Catching Preeya (Paradise South Book 3)

by Rissa Brahm

  But if she had been alone to hear what her asshole aunt had told her, she would have broken. Cracked in half.

  To hear about her mother, a complete coward? Abandoning her and her little sister? And her father is, what now, a savior? And God, the possibility, the potential within her, according to Aunt Champa, to be just like her mother, a goddamn escape artist of the most pathetic, unnatural sort. Leaving her babies? Not for selflessness. God, what insanity! Not for the poor children of the world? And she had been so proud of the woman, the whole-hearted seeker of truth, love, spiritual fucking liberation. It had justified the sacrifice, the lovelessness, the loneliness. But now the veil had lifted and left Preeya blind in the glaring, raw and fucked-up truth of it all.

  “Jesus, you’re more pale than when I left you.” Ben unscrewed the water bottle and handed it to her, scrutinizing her with his narrowed stare. The doctor, the lover, the friend—his look of concern made her chest swell and her cheeks heat, easing the angst in her throat formed from her family bullshit.

  She sipped the water, and again, then handed it back to him. “Thank you.”

  “Better?” Still staring at her like she was a dandelion at risk of losing her wisps with one quick breath of a wishful child. And it seemed that not even her tornado of a family could destroy her so…

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Or I’ll be fine…” She sighed then pulled out her phone. “Here, sit with me.” She laced her arm through his, then opened her video chat. “I’ll introduce you to Prana. She’ll like meeting you.”

  “Take another drink first.” Like she did to him at the bar the other night. She smiled and took a pull of water per the doctor’s orders.

  *

  She called the main number first, which she had to do anyway so they could help Prana set up at the computer. But this time she wanted to know what the hell Champa was pulling.

  “Maicey Anton, please?”

  The unit director. She’d been caring for Prana since the start. The woman answered warmly and began explaining the situation. It turned out Champa had been bluffing. They didn’t take Prana to the wedding. But when Preeya wouldn’t call her aunt or father back, Champa apparently drove the hour to SafeHaven under the guise of a visit—after not seeing Preeya’s sister for how many years?—and insisted on making an outgoing call from their internal phone system. Aunt Champa knew Preeya would never ignore a call from SafeHaven. Irony of ironies, her phone had been in Ben’s trunk all day. Hey, at least the witch had to wait a bunch of hours to get her rant-on.

  “Is Prana okay, though? Did my aunt upset her at all?”

  “No, hun, Prana’s fine. Your aunt gave her a coloring book…stayed with her in her room for less than five minutes. Then, like I said, she fumed in the lobby for the rest of the time.”

  Preeya sighed with relief and calm. “Thank God. Well, even though I’ll be up in a few weeks, is it too close to bedtime for me to video chat with her?”

  “Not at all. I’ll connect you. And Preeya, no worries. We wouldn’t let any family friction or chaos touch your sister.”

  “Of course, Maicey. Thanks. Really, thank you.”

  While she waited, her thoughts ran rampant. Aunt Champa. That heartless, egocentric bitch. Playing Preeya like that. “But at least,” she said to Ben, “Prana’s okay.” Even though she hadn’t filled Ben in at all—about her family drama—and he didn’t ask, didn’t push. He just sat beside her, his hand stroking her back. Not hovering, just a strong pillar for her to lean on.

  The picture-in-picture came up black on her screen, then her sister’s face appeared. “Prana, sweetie. Hey, there. How ya doin’, little sister?”

  Her sister blinked and looked up to the right. That was a meh—just okay.

  Damn it, Champa. “Me, too. But now that I see your sweet face, I’m doing way better. Hey, you’re getting my chat-messages from the airplane?”

  Prana replied with an excited nod and a wide smile.

  “There’s my girl.”

  With a crimped index finger, Prana pointed at the screen.

  “Oh, this? This is my new friend, Dr. Ben.”

  Prana’s smile got wider.

  “Nice to meet you, Prana Patel,” Ben said on cue with his deep and tender voice. “You have a pretty cool room there. I can see the poster of Shel Silverstein behind you. He’s my favorite.”

  Prana’s head began nodding rapidly, her gasping breath echoing in the mic.

