Nothing But Trouble (A Saratoga Falls Love Story Book 2)

by Lindsey Pogue

  When the elevator door opens and I step into the stark and sterile hallway, I take a deep breath, push my fears and anxieties back down beneath the surface, refusing to be a mess when I see him, and walk toward Cardiology at the end of the hall.

  When I step up to the counter, I check in with the receptionist. She smiles and opens the door so that I can head back. I pass a few rooms with open doors I refuse to look into and finally find 405 B. When I hear muffled chuckling, I pause just outside the door. Alison’s laugh is almost like a tinkling, shy little bell, and for the first time, I’m grateful for her—that they were together this morning so that he wasn’t alone. That she didn’t brush whatever happened under the rug and brought him here. What if something had happened while he was by himself?

  My dad’s baritone chuckle follows again, and my fear fades a little. He sounds like himself. Without further pause, I let out a deep breath and step inside the room.

  I ignore the monitors and the hospital bed he’s in. Instead, I focus on his eyes, on how green and crystal clear they are. He looks like him, too.

  “There she is,” he says with a sheepish grin. “It’s worse than it looks, I promise.”

  I nod and smile at him, then at Alison. “Thanks for calling me,” I say and lean over the bed to kiss my dad’s cheek.

  “Of course.” Alison straightens in her seat a little bit.

  “I told her not to worry you about it, but—”

  I glare at him.

  “—but I convinced him otherwise,” she interjects. Alison takes an empty cup and goes into the bathroom to fill it with water.

  “You’re so aggravating,” I say to him, trying to keep my cool, collected façade together. I sit down in the chair opposite Alison’s. “So, what’s the verdict?”

  With an unconcerned lift of his shoulder, my dad accepts the glass of water from Alison, winks at her, then takes a couple gulps.

  “The doctors say it’s his cholesterol medicine,” she explains. “The dizziness is a common side effect, but apparently he’s been having spells more consistently than usual for a while now, which they should be able to fix with a lower dose.”

  “It’s only in the mornings,” he concedes, downplaying it as much as he can, which is what he always does and why he’s in the hospital right now. “And they’ve always gone away quickly. I thought I was just standing up too fast or something.”

  “How long have you been getting dizzy, exactly?” I ask. I can’t believe I couldn’t tell there was something wrong with him to begin with.

  He eyes me a moment. “Since Dr. Christenson upped my meds a couple months ago.”

  “What? A couple of months?” I lean back in my chair. “You’re unbelievable.”

  “It doesn’t happen all the time, Machaela, and he warned me there would be side effects.”

  “Regardless, you should’ve said something, Dad. What’s wrong with you, seriously? You would rip me a new one if I didn’t tell you something like that.”

  He has the decency to at least look a little apologetic.

  “If you’d told your doctor—or me, even—your spells would’ve been fixed days ago, and you wouldn’t have freaked the shit out of Alison.”

  “Language,” he warns, but I ignore him and look to Alison.

  “You were with him, right?”

  She seems to hesitate, but nods, and in the fluorescent light of the room, I notice her eyes shimmering. She looks down at her hands folded on his bedside, and I get the impression that she’s finally processing everything that’s happened this morning.

  “Well, thank God you were,” I breathe, anxious to learn the details. When I look at my dad again, his eyes are glued to Alison’s rosy cheeks and tear-filled eyes.

  He squeezes her clasped hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says quietly, and despite him beating around the bush about what’s between them, it’s clear it’s more than friendship. He can’t deny it anymore. And once again, I feel like I’m intruding.

  I rise from my seat and hoist the strap of my purse over my shoulder. “I’ll call Bobby with the details,” I say and meet my dad’s crinkled green eyes. He nods and winks at me.

  When I step out into the hallway, I blow out a lungful of air and push through the waiting room doors. I’m about to sit down and call Bobby when he walks into the room.

