Catching Preeya (Paradise South Book 3)

by Rissa Brahm

  “Please, what?” One eye squinted open through his white, fluffy hiding spot. “You’re still here, for fuck’s sake?”

  Her back teeth gnashed so hard she shivered from the squeak. “I am until you get your ass up and drive me to my flight, my job.”

  He lifted his head, eyes open wide—he seemed suddenly conscious, aware, if just for that moment. She blinked with disbelief. Deep and familiar and nearly warm, his expression. “Yeah, no, babe. Sorry, I’m” —he shoved his head back under the pillow—“—in no shape to drive. No shape to be awake. Just, you know, cab it. Grab some cash on the nightstand.” End mumble. Head hidden. Snoring resumed.

  Huh. Cash? For a fucking cab?

  And babe, a third time.

  Before she could take one last rip into the sad excuse for a man, Dawn piped in.

  “You’re a real dick-fuck, Josh.” Dawn threw a pair of jeans at him, one with a thick chain clipped to the belt loop. It made a thundering clank against the bedpost above Josh’s head.

  The enemy of my enemy?

  He grunted then rolled over.

  Preeya looked at Dawn then at her phone, plotting backward from her flight’s departure time—ten thirty-five—while the screen alerts flashed again in her face. Swipe-swipe-wait. The last alert, a calendar item her meddlesome aunt, her dad’s sister, had sent to her phone. Preeya’s jaw locked down harder as she processed the details of the calendar item.

  Her heart hit the pizza-laden floor.

  “Holy hell, the wedding! Wedd-ings!” One wedding she had to be at, one she had to miss, and both she wanted to pretend-away and ignore, like they were never happening at all.

  Get it together, Preeya, and just make. This. Flight.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Just more of the same,” Stanton told Ben. “They’ll review your testimony and come back with a verdict sometime next month. The fact that your medical license wasn’t suspended, Ben…that’s a huge sign. They’re just going through the motions because of your in-laws’ petition.”

  Speak of the devil. Jamie’s parents came out through the heavy wooden doors and huffed as they walked past him, avoiding eye contact like their lives depended on it.

  “God, all this for what? So they didn’t get their way. It wasn’t their way to have, damn it,” Ben mumbled to himself more than to Stanton.

  “It’s always the case, Ben. Even though I make a living at it, the legal route’s hardly ever a win-win for anyone. They may be trying to satisfy their egos…or mend the pain, but the real hole never gets filled, not through court, at least.”

  Ben sighed. Stanton knew. Thank God someone knew. Because the press and the review board and the hospital staff pretended to know, but behind their consoling words, their doubting eyes betrayed them. He could tell them all again and again how Jamie wanted to live her last days in peace, to end the chemo and to just let nature take its course. And that when nature did take its course, the cancer shot through her like a bullet train. And that his wife’s folks just fought and fought. Hell, because Jamie “quit,” they didn’t even show up to her funeral. Her own parents. Their only child.

  But it was all a waste of breath. He sensed the seed of suspicion in all of them.

  Damn them. “They should be ashamed. And now they think crucifying me will kill the agony?”

  Stan shook his head. “It’s hurtful stuff, man. I don’t envy you. Kick a man while he’s down, it’s just not good karma.”

  Ben rubbed his eyes, then his head, sighing through his underlying fury. And talking more on the matter wasn’t helping. He wanted to get the heck out of there, but his in-laws were still at the elevator bank. With nowhere else to go right then, he just had to redirect or he’d put his fist through a wall. “How’s Zoe, man?”

  “Great. Yeah, we just came back from Vancouver, celebrated our tenth anniversary.” Stanton froze, eyes wide. “Sorry, man…I—”

  “What? The whole world stops because I lost my wife? Shut the hell up and tell me more.” God, the tiptoeing and the constant oozing pity. Always hovering. As bad as the loneliness, if not worse.

  “Right. Well, we’d both been so busy with work, we decided to tear away for the weekend. Used the anniversary as an excuse, and—” Stanton bit his lip and gave a short, quick sigh.

  “And?”

  Stanton glowed with joy—and unsubtle guilt. “Well, I need something from you…even though you’re, you know, scared of kids.” The man smirked.