  “Oh, does she like you…” Preeya said to Ben, then squeezed his hand. “So, Prana, sweetheart, did you have a visit from Aunt Champa today?”

  A nod and a scowl. Then a moan with furrowed eyebrows.

  “Maicey said it was short, though, yes?”

  A nod.

  “And Champa brought you something? A coloring book?”

  Prana glared, then cradled her arms and rocked them back and forth.

  “Too babyish?” Preeya laughed. “Well, it’s the thought that counts, right? Maybe you can give it to a little kid in the children’s wing. Either way, Champa won’t be back for a while, I’m sure. So, tell me what else is doing?”

  Prana looked down then held up a photo of their father—a man Preeya’d apparently never really known, at least according to Champa. In the picture that her aunt must’ve brought—eye roll—he stood hugging a woman Preeya’d never seen before. His new wife, no doubt. Well, the woman had a nice enough smile. She was thin, almost gaunt-looking. Not cheek-and-tit-enhanced like she’d pictured. But Preeya couldn’t really focus on her father or her new stepmother right now. It was all too much of a whirlwind to wrap her brain around. Her heart around.

  Prana grunted.

  “What’s up, sweetie?”

  Prana grunted again and lifted her eyebrows—waiting.

  Ben laughed. “She’s got your insistence, I think,” he whispered. “What does she want?”

  “My sister wants me to read our special book to her…but, Prana, sweetie, I don’t have it with me. It’s back at my hotel room. How ’bout I call you in the morning to read it to you. Okay?”

  Her sister shook her head violently.

  “That’s a big no,” Ben whispered to Preeya.

  She nudged him with her elbow. “I know you want it now, sweetie, but before you know it, morning will be here. I’ll call you at nine a.m., after you come back from breakfast.”

  Prana’s breath got short and her eyes got wild. The on-duty attendant in the room had to settle her down, and Ben didn’t flinch, like it was no big deal. Preeya liked that she didn’t have to explain the situation to him. She could wait it out, knowing the drill by heart. After the attendant’s soothing words, like clockwork, the deal for the morning reading of The Giving Tree was struck.

  “So sleep tight, sweetie, and I’ll video call at nine a.m. sharp.”

  Prana gave a surrendered nod to Preeya, but a wild wave and a huge, almost flirtatious smile to Ben.

  Preeya cracked up, her heart leaping, while Ben waved back to her totally glowing sister. “Nice meeting you Prana Patel.”

  “Okay, then. I love you, Pran, and sleep tight.” And she ended the video call.

  “Wow,” Ben said, his eyes studying hers. “That was unbelievable. The way you understood each other.” Ben stared a few beats longer, shaking his head.

  She smiled back at him, feeling safe and held in his gaze.

  Wait…his eyes, were they damp? She leaned in an inch. They were.

  The next instant his hand was cradling the nape of her neck, and he was kissing her lips with the sweetest tenderness. Caressing, dragging, dusting. Then he pulled back to meet her eyes.

  “Not much shocks me anymore. Not much at all. But here you are.” He smiled, then cocked his head, and glared at her. “And you dropped out of medical school? God, I could strangle you right now.”

  She got the underlying compliment, but…no. She couldn’t touch the med school topic without falling apart. Not with the new perspective of her mother and of her father—of her whole nurture-a
nd-nature composition in question. With the world as she’d known it flipped upside down, the last goddamn thing she needed to do was to discuss her fucking career path. So she swallowed, inhaled to capacity, then blew out a slow, calming breath. “Not going there ‘right now’ Ben.” If ever.

  “Fine, but to be continued—a conversation for another time.” His lifted brow punctuated his sincerity.

  She glared back—fat chance, without the words.

  He took her hand—and she let him—as the deep lines set between his furrowed brows softened. “Come on.” He stood, pulled her up with him and kissed her neck.

  Her chest loosened, her heart eased. “Oh, my bag—”

  “No, allow me.” He grabbed her purse and slid it up on his shoulder with a wink.

  She tilted her head and sighed a light laugh, letting go the rest of her agitation over the med school topic.

  “What you need is rest.” He led her out of the restaurant into the thick Vallarta night. “Let’s do the hospital visit already so we can get you to bed that much quicker.”

