by Jen Morris
Still… if Justin were to call me and tell me I’d got the job, I’d struggle to turn it down. After all, this is what I’ve been working towards since I arrived in the city. I guess I’d have to tell him that I’m not single anymore, and hope he could give me something else to write about. That’s possible, right?
With a sigh, I push it all from my mind. I haven’t even been offered the job and I’m not sure I will be. If I am, well… I’ll figure this all out then.
“Your brother looks so much like you,” I say, changing the subject. I’d stumbled across some family photo albums at the cabin, and I couldn’t keep my cool when Michael let me look through them. These two boys with dark hair and cheeky grins, playing down at the lake, rolling in orange leaves, opening Christmas presents together… It was adorable. And even though Michael is five years older, they were clearly the best of friends. How could I not fall for him after that?
“Yeah, we still look pretty similar.”
“He must be one good-looking guy.”
Michael glances at me sideways, his lip twitching. “You think you might like the look of him, then?”
I know he’s winding me up and I’m relieved to feel the atmosphere in the car lighten, so I play along. “Well… does he have a beard?”
Michael strokes a hand over his short beard, lines of amusement fanning around his eyes. “He doesn’t. You like the beard, huh?”
I bite my lip and lean forward to run my fingertips over the coarse bristles. I never knew I would like a beard, but I can’t deny how much it turns me on. “It’s pretty hot.”
“Oh yeah?” He sends me another glance, one eyebrow raised. I love this playful side to him.
“Well, it’s alright,” I tease.
He pretends to look hurt. “Only alright?”
I lean over so my lips are on his ear, and slide a hand slowly up his thigh. “No. Not only alright. It’s fucking sexy. You’re fucking sexy. Why do you think I was forced to write all those dirty things in my novel? I couldn’t stand how much I wanted you, how much I wanted to do dirty things to you.” I squeeze his upper thigh, tempted to take my hand higher.
He groans, his eyelids briefly fluttering closed and his knuckles whitening as his grip on the steering wheel tightens. I hear his breathing get heavy and a quick glance down at his lap tells me I’ve got to him. My whole body feels hot at the sight and I want nothing more than to tell him to pull over into a rest stop so I can have him again. I can’t help myself; I kiss his neck and nibble his ear, palming the bulge in his jeans until he tells me to stop or he’s going to unwittingly drive us into a ditch.
I grin and lean back against my seat, watching his flushed face as he tries to concentrate on the road, feeling deliriously happy.
We ride the rest of the trip in comfortable silence. And when I think about my writing I get a strange sense of peace, knowing that whatever happens, I’ll be able to make it work.
As we finally head back over the George Washington Bridge, the city comes into view; the unmistakable, iconic Empire State Building, the classic silhouette of the Chrysler Building, and further downtown, the proud outline of the Freedom Tower. I lean forward in my seat, trying to take it all in, this postcard image above our dashboard. A thrill runs through me as the city unfolds, revealing more of itself the closer we get. This place, as huge and impersonal and overwhelming as it is—it also feels like home, now. It feels like it knows me, like it’s always known me, and in that sense I’m coming to truly know myself.
Michael manages to pull into a spot right in front of our stoop and shuts off the engine. We step out into the cold air and he takes my bags from the back seat, setting them down on the sidewalk.
“Alex—” His eyes search mine, then he reaches forward, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I close my eyes and rest my cheek against his palm. In the freezing air, the warmth from his hand is enough to send heat coursing through my entire body.
He steps forward, slipping his arms around me and pressing a kiss to my mouth. His forehead rests against mine as he murmurs, “I think I’m really falling for you.”
My heart trips, stumbles, then takes off on a running leap in my chest. I stare at him, disbelieving and breathless, trying to contain my huge, euphoric grin. “Yeah, I think… I am too.”
My grin is mirrored on his face, and he pulls me tight into his arms. And I know then, I have nothing to worry about.
