Anything Between Us (Starving Artists Book 3)

by Mila Ferrera

  I drop them off at the medical center and park the car. I wait with Sasha while he has a scan and does some cognitive tests. Apparently, there’s a lot of research going on that focuses on this specific kind of Alzheimer’s, so they’re not only looking at his health, they’re also trying to gather information to better understand the course of the illness and how to treat it.

  We eat lunch in the hospital’s cafeteria. Tom’s been mostly quiet, and Sasha’s none too talkative herself, like she has a lot on her mind. Now I’m waiting again while the doctor talks to both of them. There are a couple of other families in the waiting room, and one couple who look to be in their late fifties or early sixties. Not much older than my parents, except it’s obvious something’s going on with the woman—her hands tremble and she stares straight ahead, barely moving. The man I assume is her husband holds her hand and speaks to her quietly. Her brow furrows. She leans away from him, as if trying to get a good look at his face. A bemused smile pulls at her lips. “And who … are you?” she asks him.

  His expression reminds me of a cracked eggshell, ready to break into a million tiny pieces. “It’s me, Rosie. Ed. Your husband,” he says. “We’re at the doctor for your check-up.”

  Concern flickers in her eyes. “I’m … not sick.”

  He blinks fast, maybe to ward off tears. I look away as he says, “No, no, you’re not sick. Like I said, it’s a check-up. And here’s your doctor now.”

  I glance over and see an Asian man in a lab coat, approaching with a gentle smile on his face. “Mrs. Connell? Are you ready for the cognitive battery?”

  “He’s just going to ask you some questions, Rosie,” Ed says.

  “I … I …” Rosie begins. She shakes her head.

  “It won’t take long, Mrs. Connell,” says the doctor. “You could have a cup of tea while we chat, if you like.”

  “Oh, you love tea, don’t you?” Ed says, helping Rosie to her feet. She doesn’t look too sure about all this. “I’ll be waiting right here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Rosie doesn’t look happy, but she nods anyway. I get the sense she’s a nice lady who’s used to accommodating others. She lets the doctor guide her away.

  Ed collapses onto his chair with a sigh. I don’t look away quickly enough, and he catches my eye. “She never liked going to the doctor.” He chuckles, a sad, hopeless sound. “Didn’t want to get bad news. Of course, now she doesn’t remember getting any news, so maybe that’s a mercy.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  He shrugs. “She comes and goes. Her memory, I mean. You know how it is, I’m sure.”

  Not the way he does, but even watching it is hard. “How long have you been married?”

  “Thirty years next month,” he says. “We’ve got two girls about your age. Twenty-four and twenty-one. This is hardest on them, I think, seeing their mother go like this.”

  “Do they live in the area?”

  He shakes his head. “Chicago, both of them. They try to get back whenever they can, but I can tell—when she doesn’t recognize them, and that’s happening more often these days, it really gets to them. Imagine. Or maybe you don’t have to.”

  “Has to be tough on all of you.” Him especially, I’m thinking.

  Another long, sorrowful sigh. He looks like he’s deflating, or maybe just exhausted. “Every day, I get to see the woman I love, but she’s not her anymore. You know how it is.”

  Twice, he’s said that, and I haven’t corrected him. I don’t know how it is, and I don’t want to. Part of me wonders if that’s what happened with Sasha’s mom—she told me her mother had divorced her dad only seven years ago, right before he was diagnosed. Did she already sense him slipping away, or was she just fed up? I swallow the lump in my throat. “Looks like you’re taking good care of her.”

  He presses his palms over his eyes. “It’s gotten too hard. She’s going to need round the clock care soon. I hate to do that to her, but I can’t manage all of it. I’ve got a bad back and some health issues myself.”

  “I’m sure they’ll take good care of her.” Such a lame thing to say. All I want to do is escape this conversation. So much so that when Sasha and Tom reappear, I jump to my feet.

  “Hey,” I say as they approach. “Ready to go?”

  “Actually,” Sasha says, “would you mind waiting with Dad for a few minutes while I talk to the doctor alone?”

