Watching him was torturous. Three days. Three days and Lucas hadn’t called her. No one from the Saints had called her. She’d thought maybe Maggie might, to try to talk her out of quitting, but apparently not.
She’d called the hospital to see if she could find out how Sam was, but they’d refused to give her the information over the phone. There was no way in hell she was going in person. Not when she might run into Lucas at the hospital.
Lucas whom she missed like she might miss a limb if she lost one.
But despite the fact that she’d smashed her heart to pieces, she didn’t think she’d been wrong. She didn’t want to be low down on the list with someone who was supposed to love her, and she couldn’t ask Lucas to give up being a doctor or to give up baseball. So he was always going to have competing priorities. Nothing was going to change about that.
Damned fairy tales. She should have remembered they were written to teach people lessons.
* * *
She almost caved to temptation and called Lucas on Monday morning. She’d lain awake most of the night again, and the emptiness where he should have been lying next to her had pushed at her and made the pain even worse for too many hours before she’d fallen into an uneasy sleep.
Just one last conversation. Closure. Isn’t that what they called it? End things on a better note. Tell him it just wasn’t meant to be. Maybe then it would be easier.
But before she gave in, her phone rang and she found herself, much to her shock, speaking to the assessor from the insurance company. Who wanted a final look at the A-Star. That afternoon.
She resisted the urge to whoop in triumph down the phone and instead limited herself to a silent Snoopy dance of victory around the kitchen as she agreed to meet him at the airfield at two.
A record-fast shower and breakfast—hope apparently returning some of her appetite—and she was on her way, determined to have every single piece of paperwork the assessor could possibly want organized before he got there. She was going to call her parents and tell them the good news but decided to wait until she actually had some details. That might cheer her dad up at least.
The assessor even turned up at the appointed time and clambered up and around the A-Star with rapid efficiency. He took another statement about what had happened, collected copies of the paperwork—which the insurance company already had, but she wasn’t going to argue—and told her he’d call her in the morning with his final verdict.
Sara could have kissed him but she just nodded. Finally, finally, something was going right. Maybe losing Lucas had been the last kick in the teeth karma had in store for her. She went home, intending to call her parents, but decided on a nap first.
* * *
She woke when her phone rang. Sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting the clock on her nightstand. Which said it was twelve p.m. Which couldn’t be right—it had been nearly seven p.m. when she’d gotten home. Holy crap. She couldn’t have slept for eighteen hours or so, could she?
But apparently she could, because the screen on her phone agreed with the clock. And told her it was Liza calling. She hit the button to take the call, still not quite believing she’d slept for so long. “Hey, Mom,” she said.
“Honey, were you sleeping?”
“I took a nap. What’s up?”
“Now, don’t be mad, but I’m at the hospital with your dad. He’s just out of surgery.”
“Surgery?” Sara said. Maybe she was still sleeping. Dreaming the conversation. She thumped her thigh, which did nothing but hurt. So she must be awake. “What surgery?” She rubbed her thigh, trying to make her brain work.
“Lucas found another opening,” Liza said. “He called us yesterday.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“We weren’t sure how you’d take it,” Liza said diplomatically. “Your dad wanted to go ahead, so we decided to tell you afterward.”
Sara fell back on her bed, brain whirling. Lucas had operated on her dad? “Did the surgery go okay?”
“Lucas says so,” Liza said. “But he also said it was early days. He said something about a trapped nerve. He had to reset the kneecap, so it’s going to take a while.”
“I—” She stopped, not knowing what to say. “Where’s Dad now?”
“Still in recovery. They said he’ll be down in a few hours but might be a bit groggy. Visiting hours start at four. Why don’t you come then? Lucas said he’d check in tomorrow morning.”
Which meant that Sara wasn’t going to run into him if she went this afternoon. “Okay, Mom. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me but okay. I’ll see you later.” Then she paused. “Is Dougal still at your place?” She’d left him there Sunday night, hoping he’d cheer her dad up.