  I offer him a relieved smile. “Hey—”

  “Is he okay?” Bobby asks and wraps his arms around me. “I wasn’t home last night, I—”

  “He’s fine,” I say, squeezing him back reassuringly. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Are you sure he’s okay?”

  I nod without hesitation. “Yes, according to Alison he’s going to be just fine. I was just going to call you. She’s back there with him now, if you want to go see him.”

  Bobby nods to the receptionist who buzzes the door open for him with a smile.

  It’s just me in the waiting room for a minute while I collect my thoughts, simply happy it wasn’t anything more serious, but worried more than ever that he’s keeping too much from us. I know now isn’t the time to be angry, but I can’t help it. If Alison hadn’t been there, who knows how bad it could’ve been? What if he’d hit his head when he fell? I breathe out the tension in my neck and shoulders and begin to text Reilly with an update when the doors open again. Alison steps out this time, running her fingers through her long blonde hair. She scans the empty waiting room, considering something before she walks over to me.

  “Do you mind?” she asks and points to the seat beside me.

  I shake my head and straighten in my chair. “Of course not.”

  I take in her disheveled appearance as she sits down—hair combed through, face without makeup, and clothes a little wrinkled, like they’d been thrown on in a hurry. And there’s something comforting in the way she smells, fresh and pure and faintly of lemon.

  “So,” I say, “how bad was it”—I hold my palm up—“and if you don’t tell me, I’ll just picture the worst.”

  Alison offers me a small smile. “It wasn’t so bad, just unexpected, I guess. He was getting ready for work and I heard him fall in the bathroom.” She leans back in her seat and peers up at the tiled ceiling. “I assumed the worst at first, especially when he didn’t answer me, but he came to quickly and told me he’d just gotten dizzy, that it happens sometimes in the mornings.”

  The fear of hearing him fall—of finding his body limp on the bathroom floor—makes a ball of dread form thick and heavy in my throat.

  “He wouldn’t let me call him an ambulance,” she adds, “so I brought him in. Dr. Ambrose said that if they get his medications right, he’ll be just fine.” She smiles at me, trying to reassure me and maybe herself, too. It’s obvious that Alison cares deeply about him.

  “I’m sorry you had to be there for that,” I say. “Even if I’m glad you were.”

  “Me too.” Her pale blue eyes finally meet mine.

  “One thing you’ll learn about him,” I start, “is that he likes to protect people—too much. He never wants to worry us and it pisses me off because then stuff like this happens.” I look at her. “If you hadn’t been there, I doubt he would have done anything about it.”

  Alison’s brow knits together, and I can see the worry and sudden distance in her gaze. She lets out a breath and looks down at her hands. “Sometimes it feels like I’m doing something wrong,” she says quietly, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about being with my dad, though I’m not sure why. “But then I see your father and he makes me feel safe, and he makes me smile, and I convince myself that it’s okay to live my life again. I think Robert would have wanted that.”

  Blinking, I look away as my cheeks burn a little at the memory of Sam’s dad. All that family has been through comes rushing back to me, and I realize how lucky I am that my dad is going to be okay. I’m surprised by Alison’s candor, and I struggle for the right thing to say.

  “I’m not sure why I told
you that,” she says warily. But when she looks at me, I see thoughtfulness and earnestness in her eyes. “I do want you to know that I care about him, deeply, and I’ll do what I can to make sure he takes better care of himself.”

  My eyes widen with relief. I offer her a smile and a small nod. “Thank you. That does make me feel better, you have no idea.”

  We both sigh and sit in silence for a couple minutes. I’m relieved we had this conversation, and I suddenly feel like a horrible person for ever hating her, even if I thought she deserved it at the time. Knowing she’s lost one husband, only to have her first relationship in years be with my dad, who she no doubt worried she could lose too …

  Finally, Alison stands. “I’m supposed to be grabbing coffees.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Would you like one?”

  I shake my head. “No, thank you. I think my nerves are hyped up enough right now.”

  With a sight nod, Alison disappears around the corner. For some reason, it occurs to me that David doesn’t know about Dad, and he should, but I need another moment before I make that call.

