by Jenny Hayut
“I know, honey, I know.” She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Okay, look, so we’re both off today. Let’s do chick flicks all day. We’ll call Clay and Ang, and we’ll load up on popcorn and ice cream. Whatcha think?”
I clear out what’s left of my cry-fest and suck in the remaining sniffles. “I think that’s exactly what I need right now. My friends and junk food.”
****
In the middle of our third movie of the day, my phone chirps with a text. I’m afraid it’s Holt, so I ignore it. It sounds a few more times during the movie, but I continue to ignore it. I don’t know what to say to him. How to tell him I’m damaged, that I’m not the kind of woman he would be happy with in the long run, that I can’t risk taking a chance on him again. I so wish I could channel some of Lita’s badass girl power right then. I sit and pretend all is okay, until I see Ang.
She’s walking toward me, my cell in her hand. “That guy, Holt, is on the phone.”
Shit. This is where it’s a good idea to fill your friends in when you’re avoiding someone. I debate getting her to tell him I’m in the bathroom but then think better of it. I can do this.
Dig deep, girl. You got this.
I take the phone from Ang and head to my bedroom. There’s no way I can say the things I need to say to him with an audience. “Hello?”
“Is there some reason you haven’t answered any of my texts, Nicolette?”
The sound of the voice on the other end leaves no doubt that he’s mad. These mood swings. God. I can’t keep up. The gentleness of his touch, the softness that overcame me, long gone. What I hear now is straight rage, and it sends chills down my spine.
“Um, the girls and I are watching movies.”
“So you couldn’t just text me back and tell me that shit? I would’ve known that, instead of being on the phone with you, after not knowing for the past two hours where the hell you were and wondering if—”
He silences himself mid-sentence. When he does, I can’t help but hear the background. Lots of noise. He’s somewhere with a lot of people. And music. Loud music. And laughter. Is he at The Rox?
“Fuck. I’m sorry. I just got a lot of shit going on right now. I’m sorry, babe.”
What does he have going on? And why the hell does he seem so jumpy? Like something has spooked him. It’s been less than six hours since he saw me. Why is he flipping out so badly?
Holt was never controlling with me. Well, at least not with anything that didn’t include us getting naked. He liked it then, and I loved giving it to him in return for the pleasures he gave me. So this whole why-didn’t-you-answer-your-phone bit is just weird. Totally not him. Or, at least, not the Holt I once knew. Maybe I’m not the only who’s changed.
“Kilo is missing his doctor and wants you over for a visit. Do you know where the Claremont Motel is?”
So that’s where he’s staying. On the other side of town. No wonder I didn’t see any sign of him those two weeks after that night at The Rox. “I can’t tonight. It’s been a long weekend, and I, um, need to catch up on sleep. I have surgeries scheduled for tomorrow.”
That’s a legitimate enough answer, and I pat myself on the back for thinking fast. Whether it buys me some time, I don’t know.
“I’ll find a way to put you to sleep, Nicolette. Promise.”
I try my best to not let his words penetrate me, but that too-familiar warmth is growing between my legs. “I’m serious, Holt. I have a surgery scheduled for tomorrow, and I cannot be drained. I think of those animals at the hospital as my own, each and every one of them, and if I’m the reason any harm comes to them, it would kill me.”
“I know, babe. I know. Okay. I’ll give you tonight, but tomorrow, you’re mine.”
I give up on telling him my decision. It’s better if I say it in person. “Okay.”
“Enjoy your movies, babe.” He hangs up before I can respond.
Chapter 13
I climb in bed that night after watching three more sappy movies about the kind of love us normal people never achieve. I’m instantly haunted by the smell of Holt, the traces of scent he’s left on my pillow, my comforter. It’s all over. Intoxicating me. I close my eyes. He’s touching me, tasting me. Absolute torture. My own fucking prison.
How the hell am I going to be able to tell him I can’t take a chance on us again? I have to think about all the reasons I shouldn’t. I have to think about how I barely know him, really. I mean, before last night, I had no clue he even played guitar, much less sang like that. Who taught him to play? What else is he good at? Well, I kinda already know the answer to that. Where did he grow up? Where are his parents? Does he have any brothers or sisters? Does he have an actual place he calls home somewhere?
