by Shandi Boyes
My eyes rocket to Emily when Noah’s hand I’m not clutching lifts from the bed. “Get a nurse.”
While she does that, I move Noah’s hand away from the ventilator. His eyes are closed, but there’s no doubt he’s seconds from yanking out the tube responsible for his breathing the past two months.
My eyes lift when Emily’s return to the room is closely followed by a plump nurse. “Help him.”
“We can’t remove the ventilator tube before conducting a set of complex tests. If we remove it too soon, his lungs may collapse.”
She flicks the top of a syringe filled with murky liquid before emptying it into the IV line in Noah’s wrist. Not long later, Noah stops fighting against my hold. Although I’m shocked beyond belief at his strength, guilt is hammering me. The last time I held him down like this was when he tried to hurt himself after Chris’s funeral. He smashed the mirror in this seedy motel he went to drown his miseries in. Even though the shards of glass scattered around his feet never got near his wrists, I knew him well enough to know the thought was there.
Once Noah settles enough I’m not worried about him hurting himself, I raise my eyes to the nurse completing a set of observations on him. “Why can’t you take it out? He obviously doesn’t want it in there.”
“When patients have been on a ventilator as long as Noah has, they need to be weaned off it. If we just remove it, there’s a possibility his lungs could collapse. We’ll start the process of weaning now. If he handles that, we’ll fully remove it within a few days.”
They removed Noah’s tube four days later. Although his heart rate initially climbed, he maintained the oxygen levels the doctors were aiming for. It was a day of firsts for both of us. A couple of hours after his tube was removed, I attended my first anger management class. Let me just say, it isn’t my cup of tea.
Then, the very next morning, I have to leave again—longer this time. My probation officer is adamant I either do community service as stated or become a prisoner of the state for the same period of time. Although I hate breaking the promise I made to Noah, it’d be ten times worse if I didn’t have the option to return every weekend.
“I’ll come back and visit every weekend, I promise.” I wrap Emily up in a tight embrace. “If anything happens, call me straight away.”
“I will, I promise.”
She wipes away the tears sitting high on her cheeks before watching me say goodbye to Noah. It's even harder than I predicted. I'm confident Emily has everything under control. It just sucks realizing that not all promises can be kept. I can only hope Lola is right, and that Noah will understand when he wakes.
After messing up Noah’s hair—I know how much he hates it—I spin on my heels and dart out of the room without so much of a backward glance. If I look back, I may never leave. I rush away like Lola did, knowing there’s a right time and place for everything. Right now isn’t our time, but she’ll be my forever. I’ll make sure of it.
When my elevator arrives at the lobby, I think I’m out of the danger zone.
I’m an idiot.
Just as I step into the sterile-smelling space, I spot a face I never expected to see. Noah’s mom is at the reception desk. She dressed up for the occasion with silky slacks and a shirt that costs more than a medical receptionist can afford.
I stomp her way, certain she’s only visiting for one reason: she wants money. “What are you doing here?”
Maree’s evil eyes lift to mine. “I want to visit my son, but supposedly there’s no one named Noah Taylor at this hospital.”
Maree stops glaring at the receptionist like she's gum stuck under a bus seat when I drag her to the side of the desk. I’m not an aggressive person, so my clutch on her arm would usually cause me to feel guilty, but after witnessing the way she treated Noah at Michael’s funeral, she lost any right to be treated like a lady. The person standing before me is nothing but a vindictive, conniving, two-faced monster.
“Why are you really here? Did you run out of money—again?”
Her eyes narrow into thin slits. “That’s no concern of yours.”
“No concern of mine? You had no issues taking my money previously, so what’s changed?”
I put money in her account every month for the past year in the hope it would keep her claws out of Noah. I only canceled the deposit arrangement after Noah informed me she had signed a nondisclosure agreement.
“It’s just dawned on you that your bottomless money pit dried up, hasn’t it—?”
“Is he dead?”
I nearly shake my head, until the excitement in her tone slams into me. She’s not upset at the prospect her only son may be dead. She’s hopeful.
What the fuck?
She thrashes against me, trying to remove herself from my firm grip. “Let me go. I have to call a lawyer.” Her smirk reveals she's even more psychotic than I thought.
When she slips out of my grip, she hobbles toward the hospital exit, her brisk departure thwarted by more than the high heels on her shoes. It’s also from me shouting, “Even in his death, you won’t get a cent.”
She flashes me an evil grin over her shoulder. “Like hell I won’t.”
Her attitude is way too superior for my liking. I better knock her down a peg or two. “Noah had his will drawn up not long before his accident. He made Emily his power of attorney and had it notarized that you were not to get one penny from his estate in the event of his death.”
“He’d never be so barbaric. I’m his mother!”
“Who’s undeserving of the title.” Needing distance before I say or do something I regret, I dart past Maree and break through the double glass doors of Ravenshoe Private Hospital. “Enjoy living in the gutter, where you belong.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Lola
My brisk pace slows when I hear someone call my name. I pause entering Hank’s Gym to peer back at the person accosting me early on a Monday morning. My palms slick with sweat when I realize it's Curtis—Callum's brother. I haven't seen him since I socked him in the nose nearly a year ago.
