Undeniable (Always Book 3)

by Lexxie Couper

  Whatever I was feeling, I ignored his text, shoved my cell back into my pocket and climbed out of the Speeding Dragon. At this point, the only thing I wanted clarity on was Doofus.

  Yeah, I’d named the dog on the way here.

  It took me two steps into the animal hospital for my churned up feeling to be overwhelmed by an entirely different one. The one that made me remember how much I’ve had my fill of hospitals.

  At twenty-two I’ve spent more time in them than anyone should. I’ve lost count of the visits Mom and I made to the hospital and hearing specialists as I was growing up. Monumental treks involving test after test, result after result, disappointment after disappointment. Exploratory operations on your ear canal aren’t anywhere near as fun as they sound, and given they don’t sound fun at all, you can imagine how much I enjoyed all those trips to the hospital.

  When Tanner was diagnosed with leukemia I spent a lot of my days and nights in his room with him. Whenever Amanda couldn’t be there, I was. By that stage Professor Douchebag and I were spending less time together and my college class attendance was beginning to wane, so as much as I hated hospitals, there really was nowhere else I wanted to be than with my nephew.

  However, watching your nephew die from leukemia is even less fun than exploratory ear canal surgery, no matter how wonderful the staff at the hospital. Watching your sister cry day and night tears you apart.

  There was also the time Caden himself was rushed to hospital, just after the bone marrow transfer. I spent the night beside his bed, convincing myself I was there because I was worried something was going to happen to the only person on the planet who had bone marrow compatible with my nephew’s, knowing the whole time it was for a completely different reason I didn’t want to acknowledge. Of course, that put me in a very bad mood, which increased my dislike for hospitals even more.

  No, me and hospitals have had our time and I was more than happy never to step foot in another one again, thank you very much.

  I didn’t realize until I walked through the doors of Laguna Niguel Animal Hospital, that my self-established embargo included animal hospitals. Who knew? But the second I crossed the threshold into the cool interior of the building and was confronted with the distinct smell of disinfectant, I was flung back to all those painful tests, all those post-op let-downs, all those days and nights spent with Tanner watching the bitch that was leukemia devour him from the inside out.

  I wanted to turn around and run out into the warm afternoon. I wanted to take great big gulping breaths of non-disinfectant-tainted air. I wanted to stand in the sun and have my face warmed by it, not stand under white fluorescent lights with the artificial temperature set to chilly.

  If it weren’t for the fact Caden was in there somewhere, with a broken dog and a cop who could sign, I would have done just that. My heart was thumping faster than it should. I didn’t want to see the dog die. I’d had enough of that kind of bleakness in my life lately. I also didn’t want to see Caden get in trouble for his insane actions on the highway. He would though. No amount of Australian charm could save him from a citation at the very least. In fact, we were both likely to get a citation, but unlike Caden, I wasn’t a visiting tourist from another country. Who knew what the consequences were? I didn’t. I didn’t think he’d be deported, but what did I know?

  Despite the fact I was angry at him, that he’d made me feel like that wounded little girl I’d swore I’d never be again, I understood exactly why he’d done what he’d done. The trouble was, that made me like him more. Goddamn it. Which actually made me angry with him for an entirely different reason than my original reason for being angry with him.

  Wait. My original reason for being angry with him today, not my original original reason, which was because he was trying to make me fall in love with him.

  How did he have this unique ability to piss me off, confound me, irritate me, and yet make me smile and feel contented all at once? Bastard. He was so going to get it when I saw him next – injured dog and citation-delivering cop or not, I was going to give it to him.

  Yes, I’m aware I was not exactly in a stable state of mind at that point. Trust me, it didn’t get much better when what happened next . . . well, happened.

  Doing my best to ignore the rush of hospital-induced unease, I crossed to the front counter and leaned on it. The receptionist was a girl about my age with some serious brunette roots belying the platinum-blonde status of her hair. She didn’t look up from the paperwork on the desk in front of her, and mumbled something. Something a person with normal hearing would be able to hear.