  “I’m a pediatric surgeon, for Christ’s sake.” Granted, his mentors had only demanded he go pediatric because of his “skills in the OR.” Steadiest hands, tiniest organs, they’d said. But he’d admit, operating on an anesthetized kid doesn’t mean he’s good with one that’s awake and talking.

  Stanton pounded Ben’s shoulder and widened his smile—the old, natural, ball-busting smile Ben faintly remembered. “I’m kidding, man—they flock to you like you’re a walking, talking video game doused in sugar.”

  Also true. The harder he’d push kids away, the closer his niece or nephew or patients came climbing, crawling, chattering. It used to crack Jamie up.

  “Anyway…” Stanton’s grin had flatlined and he cleared his throat. “You’re gonna be a godparent, Ben. That’s what Zoe and I wanted to tell you over dinner.”

  Ben’s chest tightened like a vise. He tried to swallow, but couldn’t.

  Ben, speak.

  “Wow…a kid?” His pulse spiked. “You guys are pregnant.” Ben nodded, letting it sink in. His best friend, a dad. Like he’d almost been. He glanced at his friend, but Stanton’s eyes had shifted to the floor, then to the bad art on the wall.

  Again, tiptoe we go.

  But…don’t you ask for it? Honestly.

  Quiet. “Great news, man.” He pulled his friend in, slammed him on the back, wrapping him in a congratulatory hug. “So glad for you. Really, Stan. Heck, it’s about time.”

  “Thanks, man.” Stanton blew out a breath of pure relief and smiled. “And the godparent thing? We know it’s been a shit time, Ben, but there’s no one we’d feel more comfortable with…just as long as you settle stateside eventually.” A snicker left Stanton’s upturned mouth.

  Ben swallowed back a knot of hard angst.

  “Hey, man?” Stanton squeezed his shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Godparent, yes. I’d be honored.” Robotic, at best.

  Stanton nodded then shook his head. “I caught you off guard, man. I knew I should’ve waited for Zoe—I’m so bad at this shit.”

  “No, no.” Ben shook out his daze then clapped his friend’s shoulder. “Stan, it’s good, really.”

  “But you’re white as a—”

  “I’m fine.” Regret, immediate. He sighed. “Sorry, just…the jet lag, and I should probably eat something.”

  “Hey, brunch, my treat.”

  God, no. “Can’t, man…sorry. Remember, I’m catchin’ my flight in the next few hours. Have to grab a bite at the airport.” He noticed the elevator area was finally clear, and started toward it. “Hoping Sea-Tac will be far less eventful than yesterday, right?” Violet Eyes flashed to mind, and he immediately blinked away her image along with a new round of guilt.

  “Yes, right.” Stan snickered. “Rock star mania…” Awkward silence ate his friend’s polite laughter right up.

  Ben hit the elevator call button, but it didn’t illuminate. “Thanks, though, really.” Then he pressed the button and held it hard with his thumb.

  “Rain check.”

  “Absolutely, Stan. After the next hearing.”

  Stanton nodded. “Should be the last hearing.”

  “Right.” And, strangely, Ben couldn’t imagine the medical review hell not hanging over his head. “What the heck is with this elevator?” Jamie’s folks had taken it…maybe they held it to screw with him. Wouldn’t put it past Edward.

  “Not sure, but it’ll come.” Stanton cleared his throat, gaze forward. “Hey, Ben…you ever need to talk, I’m here. You kno
w that, right?”

  “Of course. And I appreciate it, man.” Ben’s index finger punched the elevator call button a few times more. Hard.

  “And watch your email for an update from me?”

  “Sure.” His mouth too dry for more words than that, Ben stared at the unlit numbers above the elevator. Seriously, is the damn thing stuck?

  “And you’ll respond to those emails?”

  “Right.” God, he needed water. “Just gotta work around the sporadic Internet cafés—all dial-up.”

  “I’ll cc Stacy and leave a voicemail on that crappy old phone of yours.” He grinned. “And hey, try sending a postcard this time? Like, to let us know you’re alive and—”

  A text buzzed Stan’s phone and Ben’s chest unlocked. A reprieve.

  Stanton huffed. “Guess I’ll be heading down to Olympia earlier than I thought.” The man looked up from his smartphone. “My next hearing got bumped.”

  The elevator dinged its arrival. Finally. Doors slid open and Ben followed Stan into the car. “Hey, at least now I can take you to the airport on my way down to Olympia.”

