Dr. Prince moved his mouth to her ear, his voice a low heartbeat, and whispered, “I don’t want you to hide from me.”
Eva’s mouth split into a shy smile, and her cheeks heated to a flawless rose. She was about to tell him she’d never felt so safe, but the door to the basement opened and banged against the wall. Lucas pulled away, his warmth following him to the healthy distance he’d put between them as they both stared at the janitor.
****
Lucas licked his lips, trying to catalog the mere taste he’d had of her. Eva. Evangeline. The quiet girl with so much hidden beneath her surface. Her scent of wildflowers muddled his senses, and if he’d really kissed her like he’d wanted to, he’d know exactly how she tasted. It was just a tease, and now the need to know her, it thrummed through his veins, pushing his heart to move faster, move time, so that he could try again. Next time he’d be sure. He’d kiss her softly like she deserved, and then claim her mouth, her flavor, and…
He shook his head. The fresh air from the open basement door broke through his lust-addled daze. The janitor was staring at him… expectant. Had he asked him a question?
“A couple of hours, I think. What time is it?” Eva asked the man.
The janitor must have inquired about how long they’d been stuck down here, but Lucas was too busy thinking about Eva’s mouth to notice.
“Almost one-thirty in the morning, miss.” The janitor’s eyes shifted to the doctor. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t get down here sooner, Dr. Prince. I mean… the power’s out so I figured—”
He didn’t recognize the man, and a splinter of guilt, something that before tonight wouldn’t have bothered him, but now it stuck in his side like a stitch from a hard run. Eva had said she was hiding, but it was he who had given up on everything and everyone after he’d lost his family. Everything that she’d gone through, a wave of rage poured through him. Men like Grayson… his jaw clenched, and a gray light paled the room as he turned, looked at Evangeline and said to the janitor, “It’s okay. But, I need to get into the linen room. I lost something in one of the OR laundry bags. I need to find it.”
Eva’s dark eyes were warm as she appraised him. Everything about tonight begged him to look at her, to see her, to let her guide him past the walls he’d built five years ago. He didn’t even know her last name, and as the air in the basement cleared her scent faded, and he told himself he wasn’t wholly ready.
“Sure thing, Dr. Prince. Let me run upstairs…” The janitor propped the door open with a small, plastic, brown wedge the doctor hadn’t noticed earlier. “I gotta grab the right set of keys from the office. But, I have to warn you—”
“I know, I might not ever find it.” Lucas had tried to keep the anger out of his tone. The thought of losing that picture… it had become his talisman. He never thought himself superstitious, but he needed it—needed it like oxygen.
Eva spoke, her voice small, “Do you want me to stay? I’d like to help you find it.”
The janitor chuckled and mumbled, “Good luck,” under his breath as he turned and headed up the stairs.
“No. I don’t want to keep you.” He hated how formal he sounded, and how her shoulders pulled inward again.
“Okay.”
The silence was uncomfortable as he stared at the linen room doors. It was only a brief moment before he turned back to Eva. She was chewing on her bottom lip, her posture sinking by the second, hiding again. He flicked his eyes to the door, and his chest emptied. Tonight was more than he was ready for, but it was the first time in years he’d felt almost normal. Eva made him feel like it was okay to let go of the poison, to let go of the hold Rose had on his heart, his future. It was just one step, but he felt so much lighter. He’d shed his pain to Evangeline like a flower parted with its last petal.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he offered.
“I don’t have a car.”
“You’re not walking home in this.” He shook his head. “I’ll drive you.”
“But what about—”
“I think… Eva… some things are meant to be lost.” As he said it, his heart squeezed out an irregular beat. Even if it was true, it didn’t mean it didn’t cut him open.
“I thought—”
“Thank you, for tonight.” Lucas took her hand in his. He ran his thumb in small circles inside her palm.
She nodded and dropped her eyes to their joined hands. “But…”
“I want to be ready, but one night—”
“It can’t fix everything.” She raised her chin.
“When will I see you again?” He let go of her hand and she shoved them in her scrub pockets.
“Well, I work tomorrow—”
“Preferably, away from the hospital.” He chuckled as he grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on.
“Oh.” She raised her brows. “Oh,” she repeated. Her voice a little higher, a bit more nervous than it had been all night. “I think I could handle that.”
The lights came on, showering the dingy basement in a white wash of fluorescence. Eva squinted her eyes and the doctor chuckled once more. “Come on, let me drive you home and we’ll figure something out.”
He motioned for her to head up the stairs. She smiled, her lips splitting her face, lifting into the pink color of her cheeks as she passed him. She moved quickly up the stairs, but before he followed her, he glanced back one last time at the linen room doors. The space inside his ribcage seemed smaller as he said, only loud enough that he could hear, “I’m sorry.”
“Lucas?” Eva called from about ten steps ahead.