  I lean my head back on the chair, shutting my eyes for a minute. I listen to the shuffle of papers and the clacking of the keyboard in the reception area, and then the ding of the elevator down the hall. The lady at reception gets a call and I tune out the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway.

  That is, until they grow closer and stop beside me. I glance up, expecting to find Alison standing there with a cup of coffee in each hand.

  “Mom?”

  Her cheeks turn rosy for an instant and I scan her up and down, more than surprised to see her here.

  “What—how did you know I was here?” Her pantsuit is perfectly tailored and her dark hair curled at the ends. Even her ever-present pearls decorate her neck.

  She glances between reception and me. “Good morning,” she says, finally. “Bobby told me about your father, and I wanted to make sure you and your brother were alright.”

  I nod, and she steps over to have a seat beside me. “Bobby and I were going to meet for coffee this morning before his game, and—well, he cancelled, for obvious reasons.” They’ve been talking more than I thought then. I wasn’t expecting that, though I’m not sure why. “How is he?”

  “Who?” I ask dumbly, and I shake my head. “Dad’s fine, I think. He’s just having a reaction to some meds.”

  “Well, that’s an easy enough fix, I guess.” She crosses her arms over her purse on her lap and peers out at the empty seats in the waiting room. “I wasn’t sure if I should come, but it didn’t feel right not coming, either—just in case you kids, well … I don’t know, needed to talk or something.”

  “Ah, thank you,” I say, glancing at her quickly again before I stare down at my phone. “I’m just glad he’ll be okay. Alison was with him, thankfully.”

  I peer over at my mom from the corner of my eye, wondering if she knows who Alison is and what sort of reaction she might have, if any. When she catches me watching her, she smiles, a little amused. “I already know about Alison, your brother told me,” she says. “And I’m happy for your father. He deserves someone good in his life—a better partner than I was to him, that’s for sure.”

  I’m not sure what I expected her to say, but the fact that she still cares about my dad given all the time that’s passed pleases me.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I came,” she says, her rich brown eyes locked with mine.

  I haven’t talked to her since the coffee shop because I’ve been too busy being uncertain what to do—too scared to let her in again, mostly. But her being here and putting in the effort to go to Bobby’s games and meet him for coffee pleases me, too, and I’m glad.

  “Not at all. I appreciate it, actually.” I smile at her for the first time in over a decade, and I’m surprised by how easy and genuine it feels.

  Her lips quirk up in the corner and she inclines her chin. She’s about to say something when Alison returns. She and my mother exchange a glance and then Alison looks at me. “Do you mind calling Sam for me? She texted me but I haven’t had time to text her back. Reilly must’ve—”

  “Told her.” I finished for her. “Yeah, I mentioned what happened as I was leaving the shop. I’ll give her an update.”

  “Thanks.” Alison smiles at me and then meets my mom’s gaze. “Katherine, would you like to come back and see him?”

  I look at my mom. “You should go back so Bobby knows you came.”

  My mom seems apprehensive, but I nod and smile encouragingly.

  Resigned, she stands up, tugs the strap of her purse over her shoulder, and follows Alison into the back.

  When I look at my phone, I realize it’s barely eight-fifteen. “What a day,” I mutter and start a group text to both Reilly and Sam. I tell myself I’ll text David later.

  Fifty

  Colton

  Friday night after work, Mac comes over to hang out with Casey and me before our overnight trip to San Francisco.

  “You mean you won’t be next door anymore?” Casey asks. She’s all concern and confusion.

  “No, I won’t be next door anymore, but Mr. Funny Man will still be there,” Mac says, and she glances to me. “And you and your dad can come visit me at my new place.”

  “But,” Casey starts, running her fingers over Mac’s purple fingernails, “will you still come here sometimes?”