37
I climb the stairs and give a light knock on Michael’s door. When he dropped me home earlier, he invited me to come up and join him and Henry for dinner tonight. I’ve been so excited all day that I could hardly sit still. I was hoping Cat would be home so I could gush about my amazing week with him, but she’s been at work.
And now, as I wait in front of Michael’s door, I feel a flutter of nerves. Maybe it’s because Henry will be there. I like Henry, and I think he likes me. But now that Michael and I are a couple, I realize it’s essential he likes me if things are going to work.
The door swings open and Michael stands there, breathless.
“Uh, hi.” My gaze locks on his strange expression, trying to read it. His eyes are wide, his face ashen.
“Something is wrong with Henry.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“His face is swollen and he can’t breathe.”
I push past Michael into the apartment, searching for Henry. He’s at the kitchen table, doubled over, struggling for breath.
Michael appears beside me. He wrings his hands, jittery with panic.
I glance around. “What happened?”
“Nothing! He was just having some dinner and—”
“Is he allergic to anything?”
“No, I—well, I’ve been waiting on some test results…” Michael turns and paces across the living room. “I’ve already called 911 but they won’t be here for ages.”
“What did he eat?” I gesture to the table. “What is this?”
“Chinese. Some chicken and some shrimp…”
I crouch beside Henry. Suddenly the symptoms seem very familiar. I leap to my feet, pointing to the floor. “Michael, lay him down.”
He stops pacing and looks at me. “Where are you going?”
“Lay him down! I’ll be right back.” I dash out the door and fly down the stairs. Bursting into our apartment, I snatch my bag off the counter. Then I take the stairs two at a time back up to Michael’s.
He’s kneeling beside Henry, holding his hand. “It’s going to be okay, bud,” he repeats, his voice shaking. “It’s going to be okay.”
I kneel on the floor. Michael watches as I pull my EpiPen out of my bag.
“What’s that?”
“It’s an EpiPen, for allergic reactions. I think he’s experiencing anaphylaxis.” I raise the pen and glance at Michael.
“Wait!”
“It’s okay.” I put a hand on his arm. “I know about this—I’m allergic to bee stings. You have to trust me.”
He hesitates, then nods.
I put the pen against Henry’s thigh and press the button. “It’s okay, Henry, it’s okay,” I say, holding the pen against his leg. Michael and I stare wordlessly at each other, not daring to breathe.
I release the pen and we sit still, watching Henry, waiting for something to happen. It feels like an eternity, but gradually his breathing becomes less labored and the redness in his face fades.
My lungs deflate with relief and I sag, waiting for my stampeding heart to slow.
Michael’s hand is clasped tightly around Henry’s, his mouth a tight line. “You okay, bud?” he asks, his eyes searching Henry’s face.
Henry blinks, a little dazed.
There’s a buzz at the door and Michael jumps up, letting the paramedics in. I step back and hover in the kitchen while they check over Henry. Then Michael scoops him up in his arms like he’s a tiny child, and carries him downstairs to the ambulance.
“Alex,” he calls over his shoulder as he heads out the
door.
I grab my bag and trail out after him. Agnes is on the landing in a dressing gown, her brow knitted in concern. I try to explain what happened but the words aren’t coming out right. My whole body is vibrating with adrenalin.
“Alex!” Michael calls again and I glance at the stairs.
“I’ll lock up Michael’s,” Agnes says. “You go with them.”
I clamber down the stairs and out onto the street. Henry is already in the ambulance and Michael goes to climb in with him, but a paramedic stops him.
“You can’t ride with us.”
“What?!” Michael looks shocked. “He’s just a kid. I need to be with him.”
“Sorry, sir. We can’t have people riding back here. We’ll meet you at the Mount Sinai Beth Israel emergency room.” He pulls the doors shut before Michael can say anything, and the ambulance peels away from the curb.
Michael turns to me, white-faced and shaking, and for a second I think he’s going to cry. Shit.