  I look at Tom. “Are you okay to hang out with me for a bit?”

  Tom frowns at me. “What’s your name?”

  “Nate, sir.”

  “You work here?”

  “I’m here to help. We could go get another cookie from the cafeteria if you want. Those peanut butter ones were good, weren’t they?” He ate two at lunch and seemed to fucking love them.

  “I could use a cookie,” he says in a halting voice.

  Sasha gives me a grateful look. “Take it slow, okay? The doctor just told me they would prefer it if he uses a wheelchair while he’s here, actually.”

  “I’m not … cripple,” Tom says.

  “Obviously not,” I reply. “But you’d be doing me a favor. I might get in trouble if I don’t do what the doctor says.”

  Tom grumbles something about not wanting to get anyone in trouble while Sasha jogs out to the hallway and returns with a wheelchair. “Thank you,” she mouths at me as we get Tom situated.

  “How long do you need?” I ask her.

  “I’ll make it quick.”

  I touch her arm. “You can have all the time you want,” I tell her. “I can take him for a walk—it’s a nice day outside. I just don’t want you to be wondering where we are.”

  The look on her face right now feels like a lottery win. I’m earning this, I think. Finally. “I’ll text you,” she says. Then she reaches up and touches my cheek, just a brush of her fingertips, but it ripples across my skin like a wave.

  I haven’t kissed her since Saturday morning, almost a week ago. I haven’t been alone with her since then, either. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold this feeling back, but now is not the time.

  She heads back into the office suite while I steer Tom toward the hall. Ed and Tom nod at each other, and Ed gives me a wave of acknowledgement before lowering his gaze to the floor. I pick up my pace, eager to get away from his grief. It clashes with the sharp, almost painful hope I’m feeling right now.

  I get us a couple of peanut butter cookies from the cafeteria and then wheel Tom out to a nicely landscaped courtyard. Mums have replaced the summer flowers, and the trees are wearing their best fall colors. Tom doesn’t say much, but he seems to enjoy the cookies and the ride. Sasha texts me after about forty-five minutes, saying she’s ready to go, and so we head back.

  When she meets us outside the office suite, it seems like something’s changed. My stomach drops—did they give her bad news about Tom? She’s quiet on the way home—almost as quiet as Tom, who falls asleep in the backseat before we’re on the highway. She follows him into dreamland somewhere around Lansing, and I just drive, hoping both of them are okay, glad I’m here so she isn’t doing this all on her own.

  We get home about seven, and I know I could go over to my parents’ now, but Sasha seems so tired that I offer to stay and help get Tom into bed. I’m not exactly skilled at undressing and dressing an elderly person, but at least I’m there to steady him while Sasha does most of the work.

  She gives him his meds and tucks him in. Then she comes out into the living room and walks straight into my arms. She squeezes me tight, and I wrap myself around her, bowing my head into her hair. “You okay?”

  “I think so,” she whispers. “You were amazing today.” She presses her face to my chest. “Why did you have to be so amazing?”

  “Just a feature of my sparkling personality, I guess.” I raise my head and meet her eyes. “You seemed pretty tired on the ride home. Do you want to head to bed?”

  “Oh.” She looks away. “Did you want to get going?”

>   “No!” I say it so firmly that she laughs. “I mean, do you want to watch a movie or something, just to decompress? Or if you want to talk—”

  “I definitely don’t want to talk. I’ve done enough of that today.”

  Not to me, though. But I know how that is—Sasha’s often been my reward after forcing myself to deal with the shit I’m trying to get over. Maybe I can do that for her. “Okay,” I say. “We won’t talk. And if you just want to be alone—”

  “I don’t want that either,” she says in a low voice. “I don’t want to think.”

  “So, a movie—?”

  “No,” she says.

  I clear my throat. “Okay, then …” I can’t look away from those eyes. I feel her gaze in every cell of my body.

  “Will you stay with me tonight?” she whispers.