He didn’t answer as he turned and took a few steps at a time, not slowing until he was right behind her. He leaned in and inhaled her scent, a reminder that it was okay to keep going, to move forward.
“You know more about me than anyone in this hospital, yet I don’t know your last name.” Lucas’s serious tone filled the stairwell. Eva turned, brought her chocolate eyes to his, and took a step down.
They were both eye to eye but his gaze dropped to her mouth as her lips pulled into a crooked smile.
“I was born Evangeline Rossi, but when I…” Her smile dimmed. “When I left… I changed it to Bell.”
Evangeline Bell.
A name to hide behind, a name that he wanted to repeat over and over again, feel it against his tongue.
“Were you sad to lose your father’s name?” he asked and immediately wished he hadn’t. Her smile completely faded.
“I buried that name when I buried him.”
“I’m sorry.”
His apology softened the crease between her brows and she said, “No, don’t be.” The small smile returned to her lips. “At some point, we all have to give up something in order to move past the hurdles that life loves to throw at us.”
He didn’t need to look over his shoulder to see what he was giving up. His parents, Rose, they weren’t gone, but they were more than just a hurdle. He couldn’t compartmentalize his life into quick and easy fixes, but Eva’s courage had at least lightened his heart enough to pave a better way.
The snow was coming down in powdered clumps once they’d made their way to the parking lot. Eva had grabbed her things on the way out, and by the time they both got to his car, they were thoroughly dusted in white. Dr. Prince’s fingers burned from the bitter bite of the storm as he opened the passenger door for Eva. She brushed off as much snow as she could before sitting inside the SUV. Lucas was about to shut the door, but the snow had gathered in her hair and created a halo of light that outlined her bright pink, frosted cheeks.
Lucas rested his hand on the frame of the door as he leaned in and said in a tone he’d almost forgotten, “You look so beautiful right now.”
Evangeline wrapped her hand around the back of his neck as he pressed his lips to her cheek. Her fingertips tickled his hairline as the heat of her palm melted the snow that had accumulated along his collar. The goosebumps spread down his spine, and as much as he wanted to properly kiss her, show her
just how much she affected him, he wouldn’t rush this.
Evangeline Bell brought her soft lips to his ear and said, “I’m glad I found you.”
**** There will be no “The End” because this is just the beginning… Every Beautiful Piece will be released as a full-length novel, hopefully by the end of 2017.
A.M. Johnson lives in Utah with her family where she works as a full-time nurse. If she’s not busy with her three munchkins, you’ll find her buried in a book or behind the keyboard. She loves romance and all things passionate. Amanda enjoys exploring all genres and bringing life to the human experience.
Also by A.M. Johnson
Still Life (Forever Still #1)
Still Water (Forever Still #2)
Still Surviving (Forever Still #3)
Now and Forever Still Novella
Sacred Hart
Possession (Avenues Ink #1)
Coming Soon
Kingdom (Avenues Ink #2)
A.M. Johnson writing as Lillian Bryant
Beneath the Vine
amjohnsonauthor.com
Instagram: @am_johnson_author @author_lillian_bryant
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AMJOHNSONBOOKS/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1013748.A_M_Johnson
A TALE OF two men defined by how they look and the one woman who refuses to see it.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Copyright © 2017 by Caroline Nolan
Cover design by Dark City Designs
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright
reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above copyright owner of this book.
First Edition: March 2017
BEAST – The Forgotten Man – 1st ed.
“ONE MORE! GIVE me one more! Or are you weak?” Louis yells in my face. “Are you Adam? Are you weak?”
If he thinks bating me with shit talk and name calling is going to get me to work harder…he’s right. And I hate when Louis is right. I hate when anyone but me is right. And I especially hate it when it’s being yelled back in my face.
Months ago, I was the one who was right.
Louis would have believed me when I said I couldn’t take anymore. Give anymore. He wouldn’t have pushed the way he does now. He would have let me give into the pain, give into the defeat. Things were so much easier then. People understood—were sympathetic, pitying even. If I wanted to give up, give in—they all let me.
But those days are gone. They’ve disappeared as though they never existed. Now, there is no giving up. There is no giving in. I’m not allowed. I’m not given the chance. So with every ounce of nearly extinguished energy I have left in my over-exhausted, over-used, marred arms, I lift thirty pound weights over my head.
Thirty pounds.
That’s it. Thirty measly, fucking pounds.
To look at me, you’d think it was three hundred. My shirt drenched with sweat, my breathing erratic and uneven. My entire body tight and tense, begging for mercy. But mercy wasn’t there months ago, and it isn’t here now.
In the past, I would have laughed at anyone struggling to lift such little weight.
Weak.
Pathetic.
Embarrassing.
All words I would have used.
Words I did use.
Words I now have to overcome.
Thirty pounds used to be nothing. Now, it’s everything.
A milestone.
