by Amelia Wilde
Our eyes meet, and his flash. My mouth goes dry.
He doesn’t break my gaze.
“What do you want to do, then, Lace?”
Chapter Twelve
Crosby
“I can wait.”
My ears are fucking ringing with the hundred different meanings Lacey’s statement could take. It’s like her words are shimmering in the air between us. Her dark eyes are locked on mine. My cock jumps, but I don’t react to it at all, keeping the rest of my body perfectly still. She doesn’t glance downward at all, though I sure as hell want to let my eyes travel all over her body. Then my hands. Then—
“Wait for what?”
Is that what she’s been doing all this time? Waiting for me? Her full lips are a thin line, her expression verging on being hellishly opaque. I want to know what she’s thinking. I want to know if she’s still furious with me. I would be. I was a total prick.
Still am.
“I can go on my lunch break to get a new key on Monday. Maybe Tuesday.”
I nod like it doesn’t matter at all, even though every one of my muscles is snapped to attention, hanging on her every word. “Okay. So you want me to start tomorrow night, then?”
Her mouth turns up in a little smile that makes me want to put my hand underneath her jaw and kiss her until her lips are on the verge of being bruised, until I can’t kiss her for another damn second. I want to be all over her. Inside her. Beside her. It’s fucking killing me to be standing six feet apart.
“Yeah. I’d like you to start then. You can’t—you don’t have any tools with you now, do you?”
I have one tool that’s about to explode from lack of use.
I turn slightly away from her and look down at the floor again. I’m going to lose it completely if I keep staring at her.
“I’m going to need more than tools. The materials—” Most of the flooring is going to have to come up, and the subfloor, and then God knows what else is under there. I’m going to need replacements for all of it. “I don’t have what I need to start tonight.”
I don’t have what I need at all. There’s a giant fucking hole in my life in the shape of Lacey. I’ve been walking around wounded since I left her the first time.
When I turn back to her, her eyes are still latched onto me, but she’s biting her lip like she’s trying to keep words inside. Say it, I want to yell. Say it. Put it all out there. Tell me what a fucking asshole I was. Tell me how much you hate me, even now.
But when she parts those lips, she says something else entirely. “Do I pay you upfront?” She glances down at the coat in her arms. “I don’t have any checks, but I—”
“I’ll invoice you.”
I’m so damn worked up that it comes out harsh, with an edge, and Lacey flinches. It’s a tiny movement, mostly a flicker around her eyes, but it happens, and I see it.
My heart takes another body blow.
This is exactly why I shouldn’t be around her. I can’t protect her from anything, not even from myself. I’ve never been able to protect anyone from anything. I don’t know where the hell to look and so I look at the damaged floor one more time. The jagged edges of the wood where Lacey’s foot went through tear across the surface of my mind, letting free another memory that I’d rather fucking forget: my sister, Marci, and the weight of her body when I dragged her out of the lake. Not the lake here, but a smaller one with a muckier bottom, even farther north, where we used to have a vacation cottage.
We never went back after she slipped off the dock. She’d been leaning against a piling and the rotted piece of shit snapped. She drowned in three feet of water. She was five.
I clear my throat, the ache there a sharp knife, and look back at Lacey, whose expression has gone to something professional and untouchable. It’s like I don’t know her anymore.
And if I don’t know her anymore, it’s my own damn fault.
It’s also probably for the best.
“I should go.”
She nods, wordless.
I can’t bring myself to take the first step. “You know, there are other—” I can’t be in this fucking house with her, knowing she’s so close and never touching her. It’s going to be the kind of searing hell I don’t need in my life anymore. There are other people who can do the job.
I run through several names in my mind, but one by one, I tick them off. Vacation. Down south, working a crew. Brett Miller’s never going to take this job. He spends his nights with his wife.
In all of Lockton, that leaves me.
What am I supposed to do, leave Lacey with no kitchen until some other asshole finishes his vacation?
“Other what?” she says softly. It’s like she knows what I was about to say. There’s a note of pleading in her voice. If I just said it, then all this could be over. We could be back out of each other’s lives, just like we’ve been for the past eight years.
No harm.
Minimal harm.
Those eyes like liquid sex are on mine again, unflinching. The words turn to ashes in my throat.
“There are other flooring options you could consider,” I say, every word like pulling teeth. “I can bring some samples over tomorrow.”
Something changes in Lacey’s face, like she’s just coming awake after a long sleep. “That would be great.”
Stop using that doctor voice with me. I don’t say it.
“Great.” The word is a lame echo of her voice, but I’ve got nothing else. The muscles in my back have gone tight with the tension arcing between us, like a bent branch about to snap. I either need to kiss her or get the hell out of here, and I know which one it’s going to be tonight.
I take the first step toward her, and the moment slows down. Maybe she’ll block me. Maybe she’ll put her hands on my coat and wrap her fists around the collar and pull me in.
But she doesn’t. She tilts her head down and steps back to let me by. We don’t touch. We miss by an inch.
I’m pulling the door closed behind me when I hear her voice one more time.