  My stomach tightened. Oh boy, here we go.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice casual. A part of me was kicking myself for not wearing my hearing aid today. Stupidly, I’d been thinking of what I looked like that morning before leaving San Diego for LAX, of the first thing Caden would see when we came face to face in Arrivals. “Can you say that again?”

  Little Miss Regrowth let out an exasperated sigh. I didn’t hear it, but I know she did it. I read body language very well. Another one of those perks I spoke of earlier. Her chest and upper back lifted with a drawn-out inhalation, followed by a slump that screamed OMG, why do I have to be subjected to this kind of annoyance??

  I wanted to reach across the counter and shake her. Not a good start to this social interaction for sure.

  What felt like an eternity later, she finally raised her head and bestowed on me a smile of infinite patience. Oh, this was so going to be fun.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, with a quick glance over my head. Trust me, I didn’t miss the slight curl of her top lip when she got to my spiky aqua-blue do.

  “I’m with the cop and the Australian that are here with the injured Doofus.” I shook my head. “I mean, the injured dog.”

  Little Miss Regrowth frowned with confusion, and then realization flooded her face as it dawned on her why I sounded the way I did.

  Yeah, she’d figured it out I was Hard of Hearing. Oh joy.

  Just in case you don’t know, or I haven’t mentioned it yet, I have that very distinct speech pattern that most people with major hearing problems have. There’s no real way to explain it – slurred sounds, missing sounds, a kind of smudginess to the words being formed – but it elicits a response so typical it makes me want to roll me eyes.

  I could tell the instant the word deaf shuffled through the receptionist’s head. Pity filled her face. And then gratitude. It’s the last one that pushes my buttons the most – the relief when it dawns on the person I’m speaking to how lucky they are not to have my problem.

  Tapping the tips of my fingers on the counter, I raised one eyebrow. “The Australian?” I repeated, slower this time. Louder. “And the cop. And the dog?”

  I deliberately signed that last one, as if the action was subconscious. I’ve noticed some people get really excited about sign language. I’ve also noticed some people get really excited about Justin Bieber. As I’ve said before, people are weird.

  Fuck her, my brain grumbled as my fingers made the form for dog. Let’s give her something exciting to talk about later when she’s with her friends sipping frappuccinos at Starbucks.

  “You’re deaf?”

  I gave her my patented Are you kidding me? face.

  Consternation and sympathy rippled over hers. “I’m sorry. I mean, I’m sorry.”

  Yep, she shouted the last part.

  Sometimes, when people say “I’m sorry” to me when they find out I’m Hard of Hearing, I wave off the apology. Today was not one of those times. I was worried about a dog that wasn’t mine and an Australian who equally did not belong to me. That added up to Snarky-Chase. Besides, Little Miss Regrowth had curled her lip at my hair. I love my hair.

  “That’s okay,” I shouted back, so loud she flinched. “I forgive you. You didn’t know what you were doing. My lawyer will be in touch, however. Can you tell me your name?”

  She blinked and stiffened in h
er seat. Her mouth fell open. I didn’t need to be good at reading facial expressions to know the thought What? What what what? was screaming through her head. Her eyebrows danced in abject terror and confusion. She blinked again.

  I waited, tapping my fingers on the counter.

  Before either of us could contribute further to her psychological massacre, a door behind the counter swung open and the cop who’d come to Caden’s aid on the freeway – Gibson, his name was – stepped through.

  Little Miss Regrowth swiveled around, her sigh of relief so fierce it made her lips wobble.

  Gibson smiled at me.

  “She’s deaf,” the receptionist told him in a high shout, pointing at me with impressively acrylic nails. “You’ll have to speak loudly.”

  Gibson’s eyebrows shot up before he frowned at me.

  I rolled my eyes and shrugged. “It happens,” I said.

  Giving our not-so-helpful friend a small smile, he pushed his hand against the door behind him, opening it. “Caden’s in here.”