  Yes. Yes-yes-yes-yes-yes. It’s all I can do not to pick her up and fucking carry her up those stairs. “But Tom—”

  “Is asleep.” As if on cue, a loud snore emanates from down the hall.

  We both laugh. And I have to work very hard to sound calm and cool as I say, “Then lead the way.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sasha

  We walk up the stairs. I’m holding his hand so tightly that it probably hurts, but he doesn’t complain. All the reasons I shouldn’t be doing this dance at the edge of my mind, trying to find their way center stage. All the things I’m trying not to think about hulk behind them in the shadows.

  Including the decision I made this afternoon.

  But Nate is next to me, and he’s enough to hold things at bay, even though he’s a big part of why I made that decision in the first place. I can feel his warmth and steadiness. Memories of what he did today flood in, all the little moments. At least a dozen times, my dad asked him who he was, and he replied exactly the same way every time: An easy, gentle smile. “It’s Nate, sir.” No impatience, no irritation.

  He’s a natural with Dad. Whatever my dad’s mistaken belief of the moment is—that Nate worked at the hospital, that he’s the burglar who steals the remote—Nate doesn’t argue or try to correct him. He goes along with it in a way that smooths out the edge and calms Dad down instead of working him up. I don’t know if he’s researched it or if he does it automatically, but I noticed it the first morning they met, when neither of them expected to. And I noticed it today—it made things so much easier.

  And also a lot harder. Because every time he did something like offering to take my dad to the cafeteria for a peanut butter cookie—which he must have noticed Dad really liked at lunch—I fell a little more in love.

  We reach my room. I close my door. We face each other. And I can see the uncertainty in the way he looks at me, but also the want. That night we met, our collision was so quick, so easy, so fierce. But now we know each other. Not completely, but enough to make this real, enough to know it’ll leave a mark that might not even be visible.

  I put my hand on his chest, over his heart, and I feel it thumping against my palm. “Like I just ran a mile,” he says.

  I lift his hand and hold it against my chest, between my breasts. He smiles when he feels my own heart thundering along, keeping pace with his. I press my hand over his and move closer, standing on my tiptoes to meet him mouth to mouth. Our lips brush, melding our shaky breaths. He bows his head and loops his other arm around my waist, pulling me closer and deepening the kiss. Our tongues meet and slide, slow as we explore.

  I move his hand to the side, guiding it over one of my breasts. He groans, and so do I as he squeezes. Need spirals inside me. I pull my shirt over my head and unclasp my bra, letting it slide off my arms as he watches. “You are so fucking beautiful,” he says in a low voice. “Every time I see you, this is what I think about.”

  “Take off your shirt,” I tell him as I reach for his jeans. He obeys, and in the moonlight from my window, I admire the stark lines of his collarbones, his taut abs, that indentation of muscle at his hips. I unbutton his pants to get a better view. I swear, I could look at him all night, but there are other things I need more.

  Like him inside me.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, and he scoops me up. My legs coil around his hips as he carries me to my bed. Our kiss is fierce now, teeth and tongues. When he reaches the edge of the mattress, he tosses me onto it, making me gasp with surprise. He tugs at my pant leg. “Off, please.”

  I giggle as I comply. “‘Please.’ You’re frighteningly polite.” I hold my legs in the air while he pulls the pants off, then strips off my socks. Now I’m down to my panties, which are already wet with desire. I reach down to take them off, but he shakes his head. He pulls at my ankles, scooting me down to the edge of the bed.

  Then he kneels between my legs. “I’ve fantasized about this so many times that I almost wonder if I’m dreaming right now.”

  His breath against my inner thighs sends wicked chills up my spine. “It feels very real to me,” I say, my voice unsteady. I arch back as he slides his nose along the center of me, caressing my skin and making everything throb.

  His fingers slip between the fabric and my skin as his tongue teases. Slowly, he tugs the skimpy garment lower, replacing it with the heat of his mouth. I reach down and thread my fingers through the longer hair on the crown of his head, urging him on, guiding him where I want. My hips rock when I feel him there, stoking my fire with long, slow strokes. I’m helpless, my heels on his back, his hands on my thighs.

