by Zoe Dawson
In the bathroom I found a used towel draped over the shower. I frowned and touched the terry. It was still damp, which meant that Booker wasn’t running…then I noticed his razor and other items usually next to the sink were gone. Alarmed, I went to his closet, my insides shaky. When I didn’t see his overnight bag, that shakiness turned up a notch.
He was gone. I mean completely gone. Packed his things gone. I rushed to the window and looked out, hoping his car was still there, but the Mustang was gone, too. This wasn’t like Booker. I took a breath and tried to calm myself down before I called him.
I searched for my phone in my Einstein tote for five minutes before I remembered I had thrown it on the bed. When I finally unearthed it, I called him. He picked up on the first ring.
“Hey, Babe.”
“Booker, where are you?”
He sighed. “On my way to Suttontowne.”
“Why? Is something wrong?”
“No, everything is fine. I’m just going to see my brothers. It’s no big deal.”
“Are you sure? Are you upset about break—”
“No, you were tired. I understand.” I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, so sick at heart I couldn’t move. He was giving me the answers he thought I wanted to hear, and I got even more worried. Booker was a complex, beautiful man, and I never wanted to downplay that, but I also knew that he wouldn’t discuss anything until he was ready. No amount of pushing was going to help. He had to think it through, my brainy Outlaw. Then he said, suggestively, “Besides, I got what I wanted.”
Humor was his armor. I knew that, and I laughed softly. “I know this isn’t easy on you, sugar. I can try to do better.”
“Hush, you have been working so hard to keep all your balls in the air. Your studies, your extracurricular activities, and your volunteer work…plus the wedding preparations. This will give you a break from having to fit me into all that.”
“Booker. Do you feel that I don’t want to fit you in? You’re already in, and I know it’s been hectic, and you are such a trooper. We’re almost done with the semester. It’ll get better.”
“I know,” he said, but I was so in tune with my man, I heard it in his voice. He was holding back, and that brought to the fore all my own doubts. Why couldn’t I find a gown I liked, especially since the wedding was getting close? Way close. I had a million details to handle. River and Verity had offered, but I felt like it was my job to make sure everything was right, that everything was under control.
I wanted the wedding to be perfect. I’d dreamed since I was little about getting married and how it would be. So I wanted to handle every detail.
The push to become a doctor was consuming me. It had to. The odds against getting into medical school were grim. Fifty/fifty. And I wanted to get into Tulane so I wouldn’t have to take Booker farther from his family. Once I was ready for my residency, Lafayette or New Orleans would be my main choices. But somewhere in the mix of all my organization, I’d messed up with my man, because it was clear there was something seriously wrong.
Didn’t he know how much I loved him? Was I lacking there, too?
I was already worried about possibly flunking o-chem. I was having such a hard time in that class, more than any other class I’d ever taken. I couldn’t seem to get it, and it was the first time it had happened to me. If I flunked organic chemistry, my dreams of becoming a doctor would go up in smoke.
I couldn’t admit it to anyone. I especially couldn’t tell Booker. Because he’d probably think it was just my anxiety over perfection, my need to excel. But losing Booker wasn’t an option. It was impossible. I’d do anything. A terrible tightness filled my chest and, trembling, I took a shaky breath. Totally weak in the knees.
“Babe,” he said softly. “It’s just a visit.”
“I’m sorry about this morning and last night and all the other nights I have been busy. I think about you all the time.” In all the time I’d known Booker, he had always been there for me. Always. I wanted to be there for him. He had the right to expect me to be there for him when he needed me. And I wanted to be with him, all the time, but I was caught somewhere between my lifelong passion for medicine and my all-consuming love for Booker. How was I supposed to do both and do them well? It seemed that Booker had been the one to suffer, and I hated it.
I had no idea how to fix it.
Especially if he wouldn’t talk to me. I couldn’t blame him. I had juggled everything poorly and dropped the ball. I could only hope our relationship wasn’t made of glass.
“Aubree, go. Get ready for class and stop worrying about me. I’m going to go fool around with my dumb-ass brothers.”
“That worries me more.” He laughed, and the sound of it warmed me. “Promise me you won’t let them talk you into something…stupid.”
“I’ll only say that I’ll try. You know what they’re like,” he said with the delicious sarcastic tone that I loved so much.
I chuckled. “Yes, I do. I’ll call you after I get off from work.”
“All right. I love you, Aubree.”
“I love you more.”
It was a grim morning. I showered and dressed, slicking my hair back into a ponytail. I was on autopilot as I got into my car and drove over to Dr. Palmer’s practice, where I found that falling back on routine and responsibility settled me some.
I met Dr. Rosa Palmer eight months ago, at a gathering for the creation of the pre-med sorority I had championed. She also had worked with Dr. Tim Rust, who was our town doctor, and knew him well, respected him immensely. Since Dr. Rust was expecting to turn his practice over to me, I wanted to live up to his expectations, as well as the expectations of this dynamic woman who was giving me a great deal of her time and energy to help me realize my goals.