  My heart did a weird little skip at Caden’s name. Stupid heart.

  “Thank you,” I said, moving around the counter.

  “You’re welcome,” Little Miss Regrowth shouted.

  Both Gibson and I paused long enough to give her twin looks of disbelief.

  As the door to the inner workings of the animal hospital closed behind us, the pungent odor of animal poo and disinfectant was heavy on the air. Gibson touched my arm. I looked at him. When this was over I was going to thank him for knowing how to treat a person like me, and maybe ask if I could meet his sister, but for now I was anxious to get to Caden and Doofus.

  “The dog is being operated on,” he said as we walked along the corridor. “Your boyfriend is in the operating room with the veterinary surgeon.”

  Remember how I’d said my heart did a little skip at Caden’s name? That was nothing compared to what it did at the word boyfriend.

  Throat thick, I shook my head. “He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just . . .”

  Acquaintances? Relatives by marriage? Was there actually a term to describe us? He was my brother-in-law’s first cousin. What did that make him to me?

  “. . . friends,” I finished. For some reason, my head was roaring.

  Gibson didn’t look convinced. “Then your friend is totally enamored with you. Just thought I should let you know.”

  I scowled. And then did something I’m not really proud of. “What? I didn’t hear what you said.”

  Gibson laughed. An honest-to-goodness laugh. If he was going to say anything else, the arrival of Caden stopped him.

  Stopped me, as well. In my tracks.

  He stepped through a door on the right. He hadn’t seen us. At least, I don’t think he had. He stood in the middle of the corridor, staring at the floor, shoulders slumped. His chest rose and fell in that way chests do when someone is sighing, and then he buried his face in his hands.

  My stomach dropped. Everything about him screamed distress. Disappointment.

  Oh no. Doofus.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I was hurrying toward him. My hand found his upper arm first, my fingers sliding around it. A distant part of my mind noted his biceps and triceps were far more sculpted than I’d thought, and then he was jerking his face in my direction, confusion in his eyes.

  “Caden,” I said, a heartbeat before smoothing my arms around his waist and hugging him.

  There was no thought or contemplation in what I was doing, just an undeniable need to take away some of the pain I knew he was feeling. To let him know I was there for him.

  For a moment, he didn’t move in my arms. I could feel his heart thumping against my cheek, a fast rhythm that journeyed through my body and into my soul. What would it sound like, that beat? What would it be like to truly hear it? What would it be like to lay my head on his naked chest and close my eyes and just hear it with my ears?

  Strong arms wrapped around me, warm hands buried into the hair at my nape, and suddenly Caden was hugging me back.

  Holding me. Close.

  I closed my eyes and breathed him in, felt his heat seeping into my body.

  I don’t know how long we stood that way. Maybe a few seconds? Maybe a year.

  It wasn’t until I felt him shift his feet and clear his throat – a hesitant sound I heard as well as felt – that it sank in what we were doing. What I was doing, hugging a guy I knew wanted me when I had no intentions of wanting him back? Especially when said guy seemed to forget I was totally capable of taking care of myself and didn’t need to be treated like I was a fragile flower, despite the fact he kept saying he got me? If he got me like he claimed he did, he wouldn’t have yelled at me about not hearing the cars.

  Right?

  Shit.

  I pulled away. “Sorry,” I muttered.

  “Don’t be,” he said.

  I watched his lips form the words, too nervous to make eye contact.

  Rubbing my palms on the top of my butt, I took another step backward. “Is Doofus . . . the dog, I mean . . . is he . . .”

  “Dead?” Caden finished what I couldn’t. Even I heard the harrowed dismay in his voice. “No. But the vet doesn’t know if he can save him. His injuries are severe.”

  I swallowed. And hugged my elbows to stop myself stepping back closer to Caden. I’ve never been much of a touchy-feely kind of girl, but for some reason I desperately wanted to smooth my hands up Caden’s arms. The thought of not touching him at that moment in time was horrible. And goddamn confusing.