“Yes. We fed him this morning and Nancy next door is going to walk him at lunchtime. So he’s fine.”
* * *
Her dad was kind of spaced out but he was sitting up in bed, the covers tented over his leg with a metal frame, when Sara arrived just after four. He managed a slightly stoned-looking smile as she came through the door. “Hey, honey.”
She leaned down to kiss his cheek. “How are you feeling?”
Sean nodded. “So far so good. He gives out the good stuff, your man.”
Sara shot a look at her mom, who mouthed morphine at her with a smile.
“Dr. Angelo isn’t my man,” she reminded Sean.
“Then you’re missing out,” Sean said. His eyes drifted closed a little. “He’s a good one, that one. Did he tell you, he said he fixed my leg?”
Sara felt her heart tighten, tears prickling. “So I hear. Why don’t you sleep for a bit, Dad?”
“Might just rest my eyes at that,” Sean agreed, eyes drifting shut. He promptly started snoring.
Liza shook her head at him fondly. “He never did do very well with drugs. He’ll sleep awhile now. Why don’t you go get me a coffee or something? I don’t want to leave him just yet.”
“Okay.” Sara walked around the bed and gave her mom a quick kiss as well. “One coffee for the sneaky woman coming right up. Are you hungry?”
“I wouldn’t say no to a muffin,” Liza said. “It’s been a long day and the sandwich I had for lunch in the cafeteria was forgettable.”
“I think there’s a coffee cart outside the hospital,” Sara said. “I’ll see what they have. Call me if he wakes up or anything.”
“He’s pumped full of enough stuff to kill a horse,” her mom said. “So I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
* * *
Sara left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She looked up and down the corridor, trying to get her bearings. The ortho ward was quiet, just a series of private patient rooms leading off the corridor. The nurses’ station was about halfway down the row. On impulse, Sara headed toward it.
“Excuse me, is there a Sam Basara on the ward?” she asked when the nurse staffing the station looked up.
“Room Two Oh One. Go down the end of the hall and turn left.”
“Thanks.”
She would check in on Sam, she decided. Her fight was with Lucas, not with him.
But as she rounded the turn in the hall as directed, she saw Maggie coming in the other direction. Both of them stopped. Then Maggie smiled and moved forward.
“Sara, what are you doing here?”
“My dad’s down the hall,” she said. “So I thought I’d see if Sam was still here.”
“He is,” Maggie said. “But they’ve just taken him off for some scan or other. I’ve been trying to keep his parents company. They flew in from Missouri and they don’t know anyone in New York.”
“They must be worried. How’s his shoulder?”
“Lucas—” Maggie broke off. “Sorry.”
“You can say his name,” Sara said. “I’ll survive.”
Maggie pursed her lips. “Let’s go get some coffee and I’ll tell you all about it.”
* * *
Maggie didn’t take no for an answer. Sara found
herself across the street in a Starbucks with a Frappuccino in one hand and a blueberry scone in the other before she had time even to try to argue.
“You were going to tell me about Sam’s shoulder?” Sara said when they were seated at a table.
“I will,” Maggie said. “If you tell me what’s going on with you and Lucas. He’s been miserable for the last five days. What happened?”
“We broke up.”
“That much I gathered. Can I ask why?”
Sara started crumbling her scone. “It wasn’t going to work out.”
“Because he pushed your dad’s surgery?” Maggie sounded disbelieving.
“No, that’s not it. I mean, I was mad about that on the day but I understand why he did it.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that it’s always going to be like that. Lucas is a surgeon. He owns a baseball team. He’s always going to have something. It’s too complicated. He needs someone who’s used to his kind of world.”
“His kind of world?”
“Your kind of world,” Sara said. “I’m not rich, Maggie. I don’t know how to do fund-raisers and press and disapproving mothers.”