  Mmmm, bed. With Ben. She looked up at him as a soft then hungry smile took over her mouth. “Whatever you say, Doctor.” Because bed with Ben sounded like pure heaven. She squeezed his hand in hers as they neared his car. “And I’ll be a good patient, I promise.”

  He unlocked then opened her door and helped her in. “You should know, Preeya Patel, that I find it near impossible to keep my hands off you right now. And my mind off you. You’re getting your hooks into me, I think. Your big plan, is it?”

  She sputtered a giggle as she clicked her seat belt. “I’m not much of a planner, but yes, I think…I think I could learn to think ahead a bit.” Because thinking ahead with this man in her mind’s eye didn’t sound bad…not bad at all.

  CHAPTER 27

  They’d managed to find the waiting room of the ICU where Amy’s brother-in-law was being treated, despite the signage, Solo Español.

  Preeya had dreaded seeing Amy’s mother and sister, hating the idea of having to pull out her fakest FA smile for the catty women. So she was relieved to find only a young local family in one corner of the room and an older lady in the other. The older woman had to be Elaine. With frazzled gray hair pulled up in a straggling bun, and sad, solemn, vacant eyes, she screamed fear for her child. It was the same helpless look that the mother wore on the flight to Houston.

  Elaine stared at the wall ahead of her and gently rocked her body back and forth. Those eyes, they were the shape and shade of Darren’s. Unmistakably Darren’s mother. She knew from Amy that the woman was sweet to the core and had a tendency toward deep depression.

  “Pardon me,” Preeya spoke quietly so as not to startle the woman, “but are you Darren and Zack’s mother, Elaine James?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Amy’s friend, Preeya. Her college roommate. And this is my…friend, Doctor Ben Trainer.”

  Slightly confused, out of sorts for sure, Elaine nodded with a kind smile. “Nice to meet you both.”

  “Amy called me an hour ago, from the cruise. We’re here to give you some company, and maybe help decipher what the doctors are saying?”

  “Oh, thank you.” Pure relief. “The doctors don’t tell me a lot, that’s true.”

  Ben nodded. “It might be that there is nothing to tell just yet. Probably a good sign. But would you like to walk me to the nurses’ station and I can see what more I can find out?” Ben held out his hand to help the woman up.

  “While you do that, I’ll go down to the cafeteria and grab you something, Elaine. Like a coffee, a sandwich?” Preeya offered, well rehearsed during her two-year stint in the skies—but this time, she’d made the offer from her heart. The poor woman looked withered, like a dried meadow flower in a summer drought.

  “Oh no, I’m really fine.”

  “Elaine…may I call you Elaine?”

  “Of course.”

  “Elaine, as a doctor and”—Ben swallowed hard, then cleared his throat and touched the woman’s elbow—“and as a widower who’s just lost his wife to a yearlong fight with cancer, I know firsthand how hard it is to watch your loved one hurt…with all the unknowns.” He looked at Preeya—like he needed a quick shot of strength—then back at Elaine. “So, doctor’s orders—you need to take care of yourself to be able to take care of your son. Keep strong, fueled. That is the best way to help Zack right now.”

  The woman nodded her surrender. “Please, an apple, and maybe a turkey sandwich. No coffee. I get too jittery on the stuff. Thank you, dear.” She patted Preeya’s hand, and then gave Ben her arm and showed him to the nurses’ station.

  *

  Preeya got back a half hour later to find Ben and Elaine in the waiting room chatting.

  “Sorry, long line. Late dinners here in Mexico, I guess,” she said, placing the food items on a side table for Elaine.

  “Thank you, dear.”

  Preeya sat down on the other side of Elaine and patted her hand. “You’re so welcome. And how are we looking inside?”

  “Well, I got a full report from Doctor Acharya and will write it all down so you can debrief Amy and Darren. But really, it’s a big waiting game, sorry to say.”

  “After seeing him, do you think he’s in pain right now? And when he does wake up, will he be hurting then?” the worried mother asked.

  Ben sighed, then visibly clenched his jaw and swallowed hard. Preeya watched as he froze over, his gaze now glued to the floor.