  Ben’s jaw tightened—just the thought of more talk time.

  His friend sensed his reluctance. “Traffic’s gonna be a bear. A second passenger gets me in the carpool lane…” Hopeful eyes.

  Ben grabbed a breath, caving to social etiquette. “Right. Sure. That’ll be great. Saves me the shuttle fare, at any rate.”

  Stanton snorted and gave him a strange look, like, Why would you need to save money?

  Ben lifted his brows, but Stanton said nothing, just looked back down at his smartphone. Ben hadn’t even told Stanton what he’d done with the windfall that was Jamie’s life insurance policy—he’d anonymously donated half to cancer research, and the rest he’d put in trust for his heirs—Stacy’s kids. His in-laws had made sure the insurance-funds topic remained another source of skepticism. But he kept the funds’ destinations confidential—let them all think what they wanted, that Ben had a lifetime of financial freedom due to his wife’s death. Sick fucks.

  Ding. The lobby. The doors slid open and a few nurses slid by the men as they walked out.

  Stan shoulder-bumped him. “Hey, don’t pretend you didn’t see the redhead scoping you out.”

  Ben glared at his friend, teeth gnashed. Jesus. “Which way’s the car, Stanton?”

  “This way, just past the hot receptionist.” Stan laughed, but killed it when he met Ben’s death stare which screamed silently, No, I am not ready for it, Stanton. Not ready by a long shot. When it came to other women, tiptoeing was permitted—no, it was goddamn required.

  CHAPTER 4

  She leaped over a pile of notebooks, Josh’s boots, and…shattered glass? The vodka bottle. She remembered he’d thrown it against the wall for emphasis during the chorus of some bullshit rock ballad he’d “been working on.”

  “Watch it, there!” Miss Mini Manager pointed to a narrowly missed puddle of Josh’s sickness.

  “Oh, God!” Preeya halted, grimaced, and scrambled to the right as Dawn’s self-control crumbled to the revolting floor, laughing again at Preeya’s pain while Josh groaned in an escalating crescendo.

  Preeya stood still for a second, scanning the rest of the floor for her clothes and strategizing so she’d avoid any other surprises. “This is such a joke.”

  “What’s that you said?” Dawn asked through waning laughter.

  “Nothing, it’s just that—” She paused, having just spotted her flight attendant’s scarf smack in the middle of yet another puddle. Preeya looked up at Dawn to be sure she wasn’t imagining it.

  No, she wasn’t imagining anything. Dawn sighed, shrugged as if helpless, too, then placed her hands on her hips and wagged her head at Josh.

  Ugh. Preeya hoped to God that it was the last gift he’d left on the small guest room floor before making it to the bathroom last night—instead of making love to her, or, at the very least, delivering her to the other side of an ultimate finger-gasm like he’d done years ago.

  “Goes to show that coke and pills don’t mix. Anyway, you were saying something…and collecting your clothes, because you really do have to go so I can get my lead singer up and at ’em,” Dawn said with a slight apology in her smile…until she eyed something on the dresser. Preeya followed the woman’s gaze. A tall water bottle. Full and sealed. Dawn smirked then looked at Preeya, motioned to the dresser with a nod, then winked.

  Water? God, yes, she was thirsty.

  Ohh, water! Not to drink. To pour. To wake.

  “I couldn’t find his stash to trash, so…wakey, wakey with a splash?” Dawn whispered so low the words were almost mouthed.

  Preeya snickered. She could totally wait for rehydration—and her exit so she’d make her departure!—if it meant she’d get some fluid revenge. She smiled at Dawn without wasting thought or time in considering the repercussions. Because karma, opportunity…

  Dawn waggled her brows.

  “Last night was shittier than shit,” Preeya said quietly, justifying her support of Dawn’s scheme. “He just had to ‘do a few lines first.’ Then the pills.”

  “Which led to this puking mess—which he might think I’m cleaning up, being the grunt manager and all.”

  “A puking mess, indeed.” And a goddamn tease of a night.

  Preeya nodded along with Dawn as more counterproductive thoughts swarmed Preeya’s brain. He’d had her in his arms and at his mercy, then thrown her on his bed with such passionate abandon. She’d been so ready for the natural heights that her nostalgic heart—and core—had replayed in her head, ready for the encore performance of his magic fingers and tongue and hands and, yes, his magic steel, too. How he’d grind and sweep and pluck and strum her like he did his beloved guitar under hot stage lights.