When he stops at my side, he slants his head before planting his infamous evil grin on his face. “So this is where you learned your famous right hook from, hey? It’s been so long, I was beginning to wonder if that night was a figment of my imagination.”
“I can hit you again, if you like? Then you can be assured it wasn’t a dream.”
Curtis shakes his head. “Always riled up.”
“Always an asshole.”
My comment was only for my ears, but from the way his eyes narrow, I’m certain he heard it. When the tint on the window next to my shoulder darkens, I realize we have company. Hank won't step in unless necessary, but I'd rather keep him out of a fight he doesn't belong in any more than Jacob does.
“What do you want, Curtis?”
He steps closer to me, bringing the shadow inside Hanks gym closer as well. “I don’t want anything. I just noticed you walking by and thought I should say hello. I haven’t seen you around. Kinda missed ya.”
When he trails the back of his hand down my cheek, my nerves set on edge. He’s not a sweet, missed you type of guy. He’s a menace who’d rather have his dates quaking in fear than ecstasy.
Just as rusty hinges creaking open sounds through my ears, Curtis winks before sauntering to his truck parked in the middle of the empty lot. The anxiety wreaking havoc with my stomach doubles when I notice he isn't traveling alone. Callum is sitting in the passenger seat. It's clear his brush with the law didn't scare him into coming clean. His already svelte frame is missing even more pounds.
Once the taillights of Curtis’ truck blur into the distance, Hank joins me on the sidewalk. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
I want to give a more confident reply, but I can’t shake the feeling that Curtis is up to something. Hank’s gym is tucked at the back of a shopping complex. There’s no way he spotted me because he was driving past. He went out of his away to
approach me.
I shift on my feet to face Hank. “Will you reconsider my offer?” When Hank huffs before entering the gym, I chase him down. “Just think about it. You need a place to stay; I need a roommate. It’s a win-win for both of us...”
My words trail off when I’m subjected to his narrowed gaze. “A fifty-seven-year-old man doesn’t sleep on the couch of a twenty-three-year-old woman without rumors circulating. What would people think?”
“You’d be the envy of every old geezer in town.”
Hank tries to maintain his stern expression. He should never give up his day job. Acting is not his forte. “I’m gracious for the offer, but I’m fine how I am.” His thankful eyes bounce between mine before he pulls out the rug from beneath my feet. "Now, get your ass into the ring and give me thirty burpees."
“Thirty?!” I must have heard him wrong. I hate burpees, and Hank knows this.
“Argue with me again, and I’ll bump it up to a hundred.”
I’m in the ring before half his threat leaves his mouth. Hank doesn’t care what bits you have between your legs. If you go against anything he says, you’ll pay.
After a grueling workout that included a record number of burpees, I take one of the world’s longest baths. The hot water soothes my overworked muscles, but I won’t sit unaided for a week. It’s safe to say I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll never be sassy to Hank again.
As I make my way out of the bathroom, my cell phone scuffles across the kitchen counter. A smirk curls my lips when I see Jacob’s grinning face on the screen. We’ve texted back and forth the past few days, but this is the first time he’s called me in months. After swiping my finger across the screen, I press my cell to my ear.
“Good afternoon, Jacob.” Jesus, whose voice is that? I sound like I’m applying for a position as a sex phone operator.
“Hey, Lola, how are you?”
The apprehension in his voice spikes my heart rate. “I’m good. You?”
“Umm, yeah, I’m good... Ah... Are you busy Saturday morning?”
My brows furrow. “No...why?”
He coughs to clear the nerves from his throat. “I was wondering if you could meet me somewhere?”
“Somewhere...?” I leave my question open for him to answer how he sees fit.
He doesn’t follow the script like I’m hoping. “It’ll be better if I tell you in person.”
“Okay. Where?”
He recites an address for a property in Ravenshoe before requesting I meet him there at nine AM Saturday.
“Should I bring anything?”
I hear him swallow before, “Just an open mind.”
My suspicion grows when he forces out a quick “goodbye” before disconnecting our call.
When I arrive bright and early Saturday morning, I double-check the address written down. I must have mixed up the digits because there’s nothing but a bank of office buildings in front of me.
After ensuring the address in my GPS matches the one I scribbled down, I pull into an empty spot at the front to call Jacob. Just as I’m about to hit the call button, I realize my navigation skills are as good as they’ve always been. Jacob is standing in the foyer of the building. He’s wearing his standard cargo pants and a polo shirt, but his Vans have been replaced with shoes only men over the age of sixty should wear, when on a yacht, far away from anyone who could possibly see them in such hideous shoes.
I’m still laughing at my funny inner monologue as I glide down the hedged sidewalk. When Jacob notices me approaching, his throat works hard to swallow.
“Hey. You okay?” Although they’re the words that come out of my mouth, my voice makes it more sound like: Why the hell am I meeting you at an office building?
“Lola.” Jacob adds a head bob to his greeting, but eye contact seems to be a thing of the past as far as he's concerned. No matter how often I seek his gaze, I never get it. His eyes shoot in any direction I'm not standing.