One that took weeks if not longer to achieve. It took every drop of blood, sweat, and pain my body was willing to give—and even some it wasn’t.
But this is my new reality. Things will never come as easily as they once did. Every day will be a struggle. A fight. A bitter reminder of what I once was to what I can now only be. What a matter of minutes—fucking seconds—has done to my life. Fast and swift, but leaving the rest of my days forever changed.
I’ve seen it happen before, witnessed its wrath. I’ve come face to face with its fury countless times. But I never fully understood until its power, wrath and fury until it fell upon me. It doesn’t take long before the kiss of a flame does its damage. Scars you, imprints itself on you—on your soul. Leaving you…different. The fire may have been put out long ago, but the burn remains inside long after the flame’s been extinguished.
I’m not the same Adam I was before. I will never be him again. That Adam disappeared, vanished with the grey and black smoke. What it left behind, I still haven’t figured out. But one word keeps emerging into the forefront of my mind.
Beast.
“I lied,” Louis says interrupting my thought. “Give me five more.”
“No.” My heaving breath sounding like a grunt. Sweat continues to pour down my face, into my eyes, creating another burn that feels all too familiar.
“Yes!” he argues.
“Fuck you!” I grit through clenched teeth. My arms raised above my head, shaking.
“Three more!”
“I hate you!” I growl.
“Two!”
“Motherfucker!” I nearly scream.
“Last one,” he shouts, the only way left to encourage me.
A roar so loud and violent escapes my lips as I lift the weight of the world masked as thirty pounds for the last time. And when I drop the weight to the ground, a rush so powerful runs through my body. A thrill I haven’t felt in a long time.
I close my eyes and I’m brought back to a time where I felt this way every day. Riding in the back of the truck with my brothers, sirens wailing above, the honk of the horn ringing loud for everyone to hear. Adrenaline pumping strong through our veins. Those were the moments I lived for. The thrill of pulling up to where our opponent stood—waiting, calling on us.
Taunting. This was our fighting ring where there was only one rule.
Do. Not. Lose.
Our lone rule. Our lone commandment.
There was too much at stake—too much at risk if we were not victorious.
Never let the flame win. Never let the flame overcome.
But overcome it did and that loss fell directly on me, on my shoulders.
The scars it left behind will always be proof of defeat. My defeat.
“Great job,” Louis says, his eyes examining my shoulder, bicep, then back up to the curve of my neck. “No breaking, no bleeding, no blistering. The B’s are covered. Looking good.”
I almost laugh at the choice of his words. I probably would have if I wasn’t so exhausted. Because if there is one thing I know, one thing I do understand, it’s that I will never look good again—no matter of what the doctors or Louis try to tell me.
Three different hospitals, countless appointments, and numerous plastic surgeons all had the exact same thing to say.
We can try.
Try. That’s the best they could offer—the best they could do.
But I wasn’t interested in try. Like Yoda said, ‘Do or do not—there is no try.’ I didn’t see a point in scarring more parts of my body in order to fix what I knew was unfixable.
‘Maybe after you give it some time, some thought,’ my mother said, hoped, pleaded. With every flickering glance, every refusal to look anywhere past the unharmed side of my face, never daring to let her eyes fall beyond my chin. Ignoring my left ear, the entire side of my neck and my shoulder. Determined not to bring attention to my scars, which only emphasized the
m more.
But I had made my decision. This was who I was. What I was. I’ve had to accept it. Now, so does everyone else.
“Next week, we move on to the forties. And then we’ll really see what you can do,” Louis says, a smug smile marking his face—already plotting my next hour of hell.
“Can’t wait,” I murmur, just barely lifting my head.
His smirk turns into a light laugh before he starts making notes about my recovery and any improvements he’s noticed over the course of our session.
“Did I pass?” I ask, reaching for my water bottle.
“You’re progressing,” he looks down at me, pausing. “Physically.”
Physically. The word catches my attention.
I look up and watch as he rests his hands over his abdomen, squaring his shoulders and tilts his head. I’ve seen this stance before. It’s the one he takes when he turns from physiotherapist to psychotherapist.
I hate when he does that.
“Tell me about your plans for the weekend,” he asks.
A simple-enough inquiry, one would think. Some small talk bullshit between guys before I leave. But that’s not what this is. I know what he’s doing. He’s worked this tactic on me a few occasions before and it lead him right to the same place it will this time.
Nowhere.
If I needed or wanted to talk to a shrink, I’m sure I could call up any of the four my mother has on speed dial.
“Well, let’s see,” I start, leaning back against the bench press. I pretend to think about it when I already know exactly what I’ll be doing. Spending hours applying and reapplying medical creams to my injuries, bandaging and re-bandaging in case of blisters, and capping it all off with a Rocky marathon, Max by my side. But I don’t say any of this. Instead I go with what I know will frustrate him more. Sarcasm and self-pity.
Beast: An Anthology Page 19
