Could Be Something Good

by Fiona West

  She turned her head just enough to see him in her peripheral vision. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Well, knock me over with a feather. Daniel’s eyes were serious for once, and the set of his jaw told her that the honesty hadn’t been easy for him—and that he really was sorry he’d hurt her.

  She paused. “Do you have any wet wipes?”

  He gestured with a smile. “Check the glove box.” All he had were rough brown restaurant napkins, but she used a little water from her water bottle and made it work. As he pulled back onto the highway, she carefully wiped her face. She didn’t remove all of it, just some of the heaviness of it. Winnie considered her work in the visor’s mirror, then turned to Daniel.

  “Better?”

  He nodded, glancing at her between attending to the road. “Better.” The conversation turned, much to her relief, to books and movies and music and babies and pediatric illnesses and homeopathy. There was no bunny trail they wouldn’t run down with vigor.

  “How’d you get into comic books?” he asked, setting the cruise control as the traffic thinned out past Salem.

  “My father liked them.”

  “That’s bold for an English professor.”

  “I believe he took some flak for it around the department. But he was insistent that literature was literature. Once he was gone, it was a way to maintain my connection with who he’d been. That and crab. I love seafood, only because he did, too.” She glanced at him, squeezing her phone. “What about you?”

  He sat up a little straighter, keeping his gaze on the road. “I, uh, I struggled with reading as a kid. Dyslexia. Comic books were a little easier, they had more wordless context. Fewer speech tags. So my parents bought them by the box-load. My teachers had no idea that I’d read most of the classics they assigned as graphic novels.”

  Her respect for him skyrocketed. “How the heck did you do medical school with dyslexia? The reading must have been killer.”

  “Lots of things have audiobooks now, even textbooks. And my dad and my brother recorded some for me.”

  “Still. Daniel. That’s insane.”

  He laughed. “Why? It has no bearing on my ability to diagnose or treat patients. Just my ability to learn. And I can work with it. Just another hurdle.”

  “Well, I’m impressed.”

  “Good.” He winked at her. “Just wait until you see my dance moves.” When he pulled into the hotel’s underground parking garage, she was almost surprised at how distracted she’d been the whole journey. Daniel retrieved her bag despite her insistence that she could carry it herself.

  “I don’t want to be responsible for any more damage to Ainsley’s hard work,” he said, winking, as he dragged the heavy bag inside.

  “Hello. There should be two rooms under Baker,” she said to the clerk, distractedly digging around in her purse for her wallet.

  “Yes. And I see you’ve been upgraded to a suite.”

  Winnie stopped moving. It was like she’d been sunk into concrete. “No. Not a suite. A suite is not two rooms.” The clerk’s sparkling smile faded to something far less comfortable. It probably had something to do with the ire in Winnie’s gaze, which was now aimed directly at the poor young woman.

  “I’m so sorry about the mix-up; the bride was trying to consolidate the rooms to accommodate some last-minute out-of-town guests . . .”

  “It’ll be fine, Win,” Daniel murmured. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Fine?” she whispered back, her voice harsh. “How is this fine? How?”

  He pivoted to the desk clerk. “Does it have two beds?”

  She swallowed hard. “Yes, sir. It has a king in a private bedroom and a pull-out queen in the sofa.”

  “See?” he said, picking up their bags again. “Fine. Two of us, two beds. You can have the king. It’ll be just fine.”

  “No,” she said, raising her voice just enough to attract the notice of a few other guests who stood nearby. “I want what I had originally booked.”

  The clerk winced. “Since your rooms were technically booked in conjunction with the wedding, the bride had the discretion to change things around. I’m so sorry, but the hotel is completely booked. Again, Ms. Baker, I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding.”

  Fuming, Winnie slapped her credit card down on the counter, and the woman quickly ran it and gave it back, her look truly apologetic.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  WINNIE WAS WAITING for her Riesling at the bar when she spied Ethan. Daniel’s gaze followed him across the paisley-carpeted ballroom, too, as Ethan wove his way between the tables laden with tall, gold-plated vases overflowing with greenery.

