Finding Him

by Van Dyken, Rachel

  And a lot of things that were obvious red flags.

  I sighed as the elevator doors opened, then made my way over to his door and let myself in.

  It was quiet, still gorgeous in the daylight, maybe even more so, because with the windows and patio there was so much natural light it made everything look even bigger, more impressive.

  The man had absolutely no pictures in his living room of family or friends, which I expected, so I wasn’t sure why it made me sad. Maybe because it was the same man that was going to spend his birthday alone.

  My stomach tensed.

  Nerves. It was just nerves.

  “Oh hey, you’re here,” Julian called from somewhere behind me. I jumped a foot, turned around, and almost choked on my own spit. “I’ll just be another five minutes, make yourself at—” He eyed the box. “Tell me those are from Big O Donuts, and you may just see a grown man cry.”

  I was still gaping.

  Towel.

  He was in a towel.

  Protruding muscles clung to his midsection, even his neck looked thick, the rest of him was just damn pleasing, more pleasing than a donut, than a million donuts—wait, what did he ask?

  I looked down and then back up. “Big O Donuts, the best orgasm of your life without sex.” I shook the box at him.

  Julian all but sprinted to my side and flipped open the top. “One’s missing, there’s only eleven.”

  I scowled. “I’ll have you know your doorman deserves a raise.”

  Julian grinned down at me. “Trust me, I tip him all the time. He wants for nothing except for maybe female companionship and a few free donuts in the morning.”

  “He liked the sprinkles,” I admitted.

  “So you’re saying you gave away my favorite donut?”

  I stared at him, one eyebrow raised. “How was I supposed to know it was your favorite?”

  “Easy.” He swiped some maple frosting across his finger and then sucked it right in front of me, my mouth went dry. “The sweeter the better.”

  “R-right.” I licked my lips, imagining the frosting there and then his mouth. “I hope you’re not going to poke every donut with your dirty fingers.”

  “Dirty?” He dipped his finger in the donut again and then winked. “Just showered. If anything . . .” He eyed me up and down. “Let me get dressed and then we can get started.”

  “Yeah, dressing is good,” I said like a complete idiot.

  He just looked at me like he was trying to figure out whether I was day drinking, fantastic.

  “I’ll take this with me.” He picked up the maple bar and left me alone in the kitchen, still holding the box and wondering why it felt so hot in his apartment and how I was going to survive every day in his presence.

  And then I thought about the computer in my bag.

  And the name on the flashing cursor.

  Noah.

  Usually when I thought of his name, guilt slammed into me; either that or utter desolation and sadness. Except in that moment, with donuts in my hands, in Julian Tennyson’s apartment, all I could conjure up was one fleeting thought. That I would have liked them to meet.

  Which made no sense at all since Julian was convinced that Noah would have hated him, but would he have?

  Did it matter?

  “Are you going to hold that box all day?” Julian came walking back into the room, dressed in something so casual I almost dropped the box.

  “Are you wearing sweats?” I asked in a shocked voice.

  He looked down at a pair of Under Armour pants and a vintage T-shirt, then gave me a funny look. “Are you gonna make it?”

  “What? Me?” I quickly put the box down on the counter and took a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything so normal . . .”

  “Well, strap in.” He grinned. “I’m not going to wear a suit to sit on my own couch. Plus, I figure if we’re going to hit your deadline we need to put in some hellish long days. I’m not doing that with a tie wrapped around my neck.”

  “Good point.” I drew in a shaky breath and reached for my computer bag.

  I didn’t realize I was shaking until Julian’s hand was on mine, and then he was squeezing it and turning me around to face him. “You’re jumpy, what’s wrong?”

  He saw too much.

  I knew it the day I met him.

  He assessed.

  He looked into a person.

  He measured said person.

  He decided if that person was worth his time.

  And I was.

  Worth his very valuable time.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong,” I lied. “It’s probably low blood sugar. I need one of these.” I snatched a donut. “And I’m stressed about this book. I just—I need to finish it and put it behind me.”

  “Understandable.” His eyes searched mine. “Why don’t you chew and talk, and I’ll type out what you want me to type out?”

  “Yeah, that’s good.” I took another bite and flinched when he leaned over and brushed his thumb across my lower lip. “Crumb?”

  “No, I just needed an excuse to touch your mouth.” He grinned. “Yeah, there was a crumb.”

  I liked the first answer better.

  It was going to be a long day.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  KEATON

  “What do you mean the treatment isn’t working?” I asked the doctor for the third time, even though I understood the words he was saying to me. I couldn’t seem to let them sink into my consciousness.

  Not working.

  By themselves, they’re boring words, hardly worth noticing.

  But when a doctor says them to you.

  About someone you love.

  They suddenly have the power to strip every single ounce of energy and strength in your body and replace it with fear and disbelief.

  Dr. Mark was in his midseventies and was one of the best oncologists in the tri-state area. If he said it wasn’t working.

  It wasn’t freaking working.

