by S. Layne
I quit thinking about it as soon as James returns to the waiting room, a doctor in a long white coat following close behind him.
The doctor has a face mask hanging from his neck, and before he reaches out to shake my father’s hand, he removes a paper hat as well.
The doctor is old, almost as old as my dad, and somehow that comforts me. He’s probably had more years of experience doing emergency heart surgery than I’ve been alive.
“Mr. Anderson, I’m Dr. Traynor. I’ve been the lead doctor on your wife’s surgery today.”
My dad nods and shakes the doctor’s hand. “How is she?”
“She pulled through as well as we could possibly hope she would.”
“Oh God,” I gasp, and instantly I’m collapsing into James’s arms. I didn’t even know he was behind me, but he’s there—along with Elma, who is clutching my dad’s elbow.
“Thank the Lord,” she whispers, and makes the sign of the cross over her chest. “Thank you, Jesus.”
“Can you give us more specifics, Doctor?” James asks, speaking up. Thank goodness he’s here, because I don’t think my father or I are in any condition to think about what actually happened to her. “As to what happened and what you’ve done?”
Dr. Traynor nods and clasps his hands together. “We performed a newer bypass surgery that your mother, due to her overall health, was an excellent candidate for.”
“OPCAB?” my father asks, and the doctor’s eyes widen.
“You’re familiar with heart surgeries?” Dr. Traynor asks, and I swear his eyes brighten with a certain amount of respect for my father.
“You could say that,” my father admits before asking him to carry on.
In truth, I know this type of surgery is less invasive than standard bypass surgeries, allowing doctors to forego using a heart-lung machine. It’s a machine that MedLine Technologies, my father’s company, manufactures.
The irony that my mom’s life was saved by a surgery that is cutting into my father’s profit margin makes me bite back a completely inappropriate giggle.
“Yes, well,” Dr. Traynor nods, “we had to bypass four different arteries in her heart that were moderately to severely blocked. Once she recovers, I expect her to begin a light exercise regimen as well as focus on changing her diet to ensure she’s eating lower amounts of fats. But I have no reason to expect her to make anything other than a full recovery.”
“How long will she be here?” I ask, silently planning my stay in Ann Arbor. I’ve already quit my job, so there’s no urgency to rush back other than professionalism.
But this is more important.
“About a week, assuming she begins healing like we expect she will.”
He asks us if we have any more questions, and even though I have many, we allow him to return after he promises a nurse will come see us when my mom is moved to a private recovery room.
We’ll be able to see her within thirty minutes, and the stress of worrying about my mom finally leaves my shoulders. I relax further into James’s arms, which are still wound tight around me.
“She’s going to be okay,” I finally say, my voice not as strong as I wish it could be.
“Of course she is,” my father says, turning to me with a tight smile. His eyes glimmer again but tears don’t fall. “She’s strong.”
I smile and wipe tears from my own cheeks. “She’ll be bossing the nursing staff around before breakfast tomorrow.”
We all quietly laugh, the stress and exhaustion getting to our small group of four before we return to our seats.
But when the time comes to visit my mom, the nurse recommends only my father see her tonight due to how tired she is, and how she’s still coming out of the anesthesia.
As much as I want to see her, I want to give my dad as much time with her as he wants, so I allow James to escort me and Elma from the hospital, even though she said she had her own car.
James doesn’t allow her to drive, though, and it’s an hour later, after we’ve dropped Elma off and stopped to pick up dinner I’m not in the mood to eat, when we pull into my childhood home and let ourselves in.
It’s surreal, entering the home with James. We always stay here when we visit, but now it’s different.
And as relieved as I am that my mom is okay, while James leads me toward the kitchen, his hand wrapped around mine as if he’s afraid I’m going to run away from him, I can’t help but feel the tension return to my shoulders all over again.
Consciousness pulls me from my heavy sleep, and as I open my eyes I tense, knowing that everything that happened the previous day hasn’t been a horrible dream. Based on the fact that I’m in my childhood room, updated since I left for college, I know that my mom’s heart attack and subsequent drama with James and Liam all in one day was not a nightmare, but my reality.
It’s as real as the heavy arm draped over my stomach that I notice as soon as I inhale a breath.
“What the hell?” I ask, my voice hoarse from sleep and the emotions of yesterday.
“Shh,” James whispers, and his breath dances across the sensitive skin at my neck.
I stiffen under his hold. “What are you doing in here?”
“You woke up screaming last night, and I came in here to wake you up.”
I close my eyes and rack my brain, but I can’t remember anything that I dreamed about.
“Sorry,” I whisper, and shift to roll out from underneath him.
I don’t get far at all when he tightens his hold on me and pulls me back to his chest.
“Don’t move,” he mutters, his lips still close to my skin. To his credit, his arm doesn’t drift lower or higher, just stays in neutral territory over my covered stomach. But his muscles bunching and tensing from moving me, coupled with his lips on my skin, causing shivers all over my body, make me tense all over again—in a much more enjoyable way.
“That couch downstairs is uncomfortable as fuck and your screams were loud. I didn’t try anything.”