  Daniel let his hand rest at her lower back, and she felt herself relax at the innocent gesture. “Wanna make out?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Just saying. It would send a clear message.”

  “So would a swift kick to the testicles, but I’m not going to do that, either. Let’s just ignore him.”

  “Your call.” He ordered a tonic and lime, and Winnie stared at his handsome profile as she sipped her wine.

  “You can drink if you want. I don’t mind.”

  “Nah, I’m good. This isn’t about me.”

  “No reason not to enjoy yourself.”

  He turned to rest his elbows on the bar behind him, and she wondered if he wanted to keep an eye on Ethan, rather than turning his back to the room. “Well, maybe one reason . . .”

  “If you’re uncomfortable staying together, you can go home tonight. It’s really okay.”

  He put his hand over hers where it rested on the marble bar. “Win. Quit worrying. It’s fine. I’m fine. I just don’t want to drink tonight.” His gaze stayed on her, and it was just how she’d caught him staring at her during the ceremony. She couldn’t quite read him, but the look was making her cheeks heat.

  “It was a nice wedding, wasn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Will you dance with me?”

  Her thoughts evaporated, but her gut reacted violently. No. Not out of obligation. Not to put on a show. “You don’t have to pretend. It’s fine, I don’t—”

  “You’re right, I don’t have to pretend. And I’m not.”

  “Why?” She didn’t say it loud enough, and all her vulnerability leaked through.

  “Maybe I like taking care of you. Maybe I like holding you. I’ve always been partial to the song ‘Brown-Eyed Girl’; maybe it’s a sign.” He sipped his drink. “Or maybe I just don’t want to re-enact that top-ten hit by Billy Idol in 1981.”

  She smiled so hard her face hurt. “You wouldn’t be referring to ‘Dancing with Myself,’ would you?”

  “See? I know old stuff.” He held out his hand in offer, and she took it, but she pulled him over to their table, setting her wine down at her place. Daniel led her to the parquet dance floor. As they walked, she planned to play it high school style: straight zombie arms at his shoulders, keeping a healthy amount of distance between them.

  But when he took her hand and placed it over his heart, clasping her fingers to his chest like they were precious, and looked in her eyes like she was precious, she lost all her resolve. She hooked her left arm around his shoulders as his right came around her waist and pulled her tight against him. Daniel swayed them gently.

  He leaned forward to murmur in her ear. “See? It’s not so bad, is it?”

  “I never said it would be bad,” she said softly. “I just don’t want you to feel obligated . . .”

  “I don’t. Not one bit. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking about this moment all week.”

  She drew back a little to see into his eyes. “And how does the reality compare?”

  “Even better.” He leaned forward and brushed his nose against hers. The contact made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and she felt loose and warm like she’d just taken a long, hot bath.

  “Can I cut in?” Ethan’s voice was like standing up after the bath; a slap of cold air on
her skin.

  “No.” Daniel was grinning, despite how he must have felt her tense up in his arms.

  Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Ethan Pressbrook. And you are?”

  “Dr. Daniel Durand,” he said. “But as you can see, I’m too busy to shake your hand at the moment. Come find me later, and I’ll see what I can do to you.”

  “For you,” Winnie corrected, fighting a smile.

  “Oops. For you. I’m sure I meant for you.”

  At her voice, Ethan turned his attention to her. “Man, Win. You clean up nice.”

  “The implication being that I usually look awful?” What was in that wine? Was it some kind of tasty truth serum? She was never so sassy on the outside.

  He frowned. “No, I just meant—never mind. Look, I talked to your mom. Called your house, she said you’d moved. Said you were starting to grow up finally, taking the MCATs again. She asked me to give you another chance.”

