by Aly Martinez
I laughed softly. Then I screwed my eyes shut and dropped my head back against the headrest. “I’m terrified.”
“Oh God!” she cried. “Please tell me he didn’t really have you at gunpoint.”
“No. I was a willing victim. We’re having lunch today too.”
“Holy shit. Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah,” I replied simply.
But there would be nothing simple about it.
Porter was wrong. I was emotionally unavailable. Because letting people in meant risking I’d lose them too.
My fears about dating weren’t about the actual act of eating food with someone. It was about lowering my skillfully crafted walls and exposing myself to the elements that raged outside of them.
What if I panicked and couldn’t get them back up?
Or what if it only gave reality another chance to ruin me?
But, then again, what if it eased the unwavering hollowness in my chest?
Or what if, at some point over the years, the sun had risen again and I’d just been too guarded to see it?
“Holy shit!” Rita exclaimed. “How the hell did he convince you to leave the convent?”
“He’s…intense.” I bit my lip to stifle a laugh.
And then it died in my throat.
“Does this mean you’re going to treat his kid?”
My whole body jerked, and my stomach dropped. Not a dip. Or a flutter. It was an all-out free fall. “I’m sorry. What?”
“I told him you weren’t going to do it. But I swear the man wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Sweat broke out across my forehead. “His kid?”
“Wait…he mentioned this, right?”
“No, he didn’t fucking mention this!”
I wasn’t stupid; most men my age had children. And, for obvious reasons, it was a deal-breaker. But, then again, there had never been a deal before. At least, not a deal I wanted to keep.
“That piece of shit,” she grumbled. “God, why are men such assholes? Oh, right. Because they think with their dicks. Shit…you didn’t put out, did you?”
I could barely breathe, much less talk. And, when I didn’t say anything, she answered her own question.
“No. No. Of course you didn’t.”
I gasped for air as I fought the sudden urge to puke. “Why the hell would you set me up with a man who has kids?”
“I didn’t set you up with him! Trust me. I learned my lesson about trying to make you happy.”
“Then how did he find me at the hospital!” I yelled, my traitorous voice breaking at the end.
“Jesus. Calm down. He’s been calling the office to get an appointment for his son. I told him you didn’t see children, but he was adamant.” She lowered her voice. “I felt bad for him, Char. From what I can tell, he’s seen every other pulmonologist in a two-hundred-mile radius of the city. He said he’d do anything. So…” She paused, and I could almost imagine her nervously twirling her hair around her finger. “When I found out he owned a restaurant, I told him that, if he catered the Fling, I’d get him a consult with you.”
I laughed, but only because it was either that or acknowledge the searing pain in my chest.
Yeah. Porter Reese was amazing.
An amazing fucking liar.
“Did you tell him about Lucas?” I asked, my voice shaking almost as much as my hands.
She gasped. “Absolutely not. You know I would never—”
“Then how the fuck does he know about the darkness!” I boomed.
It was one lunch, a dinner, three conversations, a chaste kiss on the lips, and then some humorous text exchanges. It was way too soon for my heart to be breaking.
But it was. Wholly and completely.
And not because Porter was a master fucking manipulator.
But because, once again, hope had become my greatest enemy.
Hope that I could change.
Hope that I could move on.
Hope that other people like me existed.
Hope that, even if it was only for a few hours, I wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.
No questions.
No judgment.
No faking it.
Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.
Forget about the way my nipples had peaked when he’d trailed his callused thumb over my cheek and the way his clean, masculine scent had overwhelmed my senses to the point that it had chased a thrill up my spine. And that heady combination of lust and loneliness that had hung in the air between us until I couldn’t decide if I was suffocating or breathing my first breath of fresh air.
My immense physical reaction paled in comparison to the way his words had penetrated my mind and stripped me bare.
Porter Reese understood me.
Not in sentences, but in the silence.
Or so I’d thought.
“I have to go,” I whispered.
“I swear, Charlotte. I didn’t say anything. I figured he’d cater the Fling and you’d tell him no about the kid. No harm, no foul.”
With the exception of March seventh, I didn’t cry often. Tears were usually spurred by emotion, and I went to great lengths not to feel any of those.
Good. Bad. Happy. Sad.
Numb was always better.
But I’d felt something with Porter. It was small. But, when your entire world was pitch-black, even the tiniest flicker looked like a lighthouse.
Without another word spoken, I ended the call.
Then I started my car and drove home.
All while doing my very best to ignore the twin rivers that dripped from my chin.
* * *
She never showed for lunch at Antojitos.
My mom had the kids, so I sat at that table and waited for over three hours.
I called. They went unanswered.
I texted. She never replied.
I was beyond worried.
Something had to have happened. There was no way she’d been planning to disappear on me. Not after she’d melted into me after dinner, pressing up onto her toes when I’d bent to touch our lips, her breathing labored. She’d been scared out of her fucking mind but clinging to my forearm as though she never wanted to let go.
Yet, as Sunday turned into Monday—and then into Tuesday—it appeared that was exactly what she had done.