  I pant and writhe, needing more, but he’s in no hurry. It’s like standing on one side of a locked door and hearing conversation from the other side, straining to catch a word. That pleasure is just out of my reach, but I know the peak is there, on the other side of the door. Nate’s the one with the key, though. Every part of me tingles with that certainty. I clutch at his shoulders and pull at his arms.

  He raises his head, and our eyes meet as he kisses the inside of my thigh. Then he traces a path up my body while his fingers linger at my core, teasing and stroking. When he lowers his head and works his tongue over one of my nipples, I cry out, urging him on. His slides a finger inside me as I shudder around him, writhing as he caresses me from the inside.

  I grope for his body, running my hands over the planes of his back, the hard curves of his pecs, the rough edge of his jaw as he draws my nipple between his teeth. I’m mindless now, a cascading flood of fragmented need, reaching only for release. And finally, I can’t stand it anymore. I sit up and push him onto his back, my fingers scrabbling at the waist of his pants and boxer briefs.

  He strips them off for me and laughs as I push him down on the bed again, going quiet only as I kiss him and close my hand around his cock. “Sasha, I don’t have any protection—”

  “Don’t move.” I roll off the bed and lunge for my purse. I dig around and finally find the damn condoms, crying out in triumph as I return to the bed with one. The moment I’ve got him sheathed, I pounce, desperate and wet and frantic. I straddle him and wriggle until I feel the tip of him at just the right spot.

  “Oh, fuck,” he whispers as I slide onto him. His hands close over my hips as I start to move, rocking to move him deeper, deeper, until he fills me up, pushing everything else away. He follows my rhythm, lets me have my way, cants his hips so I get even more. I brace myself over him and forget everything else, focusing only on the overwhelming sensation of him inside me.

  Then the wave breaks, sudden and blinding. He clamps his hand over my mouth and muffles my scream with his palm. Having him control me only pushes the pleasure higher, and I ride the ecstasy until it slowly subsides, leaving me boneless and breathless and aching. I collapse onto him, and he cradles my head against his throat.

  His other hand is stroking my hip. He’s still inside me, still hard as iron. I smile and wiggle my hips, and he makes a strangled sound in his throat. “Stop that. I’m trying to be good here,” he says with a laugh.

  “What if I don’t want you to be good?”

  “Shh.” He gives me a crooke
d smile. “Let me savor this.”

  I sit up and reach behind me to caress his balls. He sucks in a breath through his teeth. I pull his hands up to my breasts and hold them there as I undulate slowly, pulling myself along his length before sliding back down. His expression is glazed and hot, his eyes drinking me in.

  I’ve never felt more beautiful. He looks at me like I’m a goddess, and right now, I feel like one.

  “Now I want you to fuck me senseless, Nate.”

  He sits up, an arm around my waist to keep me close. Chest to chest, I feel his heart pound against me. Then he pivots and I slide off him, back onto the mattress. “Turn over for me,” he says.

  A thrill courses through me at the command in his voice. Nate’s almost always considerate, but in this moment, I don’t want him to be. I want him to take what he wants. I roll onto my stomach.

  “You have a fucking gorgeous ass,” he says as he moves behind me. He spreads my legs and moves between them, making me tremble with expectation. Then his hand clamps over my hip and wrenches me upward as he slides into me.

  It’s a completely different kind of pleasure this time. It’s the pleasure of being needed, of being owned, of feeling him find his rhythm, of hearing him curse as he moves faster, chasing that release. I clutch at my pillows and ride the wave with him, meeting him thrust for thrust. When I feel him go rigid, I know he’s close, and I lift my hips and moan as he shakes above me. His arms lock as he pulses inside me, finding the edge and hurtling over it.

  He whispers my name as he collapses on top of me, fluttering kisses along my shoulder before rolling off me and pulling me against him. I squeeze my eyes shut and press my lips to his chest. We’re quiet as we lie there. I have no idea what he’s thinking and no words to offer. All I know is that this moment is perfect, and I want a million more of them, just like this.