  But instead, he’d rolled away for the condom, snorted who knows how many lines, and popped some number of pills—that were certainly not ED pills—and returned to her, a vacant shell. Greek-god-gone-flaccid, impotent, lost in his own world of self-declared greatness.

  Preeya looked at the water bottle, all twenty-some ounces of it, then back to Dawn. Preeya’s nostrils flared as she breathed out—as opposed to breathing in. The air quality was really getting to her.

  And as if Dawn read her thoughts, “He’s worse than any of the other guys in the band. Narcissist to the nth…constant cocaine and sex binges—rehab twice. Hell, I’ve had to fight statutory rape charges and squashed umpteen paternity claims for this prick.”

  He rolled over. Preeya and Dawn paused. He grunted, then snoring resumed the next second.

  “Believe me, based on last night’s experience…sex, paternity? Not an issue.”

  Dawn glanced up at her. “Well, since you didn’t seem to get any perks out of the deal…” Dawn gave Preeya a final head nod toward the big bottle of crystal clear Washington spring water revenge. “You do the honors.”

  Preeya knew that time was wasting, but, hell, she wanted—no, needed—to do this. Preeya grinned, filled her lungs, and beelined for the water bottle. She untwisted the cap, but then paused where she stood. Only feet from the bed, her eyes zeroed in on Josh then shifted to Dawn. “Camera? Video? Or just mental record?”

  “Oooh, I like you, not-a-groupie. I like you a lot.” Dawn winked then reached into her thick leather jacket for her cell. “You wanna give me yours, too? I can handle two at a time.” Another eyebrow waggle.

  Ignoring the sexual innuendo, Preeya smiled but declined. She couldn’t afford to lose or forget or, hell, incur damage to her phone in what might be a chaotic backlash after the water poured. “Mental record for me, thanks. You can email me what you get.” Preeya refocused on the task at hand, taking a step closer toward the lump in the bed.

  “Wait,” Dawn said.

  Josh groaned.

  “What?” Preeya whispered, so close to her goal. She really didn’t want him to wake up before she woke him up—cold, wet, and shocked.

  “Maybe we should prep the
escape before all hell breaks loose. He’ll go insane…”

  Shit, she was right. And her priority—her flight—had been totally overshadowed by the enticement and excitement of retaliation. She sighed. “He’ll be up…but pissed and definitely won’t drive me…and a cab at this point? I’ve got only two hours to get through Seattle traffic, security, and check-in. And the lead attendant hates me as it is.” She sighed longer. “I can’t be late. And, job or not, I really can’t miss this flight.”

  “Right, weddings plural,” Dawn said with a somewhat empathetic tone—empathizing with what, the little woman couldn’t know.

  No clue at all.

  If Preeya missed this flight, she’d miss Amy’s wedding. Her college roommate would never forgive her. And Amy’d ordered the bridesmaid dress, the hotel room, the works. Also, Preeya had promised. Preeya didn’t break promises.

  But, being honest, she hadn’t made the promise to Amy out of selfless loyalty alone. Going to Amy’s wedding became Preeya’s alibi, so to speak. Assurance that she wouldn’t fold and attend her father’s wedding. A guarantee against her own potentially weak will, because the likelihood was high that her father’s guilt trip and her aunt’s shame-fest would beat her.

  “But I’ll sleep better if I do this!” Her voice lifted, eyeing the water bottle with enthusiasm.

  Dawn snorted then turned to Preeya. “I’ll take you. To the airport…” Dawn took a few steps closer to Preeya and leaned in to whisper, “I always buffer appointments for him with a three or four-hour window.” Dawn stood up and gave her a proud wink and nod. “I’ve got my moped, so just, you know, get dressed and we’ll go. There is no traffic with my ride…shoulders all the way.”

  Fly by the seat of her pants, yes, but a death wish? “Thanks, but…not in my uniform…and my carry-on bag? Wherever the hell it is…” She sighed, shook her head, and clutched the bedsheet toga tight to her chest. “I’ll just cab it and pray…and…” She looked at her scarf on the floor. “Shit, I’ll have to chuck that and borrow or buy one…or wing it. I’m good at that, at least.”

  Yeah, winging it was a talent to be proud of, right?