  With a crooked grin, Mac leans closer and looks Casey in the eyes with a sincere, unspoken promise. “Yes, but maybe not for a while. I have a lot to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well,” Mac explains, “I have to move.” The girls cross their legs on the rug in front of the fire. “And I need to buy furniture, and I have to decorate for Christmas still …” She tilts her head. “My family is coming over to my house for dinner, you know? And you and your dad are invited if you’re in town.”

  Casey’s big, brown eyes widen to saucers. “Really? I can see your new house? And your tree?”

  A small, endearing smile crosses Mac’s face and she gives a quick nod. “Of course you can.”

  “Will we open presents there, too?”

  I can’t help but chuckle, even if the direction of this conversation is starting to make me feel a bit uneasy. I move into the kitchen to pour myself a cup of coffee. Casey isn’t going to bed anytime soon, I can tell. She’s too excited to go see her grandparents, and she definitely won’t sleep with Mac here.

  “Well, I might have a little something for you.”

  “Daddy?” When I look over the counter, Casey is looking at me with narrowed, concerned eyes, and her brow is furrowed a little. “Daddy, can we go? I want to see Mac on Christmas.”

  I know the smile on my face wanes, but I can’t help it. Although I’m enjoying every moment with Mac, this feels too significant. I show up to Christmas dinner and then what happens, it becomes an expectation that I’m part of the family? Everyone forms their opinions and Cal confronts me again about my intentions and marriage plans? It feels like everything might be moving too quickly for Christmas to be a good idea, even if I’m sure I’ll enjoy spending the time with her.

  I turn back to the coffeepot. “We’ll see, Casey. Your mom has you for part of the day.”

  “Okay,” she grumbles. “Want to see my new dolly, Mac?” she asks and her little feet thump through the house as she runs into her bedroom before Mac has a chance to answer.

  Turning around, I take a sip of my coffee, peering over the brim of my mug at Mac. The fire casts flickering shadows over her skin as she picks up the photos she developed from the tattoo parlor. “Coffee?” I ask, holding up my cup.

  Mac looks over at me, her smile the stuff that melts the hearts of men. “Yes, please. Just a little. And can I have some of your yummy vanilla creamer in there, please?”

  I nod. “Did any of the pictures turn out?” I remember how clueless I felt the moment she handed her camera over to me. It was heavy and foreign in my hands, and I wasn’t sure
I could capture her special moment well enough. But in the end, pretending I was a photographer for the evening ended up being pretty fun.

  I pour her a mug half full of black and add a bit of cream the way I know she likes it, then head into the living room. It doesn’t escape me that our relationship’s gone from waiting for her to finish pouring herself coffee in the break room at work, so that I can go in after her without having to interact, to having her in my house—in my bed—and spending time with my daughter.

  Mac looks up from the photos and accepts the proffered Best Dad in the World mug. Her mouth curves slightly and she blinks up at me through those long, fringy lashes I love so much. “Great mug.”

  “Ha. Thanks. Kylie got it for me Father’s Day a few years ago—when I was a newbie in the trenches of fatherhood. I think it was positive reinforcement.” Our gaze lingers for a minute as she takes a sip of her coffee and I stand there awkwardly, fixated. I clear my throat and plop down on the couch. “How’s Cal feeling, by the way? That must’ve been pretty scary.”

  She snorts a bitter laugh. “You could say that. But he’s okay. Alison has been staying with him in case he has any more dizzy spells.” An amused grin spreads her lips.

  “I see.”

  “Indeed.” Mac sets her mug down on a coaster on the coffee table. “I’m happy for them,” she says, almost as an afterthought. “I like them together.” She goes back to her photos. “They all turned out. Though I have to say your ability to take such candid, awkward shots of my pinched and pain-ridden face is horribly good.”

  I chuckle. “I had a great model to work with.” She was so good that night—no complaining, only cringing toward the very end. Scar tissue hurts like hell to tattoo, but I’d warned her about going into it and she handled it like a champ. “Speaking of which, we haven’t really talked for a couple days. How’s it healing?” I gesture to her shoulder.