When I made the decision to change from stats to premed, I contacted her and asked for her advice. She offered me the opportunity to shadow her at her internal medicine practice, beginning when I returned to school last fall. An opportunity I jumped at, because I was a year behind. But because I had already taken biology and chemistry, I was able to take the two dreaded o-chem classes right away. I’d eked out a solid A in the fall, but could barely keep my head above water this semester.
Once I reached the office I was, as usual, going non-stop, which helped, because then I didn’t have time to obsess about what was bothering Booker.
About halfway into the morning, during a patient lull, I decided call him. Maybe he would be willing to talk to me. I knew he wouldn’t change his mind about the wedding. I knew he loved me with everything in him. But I got a horrible, sick feeling at the very thought of losing him. It would crush me. But before I could get my phone out, Dr. Palmer poked her head out of her office and said, “Aubree, come on in.”
When I walked in, she said, “Close the door and have a seat.” I felt my shoulders knot and my stomach clench.
“I usually hold my assessment of a med student in reserve until I get to know the person, observe that person in action, and see what potential is there. I have done the same thing with you, Aubree. But after having you shadow me these past eight months, I am happy to tell you what an absolute gem you are, and how thrilled I am to have you participating in my practice.
“Not only are you always on time, and take this volunteer position seriously, but my patients love you. Your bedside manner is endearing and warm, yet with just the right amount of professionalism.”
“Thank you, Dr. Palmer.”
“Because of your professionalism, your potential as a physician, and your brilliant mind, I would very much like to write a recommendation for you to med school.”
“That would be fantastic. Thank you.”
“In addition, I happened to see your article in the Tulane Hullabaloo on bedside manner. I found it touching, comical, and very enlightening. I have contacted the AMA, and they also would very much like you to be our keynote speaker to kick off the Student Research Symposium in June.”
I bit my lip.
“When in June?”
“The twenty-second.”
“I would be honored, of course, but I’m getting married on the twentieth, and we’re supposed to be on our honeymoon on the twenty-second, although we haven’t worked out where we want to go yet.”
“Congratulations, Aubree!”
“I didn’t mention it because we haven’t had a chance to discuss whether I would continue my shadowing during the summer.”
“That’s not a problem. Most med students do other programs and activities in the summer. I fully expected you would take the summer off and be back in the fall. At least I hope so. Now that we’ve discussed your future, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“I know a few things about you, Aubree. One of them is you’re a perfectionist.”
“It’s that obvious?”
“I’m afraid so. I know all about it, because I’m one, too. You’re classic. You cultivate your character, set improvement goals, don’t flaunt your achievements, and when you get distracted, you get tougher on yourself, especially if you think you’ve made mistakes.”
I couldn’t answer her right away. Panic, fear, and helplessness overwhelmed me, and a huge lump gathered in my throat. I shifted and crossed my legs, gripping the handrests. Trying to sound normal, I made myself speak. “I’m sure you’re very busy and don’t have time—”
There was a hint of censure in her voice when she replied, “Let me be the judge of how I spend my time.”
“I’m just tired, Dr. Palmer. That’s all.” I rose and smiled for emphasis. I was desperate to get out of her office before I made a fool of myself. I couldn’t tell her what was wrong since I wasn’t exactly sure.
There was a strained silence; then Dr. Palmer spoke again. “I see. I understand if you don’t want to trust me with the particulars.” The tone of her voice was so kind and gentle, and it reminded me of my momma. I felt the need to call Momma, but still struggled with the feeling that I should be able to handle this on my own.
Dr. Palmer continued, “I just want you to know that I hope you will feel free to ask me questions, ask for help you might need with your studies, with anything. Becoming a doctor is grueling. I know how hard it is, Aubree.”
Tears burned my eyes, and I busied myself with turning the knob so she wouldn’t see. Swallowing hard, I said, “Thank you for everything. I’m sorry about the AMA.”
I wasn’t ready to admit my shortcomings to my mentor. Not willing to say out loud that maybe there was something wrong in my relationship, and it was probably all my fault. It had always been important to me to be on top of everything, and to admit I wasn’t…well, I just couldn’t.
I headed directly for the ladies’ room, and when the door swung shut behind me, I buried my face in my hands. Shoot, I had made such a mess of things. And I didn’t know what to do to put them right.
That hollow feeling never left me for an instant. I tried to slog through my classes, attend my sorority meeting, and, once I got back to our empty cottage in New Orleans’ French Quarter, write another article for the Hullabaloo, but everything was rote.
When my phone rang, my insides knotted, and, with a rush of anticipation, I grabbed my phone.
“Hey there, Aubree.” It was Ashley, my former roommate from Tulane. “How about a quick drink? You can bring the old ball and chain if you want to.”
“Uh, Booker’s busy, and I’m—”
“Don’t you dare say you’re swamped. So am I, but I’m making an effort to hang out with my best friend.”
Sighing, I admitted it was true. I hadn’t seen Ashley in forever, and hadn’t made an effort to fix it. I struggled with guilt and shame over not contacting her, and said, “All right, but just an hour.”
“Better than nothing. I’ll meet you in fifteen at Rupert’s. The last one there is a chicken.”