The three months I had with him went by in such a whirlwind that we never really had the chance to get to know each other. But, somehow I still felt a connection to him. I knew him, knew what was inside him. I knew he was good. Bad on the outside and scary as shit to look at, but on the inside I sensed his heart was big. Those eyes. They gave away so much.
What he said earlier is still bothering me. Why was he so damn jumpy when he called? If I knew the slightest bit about the kinds of people he goes after, it might help me understand his mood swings. Is he looking for a serial killer or something? I chuckle at my ridiculousness—the result of too many suspense novels. I’d always imagined him chasing down drug dealers who didn’t pay their suppliers, or accountants who stole money from their bosses. People like that. Not killers or anything.
As if on cue, my cell rings. Holton. My heart skips a beat. Damn it. If I don’t answer, he’s just going to keep calling or, worse, show up at my door.
“Hey, babe, you in bed yet?”
Once again, he doesn’t sound as if he’s alone. Two male voices are talking in the background.
“Maddox,” one of them yells.
“Yes, I’m in bed already.”
“Good. Sleep well, baby, and don’t even think about ditching me tomorrow. I will find you.”
Before I can reply, he disconnects.
****
Monday mornings usually suck, but today it sucks even more than usual. I didn’t get any sleep last night. Fighting with what I want and what I should do is killing me. I need coffee.
I drag myself out of bed, tuck my feet into my oversized doggie slippers, and walk down the hallway to the kitchen, stretching.
After pouring myself a cup of coffee, I pop a bagel in the toaster and grab the phone to call my Aunt Helen. Since Holt came back, I’ve neglected her. We don’t see each other much now, only on my monthly weekend visits, so our phone calls are our lifeline to one another.
“Hi, sweetheart! How’s work?”
“It’s good. I mean, I still feel like some of the other doctors are hating on me for getting Doc C’s position. But it could just be in my head. You know how I am.”
“I’m sure you are imagining it, sweetheart. They know you deserve it. I’d bet my fresh-baked apple pie on that. They’ve worked with you long enough to see how much you love those animals, and you have the skills and knowledge to run things.” She lets out a sigh. “You’ve been around that hospital since you were, what, six? You know what’s best for that place. Doctor Caravan knew it, and so do they.”
“You’re probably right. It’s just, there’s a lot of pressure, and I don’t always know if I’m making the right decisions.”
“I’m sure you are, sweetheart.”
“I just wish it hadn’t happened the way it did. I didn’t even get the chance to prepare myself for it, you know, mentally. I still don’t understand why he left so quickly. It just doesn’t make any sense. You know?”
“Maybe he’s giving you your space so you can see for yourself how perfect you are for the job.”
“Maybe. If he’d at least answer his phone, I don’t think I’d be having such a hard time coping.”
“Well, when that old hoot gets tired of touring the country, or whatever it is he�
��s doing, he’ll be back. He can’t stay away from that hospital for too long. He’ll be back within six months, if you ask me. Anyway, enough about work. Tell me, any new men to talk about?”
I hang my head. Every time. Every single time, she asks this. She seems to feel it’s her mission to ask me about my love life. If I’ve met anybody. If I’m practicing safe sex. I love my aunt with all my heart, but, God bless her, she still thinks I’m eighteen.
I hesitate to tell her about Holt, because I’m certain she’s going to have us riding off into the sunset. That’s how she is. The era of the southern belle lives on in her.
I’d told her about him back then, but, unlike Cass, she doesn’t know the whole story. All she knows is that things didn’t end too well with us, and I led her to believe I broke it off with him. I couldn’t tell her, because I knew it would be hard on her knowing I was heartbroken.
“You know how busy I am with work. I don’t have time for dating.”
“Well, honey, you’re not getting any younger, and I want some grandbabies.”
“Maybe one day.”
