by Annie Rains
When they got to room 311, Val pushed her chair inside. “Here we are, Helen.”
Helen looked up, her eyes sparkling with moisture. Val wasn’t sure if it was because she was sad or maybe just tired. “You’re welcome,” Helen said.
Val assumed she meant to say “thank you.” “You, too.”
Val started to walk away, but Helen reached for her arm.
“Can I keep that?” Helen asked, pointing to the book in Val’s hand.
“You want to keep the book?”
Helen nodded, smiling at the cover.
Val handed it over. “Sure. You can keep it safe until we read it again in book club. Don’t let any of the other women get ahold of it and read ahead, though. We all read together.”
Helen nodded, but Val wasn’t sure she’d received the message. It was okay.
With a smile and a wave, Val headed out of the room and ran straight into a taller, stronger, darker person, walking alongside a dog. Trooper wagged his tail at the sight of her. Griffin’s expression was unreadable. He looked from Helen to Val, then his gaze fell to the book in Helen’s hand.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at his mother’s lap.
“Book club pick,” Val said, growing nervous at just the thought of someone she knew seeing her beside the book. As if anyone would somehow figure out that she was the one who’d written it. Her back cover biography didn’t even have a picture. It only said that she lived in North Carolina and enjoyed reading and spending time with friends. She also enjoyed going to the beach and collecting shells. That description could’ve been used to describe any thirty-year-old woman in the country.
“A romance?” Griffin asked, looking at his mother again.
Something about the tone of his voice when he said it made Val’s defenses rise. “What’s wrong with romance?” she asked.
“Nothing.” His brow lowered as he looked at her. “Not in my opinion, at least. My mother used to have a different one, though.”
“People change,” Val supplied, relaxing just a little.
“You’re right.” He met her gaze and those little butterflies started stirring around inside her again, fluttering fast and furious.
“I’m surprised Louise let you bring Trooper in this place. I had to go through a million hoops for her to allow me to bring Sweet Cheeks in for a visit.”
Griffin gestured toward Trooper. “Trooper has a job here now. He’s a certified therapy dog.” He looked at her. “I’m taking your advice and working here, too.”
“Really?” The flutters turned to a full-blown hurricane inside her. “That’s great, Griffin.”
“Guess that means we’ll be running into each other a lot more often,” he said, his expression still unreadable.
She tried to keep an even expression also, and suppressed her need to touch him. Seeing him more over the summer sounded perfect to her. Just what her literary agent had ordered.
—
Griffin was trying to focus on his mother, seated in her wheelchair beside the bed with her hands in her lap. Trying, but failing because he couldn’t take his eyes off Val.
“How’s, uh, that little dog?” he asked, referring to Sweet Cheeks.
Val smiled, and if possible the blue in her eyes got bluer. “She’s fine. I even took her for a little walk before coming here. She didn’t chase anybody, but I’m sure she’ll be back to her old self by tomorrow.”
“And no more ice cream for her,” he teased.
“Or me, either. I’m sticking to yogurt so that I can fit into my favorite pair of jeans a little bit easier.” She gestured toward the dark denim she was wearing and he dutifully scanned his eyes over her lower half. Big mistake.
“I think you look just fine.” He hadn’t meant for the razor edge in his voice. Clearing his throat, he quickly changed the subject. “This is my first time doing therapy with a dog. I’ve done just about every other thing with a dog.”
Val’s mouth made that soft O.
Griffin laughed. “You know what I mean.”
“Well, if you want my advice.” She waited, probably because he’d been an ass the last time she’d tried to give him advice. But here he was, taking the first advice she’d given him and it was working so far.
“Okay,” he said.
Val searched his eyes. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Just because I’m open to advice doesn’t mean I’ll take it, though.” And that made him sound like an ass again.