Realizing I’ll get more of an idea about our meeting from my surroundings than the man who dragged my backside out of bed at ass-crack o’clock, I follow his fleeting gaze around the modest, yet dated space. There’s a wooden staircase to my right, a small hallway table to my left covered with various pamphlets, and half a dozen doors line the corridor.
When I read the plaque on the first door, my furious gaze snaps to Jacob. “Why the hell are we at the offices of a bunch of counselors? You know what I think about this type of industry.” The way I spit out "industry" leaves no doubt to my anger. I hate therapists—with a passion!
My fury builds when my question is interrupted by a squeamish voice at the end of the hall. “Come on in, Jacob.” Realizing Jacob isn’t alone, the intruder strides down the hall. His approach is so quick, I’m not even halfway out the door before he grips my elbow. “You must be Lola. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
An awkward-looking man with a wonky eye and a lopsided grin thrusts out the hand not gripping my elbow. I accept his greeting, although it’s the fight of my life not to squeeze his hand to the point of death. If it were Jacob’s nuts, I wouldn’t hold back.
“I’d say the pleasure is all mine, but right now, I’m not so sure it is.”
Jacob snickers at my sassy remark. His smile doesn't linger for long. One sideways glance, and he's choking on his spit. He knows I'm planning to kill him, and when I do, it'll be a prolonged and excruciating death.
“Interesting.” The unknown man's eyes tumble when he strives to figure me out by only glancing into my eyes like they’re windows to my soul. "How about we discuss your concerns a little further in my office?"
Don't misconstrue; he's not offering me a free counseling session. He's telling me that's what we're doing. Although I could break away from his hold when he begins to guide me toward his office, I'm too busy working out the many ways I'm going to kill Jacob to put up a protest.
Many options are filtering through my sadistic head, but the same one continues playing on repeat, so I think I'll stick with it. I'll drain the blood out of his body via the vein that feeds his magnificent cock. My torture must occur with us both naked; that way, any time Jacob gets hard, he’ll take another step closer to death.
It’ll teach him what I failed to years ago: being attracted to me never ends well.
Over the next hour, I sit in on Jacob's anger management class. I don't speak a word the entire time. His counselor explained that he requested my presence today because he believes I’m partly to blame for Jacob’s aggression issues. When he said that, I was seconds from implementing my quest for revenge. I would have if Jacob's face wasn't registering as much shock as mine. He was just as numbed by his therapist’s assumption as I was. Doesn’t mean I’ll go lightly on him, though. The instant we exit this building, he’s a dead man walking.
At the end of our session, and after declining the counselor's offer for a private consultation, I storm to my car. I’m so angry, steam is billowing out of my ears.
“Lola!” Not even my long, furious strides stop Jacob from catching up with me. “I didn’t know that was his plan today. He just demanded I bring in my significant other. If I didn’t comply with his request, I wouldn’t have fulfilled my half of our agreement.”
I whip around so fast, my hair slaps my face. “Significant other, Jacob? Since when did a booty call become a significant other?”
His face reddens with anger, but it’s got nothing on the fury boiling in my veins. “You’re not a booty call. Not to me.”
“Then what do you call this?” I motion my hand between us, “A fucked-up friendship?”
“It’s us. It’s the way we are." His eyes plead with me to hear the words he can't speak. When that fails to happen, he spells it out for me. "Why can’t you see it? Why don’t you understand I’d do anything for you because I love you, Lola? I’ll love you even after the sun dies.” He steps closer to me, his eyes bouncing between mine. “I’ll love you even after taking my last breath, and I’ll love you even if you neve
r love me back.”
I freeze, shocked. I’m not just stunned by his declaration of love. I’m surprised my first thought was relief. I shouldn’t be relieved he loves me. I should be angry. This wasn’t the plan. We weren’t supposed to fall in love.
Do I care about him? Yes, I do.
Do I love him? Yes. More than I care to admit.
Will I ever tell him that? No, I won’t.
Why? Because I’m still fuming over the photos I saw of him on Facebook. I opened my heart to the possibility of loving again, and look what happened. It got trampled on all over again.
Jacob glides his finger down my face. His touch is soft, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. “Say something—anything. I just told you I loved you, so the least you could do is give me some words back. You don’t have to tell me you love me, but I need something, Lola.”
I try to think of a way to explain what I'm feeling without adding to the burden he's already carrying. When seconds shift into minutes without a single idea breaking through the fog in my head, I go down a route I never wanted to travel. “Can I borrow your phone?”
His brows scrunch in confusion, but what he said earlier is true. He’d do anything for me. When he hands me his cell, it asks me for a security code.
“0923.”
My gaze shoots up to Jacob’s. That’s my birthday. I was born on the twenty-third of September. God—this is worse than I realized. He’s just as far gone as me.
Snubbing the crazy thump of my heart, I press the PIN into the phone, then locate his Facebook app. Once I have his feed opened, I scroll to the photos he was tagged in before handing his phone back to him. The longer he stares down at his phone, the wider his eyes become. I can tell when he reaches the last photo because he bites out a curse word before locking his remorse-filled eyes to mine.