“Tomorrow, Crosby.”
I work up the words, throw them softly back through the door. “I won’t be late.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lacey
“Room four. Just checked him in. No fever. He’ll probably be in and out.” Linda nods at me as she places a neatly stacked two-inch-thick pile of paperwork efficiently on top of my clipboard. I glance through it and then transfer it into a file, taking in a deep breath as I set it aside.
It’s 12:30 p.m. on the dot. I’m supposed to be out of here in half an hour, and then on my way to meet Crosby. But there are two new patients to see, so it’s going to take me longer than that…unless they’re really simple cases.
I quickly scan over the paperwork. Linda didn’t say anything about needing to bump up the latest guy past the woman who walked in with her daughter ten minutes ago, so I’ll go see them first.
All night, Crosby has lingered in the back of my mind, the green flash of his eyes keeping me fueled and awake. When my alarm went off to wake me up to get ready for my shift, it jolted me out of a dream—our faces were only inches apart, our breath hot between us, my lips about to meet his—and I punched my pillow. Twice.
Then I hauled myself out of bed. The ER awaits me no matter how many thoughts of Crosby might have taken over my mind.
“Good afternoon,” I say with a smile, my back straight as I enter the room, and my head and thoughts as clear as they’re going to get. No matter how devastatingly attractive my ex is, I’m not going to allow thoughts of him to sabotage me into providing subpar medical care. Never. “I’m Dr. O’Collins. I understand I’m here to see Jessica?”
The petite woman sitting in one of the two chairs by the bed has a little girl curled up on her lap. Her hair is shoulder-length and frames her chin, and she’s dressed in what looks like a coordinated gym outfit. There are dark circles underneath her eyes, and she looks up at me and nods, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Y
es. She’s—she’s not feeling well. Something is wrong.”
I can tell that she’s trying not to scare her daughter, and that familiar ache rises in my chest.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “So what brings you to the emergency room today?”
I’m looking at Jessica, who I learn from the paperwork is four years old, as I speak, but the girl isn’t looking back at me. She doesn’t seem to have registered my presence in the room. She just leans against her mother’s chest, her eyes glassy and unfocused.
“Jessie’s been running a fever,” the girl’s mother says.
“My head hurts,” the girl announces, still not looking at me.
“And she has a rash.” The mom—according to the form, her name is Natalie—drops her voice when she speaks again and lowers her eyes to the floor. “Her doctor said we should come here.”
Alarm bells sound in my head. This could be meningitis, and I can’t take any chances with this.
“Okay. Let’s take a look. Jessica? Can you lie on this bed, please?”
She nods listlessly, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. Her mom, petite as she is, stands up, lifting her effortlessly, and lays her gently down on the bed.
I check all of her vitals first, confirming the presence of a fever. My heart beats a little faster. Jessica puts her cheek against the pillow and closes her eyes. Her mother’s gaze is locked on her.
“I’m going to lift up your shirt, Jessica.” If the rash is localized, it’s probably not meningitis, but…
I see instantly that that’s not the case. Jessica’s back is covered in red blotches. I smooth her shirt back into place.
“All right. I’m going to get the doctor on call. In the meantime, could you help Jessica get dressed in this gown?” I pull a child-sized gown from the storage cabinet and pass it to Natalie, who nods, a fire in her eyes. At least she has something to do.
Dr. Howard is out by the nurses’ station, and I only have to wait ten seconds before I can tell him about Jessica. He’s heading toward her room in an instant. “See to the other patient.”
The man in room four doesn’t have a fever, just as Linda said, though he does have a bit of a cough. I examine the possibilities, though, just in case. When I’m finished, he looks at me with wide, sad eyes, and the thought crosses my mind that he’s here because he’s lonely.
It happens more often than you’d think.
“Take it easy for the next couple of days,” I tell him with a smile. “Lots of fluids. Healthy meals. Do you have someone who can help you?” His chart says he’s seventy-eight years old, but he looks older.
Slowly, he shakes his head.
“I know of an agency in town that provides services for people who need an extra hand. I’ll list their number on your discharge form.” That brings a flicker of a smile to his face, but it turns into a real one when I reach forward and pat his hand, which rests on his trousers.
“Thank you, Dr. O’Collins.”
I’m heading to collect one more chart from Linda when Dr. Howard’s voice rings out across the main room. “Go ahead and check out, Dr. O’Collins. I’ve got the O’Neill patient.”
“You sure?”
“Leave before we get busy.” He shoots me a smile, then turns back to the paperwork in front of him.
It’s ten after one. I’m barely going to be late. All I need to do now is text Crosby, and I’ll be home free.
I go back to the locker room, take off and throw my white coat into the laundry hamper, and grab my purse and coat. I’m not wasting another second. In the next half an hour, I’m going to see Crosby again. My heart thuds in my chest. I don’t know how it’s going to play out. I don’t even know if I want things to go any farther than an awkward conversation here or there.
That’s not true.
I do want them to go farther, and that’s exactly why I shouldn’t let it happen.