“I feel it in my bones. The man who gets you will be the luckiest alive. You’re beautiful and have a heart of gold, sweetheart.”
Tears well up, but I’m not sure if it’s because she wants me to be happy, or because I can’t help thinking of what will never be with Holt. I suck them back as I take in a breath. No way in hell I want her to hear me cry.
“Okay, I have to go. I need to get ready for work.”
“Okay, okay. Chin up, baby. Don’t look back. Just keep it moving.”
She’s been saying that to me ever since I can remember. Even before Dad died. It’s like her motto, and, because she’s drilled it into my head for so long, it’s something I’ve always practiced. Somehow Holt managed to be an exception to that rule.
“I know. Love you. I’ll let you know if I can make it up this weekend.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
****
As I pull into my parking spot at the hospital, I think about Beth for the first time since the weekend. I hope her resentment, if that’s what it is, has died out over the past two days. If it hasn’t, I’m going to talk with her again, apologize for my abruptness.
The first person I see when I walk in is Katy and, thankfully, she doesn’t seem standoffish.
“Morning, Niki!” she says, her normal, cheerful Katy-self.
“Morning.”
“Did you hear about Galaxy? They got the deal.” Her face is full of excitement.
“What? They did? Oh my God. I’m so happy for them.” I squeal and do a happy dance. “Damn, though. Guess we’re the little people now, huh?”
We share a laugh, a pretty good way to start the day. The Rox strikes again. Making somebody’s dreams come true.
My morning goes by in a flurry, and by lunchtime, I’m ready for a break. While I wait in the drive-thru, I check my phone. No missed calls. No texts. I haven’t heard from Holt since last night, which is...odd. It’s probably a good thing, though. The less contact I have with him, the longer it delays the conversation I have to have with him. Before I talk to him, I’m going to need a shot of something. Maybe one of Cass’s concoctions.
As I’m walking to my office with my lunch, Katy stops me. “Wait. Here are your messages.”
The pink slips in hand, I walk past her to my office. Halfway there, I see Beth coming toward me, head down. When she looks up and sees me, she cuts a corner really quickly and goes in another direction. Yeah, got to clear that up. I can’t have her feeling like shit because of me.
At my desk, I pull out my iPod and throw in my buds. Axl Rose is belting out “Welcome to the Jungle.” Most days that’s what work feels like...a jungle. All the animals coming and going and their antics. But I love every minute of it.
When I start flipping through my messages, one stands out because I don’t recognize the caller. It’s a Mr. Calhoun, and all that’s on the note is his number, no message. I put it aside while I finish my lunch, planning to ask Katy if she remembers him and what he wants. Probably a pharmaceutical rep new to the area, trying to drum up business, but it’s odd she didn’t write his company name. I like to check out new distributors and run them by Karen, the owner of Hobbs, first before using them.
After tossing my sandwich wrapper in the trash, I pick up my phone and tap the reception button.
“What’s up, Doc?”
“Katy, do you remember this Mr. Calhoun calling? What he wanted?”
She pauses for a moment. “Oh yeah, he just asked directly for you and said it was a personal matter.”
I crinkle my eyebrows, wracking my brain, trying to remember if I know him, but nothing comes. What kind of personal matter does he need to discuss with me?
“Okay, thanks.”
I hang up with Katy and dial his number.
He answers on the second ring. “Calhoun. Talk.”
Alrighty then. That’s some way to answer the phone.
“Um, yes, this is Doctor Niki Stringer, returning your call, Mr. Calhoun, is it? How can I help you?”
There’s silence on the other end for a moment. “Well hello, Doctor. Glad you called me back. Saves me some trouble.”
What the hell does that mean?
“I need to get in touch with Doctor Caravan, and I was told you’d be the one to make that happen.”
“Doctor Caravan? No sir. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since he left town.”
“So let me get this straight. He hasn’t called you, tried to contact you?” The tone of his voice is accusing, as if he doesn’t believe me.
Who is this guy? Why’s he looking for Doc C?
“With all due respect, Mr. Calhoun, may I ask what this is with regards to? If it’s something to do with the hospital, I’ve taken over his position, and I’d be more than happy to assist you.”