She fidgeted with her hands. “Take Trooper to the community room where I do my book club. It’ll be better for”—her gaze flicked to his mother, who was staring off into space at the moment—“everyone,” she supplied. “Some people respond better by seeing other people interacting with something first. Also…” Val chewed her bottom lip.
“Go ahead,” Griffin said.
“Well, I was going to say more, but I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”
“It’s my first time, remember? Say what you were going to say,” he urged, meaning it.
Val nodded. “I was just going to add that,” she lowered her voice, giving another sideward glance to make sure Helen wasn’t paying attention to them, “your mom might just sit back and watch the first few times. She’s more of an observer with these types of things. You might not want to push her because she clams up.”
His entire body had gone rigid. He didn’t mind advice, but it was hard to be told about his mother by someone who barely knew her. He was supposed to know his mother better than anyone else in the world. She was the woman who’d raised him. Helen had adopted him when his real mother had abandoned him.
And then he’d abandoned Helen.
“I’m sorry,” Val said, watching him. “I’m known for giving advice when it’s not wanted. I butt in. It’s what I do.”
“I told you I wanted the advice, so don’t apologize. But I know my mother better than anyone.” “Anyone” meaning her. He could hear his voice hardening, turning to stone right along with his tightly clenched jaw and the muscles along his back. It wasn’t Val’s fault he’d been a dick when he first discovered the truth about his adoption. So the hell what? Helen Black wasn’t his birth mom. Big fucking deal. Except all those years of struggling to live up to what she wanted suddenly made sense. He couldn’t live up to that. The son of a drug addict couldn’t be a straight-A student at Harvard.
Val’s eyes were wide. “Okay. Well, maybe you’re right.” She pulled her bag farther up on her shoulder. “Good luck.” Glancing back, she forced a smile at his mother, softening her voice the way you would when interacting with a young child. “Bye, Helen. I’ll see you in a few days.”
His mother looked up. This was the first time he’d seen her smile since he’d moved her here. “Don’t leave me,” she said. Her gaze moved to Griffin. “Who are you? Are you Jacob?”
“Jacob?” Griffin shook his head. Who the hell is Jacob?
Val offered a sympathetic glance at him. “Jacob is the character in my book…um, the book that I’m reading to the group.”
“She thinks I’m a character in a romance novel?” he asked, more than a little concerned, because that was crazy.
“Well, you do fit the description.” Val’s cheeks flared and she looked away quickly. “This is Griffin, Helen. Remember him?”
And now she was introducing him to his own fucking mother. “Of course she remembers me,” he snapped, unable to help himself. Trooper drew closer to his side. There’d been a time when he’d suffered from acute PTSD after coming home from deployment. Trooper had been a therapy dog to him then, for sure. He sensed Griffin’s emotions.
“Oh. Okay.” Val nodded slowly, lowering her head and edging closer to the door. “Of course. Bye, Helen,” she said again, avoiding looking in his direction.
Damn it. He’d just unleashed his frustration on her.
His mother’s mouth fell open again. “Don’t leave,” she said again, reminding Griffin of the day he’d walked out of their home when he was nineteen ye
ars old. He’d tossed a duffel bag over his shoulder, carrying just the essentials. At the time he’d wanted none of his other belongings. They were all lies. Everything was lies. At least that’s how he’d felt. He’d also felt betrayed.
“Don’t leave,” his mother had begged back then. “Stay. Let’s talk about this. I love you, Griffin.”
What he wouldn’t give to hear her utter those words again.
“You’ll be fine, Helen,” Val reassured her. “I’ll see you soon.” Val turned out of the doorway and disappeared.
Griffin had the sudden urge to beg her not to leave, too. His mother didn’t know him from a fictional character in a romance novel. “Hey, Mom,” he said, quietly, stepping closer to her.
Trooper followed.
“Who are you?” she asked, her eyes growing wide. Her hands shook as she held them up. “What are you doing here?”
That was a loaded question. “I’m your son.” And all he wanted was for her to be his mother again. He wanted to take back his reaction from a decade earlier and wrap his arms around her. Thank her instead of blame her for all his weaknesses.