A low puff of breath falls from my lips. “Let me go.”
His hand splays out wide along my abdomen and he tugs me tighter against his chest. “Let me pretend.”
My mouth opens to tell him no, but then I take a quick moment and realize that I feel relaxed even under the tension. It means nothing to relax into him and give him this small moment after everything he did for me yesterday.
“When are you headed home?” I ask after several quiet moments between us.
I feel his lips spread into a smile against my shoulder. “Whenever you do.”
“James.”
“Laurie.”
His mock imitation of me has a smile breaking out on my lips before I can stop it.
“Stop it,” I tell him. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he says, and then he rolls, his lips separate from my skin, and before I can blink he’s hovering over me, on his hands and knees with his arms extended. He shifts his weight, moving until his thighs spread my legs.
My eyes widen in surprise. “What are you doing?”
He blinks and his lips curve into a playful expression. “First, I’m going to make coffee and get us some breakfast. Then, I’m going to shower and take you shopping for some clothes for the week. After that, we’re going back to the hospital to check on your mom. Sounds good?”
It actually sounds…perfect. I’d taken off so quickly yesterday that I don’t have any clothes except sweats I keep on hand at my parents’.
“That’s not what I meant,” I tell him, scowling…and trying really hard to not look down at his bare chest.
His arms flex at my sides and I swallow a thick lump in my throat as James stays over me, staring directly into my eyes.
“I know,” he says, and pushes off the bed.
I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding and slide up against my headboard.
“I know it’s not what you meant, but it’s what I’m going to do.”
I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts
me off.
“And we’re not going to discuss our issues or our problems. This week, I’m working from here, dealing with anything I can get done. I might go see my parents for a little bit, I might not. I’m not here for them. I’m here because your family has been a part of my life since I was fifteen years old and I feel like being there for you and your dad, however you need me.”
His voice drops a bit at the end and he turns his head, meeting my gaze head on.
I should argue with him, but I can’t.
The idea of someone being there for me as I deal with my mom’s health and my dad sounds really good. It felt good yesterday to not have to worry about all the details, and if James is offering…
I blink, remembering what my dad said about taking someone’s measure after they screw up and the counselor’s small comments about James’s genuine desire to fix what he broke.
Slowly, I bite on the corner of my bottom lip and nod. “Okay. Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Laurie.” He leans over me, slowly brushing his lips across my forehead. “I want to help. Take a shower and get ready to shop. I’ll have coffee waiting for you when you get downstairs.”
Then he’s gone, his feet thumping down my parents’ stairway before my head has stopped spinning from the feel of his lips against my skin, the warmth he provided when I awoke, and as I slowly climb into the shower, I find myself not only confused…but incredibly aroused.
The water beats down on me, sluicing along my skin as I wash my body. My hair has been washed and I should get out of the shower, but the steam and the heat are helping my shoulders and my knotted muscles relax.
They are not, however, erasing the ache between my thighs.
As my hands slide down my chest to my abdomen, my nipples harden. I close my eyes and remember how good James used to feel. I can’t help it. I can’t get him out of my mind as one of my hands cups my breast and the other slides lower. I lift my foot, setting it on the ledge of the narrow shower, and touch myself.
My body shivers from the light sensation and I swallow.
I can’t believe I’m doing this, or that I’m thinking of my estranged husband while he’s downstairs. So many conflicting thoughts swirl inside my head, but I can’t stop my fingers from moving.
I pinch one nipple, then the other, and slide a finger inside my sex, then two.
My thumb brushes against my clit and my hand on my breasts falls to the shower wall, holding me up.
I should stop.
But I’m too close, and the desire to give in is too strong.
It’s only moments before my climax climbs, starting in my thighs, spreading inward and upward until my entire body convulses. My knees shake as my orgasm hits and I bite my lip down right before I call out James’s name.
With clean sweats on, my wet hair thrown into a ponytail, and my face devoid of any makeup, I can’t bring myself to look James in the eye when I walk into the kitchen.
It’s not because I look less than perfect.
It’s because less than five minutes ago, I brought myself to an earth-shattering orgasm in the shower, crying out his name when I came under my own ministrations.
My legs are still a little bit shaky as I shift my back to him, sliding past him in the kitchen to reach for the coffee mug.
His eyes meet mine for just a moment and I swear, by the look he gives me—his lips twisted into a faint smirk and his eyes burning dark brown…I know he knows.
He can’t. There’s no way. I was quiet.
But he still knows.
I swallow, making a choking sound, and with shaking hands I pour myself some coffee.
When the silence between us grows thick and heavy, I finally lick my lips and turn to him.
He’s standing with his ass against the counter, his hands gripping the sides next to him, and just the tiny, barely-there hint I get of his abs between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his jeans has me pulling my lip in between my teeth.
“Ready to go?” he asks, and slowly raises one eyebrow.
My eyes drift from his exposed skin up to his face and I flush. I can’t help it. My attraction to my husband has never been my issue. His black hair is messed from sleep and possibly running his hands through it this morning. It sticks out in an unmanageable mess and his eyes still look sleepy despite the coffee I know he’s already had.