I’d spent the weekend with the kids, using every possible distraction to keep my mind off her. But any time I’d laugh or smile, she’d infiltrated my thoughts.
I called again. This time leaving what I hoped was a witty voicemail.
Then, like the true stalker I was starting to fear I was, I texted her again complete with various pictures of Sloth, asking if she was interested in maybe a date with my brother instead. All I got was radio silence.
I told myself to erase her from my mind. It was so absurd that I didn’t even know where to start. A few meals and countless smiles didn’t constitute a connection. For all I knew, she could have been Catherine all over again. And, if I was being honest, that was what scared me the most.
No. For my own sanity, I had to let it go.
For fuck’s sake, I had two children depending on me. I couldn’t get lost chasing after a woman. They deserved more than that.
Travis was doing better—temporarily. It happened like that after he got out of the hospital. They’d jacked him up on steroids, giving his fragile body the strength to fight, but within a week, he’d crash back down to baseline, if not lower.
And, because of my insane obsession with Dr. Mills, where I’d asked her to dinner instead of for an appointment for my son, we didn’t have a plan for when that happened.
Even knowing that, I still couldn’t get her off my mind.
Tuesday morning arrived with a bright sunrise. Various shades of orange and peach danced across the horizon as I got the kids up and dressed. And warm rays of sunlight streamed through the windows, forcing me to lower the blinds so Travis could see what his tutor was teaching him. It was a truly beau
tiful day. Hannah had conned my mom into taking her outside to play on the swing set the moment she’d arrived.
I left for work a few hours later, and as soon as the front door closed behind me, the night fell regardless of the time.
The soft opening of The Tannerhouse was only days away, and we were slammed. Between training the staff, finalizing the menus, and putting the finishing touches on the dining room, there didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day.
But, as I sat at a stoplight, staring at the same sign for the interstate as I had every day since we’d bought the building, I couldn’t bring myself to take the exit.
I’d told her no questions. But I needed the answer to why she’d stood me up.
Okay, that was a lie.
I just really fucking wanted to see her.
Flipping my blinker on, I merged into the other lane and headed toward her office without the first clue about whether or not she’d actually be there.
Or, worse yet, how she was going to react to my showing up.
Whatever. I could worry about that when I was sure she was okay—and, if I could possibly swing it, wearing one of those secret smiles that spoke to my soul.
Twenty minutes later, I opened the door to North Point Pulmonology.
The gray-haired receptionist slid the glass window open when she saw me approach. “Sign in here, sugar.” She pushed a clipboard in my direction.
“Oh, I’m not a patient. I’m here to talk to Dr. Mills.”
She scoffed and shook her head. “Sorry, son. Dr. Mills doesn’t deal with the pharmaceutical reps. You want a sit-down, you’ll have to schedule it through Rita.”
“Rita!” I exclaimed a little too loudly before clearing my throat and playing it cool. “Yes. I’d love to talk to Rita. You know…about pharmaceutical stuff.”
I pasted on a grin that I prayed came across more endearing than stalker, but I assumed I’d failed when her eyebrows pinched together suspiciously.
“Tell Rita that Porter Reese is here. She’ll know who I am.”
When she reluctantly picked the phone up, I stole a moment to glance around the office. In my experience, all doctors’ offices looked the same. Different furniture. Different magazines. Same sterile environment. While this one was nice and everything seemed new, it still screamed, Don’t get comfortable. Nothing good happens here. Though that assumption might have been based on my experiences with Travis. It was always bad news with him.
After scanning the large waiting room, I gazed at a display of pictures hanging on the wall closest to the door. Charlotte’s name had been engraved on a placard beside a photo of her staring blankly into the camera, the fakest smile I had ever seen pulling at her lips. She was wearing a navy-blue sweater paired with a set of pearls I was positive she hated. Don’t ask me how I knew, considering that two of the times I’d seen her she was wearing either an oversized hoodie or a pair of scrubs, but she looked about as comfortable as she would have been in a straitjacket.
I didn’t even try to stop the chuckle.
“Don’t you dare laugh!” a woman hissed behind me.
I spun and found Rita glaring at me.
“Hey. Sorry to stop by unannounced, but—” I didn’t get to finish my apology before she grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the front door.
“I can’t believe you would show your face here after what you did.”
I threw the brakes on. “Me? What did I do?”
“Cut the crap and leave,” she whisper-yelled before glancing around the waiting room and flashing a placating smile to the two patients watching us.
Confused, I snatched my arm out of her grasp. “I don’t know what crap you want me to cut. I’m here to see Charlotte, but the receptionist told me I had to go through you.”
She laughed without humor. “You are not here to see Charlotte.”
“Uh…yeah. I am,” I smarted.
Her jaw ticked as she glared at me, and then she exploded into a fury of hisses and angry whispers. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve done enough, okay? Just…leave.” She swung a pointed finger at the door.
I narrowed my eyes, a sick sense of unease settling in my stomach. “How about you use actual words here, Rita? What exactly do you think I’ve done to Charlotte?”