“Michael, it’s okay.” I grab his hand and drag him along the street. “I’ll find you a cab.” Our quiet street opens out onto the much busier Hudson Street, and I scan the road desperately for a cab. I’ve never actually hailed a cab before—it intimidates the shit out of me—but I’ll be damned if that’s going to stop me now. One sails past with its light on and I throw up my hand, yelling, “Taxi!”
It screeches to a stop a few feet ahead of us and I yank Michael towards it, opening the door and pushing him in. I go to close the door but Michael grabs my hand.
“Please come.”
I slide into the backseat without hesitating. “Of course.”
The taxi pulls away and I turn to Michael. He’s gripping the seat and staring at me, breathing hard, his pale face twisted with worry. I reach out and pull him into my arms, holding him close as we bump along towards the hospital.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to his head. “He’ll be okay.”
I sit in the corner of Henry’s room, watching Michael by the bed. He’s clasping Henry’s hand, his head bowed. By the time we got to the hospital and located Henry he was pretty much back to normal, but they want to keep him here to do some allergy tests and observe him overnight. We’ve been here for two hours already and Michael hasn’t left Henry’s side.
Eventually, Henry falls asleep. Michael strokes his head for a few minutes, watching him sleep, then comes over and slumps into a seat beside me.
“How are you going?” I ask tentatively.
He rakes a hand through his hair, his face solemn. “That was the most terrifying thing that has ever happened to me.”
“Yeah, it can be pretty scary.” I try to remember my first bee sting, when my parents didn’t know what was going on, but I was too young and the memory is all fuzzy and distorted.
Michael twists in his seat towards me. “Alex, thank you. If you hadn’t been there, I don’t know what…”
I don’t say anything. I can’t bear to think of what could have happened.
He looks down at his hands. I see him swallow as tears well in his eyes, and I reach for his hand.
“Hey,” I say, threading my fingers through his. “It’s okay. He’s okay now.”
He nods, sniffing and squaring his shoulders, squeezing my hand. I feel him relax a little, and we sit there together, not saying anything. Not needing to say anything. After a while I can feel his gaze on me, and my eyes wander to his.
“Thanks for being here,” he says. He lifts my hand to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it, and my heart swells with emotion.
“Of course,” I murmur. I wouldn’t be anywhere else but here with him and Henry right now.
Henry makes a sound from the bed and Michael leaps to his feet, running to his side. I smile to myself as Henry simply rolls over and goes back to sleep, and Michael droops with relief. I can’t believe this guy thinks he’s a bad dad. Not in a million years.
I rest back against my seat, closing my eyes. I’m just about to doze off, but the door to the room swings open with a loud bang and I jump. Blinking, I watch as a tall, slim woman with long mahogany hair strides across the room and over to the bed.
“Henry, my darling,” she cries theatrically. She turns to Michael beside the bed. “What did you do to my baby?”
He starts explaining, but I can’t follow his words. Because at Michael’s side, stands Mel. Mel, worried about Michael’s son, Henry.
Her son, Henry.
Their son.
There’s an icy trickle of dread down my spine as I gape at the two of them together, shell-shocked. This cannot be happening.
“How could you do this?” Mel spits at Michael. Her usually friendly voice is laced with venom and I glance at the door beside me, feeling a sudden, desperate urge to not be here. Mel has her back to me, and I send up a silent prayer that I can escape unseen as I carefully lift myself out of the chair.
Michael shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ve been asking for those allergy test results for weeks.”
“Oh, so this is my fault?”
“No, but—”
“I can’t believe you let this happen,” Mel hisses, lowering herself into the chair at Henry’s bedside.
I’m inching back towards the door now, groping along the wall for the handle. I have to get out of here. This is too surreal.
“I knew you couldn’t be trusted.” Mel glares at Michael with such hatred I half expect him to burst into flames. “You’re so—”
I grasp the handle and the door opens with a loud click. Shit.
Mel’s gaze swivels to me, and as she narrows her eyes, I feel my blood run cold. “Why are you here, exactly?”