He laughs. “No, sweetheart, it’s nothing to do with that hospital. Listen, if you know what’s good for you, when the doctor calls—and I know he will—you tell him to give his good pal Vinnie a call.”
What the hell? Did this guy just threaten me?
“I can assure you, Mr. Calhoun, I haven’t had any contact with Dr. Caravan, but if I do, I’ll certainly give him the message.”
“Good girl.”
“Whether he calls you back isn’t in my control.” I hang up.
I’m pretty sure this Vinnie guy is bad news. I look at the number again. It’s not a local area code. I don’t remember Doc C ever telling me about any friends outside Georgia. That was his whole thing with travelling. He’d never been anywhere out of the state. Ever. I get chills. This sucks.
I’d thought before that it was weird he didn’t call, check in with us, but now with this Vinnie person looking for him, I can’t help but think something is terribly wrong. To just cut ties with us, with the hospital, with the community. Everything he loves. Everyone who loves him.
He not only took excellent care of the patients that came through the hospital, but he also did his duty within the community. Before he left, he was volunteering at the animal shelter. And he would spend a lot of his weekends at the boys and girls club with the kids, taking some of the dogs from the shelter there to interact with them. He’s just a wonderful man, a man I looked up to and respected very much.
Something tells me to keep the phone call private. Whatever this Vinnie Calhoun person wants with Doc C, I’m afraid it’s not good. I just need to find a way to contact Doc before anything bad happens.
My first thought is Holt. Maybe he has connections, or, since he’s good at tracking people, maybe he can find him so I can warn him. I have to do something. I can’t sit back and wait for something bad to go down, knowing I could’ve possibly prevented it.
Shit. This means I can’t tell Holt I don’t want to give us another chance. If I do, he might not help me find Doc. Damn it. How the hell am I going to be able to do this? I got to though. For Doc.
Chap
ter 14
I knock on Holt’s door at Claremont’s. It’s one of the older motels in Coral Springs, on the other side of town, but the manager seems to keep it clean.
Even with chipped paint peeling from its white exterior and one of the neon lights in the sign blown out, there’s no sign of trash. The lawn is neatly manicured, with the pretty faces of a row of pansies greeting guests as they walk along the sidewalk to the front office.
There’s no response when I knock, so I turn to look at Sex on Wheels in the parking spot outside the door. As I’m about to knock again, the door opens and Holt is standing there, minus his clothes. My eyes are instantly drawn down to the towel wrapped loosely around his waist. It’s draped low on his hips, showing off that perfectly beautiful V. His skin is still wet and glistening from the shower. I’m in a daze, enjoying the view. I can’t help it.
Holt laughs, jolting me out of my trance. “You coming in, babe, or you going to just stand there and think about what’s under this towel, waiting for you?”
Shit. This is going to be hard as hell.
Holt stands aside, still laughing, and I reluctantly walk in. His room is small and dimly lit, and screams seventies, from its wallpaper and panel walls to its brown shag carpet and the floral bedspread on the queen-sized bed.
The mirrored panels on the wall facing the bed are nothing less than tacky. Any woman’s nightmare, but every man’s dream, I’m sure. The scent of Pine-sol barely covers the stench of mildew. The whole room is dark and depressing. Lonely. For the first time, I find myself feeling sorry for Holt, thinking places like this must be where he spends most of his life. Alone.
The feel of Holt’s arms around me pulls me out of my thoughts and sends a shiver down my spine. His hardness is pressed to my ass, and the only thing standing between a naked Holt and me is that skimpy excuse for a towel. My body temperature rockets, but I try not to let my arousal show.
“I’m glad you’re here, baby,” he whispers in my ear, making my legs almost give way.
It doesn’t take much from him for my body to betray me. Before I can say anything—what the hell was I going to say, anyway?—Holt turns me to face him. He brushes the hair out of my face slowly and gently cups my chin to kiss me. A sweet, sensual, so-much-meaning-behind-it kind of kiss.