  Next to me, Noah didn’t even tense. Already he was starting to lose his hair. The treatment was extremely aggressive. We were prepared for the worst, the worst being having to stay in the hospital longer than we originally planned. They needed him hooked up every six hours, so it just made sense to stay.

  I made his bed my own.

  We read a lot.

  And binge-watched TV like it was our job.

  Dr. Mark ran a hand through his gray hair and gave Noah a look I didn’t recognize, one that had Noah squeezing my hand like I was the one that needed comfort.

  “The hospital received a generous donation a few months ago. We were able to open up one of the old hospital wings and let family stay there. There’s a kitchen near the old nurses’ station, snacks, food, and each room has a bed in it that’s better than the one Noah’s in now. It might make things more comfortable while we decide what to do next.”

  I exhaled. “Actually, that would be great. I’m sure Noah’s tired of this room.”

  “Preach,” Noah joked with a rasp in his voice. “No offense, but this room sucks. I would do anything for a bigger TV and a bed that had pillows that weren’t flat.”

  Dr. Mark grinned. “Yes, well, the donation was large enough that the donor even hired an interior designer. He felt new decor would help cheer up the patients, along with the family members staying here.”

  “Huh, remind me to tell him thank you,” I teased, reaching for Noah’s hand.

  “He’s here.” Dr. Mark shrugged. “Somewhere, I think visiting his mother. I’ll relay the message.”

  I barely heard what he said because Noah was looking at me like we were going to be okay. Like this was just another unplanned stumble before we hit the finish line and rang the bell cancer-free!

  It was going to be fine.

  His look told me so.

  But I would look back on that moment, I would replay it over and over in my head, until I was sick with it because Noah wasn’t squeezing my han
d to tell me everything was going to be okay.

  He was squeezing my hand so I knew . . . that he was okay with dying.

  Two weeks later, he drew his last breath.

  But those two weeks were some of the best of my life, all because some rich person who didn’t know us made the hospital into a home.

  It gave us normalcy we didn’t realize we needed.

  It gave us the privacy we craved.

  And that night, I fell asleep with a smile on my face while Noah held me, fully believing everything was going to be fine because we were in a normal bed.

  I was wrong.

  I stopped talking.

  Julian stared at the computer screen, his face completely white.

  “Sorry.” My voice cracked. “I didn’t mean to talk that long. It all just kind of . . . came out.”

  “It was perfect.” He still wasn’t looking at me.

  “Julian?”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “What?”

  “More than a year ago, the accounting firm I work with told me I had an excess of money I could donate or contribute . . . I chose the hospital because it would make me look good. I donated five million dollars because it would land me in the papers, because it was good business. Don’t you see? I can’t think about it without wondering how fucking selfish a person could be. I wanted praise for donating money, not even realizing that less than a year later I’d be in that same hospital fighting for my life, and unfairly winning while Noah had lost his fight. This right here tells me one thing, Keaton: life is fucking unfair.” He slowly got up from his seat and walked into the kitchen.

  “You can’t think about it like that,” I said softly as I followed him. “You know what’s crazy?”

  “What?” He didn’t look at me.

  I reached for his hand and then bypassed it and cupped his face between my palms. “I don’t pray. Ever. I don’t think it works. I think it’s a fairy tale you believe in so life isn’t so depressing—or at least I used to think that, but that morning I prayed, I prayed for more time with Noah, and then when they let us stay in the family wing, I closed my eyes and I smiled and I thanked God for the stranger with all the money—and prayed he’d know one day how much it meant to have a fluffy pillow and a down comforter, to go to sleep and know that Noah wouldn’t wake up with a sore back in scratchy sheets—crazy how all that time, I was praying for the very man who would one day help me write our story.”

  Julian was silent, his eyes glossy.

  I leaned up on my tiptoes and pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth. “In case it hasn’t made it into your thick skull, thank you, because even if an act is intentionally selfish—that doesn’t mean it can’t turn into the most selfless thing you’ll ever do.”

  Julian stared down at me. “How is it you can make me feel better when I don’t deserve it?”

  “You helped a lot of people.”

  He looked away from me. “And yet all I was focused on was helping myself, a happy accident, that’s what that is.”

  I frowned. “You were at the hospital visiting your mom.”

  He stilled. “Caught that part of the story.”

  “I bet she was proud of you for doing that,” I said quietly. “Regardless of your intentions, it was a good thing. Own the good thing, ignore the rest.”

  He looked at me then, his smile sad. “You deserved more than a fixed-up hospital room in your last days with Noah, you deserved everything.”

  Tears filled my eyes. “Good thing my book partner got it for me.”

  He started scowling again, which made my chest hurt more than I thought possible. I grabbed him by the face again and pressed a hungry kiss to his mouth.

  I had no idea what I was doing.

  Making him feel better?

  Making myself feel better?

  If I was being completely honest, it was this intrinsic need I had to make him smile, to make him understand his own worth. Julian didn’t see himself the way the world saw him.

  All he saw was selfishness.