“Ah. Flavia. Quite frankly, Flavia Angelo’s a bitch,” Maggie said, shaking her dark hair back from her face. “Luckily, Lucas seems to be well aware of that fact, and he doesn’t let her get away with pulling her shit with him. But I take it she pulled some of it with you?”
“I met her at the ball,” Sara admitted. “We didn’t hit it off.”
“Sweetie, the number of people that do hit it off with Flavia Angelo can probably be counted on one hand. I don’t know how on earth she snagged Sandro. He’s much nicer. If you get him away from his wife.”
“I didn’t meet him,” Sara admitted. “Flavia was enough. She made it perfectly clear I’m not good enough for Lucas.”
“And you agree with her? Don’t be an idiot.”
“I don’t want a cold war with his family.”
“It’s doable,” Maggie said. “My dad’s partner, Veronica, doesn’t care much for me, but we coexist. It’s not like we have to live together. And you wouldn’t have to live with Lucas’s family. He doesn’t see them much. I see Veronica quite a bit but she knows I’m not going anywhere and she knows that if push came to shove, if she ever really tried to get between me and my dad, then she’d lose.”
“Yeah but he’s your dad, not your boyfriend. You know he’ll choose family.”
“And Lucas would choose what he wants, not what his family thinks he should want. He’s proved that many times already,” Maggie said. “Flavia knows that. Every time she’s fought Lucas on something, Lucas has won. He does what’s right for him, not what’s right for Flavia. She didn’t want him to play baseball but he did. She didn’t want him to be a doctor but he is. She definitely doesn’t want him owning the Saints. Do you see him caring about that? He’s a grown-up. So maybe you could give him the benefit of the doubt? Especially when a case like Sam kind of pushes his buttons?”
“Buttons? What buttons?”
“Lucas hurt his shoulder when he was playing college ball,” Maggie said. “I won’t tell you how—you can ask him that—but it wrecked his chance at a career. So if you want my two dollars’ worth of Lucas Angelo psychoanalysis, I think he sees quite a bit of himself in Sam. And wants to give him the second chance that he didn’t get.”
“I can see that,” Sara said slowly. “But that doesn’t make his life any less complicated.”
Maggie shrugged. “No, it doesn’t. But if he was happy with simple, he wouldn’t be the guy you’ve fallen for. Trust me, I know it’s complicated. Guys who do the kind of stuff that Alex and Lucas and Mal do, they’re complicated. But the complicated is worth it. It’s not as though you’re so simple, Sara. You’re a helicopter pilot. You were in the army. You’re up in the air, technically risking your life every day. Lucas hasn’t asked you to give that up, has he? He’s willing to take the hard with the good. Besides, things won’t always be this crazy with the Saints. It will calm down once they find their feet a bit more and the season starts. This first year will be the worst. I remember Dad telling me once that he wasn’t sure how he made it through his first year of ownership without going crazy.”
“That’s not exactly encouraging,” Sara said.
“At least Lucas wants to take you with him in the crazy,” Maggie said. “The man is spending hours every week in helicopters—and he really does hate flying—just so he gets more time with you. He’s smitten. And I think you’re kind of smitten, too. And being smitten with one of the terrible trio doesn’t seem to shake off all that easily. So why don’t you try again? You never know, it might just work out.”
* * *
It might just work out. Sara stared up at Lucas’s apartment building three hours later, Maggie’s words still ringing in her ears. She’d gone back to sit with her mom until her dad woke up and then made sure her mom ate before driving back to Staten Island, having waved off Sara’s offer of paying for a hotel room for a few nights.
And then Sara had found herself in a cab, giving directions for Lucas’s apartment. She’d never even been inside yet thanks to Lucas being late the night of the ball. She had no idea if he was even home, though Maggie had told her he was in New York, not heading back to Florida until later in the week.
But she asked the concierge manning the front desk. He lifted a telephone and someone at least answered because shortly she was shown into a lift and directed to the top floor. The top floor. The damned penthouse. Figured.
