My parents have always been the outcasts of our family, choosing the working class life over the life of a criminal, and both continue to work full time. My mother is a para in an elementary school and my father has a small auto body shop in the neighborhood. Neither of them could have watched my daughter full-time, so I had no choice but to enroll her in the hospital day care center. However, when I work overnight I take Skylar to them. She sleeps there and before my mother goes to work she drops her off at the hospital. The bouncing around is where my guilt comes into play but I push past it, take my girl in my arms, and the moment I’m off the clock I forfeit sleep for playtime with her.
I tell myself the days are endless; the nights are long. These years will be over in the blink of an eye. I won’t get to hold her forever. One day she’ll grow and find her own place in the world and I’ll look back on the sleepless nights and wish for them again.
I am a mother, I may not be the best mother, but I get up every day and try to be the kind of woman my daughter will one day be proud of. When she looks back at photographs, I hope she sees beyond the circles beneath my eyes and the crazy hair I always seem to have. When she looks back, I hope she recognizes the unconditional love in my eyes—I hope she feels it.
Shifting the car into park, I glance into the rearview mirror and smile back at my girl.
“Is my Skylar bear ready to see Mema and Papa?”
My heartstrings tug when she claps her chubby hands together excitedly.
“Mema,” she cheers.
I hustle out of the car, grabbing her overnight bag and remove her from her car seat. Latched onto my hip, my girl and I head for my parents’ humble semidetached house. My father’s at the door waiting for us wearing his work uniform and a smile from ear to ear. Watching my father spread his arms wide for his granddaughter will never get old. They weren’t thrilled over the circumstances, but once she was born the disappointment diminished and they fell just as hard for my girl as I did.
My dad quickly takes Skylar into his arms and winks at me.
“There’s Papa’s girl,” he says as he twirls her in the air. Bringing her back to his chest he leans over and gives me a peck on the cheek. “You’re late,” he states.
Blowing a stray hair from my eyes, I shrug my shoulders and loop Skylar’s bag through his arm.
“What else is new?” I reply sarcastically, glancing over his shoulder. “Where’s Mom?”
“She’ll be home in five minutes,” he says, adjusting the strap on his shoulder as he balances Skylar in his arms.
“Mema!”
“Mema will be here soon, sweetheart,” he tells her before turning his eyes back to me. “Go, I’ve got her.”
“Are you sure?”
My dad has really stepped up to the plate with Skylar. He’s even started to change diapers now. Granted he almost always puts it on backward—he tries.
“I’ve got everything under control,” he promises, waving me off with a flick of his hand.
“Okay,” I say hesitantly, feeling the twinge of regret as I lean in and pepper kisses across Skylar’s cheeks. “Mommy loves you, sweet girl.”
Skylar watches as my dad waves and then mimics him, lifting her hand to wave at me.
“Mama, go bye-bye!”
“Okay, I get off at eight in the morning so tell Mom to drop her at the day care center for an hour and I’ll grab her from there. If you have any problems call the hospital and have them page me. Oh, and she only gets one bottle at night before bed,” I tell him, wagging a finger at him. “No popping bottles all night, dad.”
“But—”
“No, no buts, Dad. She’s playing you because she knows you always give in to her,” I say, leaning in to give him another quick kiss on his cheek and another on top of Sky’s head. “Okay, I love you guys.”
I hastily turn around before I lose my nerve and hurry down the small walkway back to my car. I push aside the guilt and put my game face on. Today I’m going to make a difference in the world. It won’t be a big difference, but I’ll give my smile and my kindness to my patients in the hope that I brighten at least one of their days.
It doesn’t take me long to get to the hospital, and thank Christ for that because I’m already thirty minutes late. I swear I’m going to be late to my own funeral.
Today I’m scheduled to work the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit. This is a fucking picnic compared to the emergency room. I clip my badge to my scrubs, make my way to the nurse’s station and stare at the board, familiarizing myself with the patients and their room numbers. My gaze lingers over one in particular—Alfonse Scotto.