  Funny, because despite his playboy reputation, the world called him generous.

  And he was.

  Generous with everything, including his kisses as he slid his tongue into my mouth, his hands finding my hips and lifting me onto the counter.

  He broke away and shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t kiss you and not want more. We can get back to the book.” His expression was shut off, distant.

  I knew he still wanted me. I could tell.

  It was hard to breathe with all the sexual tension filling up the space between our two bodies.

  He paced in front of the computer like a caged lion, and I watched him like the antelope that was ready to volunteer as tribute to be his next meal.

  I’d never in my life had such a violent reaction to a man—not even Noah.

  Noah was all lingering kisses and laughter at first.

  Julian was brooding, sexy, confused, and so damn lonely that my chest ached.

  “Sorry.” Julian turned around, his hands on his hips. “I’m ready for the next chapter.”

  He didn’t want to talk about the elephant in the room.

  The fact that we were writing a story he didn’t even realize he was a part of.

  I wondered in that moment if he understood that he wasn’t the villain. No, Julian Tennyson had been my hero.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  JULIAN

  She was staring at me like I was a saint when it was the last title anyone would give me, and I loved it, loved that she wanted to paint me like the hero for their love story.

  And maybe that was the problem. It was another glaring reminder that just like her and Noah, this—whatever this was between us—would end, wouldn’t it?

  All good things did end.

  I stretched my arms overhead and typed away for another four hours while she relayed story after story, some of them sad, some of them hilarious. I realized that she did better when I didn’t interrupt her or ask if she was okay, so I let her go at her own pace and typed as fast as I could. At this rate, she would be finished with the book in no time.

  Panic seized my lungs.

  It was literally the only excuse we had to see each other.

  And I knew I couldn’t keep trying to seduce her, especially since the sex all seemed to have reasons around it: sadness, birthday gift, and favor. What would we do when we ran out of excuses?

  We weren’t just two people who found each other attractive; we both had so much baggage I wasn’t sure I could even afford the fee.

  My fingers ached a bit as she finished with one last story where Noah asked her to shave his head so he didn’t look like a Chia Pet.

  It made me laugh.

  He was brave.

  Stared death right in the eyes and said, “I’m not going down without a fight.”

  I would like to think that I fought during my coma, but I don’t remember anything outside of the accident and simply waking up to my world changed in a way I was powerless to stop.

  Because that’s what love does. It makes choices regardless of how you feel and asks you to come along for the ride even if your heart is shattering in your chest.

  “Julian?”

  “Hmm?” I looked up after typing the last sentence and waited for her to smile or say thank you. Instead, she just stared at me with a pale face. “Are you okay?” Panic seized my chest—she didn’t look okay. In fact, she looked ready to either pass out or hurl.

  Keaton nodded her head slowly, then jumped to her feet and sprinted toward the bathroom at breakneck speed. Freaked out, I ran after her without thinking about the fact that I wasn’t her boyfriend. I shouldn’t be so concerned that my heart felt like it was in my throat. Yet I was petrified.

  My mom puked a lot in the end.

  A lot.

  It was a trigger for me, made me think of the fact that the infection was stealing all of her nutrients and purging them from her already shaky system. And if Keaton was puking,
that meant something was wrong, something was very wrong. I shoved my fear away and gave myself a few seconds, took a few deep breaths only to hear Keaton groan.

  “Ughhh, donuts,” she grumbled.

  I knocked lightly, hating that I was visibly trembling, freaking the hell out over something that was probably just Keaton not feeling good.

  “Don’t come in!” she said in a weak voice.

  Fuck that. I would break down the door if need be. If she was in there suffering, there was no way, puke or not, that I was standing on the other side doing nothing. I wasn’t that guy anymore, and she had to know that a few words weren’t going to keep me from making sure she was okay.

  Ignoring her, I let myself in and grabbed a towel, wetting it and turning to her just as she flushed the toilet and looked up at me with mascara running down her cheeks. She was still beautiful even with black trailing down her porcelain skin.

  “Not one word.”

  I got down on my haunches so we were at eye level, and very slowly ran the towel across her cheeks, getting the makeup off, and then behind her neck, lifting her hair. I tried like hell to manage the shaking. The last thing she needed to be was worried about me when she was the one on her hands and knees in my guest bathroom. “Do you need to puke again?”

  She shook her head slowly, strands of blonde hair flipping sluggishly in a kind of delayed reaction. Then she gave me a pitiful look that told me everything I needed to know. She wasn’t feeling great.

  “Okay.” I helped her to her feet. “Okay. I think we need to get something other than donuts in your system. I don’t really have much food. We can go out—”

  She paled further. I wasn’t sure if it was the company or the idea of being in public and feeling like shit, maybe both.

  “Why don’t we order in?”

  She exhaled. “You really don’t have to, I mean I should probably head home and—”

  “No,” I interrupted her. “You know what’s worse than being alone on your birthday?”

  Her lips trembled a bit as she pressed them together. “What?”