After I hung up, I dropped down on the bed, my legs weak, my eyes scratchy from lack of sleep, and tried to call Booker, but it went to voice mail. I thought about him sitting in bed, the way the sheet had fallen away from his beautifully muscled chest, the way his biceps had bunched when he leaned forward, draping those strong arms across his knees. The welcome and warmth in his oh-so-blue eyes, the fall of his silky, shaggy black hair.
All he’d asked was to have dinner with me, but all my commitments were not only wearing on me, they were taking me away from him. I hadn’t meant for him to feel that he wasn’t a priority. If I’d hurt him… His expression, those slow, disappointment movements while he covered his glorious nakedness with that sexy jock, told me everything.
It hit me then and hit me now. He was everything.
For the first time since I got involved with him, I got a taste of what it would be like to have to live without him.
Chapter Two
Boone
Tripdar was the word we used for the cosmic energy that seemed to swirl around multiple births. All three of us felt it, deep in the psyche, when one of us was stressed and unhappy.
I’d been having that sensation, and it was keeping me up at night. Verity was beginning to notice, and since she hadn’t said anything about Aubree, it looked like my soon-to-be sister-in-law was not communicating with her friends.
I was currently working at the Eula Downs racetrack setting in the spring plantings. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and pushed send on my phone. “Booker is back,” Brax and I said at exactly the same time.
“Something is up,” Brax growled. Even though he was incredibly happy, he hadn’t changed much. He was still a contrary SOB. “It’s girl trouble.”
“How do you know?”
“I get this ache at the base of my skull when women are involved. I got it when you were having your troubles with Verity, and the first time Booker and Aubree were figuring out their relationship. It feels familiar, and no amount of pain reliever makes it go away.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Well, let’s go over there. I’m sure he’s home. We can kick his ass, and then at least you and I will feel better.”
“Ha! Right. We’re meddling huckleberries.”
#
Booker
I was sitting on the back porch staring off into the bayou, my phone beside me, but it was still turned off. I was being a jackass, but I didn’t know what to say to Aubree right now. Maybe I wasn’t strong enough for this.
The house was in great shape since my ma, or Boone, or Brax came by once a week to check on it. Pick up the junk mail and do any maintenance that was required. I couldn’t even use picking up the house as an outlet.
I was so involved in feeling sorry for myself that I actually jumped when Brax materialized in front of me. He crouched down so he was eye to eye with me. “Hey, huckleberry. How long you been home?”
Boone was standing next to him. I should have known I couldn’t hide out here for long. “Two days.”
“And you didn’t contact your brothers? That’s rude, don’t you think, Brax?”
“Totally.”
I leaned back on my elbows and smirked at my brothers. It was hopeless. I couldn’t stay in a funk when they were around. It was impossible. “What do you two jokers have up your sleeves? I can see it in your eyes.”
“Oh, we thought you’d want the Gummy Bears we’ve been saving for you.”
“You did?” I looked at Boone. “You promised me red ones.”
“So I did.” He leaned his arm on Brax’s shoulder and danger signals went off at the look in their eyes. “You got some at your house, Brax?”
“Yeah, I do. With Booker’s name on them.”
“Right,” I said. “Sure you do.”
Boone’s brows lifted. “You won’t know until you come with us.”
I snatched up my phone went down the steps with them. Anything would be better than sitting here feeling sorry for myself.
I got into Boone’s truck and we took off.
“How’s the writing going?” Brax asked.
/> “Pretty good. I’m about three quarters of the way through book five. I have been talking to a producer through email since November.”
“No shit!”
“Yeah, these things can fall through, though. They just made me an offer for a movie deal for the first three books. I talked to an entertainment lawyer, and he’s reviewing the contract. Of course this is for options, but it’s amazing money, and it’s on track to be made into movies. Gotta be the ultimate thing.”
“Man, that’s so cool,” Boone said.
“Yeah,” I agreed, but it would have been a lot cooler if I had been able to tell Aubree first, broken the news to her over dinner, then made love to her all night. Success was great, but it was even better shared with someone important. I smiled as my brothers talked about going to Hollywood for the premiere, and how I was about to become a household word.
I couldn’t say I wouldn’t enjoy the attention, the book signings, and the chance to interact with my readers. Unlike some authors, I was more of an extrovert. I had a pretty strong presence online, but had been to only one reader conference. But there was one coming up this summer I wanted to attend. I guess Aubree and I would have to work out our schedules.
Thinking of Aubree again made me long for those days last summer when we were together every day, hanging out and enjoying ourselves. We’d been through quite a bit together, building our relationship through adversity and tremendous emotional turmoil. We’d believed we had a bright future together. Our relationship was still strong, but recently I was feeling unhappy.
I was making my point by giving her some distance. I had another reason, too, and it was embarrassing and lame, but I couldn’t seem to get past it. I had felt vulnerable, open and exposed.
I knew she was tired, but I was still irritated…and I didn’t want to be. It was more painful, pierced me more deeply than anything I’d experienced before. I guess I was having growing pains. I’d pretty much gone from high school into writing and had never been tied to a job or had limitations, which suited me down to the ground.