“You’re not my son,” she said.
—
Twenty minutes later, Griffin sat as a bunch of elderly men and women patted Trooper. A lot of retired service dogs had PTSD. They were skittish around crowds or loud noises. Trooper had always been a social dog, though. Even as a puppy in training, he’d had a hard time not acting like that little dog that Val was caring for now.
Trooper appeared to be in his natural element here, rolling over to reveal his open belly. Griffin monitored to make sure that no one fell as they leaned over him. Must be the life, getting loved on by complete strangers for no good reason.
“Attention,” he commanded and Trooper rolled back to his feet. Loyal to the core. Griffin pulled a brush out of his pocket and handed it to Alma Edwards. “Would you like to do the honors?”
Alma’s smile could’ve lit up the entire building. She took the brush and Trooper stepped closer to her. She was still recovering from hip surgery, so she sat and leaned forward just slightly to groom Trooper.
Griffin turned and looked at his mother. He’d had to get one of the nurses’ assistance to get his mother to come down. She wanted no part of the group. Watching from afar with her hands in her lap, she looked the part of the prim and proper professor she’d once been. The one who’d insisted he eat vegetables every night or he wouldn’t get to watch his favorite nighttime show. She’d been a good mother, doting and caring, always making sure his needs were met.
His throat felt like sandpaper as he swallowed, focusing on his first animal therapy session. This was as good for Trooper as it was for the residents here. Val had been right.
And he was a jerk, which wasn’t anything new. He felt like shit about the way he’d treated her earlier. An apology was in order the next time he saw her. He might be a dickwad, but he knew when he was wrong and he didn’t mind manning up to his mistakes. The problem was it might be too late to man up to his mistakes with his mother.
“Can I give him a treat?” Mr. Willy asked. He was a frail gentleman who’d been a janitor in his youth. Even though his skin was wrinkled, his eyes and personality still shone like a man in his twenties.
Griffin handed him one of Trooper’s favorite treats. “He’ll have to work for it, though,” Griffin said. “Tell him to sit.”
“Sit,” Mr. Willy supplied, grinning ear to ear as Trooper did as he commanded. “Well, look at that,” the older man said.
“Now tell him to roll over.” Griffin went through a list of easy tricks that Trooper could do in his sleep. Trooper could sniff out bombs. He’d saved countless lives, and now he worked for treats by doing amateur tricks. But Trooper didn’t seem to be insulted by this at all. His tail thumped along the floor as Mr. Willy stood, wobbling slightly against his cane. He tossed a treat down and Trooper caught it in midair.
“Good boy,” Mr. Willy said, laughing lightly.
Griffin smiled momentarily before looking back to his mother in the corner. A blank look enveloped her face. Val seemed to have all the answers. He wondered if she knew how to put a smile like Mr. Willy’s on his mother’s lips. He’d do just about anything for that information right now.
—
Val opened the oven and eyed the chicken baking inside. She grabbed her marinating brush and bent inside to swipe some more sauce on the bird to keep the meat moist. Her father had volunteered her for countless meals like this since she was a teenager. This was always her go-to menu. Everyone liked chicken. It was a safe bet and it was easy enough.
As the food cooked, she sat on a stool at her kitchen counter and forced her fingers onto the keyboard. She was determined to write something, even if it was going to be scrapped later. She was a romance writer. She knew her next book was going to be about a man and a woman who were attracted to each other but who also repelled each other.
She thought of Griffin. She was attracted to him all right, and repelled by his attitude at the same time. His attitude had lightened toward her, though. He was actually taking her advice about his mother, which surprised her. He was gorgeous and, it turned out, also attentive.