Most of the nurses here can’t stand him and nobody is a fan of the heavy traffic he seems to bring to the CICU. Security has been called on several occasions because the big bad bikers don’t seem to understand that there is only one visitor allowed in the unit at a time. Actually, I think they understand just fine and simply don’t give a fuck. There is always one of them standing guard over Mr. Scotto and by the grace of God it hasn’t been Jagger—or rather, Cobra.
“He’s all yours,” my co-worker Linda says, pointing to Mr. Scotto’s name on the dry erase board.
I shrug my shoulders.
“He’s not that bad,” I argue.
“Tell that to the poor guy he keeps hollering at,” she says, tipping her chin toward his room.
I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting to contain the chuckle. I’ve observed Mr. Scotto in his glory and the poor schlep, Duck, no, that’s not his name. Deuce, that’s it. He’s been here night after night and has been tried and tested by the old geezer.
“I don’t care how gorgeous the men are parading in and out of that room, that man in there is Satan himself,” she says, pointing an accusing finger toward Mr. Scotto’s room.
“Well if the leather fits…” I joke, stepping behind the counter of the nurse’s station. I bend down and reach into the small fridge beneath it and pull out two chocolate pudding cups and shove them into my pockets.
“It’s all about taming the beast,” I tell her with a wink. “Watch and learn, sister. Watch and learn.”
“I’ll pass, but since you’re such a fan, his catheter needs changing too,” Linda says pointedly.
The smile fades from my lips and I cringe. Grabbing her tablet off the counter in front of me, she turns and walks away. The sound of her laughter trails behind her as I turn my gaze to Mr. Scotto’s room. Sighing, I grab a plastic spoon as he shouts at Deuce. I can almost picture the poor guys face as he runs his fingers through his dark hair in frustration. Something I’ve seen him do about a dozen times in the last two visits.
I should have grabbed a pudding for him too.
“Now, drag your ass to Meat Supreme and get me a hero. I want salami, roasted peppers and fresh mozz on Italian bread. Make sure they load that baby up with oil and vinegar too,” Mr. Scotto orders as I knock on the door and make my presence known.
Stepping into the room, I hear Jagger’s familiar voice. His tone is angry but his voice is like whiskey, warming me all over as it washes over me while he chastises Mr. Scotto.
“You just had a fucking heart attack, Wolf,” he sneers, lifting his eyes to me. He doesn’t acknowledge me as anything more than a nurse when he points a finger at my patient. “Please tell this hard-headed son of a bitch he can’t have a fucking salami sandwich.”
“Who said anything about a sandwich? I believe it was a hero,” Mr. Scotto corrects as he slams his fist on the control panel on the side of the bed trying to lift himself into a sitting position. However, it doesn’t quite work for him and he winds up reclining it further back.
“Look what you made me do!”
“Man, you’re lucky she’s here right now,” Jagger hisses.
“Mr. Scotto, calm down,” I soothe, sauntering toward his side. I press on the button, inclining the bed. “I bet if I take your blood pressure right now it’ll be through the roof,” I say, removing my finger from the button. “Is that bett
er?”
“Yes, darlin’,” he croons before slicing his eyes back to Jagger’s and glares at him. “Now let’s get something straight, Cobra. Ain’t no one going to tell me what I can and cannot do. The day someone tells me I can’t fucking eat whatever I damn well please is the day they put my fat ass in the dirt.”
“You keep eating like that and you’ll be in the dirt sooner rather than later,” he replies.
As he moves across to the other side of the bed, I get a whiff of his cologne and my eyes involuntarily close for a brief moment. Feeling the intensity of his gaze, I force myself to stare at my patient and ignore the way my body heats under his watchful eye.
“Tell this putz I’m fine,” Mr. Scotto demands.
“Yeah, nurse, tell me,” Jagger taunts.
Finding the courage to face him, I lift my eyes and peer across the bed into the blue eyes that always have the power to hold me captive the minute they lock with mine.