  “Ben?” She reached for his hand but he pulled away and stood before she could take it.

  “I’m so sorry. If you’ll…just excuse me for a moment. I”—he cleared his throat, treading backwards as if he’d seen a ghost—“I have to…make a phone call…that I forgot about earlier. So sorry.” And he disappeared around the corner to the elevators.

  CHAPTER 28

  He sat with his face in his hands on a hard wooden bench outside the main entrance.

  He couldn’t get Jamie’s pleading eyes out of his head, just staring him in the face. Her big brown eyes, backed by a yellowed veil and strewn with thin red veins, bloodshot from vomiting over and over and over again. “Please. Just do it. Give them to me and let me go,” she’d implored him.

  That plea. Her once-vivacious voice turned into a raspy, desperate beggar’s.

  Jamie had been through three rounds of chemo, all against her will, really. Between her oncologist, her parents, and frankly, Ben himself at the time of diagnosis, they had kept the hopeful pressure on. A few of his own young patients had entered his operating room for necessary surgeries resulting from the ravaging disease, and many had gone on to live long and well. But Jamie, by round three, had wasted away to half her weight and more than three quarters of her days were spent in excruciating pain—the other quarter was spent sleeping with the intermittent rotation of fevers then sweats then chills which shocked her awake.

  They’d had plans. Dreams. And the loss of the baby, well, that murdered both their hearts. Any question he’d had about his fatherly instinct, or lack thereof, had been doused with kerosene and lit on fire with the news. But it took only minutes for Ben to view the miscarriage as a blessing in disguise, dare he admit it out loud. Ever. But God, to have a child by Jamie without Jamie. A piece of her in an animate, sparkling child.

  But no. The failed pregnancy was replaced by the diagnosis of a malignant tumor in her left ovary. One year from that point, instead of them nursing a newborn, he was nursing his young wife.

  And the catch of all catches: the state of Washington was a right-to-die-state, if, that was, the diagnosis declared the patient had six months or less to live. Her oncologist had given her nine months. And even though her tumor had metastasized exponentially, the man wouldn’t adjust it—thanks to Ben’s meddling former in-laws who doubled as big-time donors to the hospital.

  Damn them. Ben was her husband, for Christ’s sakes. And an MD himself.

  But they just wouldn’t hear their daughter’s wishes. “No
quitting. Just hang on,” her father had told Jamie. Even though it was killing her soul to stay alive. Every passing minute pained her. Every breath. Agony.

  So Ben was pushed into a corner. That day, in their home, her frail body nearly too weak to speak, her eyes cried for him to help her end it, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He just couldn’t say no. Not to his love. She prayed for liberation, screeched for it with her silent screams. And he wouldn’t, couldn’t deny her anymore.

  He put the pills in her hand, then gave her the glass of water and straw to wash them down. Knowing exactly how the pills would respond with the morphine drip hanging above her head—the morphine, which did nothing—made him, in his heart, a murderer. Whether Stanton disagreed and worked his ass off to convince the review board that Ben’s actions were within the confines of the law and hospital policy, Ben felt what he felt.

  And, God, it haunted him.

  He remembered the next details like it had happened a minute ago. Because, deep down and always, the scene replayed itself. Over and over and over again.

  He had crawled into bed next to her and took her hand to his lips. The soft, silken skin of the top of her hand soothed him. She’d always managed to soothe him, even when she’d been the one anguishing.

  To keep his tears at bay, he’d hummed. Their song. Her mouth and eyes smiled—so slight but so pure, but she couldn’t hope to halt her tears. She’d been too weak to even try. Still humming—don’t stop humming—he placed light kisses, a billion brush strokes, all over her thin, delicate hand. He’d kissed each fingertip, each joint, each knuckle. And he’d kept on humming. He’d turned her hand over to kiss her palm, each deep line and crevice, pressing into her his wholehearted devotion and gratitude and longing for the forever they wouldn’t have. He kissed his undying love into her—each kiss, each sweep, each soft swipe and caress from his quivering lips, he injected himself—his heart and soul, his hopes and dreams. All of him, everything.

  A whispered word. From her lips. It floated for him, to him, just as her eyelids slid the window of her life shut.