But there’s still a hole in my kitchen floor, so that needs to be the top priority.
I’m shrugging on my winter coat when I hear it.
The sirens.
The noise in the ER behind me increases, becoming louder and louder. There’s more than one siren, I can tell now.
I only hesitate for a second before I’m running back to the locker room, dropping my stuff into an empty locker, without even closing it. One more second, and I tap out a quick text to Crosby—late, don’t know how long, sorry—and then I’m sprinting back to the ER.
“It’s a multiple-car collision,” Carla yells over the noise. The paramedics are already rushing the stretchers in through the sliding doors from the ambulance bay.
The kitchen is going to have to wait.
Chapter Fourteen
Crosby
My phone vibrates once.
late, don’t know how long, sorry
The number is Lacey’s. It’s not saved in my phone, but it’s burned in my memory from when she first called. The number is different than the one she had in high school—as different as you can get—but I’ll never be able to forget either one of them.
I know that already.
My shoulders relax.
She’s not coming.
Almost immediately, they start to rise up toward my damn shoulders again. I shake them out. The truck rumbles underneath me, the heat turned down low.
This has to be some kind of sign, some fucking…warning from the universe that I’m not supposed to go near her. It confirms what I already know—that this is damn dangerous. For Lacey. I’m guaranteed to hurt her and I can’t do that. That’s why I left her in the first place, because I’m a dangerous asshole who can’t change anything, even when I’m standing right beside an opportunity.
One thought, and I’m back there again. First semester of college. Standing near a bar that backed up to campus with a guy who’d been a year ahead of us in high school. Played on the football team with me. Chris. I don’t know why I thought it was a good fucking plan to lurk around behind a bar with him, but that’s where we were when the other four guys materialized out of nowhere.
It started out with a nice little chat, and the next thing I knew, one of them cocked his arm and let loose, dropping Chris to the ground with a grunt.
“Hey!” I’d yelled it in my most intimidating voice, but they’d just laughed at me, and then two of them were in my face. I couldn’t hear what they said, I was so fucking scared. One of them snapped his fist back, connecting with my right cheekbone. That was all it took. The other two worked Chris over. I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop them.
Until the cops showed up.
Two of them ran and two of them got caught, and Chris looked up at me from the ground, clutching his sides where they’d kicked him, blood streaming from his nose. “Help me.”
I’d knelt down by his side, trying to get an arm under him, but he was reaching for his pocket, reaching for something inside, pressing into my hand. A plastic baggie. A second one. Then the cops were on top of us, and sure as shit, they didn’t really care who’d started what.
I snap out of it when an off-duty snowplow comes down the road next to the truck.
This is my one chance to fix this problem and get myself out of this.
I can’t be near her. I can’t be with her.
It doesn’t matter how much I want it.
I run through the list of contacts in my phone. I’ve worked with most of the people in Lockton who can do this job.
The first two don’t answer, and their recorded messages say they’re out of town until after the holidays, or until spring, which is bullshit.
The third guy, Andy, picks up.
“Matthews.”
“You free for a job?”
“What, King, you’re not even going to flirt with me a little?”
“If you’re looking for a date, look elsewhere. You’re such a fucking perv.”
Matthews laughs like he’s never had to worry about anything in his life. “Wait, why are you calling?”
> “I’ve got a job I need to pass on. Are you free?”
“Aw, man, no.” Matthews actually sounds disappointed that he can’t bail me out. “I’m out of town.”
“Well, fuck.”
“Yeah. I took a job with a crew downstate. No snow yet.”
“You’re a greedy bastard.”
“What can I say?”
“Nothin’. Just stop calling me.”
He laughs and hangs up.
Two more names, two more strikes. There’s only one more person to call.
He answers on the first ring. “You never call me in the middle of the day, Cros. Did you crash your car or something?”
“Don’t give me shit, Brett. I have a job.”
“Good for you. Text me and tell me how it goes.”
“I have a job I don’t want.”
“What’s the job?”
“A floor repair.”
“Can you do it with your hand?”
“My good hand is fine.”
“Then why are you calling me?”
“I don’t want the job.”
“Were they mean to you, old buddy?”
“It’s at Lacey’s house.”
There’s the slightest pause. “She hasn’t moved in yet, right?”
“No, the house that she’s living in right now.”
A longer pause. “I don’t fucking get it.”
My chest tightens. “You don’t have to get it. You want the job or not?”
“I can’t, man.”
“Are you booked?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what—”
“You have to do this job.” Brett’s voice picks up the pace. He sounds excited, the fucking asshole. “This is your chance with her, man.”
I grit my teeth. “You’re serious.”
“I’m dead serious. You have to do this, man. You could finally talk to her again.”
“It’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because—” I shake my head, even though there’s nobody here to see me. I don’t want to get into all this. I can’t explain the arrest by campus cops. I can’t explain the way they kicked me out on my ass, no questions asked. And I’m definitely not going to fucking explain how I knew right then that I had to get the hell away from Lacey if I wasn’t going to take her down with me. “Thanks for nothing, asshole.”