Returning her attention to her blank screen, she blinked and reached for a glass of water. Attraction aside, she and Griffin obviously weren’t meant to be together. He definitely matched the description of a hero out of one of her books, though. Her memory traced along his defined abs, chiseled perfectly along the center and sides. His chest was molded like a piece of art that she was sure he spent hours in the gym each week to achieve. When he’d had his shirt off last night, she’d seen that he didn’t just have tattoos on the swell of his biceps. No, he also had a tattoo that curved from his nonexistent love handles to the small of his back—an eagle with its wings spread wide. There were other tattoos that she hadn’t seen because that would’ve required staring at him and openly marveling at his body. She wasn’t a prude, but she’d felt the blush on her skin last night when she’d walked into the living room to find him half naked.
Val shifted on the barstool. Maybe she’d just borrow him to create the hero of her next book. He definitely had her inspired. Skipping the first sentence, she jumped straight to having her hero and heroine meet. And since she was borrowing Griffin, and she couldn’t deny her attraction to him, she gave her heroine similarities to herself. She’d just fix it later.
Her fingers began tapping along the keyboard, creating a scene where her hero, Garrett, and heroine, Cally—Cal for short—were arguing and denying their initial attraction to one another. Yes, it was very similar to the interactions she’d had with Griffin since meeting him, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She needed a story, and that’s exactly what she was writing. It was fiction with a slight basis on truth. “Slight” being the keyword.
Val was getting into her groove thirty minutes later when the oven’s timer went off. She’d gotten so engrossed in her story that she’d forgotten about cooking the Martins’ dinner. And she didn’t want to stop writing now to finish up. With a deep sigh, she saved her work and forced herself to close her computer. Her mind was reeling from the adrenaline and sudden excitement of writing something new—finally. She couldn’t wait to return home tonight and get back to the art of having her hero and heroine attract and repel one another. It was a lot more fun in fiction than it was in real life. The looks that Griffin had given her the last time they’d seen each other had pierced straight through her. And, while she was attracted to him, she was pretty sure he didn’t feel the same way about her.
Val pulled her favorite serving dish out of the cabinet and started placing the food on it. Then she dressed into her casual, I-don’t-care-if-a-baby-spits-up-on-me clothing, grabbed her purse, and headed to the Martins’ home. Three hours and a lot of spit-up later, she returned to her apartment, spent from lifting baby Leah up over her head again and again.
And again.
She took Sweet Che
eks out to the small fenced-in area behind her apartment to use the bathroom. That was one good thing about the little dog. For the most part she was house-trained. Trained in anything else, not so much. That dog-training book she’d purchased hadn’t been any help. If Griffin’s offer to whip Sweet Cheeks into shape ever came back on the table—which it wouldn’t—she’d have to take it.
“All right, Sweetie. Time to go back.” Because the sudden chill in the air as the sun started to lower was giving her goosebumps, and she was suddenly feeling inspired all over again.
Once back inside, Val made a cup of hot tea and sat on the couch with her computer. Sweet Cheeks curled up beside her. Even though the dog was a pain in the neck, the moral support as she continued writing was refreshing. Writing was such a solitary activity, especially when she kept it a secret from everyone she knew. Maybe she’d get herself a dog after Sweet Cheeks returned to live with Alma.
Val started typing, one sentence after another, waiting for her muse to slam on the brakes like it had been doing for months. Before she knew it, she had completed one chapter and was starting another.
Well, this is progress.
She’d just sit here until she physically had to stop. Tomorrow was another day, and she might not write any words.
It was midnight the next time Val looked up at the clock on her wall. She yawned, stretching her arms over her head and feeling her tired muscles pull tautly over her bones. All the characters in her book were fictional, completely based on the author’s imagination—that’s what the small print would read inside the cover. The truth was, though, that the characters sparring on the pages she’d written tonight were heavily inspired by one Griffin Black, down to the tattoo on his left side. She’d change that fact during the revision process, but for right now, it was working for her. Finally, something, or someone, was working for her. Nikki would be thrilled to hear how much progress Val had made tonight.
