did she sound?”
“Fantastic for someone who had valve replacement surgery two days ago.” Angela purses her lips. “She spent a long time talking about the best positions to procreate. Is that common for people who have near-death experiences?”
My guffaw bursts out. I have to cover my mouth to retain my laugh. “I might have told her you were trying to get pregnant. It’s a long story. One I will tell you tomorrow over drinks?”
She practically falls out of her seat. “You want to come out on a weekday?”
“I think it’s time I got out of my routines.”
She taps her feet and raises her arms in victory. “There is the swankiest little wine bar downtown that has the best cheese platter. Denny is lactose intolerant, so I never get to go anymore.”
I hand her my last file. “It’s a date.”
“Who’s dating?” Christian asks as he approaches the desk.
I didn’t notice him walk out of the exam room.
“Meadow and I are going out tomorrow. Wine and cheese for me! Oh, can we see if Beth wants to come? I am dying to see if she was serious about that offer to work for her.”
Christian looks at her with the drop of his chin. “Not something you should tell your boss’s son.”
“Stilettos over stents,” Angela sings and then adds, “Oh, come on. You know I’m only teasing.” She puts her hand to the side of her mouth, blocking it from Christian, and whispers to me, “I’m not teasing.”
I gently hit her in the head with my pen and walk away from the desk, toward the break room. It’s been a long day, as I’ve been trying to keep Thomas on schedule, so I can get out of here on time and see my mom. She’s still in the ICU, but she’s awake, and the breathing tube has been removed. Hopefully, they’ll move her to a regular room tonight.
Focusing on Mom and work is a great distraction as I ponder what exactly I’m going to say to Christian.
I’ve worked through our conversation in my head a hundred different ways, and each has a new outcome. It’s why I don’t know what to say, how to say it, or when. So, I’m just not saying anything.
I enter the break room and grab my bag from my locker. As I turn toward the door, Christian walks in and puts his back to the closed door, trapping me in.
His arms are crossed, and his eyes are narrowed at me. “You’ve been avoiding me again.”
This was not one of the scenarios in my head.
“I have to run. My mom needs some John Frieda. I’m sure she’s planning beauty school lessons for the night staff.” I take a step toward the door, but he’s not budging, so I back away.
“Are you free tonight? I have an extra ticket to the Yankees game, and it has your name on it. Legends Suite, which means you can get Fresco To-Go delivered right to your seat.”
I fiddle with the strap of my bag, hating that he’s enticing me with Italian food. I love Italian food. “Bring your dad. Or Angela. You know how much she loves her new Bedazzler. She’ll make you a matching jersey.”
“Come on. I’ll wear my mom’s pink fishing hat, and I’ll even get you a foam finger.” He winks in an attempt to lure me in.
Why does he have to be so damn appealing? And I’m not talking about the foam finger or the hat, although that sounds pretty funny.
“No. I’m gonna see my mom, and then Dad is sleeping over again.”
With a nod, he places his hands in his pockets and chews on his lip. “I have tickets to the New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys concert.”
“You do?”
He looks at me with an arched brow. “Would you go with me?”
I adjust my bag on my shoulder and fold my arms, shrugging apologetically. “I’m busy.”
“I didn’t even tell you when it was.” His posture changes as an annoyed tone caresses his lips.
“When is it?”
“I don’t know because I didn’t buy them. I just made that up to prove that you’re avoiding me.” He runs his hand along the back of his neck, and I know I’ve officially found myself backed into the proverbial corner. Especially when he takes a step toward me and passionately looks at me with an irritated and a scornful clench of his jaw. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“A lot. And you know better than anyone that I have to work through it before I come out and say it.”
“Say what?” His body leans in as he waits for an answer.
“The look on your face right now is not what I was hoping for when I planned this conversation.”
He balks at my response. “You’re thinking about something that has to do with us, and I won’t let you decide for me.”
I sway my head to the side and inhale so deeply that my head feels hot, and I’m rubbing my hands together in uncertainty.
Christian is watching me, waiting. His eyes roam over my face until they settle on my eyes. He’s asking me questions, searching for … something. When his eyes widen and glaze over,
I know he’s found the answer he was looking for.
His voice breaks down to a whisper. “You’ve changed your mind.”
“Christian—”
“Damn it.” He hits his fist on the closed door and then spins back. His hand flies to his hip, pushing his lab coat to the back. A pointed finger is aimed in my direction. “You can’t make a choice like that without me.”
“Things have changed.”
“What’s changed?” That naturally tan skin is searing red as his Adam’s apple bobs with every annoyed gasp.
“I’m in love with you,” I blurt out.
His eyes widen in a confused and moistened red glare. “You what?”
“You’re so damn intense. I didn’t plan on telling you like this. And, for the record, I didn’t plan on being in love with you either. It’s just something that happened, and … I can’t do this with you right now.”
I try to push him to the side to open the door to leave, but he’s on me, his body trapping me against the door. One hand is on the steel, another on the doorknob. His chest against my back is the only thing that is keeping me grounded.
“You’re not leaving this room until you finish what you just said.” His words are an order. A hot-blooded command.
I close my eyes and revel in the feel of his heat. “I can’t have a baby with you.”
“Not that part,” he growls, releasing his hold on me.
I feel him take a step back, and I turn around. Confusion and hurt mar his features.
“You love me?”
When I don’t respond, he looks disappointed and frustrated. Raking his fingers through his hair, he fixes me with a stare. “So, that’s it? You just end our dream … just like that?”
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him refer to it like that. I’m taken aback.
“Christian, you’ve been my friend, my best friend, and that has always given you this important place in my heart. The truth is, it’s always been you. I knew you didn’t feel that way about me, so I suppressed it. I even loved someone else. Did you know you could love another even though your heart belonged to someone else? It’s true. But it doesn’t make it right.
“I guess I thought I could ignore it, and technically, I was—and doing a fabulous job of it, too. Then, you swooped in with your promises and made love to me, and that changed everything. How do you suppress your true feelings after you find out just how magnificent it is to be made love to by the man you’ve always wanted to love you back?”
A Really Bad Idea Page 26