“Cute,” I clip, turning back to Mr. Scott. “Dr. Glassman has you on a low-salt diet. You absolutely should not be having Salami.”
“I thought you were on my side,” he grunts.
“Trust me, I am on your side,” I assure him with a wink.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he huffs.
Reaching into my pockets, I smile and pull the two puddings out.
“I have something for you, but you have to promise not to be a pain in the ass,” I warn, lifting the pudding cups like a prize.
“Marry me,” he says and reaches for the cups. I pull my hands back and shake my head.
“Nope, not until you give me your word you will be on your best behavior tonight,” I tell him as I peel back the foil on one of the cups and slide the spoon inside. I watch as his eyes dip down to the spoon and then I shove it in my mouth. “So good,” I tease, dipping the spoon again.
“I won’t make a peep,” he promises, holding out his hands again as he smirks at me through the white whiskers covering his face. “Now fork over the goods, nurse Spinelli.”
The corners of my lips twitch as I hand him the pudding and watch as he digs in. He moans through the first spoonful and I turn to Jagger.
“I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the room,” I say, straightening my posture as I chance looking up at him.
He raises an eyebrow as he crosses his arms and stares back at me. I draw in a breath, trying to keep my composure under his gaze. My tough exterior slips from me as Jagger’s eyes drop to travel the length of me. Suddenly feeling naked, I clear my throat and remind myself he’s Cobra now and I shouldn’t let him have any kind of effect on me. The thing is; I’m powerless because when two hearts have been apart for so long, it doesn’t matter where you are or what’s changed around you. Those hearts fall in sync with one another, they beat to their own chorus and block out the rest of the world.
“Like now,” I struggle.
“You heard my future wife—”
Both us of turn abruptly to Mr. Scotto and he blows me a kiss.
“A deal is a deal and as long as I behave you said you’d marry me,” he points out.
“Mr. Scotto, I meant I’d give you the pudding,” I clarify.
“Darlin’ how many times do I have to tell you to call me Wolf?”
A groan escapes my lips as I think about the ridiculous nicknames these men go by. I wonder if someone gave them these names or if they chose them for themselves. Especially Jagger—I wonder if there is any meaning behind the name he uses now, a name he so proudly wears.
“I’ll leave you two to celebrate the impending nuptials then,” Cobra says.
My eyes dart to him and I see the satisfied smirk work its way across the thin line of his lips. I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. Honestly I don’t even know how to respond to him anymore. I can’t pretend like he’s the person I’ve loved my whole life, nor can I go on pretending he’s a stranger.
He saunters to the door, pauses and turns back to us. He speaks to Wolf but his eyes roam back to me and fix to mine.
“Careful, man, she looks like a keeper.”
His tone is full of regret, but his words are a lie.
Then he does what he does best and walks away.
Shocker.
Chapter Ten
“The crazy fuck actually thinks he will be able to convince her to be his fourth wife. I’m not kidding, Stryker, pick up your fucking phone, man,” I snarl, before I disconnect the call. Like all the other messages I’ve left for him, this one will probably go ignored too.
Selfish prick.
Not that I blame him.
If I had the willing body of a woman keeping me warm at night, I wouldn’t be sleeping at that fucking motel, and I most definitely wouldn’t be coming up for air. No, if I had the woman I wanted, I’d fucking lock us away from the rest of the world and keep my head between her legs. I’d live off her pussy for days. I’d fuck her long, hard and raw for as long as I possibly could.
“Jesus, fuck,” I groan.
Adjusting my junk, I shove my phone into my pocket and peer across the dark room at Wolf. The man snores louder than a freight train but thank God he’s sleeping or I’m not sure he’d make it to see the light of dawn.
Standing true to his word, Wolf quit hollering and demanding that I go grab him a hero from the pork store, but he tortured me in other ways. I had to hear him go on and on about how hot his nurse is and how if the club wasn’t in ruins he’d be milking this heart attack for all its worth just to keep seeing her face.