  “When will you know?”

  At the deep male voice at my shoulder I let out a little squeak of surprise. I’d totally forgotten our friendly Californian Highway Patrol cop was still with us.

  I turned to him, my shoulder coming to rest against Caden’s chest. His hand found my hip, with a gentle pressure that drew me closer to him.

  I should have removed his hand, should have put some distance between us. I didn’t. I don’t know why.

  “It’s going to be a while,” Caden said. There was a husky quality to his voice that made the words hard to catch. If I wasn’t so close to him I would have missed half of them, I suspect.

  So close . . . I was so close to him . . .

  “A few hours at least.”

  “Have the owners been contacted?” I asked, turning back to Caden.

  He shook his head. “The phone number attached to his microchip goes to a disconnected number, the address is now a gas station, and he wasn’t wearing a collar. There’s no way of knowing who he belongs to, but it seems he’s been abandoned.”

  Once again, I had an overwhelming compulsion to press my cheek to Caden’s chest and just stand there with him, our arms wrapped around each other. My heart ached for Doofus. How cruelly the dog had been treated. Had his owners abandoned him because of his malformed back leg? Because he was defective? How could any one just abandon something intended for love?

  The thought lashed at me, as did the memory of Donald Perry ending our relationship. I didn’t need to be an English Literature student to acknowledge my mind had turned the dog into a metaphor for my own state (Although Dad would have loved it if I were an English Lit. student. He still had yet to forgive me for studying art. And let’s not talk about his absolute disappointment at the fact I hadn’t even finished such a woeful course).

  “So what happens now?” I asked, shutting down the thought of Professor Douchebag’s douchiness and my father’s perpetual patriarchal dismay.

  Caden’s answering smile tore at my heart. He was genuinely upset about a dog he’d never known existed until today. I knew Caden was all about animals, but seeing this . . .

  Damn it, it was doing things to me I wasn’t prepared for. Things that made me question everything. Like how much I was letting Donald fuck me up, and how much I was letting me fuck me up.

  “Now, I wait,” he answered, smoothing his palm up and down my back. I’m not even sure he was aware he was doing it, but I didn’
t stop him. I couldn’t. It was too nice. Too natural. Too normal. “I’m sorry I’ve messed up your day. I’m pretty certain there’s a train I can catch to San Diego from around here, right?”

  “I’ll wait with you.”

  There you go. It was out there. I was waiting with him. Staying with him. Being with him. Not leaving his side.

  He regarded me with a steady look, something in his eyes I couldn’t read. Hope? I held his gaze, my palm on his chest, his heart beating against it.

  The sound of a throat clearing loudly made us both jump.

  “I hate to do this to you, Mr. O’Dae,” Gibson said, “but I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you a citation for obstructing traffic.”

  Caden laughed. I didn’t just feel it, I heard it. A low, good-humored chuckle that tickled my palm and sent warm fingers of emotion into my core.

  “Yeah,” he said, his palm still stroking my back, “figured you might. Still, better than being deported, ’eh?”

  Gibson let out his own laugh, although his was far more apologetic. “True.”

  “Give me a sec to see how things are going in there, and then we can move out to the reception area,” Caden said.

  Before Gibson or I could respond, Caden turned and slipped back through the door on the right.

  I studied that closed door for a second, not entirely sure what I was feeling. Empty? Adrift? Finally, I gave the waiting police officer a smile. “Thank you.”

  “For giving your boyfriend a citation?”

  I frowned, even though I knew he was teasing me by his deliberate use of the term boyfriend. “You know, as a comedian, you make an awesome cop.”

  He winked as he reached into his back pocket for his citation notepad. “You better believe it, Chase Sinclair.”

  I could only assume he’d run my plates on the trip back here. It was that or the fact he and Caden had talked about me during the journey. For some reason that made my cheeks fill with a heat I didn’t want to analyze.

  By the time Caden returned, Gibson was writing up his ticket.

  “Sorry about this,” he said, handing it to Caden.