“Yeah?” I ask, my voice but a whisper because I’m suddenly so confused.
My body, with as much as I’ve fought it over the last few months, knows this man and is responding as if he was the one who just delivered the powerful orgasm.
My cheeks instantly flush at the realization. All his gentle touches, the taking care of me, it’s breaking down my defenses against this man.
…My husband.
It shouldn’t terrify me nearly as much as it does.
With a smile spreading his lips, James pushes off the counter and closes the space between us in two quick strides. Standing in front of me, he dips his chin until our eyes meet.
I swallow slowly, so uncertain and scared. But maybe for the first time in a long time, not nearly as angry as I used to be.
“What?” I ask, and trip over the word as it leaves my throat.
James bends down until his lips are against my ear. “I’m going to go upstairs, and do what you just did.” The laughter in his voice is obvious even over the tense words. He totally knows, and realizing this makes my body heat. Bumps prickle my skin and James’s low chuckle tells me he sees them. “You’re not nearly as quiet as you think you are, babe. I’ve been telling you that for years.”
I close my eyes as his words flow through me, and I remember how well he knows me—especially in that intimate way.
I stare at the coffee mug in my hands between us, watching the thick chocolate-colored liquid ripple due to my trembling grip.
In a moment James has thrown me off balance, and I exhale a relieved breath as he heads toward the stairs.
But we are stubborn people. And I have rarely let him have the last word.
I don’t know what comes over me, but I call his name when he’s on the bottom stair, stopping him in his tracks.
He turns toward me. “Yes?”
I wink and pull the coffee mug up to my lips, faking a bravery I don’t fully feel, and grin. “Enjoy yourself.”
His jaw drops and his eyes pierce mine with an intensity that is there one moment and gone the next when he quirks a smile and heads up the stairs.
I don’t know if it’s the simple familiarity we have with one another or if it’s the sexual tension that continues to simmer between us throughout the morning, but by the time we arrive at the hospital, I have somehow been able to manage to shelve my anger.
I’m even smiling with James, and laughing as he cracks jokes.
I know he’s doing it mostly to keep my mind off my mom until I can see her.
But I also know part of his plan is because he wants me back. I don’t feel manipulated, though, as I walk next to him in the hospital. He’s carrying lunch for my dad in one hand and his other hand is holding mine.
I didn’t pull away when he first entwined our fingers together. Instead, I gripped his hand tighter, needing someone to hold onto before my nerves drove me crazy.
My steps falter when we reach the closed door to my mom’s room. I know my dad is in there, and I can close my eyes and see him: his knees spread, his hands clasped together or holding onto my mom’s, his brow crinkled with worry.
What I can’t visualize is what my mom’s going to look like.
The idea of seeing her sick, or possibly frail, instead of perfectly dressed, manicured, and coiffed has my feet freezing in the hallway and my heart jumps into my throat.
James keeps walking and the sudden stalling of my feet has him jerking me forward.
“You okay?” James asks, looking down on me with a furrowed brow.
“I can’t.”
He turns and takes a small ste
p toward me. I step away from him, away from my mom’s room.
“Hey,” he says and his hand squeezes mine. “She’s going to be okay, remember? And the update you received from Elma this morning said she had a great first night.”
“I know.” But I don’t. My skin burns and itches. My pulse thumps in my ears and my blood feels as if it’s rushing everywhere. I lick my suddenly dry lips and pull my eyes to James’s. Instantly, my eyes well with tears, which fall unbidden.
“Baby,” James says, and I’m immediately in his arms. His hand carrying my dad’s lunch wraps around my lower back and his other hand drops my hand, moves to my neck, and holds me firmly against his chest.
He’s warm and strong, and I can feel his heart thumping against his chest.
I hear his term of endearment for me, but I don’t call him on it. I suspect he’s dropped it a few times today, as if to remind me of what we are to one another, or he’s simply falling into a comfortable pattern with me like I am with him.
It’s dangerous.
But I’m too exhausted and too scared to tell him to stop.
It feels too good to be held in someone’s arms, leaning into his chest and letting him comfort me until I’m able to pull away.
“I don’t know what came over me,” I tell him when I push away from his chest and wipe my tears.
“Don’t apologize.” He whispers the words. His hand slides from my neck to my cheek and his thumb grazes my jaw.
My breath catches as he skirts across my sensitive skin before he tilts my chin so I’m looking up at him. I’m not short—James is just tall, at six-foot four, and I’ve always loved that he seems so much like a strong soldier in front of me with his wide, muscled shoulders and dark, piercing brown eyes.
He always made me feel safe—until he ripped it away.
But this moment…this is how I remember us. James strong. Protecting me, caring for me. Making sure I have everything I need.
It hurts as much as it soothes.
I swallow thickly and press my lips together to stop more tears from falling. “I need to go see her.”
His thumb brushes over my cheek, wiping away the remaining tears. “I’ll wait for you to be done.”