It wasn’t a bad plan, and I toyed with the idea of faking a heart attack myself, but she’d probably quit her job if I was her patient. I’ve got to force her to look at me when we’re in the same room together otherwise she does her best to ignore the shit out of me. I watch her interact with Wolf and I’m fucking jealous because she genuinely smiles at the fucker. She gives him her undivided attention, her kindness and her humor. All the things that made me fall for her, all the things I miss most in this world.
Then she turns to me, pretends I’m a stranger, like I don’t know every goddamn thing about her. Like I don’t know how she tastes and what drives her fucking insane.
I fucking hate it.
I hate that she looks at me with resentment. I hate myself more for being the reason she does. Even when I told her to forget me, I didn’t really think she would. I didn’t think it was possible because I could never forget her. For once in our lives she listened to me, and two years ago when she said goodbye—she meant it.
I fucking hate that too.
Swiping a hand over my face, I glance at the clock on the wall and note it’s four in the morning, making it hours since Celeste last checked in on Wolf. Realizing she’s probably avoiding me at all costs, I decide to go grab myself a cup of coffee, leaving the room vacant and giving her the chance to do her job without having to look at me.
The hall is quiet except for the two nurses laughing softly to one another—neither of them are Celeste and I wonder if she’s left for the night. I order myself to stop thinking about her and remember the vending machine I spotted earlier by the elevator. It won’t have coffee but I’ll take a bottle of water and a bag of chips as long as I don’t have to listen as Wolf’s tonsils strangle him.
I hear her curse before I round the bank of elevators, she comes into my line of sight and I watch her smack the side of the vending machine repeatedly.
“Piece of shit machine,” she hisses.
Another man, a better man would turn and walk. I’m not that guy. I’m the guy who keeps going back for more, the guy who gets high on the feeling of loss and regret. The guy who is never satisfied with one taste, the guy who keeps hitting his vein until he overdoses and finds a way out of his own hell. Like any true junkie with no control, my body gravitates for another fix.
Without a sound, I step behind her, waiting for her body to acknowledge my presence. Her body goes still, her back straightens. If I run my hands down her arms
I bet I’ll find the little blonde hairs standing at attention.
Satisfaction courses through me as I lean closer and place my hand next to hers on the side of the machine.
“You’re doing it wrong,” I whisper over her shoulder.
Quickly, she moves to my side, angling her head a fraction so our eyes meet. I wait for her to turn around and walk away but she stands there quietly assessing me.
“Oh, you think you can do it better?” she challenges.
One question becomes a victory for me and my brain works overtime trying to figure out how to keep her here in front of me. I turn to the machine and slide my hand down the side of it.
“You got to give it a little finesse,” I start, stroking the side of the machine. I have no fucking idea how to get the candy out of the machine, but I’ve got her attention so I’ll pretend I’m not full of shit as long as I can.
“Finesse,” she repeats.
“Yes,” I tell her, twisting my head to keep my eyes on her. “Be gentle, find the right spot.” My hand pauses. “Then hit it hard, give it all you got.”
Holding her gaze, I slam the palm of my hand against the side of the machine.
“Watch it release,” I gruffly whisper.
The faint flush of her cheeks excites me and I yearn for more. I want the look she gives when she needs me to hit her spot roughly. I want the look she gives me when I make her come.
As if she can read my mind, she shoots down my dreams and points to the machine.
“Been a while since you found the spot, huh?” she teases, fighting not to laugh in my face.
For a moment all the resentment fades from her eyes and she looks at me like she used to…like we’re back to being us. I feel my lips quirk and I don’t fight it. I give her the smile I used to give her every time her smart mouth fired back at me.
“I may be a little rusty,” I admit, reaching into the pocket of my jeans to pull out a crisp bill. Regretfully, I peel my eyes off her and feed the dollar into the machine. I don’t have to look at the offerings to know she was trying to get her hands on the bag of peanut M&M’s. I type the selection and the bag she originally purchased drops down. I bend down, taking the candy from the machine and offer it to her.
Wanderer (The Nomad Series Book 2) Page 7