  Daniel broke his hold on her and interlocked his fingers in a begging position. “Please let me get rid of this guy. Please, Fred. I won’t break his nose.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Ethan asked, his voice hard. They both ignored him.

  Her eyes narrowed. “What would you break?”

  Daniel stroked his light beard in thought. “A thumb, maybe. Something that would be annoying, but not really terrible. I broke my thumb in first grade, just as I was learning to write. It was no bueno. This fool could use a taste of the discomfort he’s causing you.”

  “This fool? I just introduced myself to you. Clearly you have the brain of a flea.” Ethan never had liked being ignored.

  “And who would know better than a dog?” Daniel returned with a smile edged with something fierce.

  “Stop stalling, Win. Come on. Dance with me. You promised.” His heated gaze telegraphed what kind of dance he thought this was going to be, and Winnie shuffled backwards slightly, out of his reach.

  “I changed my mind.”

  The color rose in his cheeks. “You can’t—”

  “Sure she can, bud. Card declined, return to sender, application rejected. It’s called consent, and you don’t have it. Now run along and let us enjoy our evening, huh?”

  Ethan surged forward, pressing himself into Winnie, turning her away from Daniel. “I’ll tell her,” he whispered. “I’ll tell her what you did, Winnie.”

  “Back up,” Daniel growled, shoving his shoulder between Winnie and Ethan, putting her behind him. Her ex was undeterred; he raised his voice.

  “What do you think your mother would say if she knew the truth? If she knew the lengths you’d gone to in order to never become like her . . .”

  “You wouldn’t,” she shot back.

  “I don’t want to, but you’re leaving me no choice.”

  “And speaking of leaving, weren’t you just?” Daniel quipped. Her ex kept her gaze hostage, unblinking as she considered his threat. But she’d had enough of this. Enough lies. Enough manipulation. Enough feeling small and out of control. She felt Daniel’s hand slip into hers, warm and grounding, and it broke Ethan’s spell. Winnie turned toward Daniel.

  “You’re a good man,” she blurted out. “Thank you for showing me how a good man acts.”

  A slow smile slid across Daniel’s face, and his eyes were twinkling.

  Ethan’s voice was low. “Winnie . . .”

  “No,” she said, keeping her eyes on her date. “Tell her if you want to. She’s going to find out eventually anyway. I had hoped it would be a deathbed confession, but I did it, so I shouldn’t hide it. I can live with it.” She leaned to grab her clutch from the table, never releasing Daniel’s hand. “I’m tired. Let’s head up.”

  “Whatever you want,” he said, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm to escort her from the ballroom. She didn’t dare look back until they reached the elevators; Ethan wasn’t following them.

  Daniel squeezed her hand. “First of all, Deathbed Confession sounds like the name of an indie rock band from the nineties, and I may have to borrow it someday if my garage band ever has a revival tour.” The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside. If he was trying to distract her, it was working. She was more than willing to go back to their everything-and-nothing conversations and give her heart a chance to stop trying to bash its way through her ribs.

  “There’s already a band called Dashboard Confessional, so I don’t think it would market well. What did you play?”

  “I sang, actually. Well, it was more of a yell if you ask my parents, but anyway . . .”

  The doors slid open, and they wandered silently down the hall. He keyed their suite open, and his hand went immediately to his neck to loosen his tie. She started toward the bathroom when he caught her elbow.

  “Winnie,” he murmured, and it sent a tingle down her spine. She turned to face him. “You were amazing back there. I’m so incredibly proud of you.” He pulled her into his arms, and she turned her head to rest it against his chest, listening to his heart pound. She pushed all the air out of her lungs, letting them deflate, letting go of the fear that had haunted her for months.

  “That was hard.”

  “It seemed like it.” They stood wrapped up together, warming each other against the chill of the room. “Can I ask you something?”

  You can kiss me. I’d say yes. She leaned back to see him better, but his eyes showed that he was troubled, not in the mood for teasing. “What is it?”