I give her a weak smile before glancing at Michael uncertainly. He takes a step closer, slipping his arm around me and tucking me into his side.
“Alex is my girlfriend. She saved Henry’s life. She had her EpiPen, and that’s what saved him.” He turns to me, remembering his manners. “Sorry, Alex. This is my ex-wife, Melanie.”
“Yes,” Mel says coldly. “We know each other.”
Michael looks between us in confusion.
“Through Cat,” I mumble.
“Oh. Yes, of course.”
“And she’s been writing for our website,” Mel adds.
“Oh.” Michael glances at me, loosening his arm as realization breaks across his face. “Right.”
“Yes,” Mel continues as if I’m not even here, “Alex writes about how fabulous it is to be single.” She gives me a pointed look, and beside me I hear Michael sigh.
“Uh, I’ll let you guys talk.” I yank the door open and slip out into the hallway, and almost immediately they start arguing. I know I shouldn’t, but I hover by the door, anxious to hear what they say.
“Jesus, Michael. This is so fucking typical of you.”
“What took you so long to get here, anyway?”
“I had a date. I came as quickly as I could.”
There’s silence for a beat, then Mel speaks again.
“I can’t believe you’re dating Alex, of all people.”
“Don’t talk about her. That’s none of your business.”
“You know she’s like half your age, don’t you? That’s pretty fucking sad, Mike.”
“She’s not half my age, Melanie.”
“Well, she’s certainly not in her forties. But this is just the sort of pathetic mid-life crisis I’d expect from you.”
There’s muttering and I hear a chair scrape back and footsteps heading for the door. I leap across the hall and lean against the wall, inspecting my nails as if I’d been there the whole time.
Michael appears, his face in a scowl. I’m immediately reminded of the man I met—the grumpy man in the suit who was always frowning, the man who was in court battling to be able to see his son. Now I know why he becomes that man. The things she just said to him, the way she spoke to him… My heart aches for him.
His expression softens when he sees me, and he takes
my hand. “I’m going to get some coffee. Want to come?”
I nod and we wander down the corridor in silence, coming to a vending machine by the elevators.
Michael turns to me, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about Melanie. She’s so difficult. But I guess you already know that.”
I watch the coffee machine, saying nothing. She hasn’t been difficult with me. In fact, she’s been lovely to me, and I know she’s one of Cat’s closest friends. But it was like meeting a different person back there.
Michael hands me a coffee and we head back down the corridor, finding some chairs. I try to sip the hot, bitter liquid, but my head is still spinning. Mel is Michael’s ex. Stunningly beautiful Mel. Despite everything, I find myself wondering how it’s possible he could actually like me after being with her.
And then another thought occurs to me, one that pushes everything else out of my mind: Mel said her ex cheated on her—that she found him in bed with another woman.
I inhale sharply as realization hits me square in the chest. Michael cheated on Mel and that’s why their marriage ended.
Fuck.
38
I steal a glance at Michael. He’s leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. His face is tired and drawn, his hair is disheveled. He’s cradling his coffee in his hands, gazing down at it. In this moment he looks defeated, even a little broken, and there’s a tug in my heart. This kind, sweet man, cheated on his wife and destroyed his family? Is that even possible?
No. I refuse to believe he would do that. I may have only known him a few months, but I feel like I know him—the real him. And the Michael I know would never do that.
I stare down into my coffee cup, my mind in free fall. Why would Mel have lied, though? She didn’t even know that I knew him when she told me that. And he was weird at Christmas, when I asked him about his marriage. And—oh God—I just remembered Cat, on New Year’s Eve, when Michael arrived and she got so hostile…
Unease ripples through me. Because even though we’ve just spent an amazing week together, that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Before all that, I spent a lot of time fantasizing about Michael. I’ve written an entire romance novel about it, for Christ’s sake. Is it possible I’ve missed something everyone else seemed to know? Was I so desperate for my own Prince Charming, I didn’t want to see what was right there?