The lift dinged discreetly when it came to a halt. Sara walked out into a small foyer with a smooth black lacquered door facing her.
“Here goes nothing.” She reached out and knocked.
Then held her breath for ten very long seconds, counting Mississippis in her head until the door swung open and Lucas stood in front of her.
He wore a black T-shirt and very dark jeans and his hair was rumpled, as though he’d been sleeping. His feet were bare. A scruff of five o’clock shadow darkened his jaw.
She’d never seen anything as delectable in her life.
“Sara,” he said, voice reserved. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.” He stepped back politely. She walked past him, feeling her knees wobble a little when she got a waft of the damned delicious smell of him.
For a second she just wanted to throw herself at him and drag him off to bed, but she fought off the temptation. If this didn’t work out, if reality was going to win over the fairy tale, then one more taste of him would just make walking away even more difficult.
“Come into the living room, I was watching a game.”
She should have guessed that part.
She followed him, looking around curiously. The whole place was floor-to-ceiling glass on one side, looking out over the darkened park. The floor was a dark polished wood and the walls a deep blue-gray.
He showed her into a room with three huge overstuffed sofas upholstered in navy. They flanked a huge TV. The walls were bare except for one massive abstract painting that echoed the grays and blues above the flat screen. Lucas bent down and killed the TV with the remote. Then he turned to look at her, face still impassive.
“I came to say thank you,” she said simply. “For my dad’s leg. For still operating.”
He nodded, expression not changing, eyes wary. “I said I would.”
“No one would have blamed you if you hadn’t. Not after the way I behaved.”
“You were worried about your dad. I get that.”
“Still, thank you. It means more to me than you know.”
“His prognosis is good,” Lucas said, with a half hitch of his shoulder that only drew attention to the way the T-shirt hugged his body. “And you know, even if he doesn’t get full use of his leg back, he can probably still fly. I asked Alex about it—Ice has an aeronautics division—and he said there
are modifications for disabled pilots. He said he’d be happy to get someone to talk to you about it, once we know what’s going on with your dad’s leg.”
Disability aids? Why hadn’t she thought of that? Maybe because she’d barely had time to breathe. But Lucas had. Lucas was fixing things for her. Even though she’d run out on him. She bit her lip.
“Sara?”
“How did you hurt your shoulder?” she asked suddenly. “Maggie said you used to play baseball in college but you hurt your shoulder.”
Lucas nodded. “I did.”
“How?”
He sighed. “It was a long time ago.”
“How?”
“There was an explosion at a game. A group of those survivalist-type wackos tried to blow up the stadium.”
“You got hurt in the explosion?”
“No, I got hurt helping people afterward. Pulling them out of the wreckage.” He rolled his shoulder suddenly. “I don’t actually remember what I did. Alex says we lifted a concrete beam off someone and that’s what did it. But I don’t remember. Don’t remember much after running back into the bleachers. Not until I woke up in the damned helicopter being medevaced out of there.”
The man ran into burning stadiums to save people. Sara sat down suddenly. Grateful for the sofa behind her so she didn’t just sink to the floor. God. She was an idiot.
“Sara?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot.” He came closer then. Not quite close enough.
“I am. But I can’t help it. You scare me, Lucas. This”—she flipped her hand at the room—“scares me. I’m just an ordinary girl from Staten. I never imagined anything like this would be part of my life.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She laughed then, and wasn’t sure it wasn’t half a sob. “I’m an idiot.”
“It’s just money, Sara,” Lucas said. “It’s not me. It’s nothing to be scared of. Money is just a tool. It lets you do good things. It makes life easier in some ways, yes, but it doesn’t have to change who you are. Like I told you, you’re not your brother. History doesn’t have to repeat itself. I won’t let it. We won’t let it. So what if you never expected me? Sometimes the unexpected turn is the best thing. I never expected to be a doctor. I never expected to own a baseball team. I never expected to fall in love with someone who flies goddamned helicopters.”
Angel in Armani Page 24