  “This thing he’s got on you . . . how bad is it? You don’t have to tell me, but I’ll be honest: I’m concerned.” He didn’t need to say it; it showed in the way his mouth had tightened, his eyebrows snapping together.

  She hesitated. If she was willing to kiss him, surely she should be willing to tell him this . . . but the last person she’d told was now downstairs planning to hold it against her. Still, Daniel wasn’t Ethan. She wanted to trust him. And he’d trusted her with his dyslexia. That meant something to her. Everyone had secrets, but hers felt so much worse.

  “You can’t tell anyone . . .”

  He made an X over his heart. “On my honor. Not a soul.”

  She let a deep breath out slowly, then let the truth go with the tail end of it. “I failed the MCATs on purpose. I never wanted to go to medical school.”

  He stared at her. “When you say you failed them on purpose, you mean . . .”

  “Yes. I studied the correct answers and then picked the not-correct answers. Intentionally.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” she echoed, laughing a little. “Daniel, your family is so . . . so nice. Even Grumpy Kyle. They’d throw themselves off a bridge for you.”

  “Dr. Baker loves you, Fred.”

  “Yes, she does, but she also never accepted my father’s death. And as such, I feel like she’s just trying to start her life over through me, trying to get a different outcome this time. It’s not that I want to disappoint her, I just . . . can’t be her. I don’t want to be her.”

  “But why not just tell her the truth? Refuse to take the test?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “I thought this would be easier to swallow. Having a daughter who couldn’t hack it was better than having a daughter who didn’t love her enough to give it a try.”

  He pushed her hair back with both hands, letting his fingers sink into it at the back of her neck, and she melted into the feeling of being cared for. “It’s not about love. You should get to choose your own adventure in life, choose what gives your life meaning. It’s not unloving to want your own life.”

  “Just unloving to lie to her about it.”

  “You don’t think she’ll ever give up?”

  She shook her head slowly, not wanting him to move away. “I would’ve thought after I failed the second time that she’d see that it was impossible. But not many people can tell my mother what’s impossible.”

  “She does seem to know what she wants.”

  “In some areas. Not in others. All her d
ates have been disasters.” Winnie stretched, and a yawn escaped her. Despite Daniel’s lovely closeness, her brain and body were tapping out, but her heart was still frenetic with feelings . . .

  “Will you . . .” She hesitated.

  His voice pitched lower. “Will I what? Ask me, Winnie. Ask me for anything.”

  “Will you hold me?”

  Without a word, he nodded, took off his jacket and tossed it onto the couch, then unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them to his elbows. Winnie took his hand and led the way into her room, and his steps lagged slightly when he realized where she was going.

  “This okay?”

  “Yes.” She kicked off her shoes and tossed back the comforter. Winnie lay down on the white sheets on her side so she could see the city out the window. He slotted in behind her, his fingers drifting up and down her arm. He smelled the same way he had the other day when she’d taken him home, and the familiarity of it was just the comfort she was looking for. Daniel pressed his face into her hair and sighed; she smiled.

  Winnie turned to face him, and Daniel pulled her tighter into him, combing his fingers through her loose hair. They stared at each other; she suddenly felt wide awake, too busy cataloguing all the shades of blue in his eyes for sleep, too interested in watching the city lights move across the planes of his face to drop off to Dreamland.

  “Do you have any medical conditions I don’t know about?” he asked, his voice rough.

  “Conditions?” she repeated, her own voice sounding vacant.

  “Yes,” he said. “Epilepsy, POTS, anything that would require you needing help in the night?”

  She cocked a blonde eyebrow, then shook her head slowly.

  “Good,” he said, still stroking her hair soothingly. “Then will you do me a favor?”

  “Anything,” she said.

  “Lock the door.”

  “Are you worried about drunken wedding guests stumbling in?”

  He shook his head. “Not the front door. Your bedroom door. Lock it. And if you’re wearing pajamas made of anything but cotton that covers you from your neck to your ankles, please use the hotel robes.”