She gave me another snarky laugh. “That bullshit dinner? Christ, Porter. I think she actually liked you.”
I lowered my voice and shot back, “That’s good to hear, because I actually like her.”
She cackled like a bitch. “Right. You want me to believe this has nothing to do with that appointment for your son?”
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as realization hit me. Planting my hands on my hips, I whispered ominously, “You told her about the appointment?”
“She’s my best friend! Of course I told her.”
The all-too-familiar anger swirled through me, ricocheting with no way out. Charlotte thought I was after the appointment for Travis…and I was.
But make no mistake about it: I was after her too.
“Where is she?” I growled, closing the distance between us with a menacing step.
All five-foot-nothing of Rita’s body went solid, but she pushed up onto her toes to snarl, “Leave her alone. She’s been through enough without”—she quieted, but her tone remained threatening—“an asshole like you manipulating her. I can’t believe—”
I’m sure she kept talking, but I’d heard enough. Charlotte thought I was playing her. The worst of it was that maybe I had been. Initially. But not when I’d asked her to dinner. And definitely not when I’d asked her to share the darkness with me. And I sure as shit wasn’t going to stand there for a second longer while she was somewhere in that office, thinking I had.
Turning on a toe, I stormed toward the door that led deeper into the office and yanked it open.
“You can’t go back there!” Rita shouted, but I never slowed.
With heavy steps, I blew through the halls in search of her. I, no doubt, looked like a madman. But that’s exactly how I felt. Crazed and irate. I don’t know how she did it, but Charlotte eased the ache in my chest. And I’d be damned if I was going to let her walk away without giving me a chance to ease hers too.
A woman at a small desk in the middle of the hallway rose from her chair, panic on her face. “Can I—”
“Dr. Mills,” I demanded.
“Uh…” she stammered, but her eyes flashed to the side, giving me the answer long before her mouth ever would.
Following her gaze, I came face-to-face with the saddest eyes I’d ever seen. Her face was blank, but that might have been the most telling part of all. My heart stopped and my lungs burned as realization slammed into me like a Mack truck.
I’d done that to her.
“Charlotte,” I whispered in apology.
She was standing at the other end of the hall, her gaze locked on mine, a medical file clutched against her chest, her lips parted in surprise.
Beautiful.
Exhausted.
So fucking broken.
I moved closer. “We need to talk.”
She lifted a hand to stop my approach, but she didn’t say anything. Her dim eyes stared through me, unreadable and emotionless. She was the distant woman from the Fling, not the vibrant woman from our date. It fucking killed me to see her like that.
“Charlotte,” I rasped, inching closer.
“My office,” she stated. It wasn’t a question or an order. They were just words. Hollow, empty syllables.
Fuck.
She moved down the hall in my direction, but she wasn’t moving toward me. With careful and intentional steps, she made a wide berth around me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I’d expected her to be pissed. But this was worse. She hadn’t actually said anything yet, but I could tell she’d spent the last two days building that wall of hers taller than ever. Discouraged but determined, I followed her to the door at the end of the hall, preparing a million a
pologies with every step.
Her office was smaller than I would have expected. The desk was uncluttered, not so much as a Post-it Note in sight. Three bookshelves lined the space behind her desk, all filled with neat rows of books arranged by size, not even a knickknack to break up the monotony.
Cold and uninviting.
Just like the woman standing before me.
But she was there. Therefore, so was I.
“Talk to me,” I pleaded as she sat and motioned for me to do the same.
When I remained on my feet, she sat down and pulled a notepad out of a desk drawer and began writing something down.
“Mr. Reese, Rita told me your son is sick. I took the liberty of calling Patty Rouse to see if she could fit him into their schedule this week.”
Mr. Reese. My stomach sank. “I didn’t ask you out so you’d treat my kid.”
She nodded without looking up and continued writing. “I think you’ll like Dr. Rouse. Her staff is top-notch.”
Positioning myself at the corner of her desk so she couldn’t escape—or avoid me—I repeated, “I didn’t ask you out so you’d treat my kid.”
“He’ll be in good hands.” She finally looked up and smiled, and it was that same fucking smile from her picture in the lobby.
“Don’t do that,” I breathed.
She intertwined her fingers and, like a true professional, rested them on the desk in front of her.
Cold. Passive. Distant.
She was almost gone. I was losing her to the darkness. And it wasn’t one we shared. She wasn’t coming back from this one—at least, not for me.
A blast of adrenaline shot through me. “I was going to tell you about Travis at Antojitos.”
She blinked. “I have patients waiting. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Reese?”
Propping myself on both of my fists on her desk, I leaned in close. “Yes. Stop calling me Mr. Reese and talk to me.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t treat children,” she said, void of all emotion. There wasn’t even a flicker of light in her eyes.
Suddenly, frustration roared in my ears. Or maybe it was the same roar of anger that had been screaming inside my head since the day I’d watched Catherine’s car land in that river. Both of my children strapped inside.
