This wasn’t right.
Without a word, she took the photo out of his hands and replaced it on the coffee table, where it belonged. She did not look at it as she did so.
“You loved him,” he said softly.
“Yes.”
“Tell me about him.”
How could she explain anything when Alan was slipping further away by the second? Should she try to explain her desolation when he died? Her stark fear about raising a child by herself? Or how about her slow return to life along with the dawning discovery that she was strong and could stand on her own two feet? What about the first time she didn’t cry herself to sleep, or the first time she laughed freely, without guilt?
What about now, when she could barely remember the feeling of her husband’s hands on her body because she was so hungry for Thomas’s touch?
How could she explain that, even to herself?
“He worked in the U.S. Attorney’s office. I met him when he was prosecuting this guy we’d grabbed for running a pyramid scheme on the internet. He was a widower. He had a wicked sense of humor. I loved him. We laughed a lot together, and then he died.”
There it was. A life—their life together—summarized in ten sentences or less.
The bleakness of her loss was still there, but, she realized, at a manageable level.
The guilt was crushing.
“You still miss him.” Thomas’s voice was hollow.
She stared at Thomas. “Not as much.”
A flair of understanding—and something hotter—lit in his eyes. “You feel guilty.”
“Yes.”
“You’re still alive, Lia.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you should live.”
“You say that like it’s easy.”
“I’m sorry,” he told her.
“For what?”
“Your life has been way too hard.”
She shrugged, because what was there to say to that? It wasn’t like she was the only woman out there who’d ever been widowed and tried to raise a child alone. “I’m still standing.”
“You’re amazing,” he told her quietly, his expression rapt, and he didn’t smile to mitigate the power of the words. “You absolutely blow my mind.”
She started to say something, to deny it, but all she could produce was the sigh of his name. “Thomas.”
He blinked and turned, hurrying for the door as though he regretted everything he’d just said and therefore couldn’t leave fast enough. “I’ve got to go. We’ll know if I’m a match or not in a few days.”
“Right,” she said helplessly, thrown off-kilter by the sudden change of topic. “A few days.”
“And I’ll want to see him again. Tomorrow, if we can work it out.”
“Okay,” she said, nodding like some stupid bobble-head doll.
They were at the door now, and he was almost gone. She’d held it together pretty well, she thought, except for the hand-holding thing, but that was no big deal in the scheme of things. The important thing was not to look into those eyes again.
“And I’m going to need that kiss now.”
“What?”
His attention had zeroed in on her lips, and he looked utterly mesmerized. Using those surgeon’s hands—those unspeakably talented and gentle surgeon’s hands—he reached out to trace his thumbs over her mouth. He skimmed the bow of her top lip and the plump ridge of her bottom, crooning with approval, and she watched, enthralled, as his lids lowered and his face colored with excitement.
“You’re beautiful,” he said softly. “You know that?”
Since she didn’t handle compliments well, the denial was automatic. “I’m not—”
“Shh.” He drifted closer, touching only her mouth, and dipped his head, giving her time to get used to his approach, his physicality. “Haven’t you had enough wine to get ready for this? What are you so afraid of?”
Somehow, when he was being this tender and his voice was such a soft caress, there was nothing to do but be honest and come out with it. “It’s been so long for me,” she confessed. “And it’s the way you look at me.”
His brow quirked with surprise. “How’s that?”
“I can’t describe it. It’s like I’m being burned.”
He stilled. Took a deep breath. Banked some of that overwhelming intensity.
“I’m not going to burn you.” Sliding his hand lower, he tipped her chin up enough to receive his mouth. “You’ll see.”
“I thought we agreed that this was too much with everything else.”
“No,” he said. “I listened. I didn’t agree. There’s a difference.”
“Then let’s agree now.”
“To what? You want me to pretend I can stop thinking about you? Well, I can’t.”
“Thomas—”
“We’re smart people, aren’t we? We can figure this out as we go.”
With that, he closed the final distance, fitted his sweet, sweet lips to hers, and kissed her until the world spun. If she’d needed any proof that, just as she’d feared, her nose was wide-open where he was concerned, this was it. She couldn’t lose herself in him fast enough. It was a slow, lingering kiss that gave more than it demanded, and she was just softening for him, humming with desire, ready to open her mouth, arms and legs to anything he wanted, when it was over and he was pulling back.
Breathless, she put a steadying hand on the door-knob and tried not to wobble. She had the unaccountable feeling that he’d just told her everything she needed to know, and she felt…reassured.
He stared at her, his gaze turbulent and unreadable.
And then he left without a word.
Hang on. Was that the phone?
Groggy, Lia struggled her way free of the linens and sat up, giving her noggin a big thunk against the headboard in the process. It had been a restless night of sexual frustration interrupted by periods of extreme anxiety bordering on panic when she remembered kissing Thomas. What the hell had she been thinking? She cracked open her bleary eyes and checked the time on her digital clock: 5:52. In the morning. Turning on the lamp seemed like way too much torture this early, so she snatched up the bleating phone by the fourth obnoxious ring and hit the button.
“Hello?” she snarled without bothering to check the display. “This better be good because it’s not even six freaking o’clock.”
“Good morning, sunshine.” Oh, God. It was Thomas. Thomas! Sounding bright and chipper, and here she was, acting like a banshee. “It is good. I hope you don’t mind me calling like this. My day starts pretty early. Plus, I couldn’t sleep last night. I was thinking about you, in case you want to know.”
Her innate eloquence kicked in. “Oh,” she said. “Umm…”
“The preliminary test results are in,” he said, cutting across her stammering. “I called in about a thousand favors to get them expedited.”
Her heart gave out, refusing to pump any more blood. “And?”
“I’m a match.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m a match.”
“Don’t be scared.” Lia hurried down the endless hallway, trying to look upbeat while staying out of the way of the swinging IV bags and keeping one eye on the looming double metal doors that would separate her from her son for the next three or four hours. She was putting him in the hands of the transplant team. And God, of course. She sent up a silent prayer, asking God to bless the team with cool heads, clear eyes and steady hands. Asking Him to keep her boy safe and bring him back to her. “There’s nothing to be scared of, okay? They’ll take good care of you.”
Down on the wheeled bed, wrapped up in institutional white blankets topped with his navy fleece blanket from home, Jalen stared up at her with drowsy eyes. The sedative was beginning to take effect, but that did not prevent him from stealing a furtive glance at the orderlies on either side of the bed and then giving her a final look of extreme exasperation.
“Mo-om. I’m not…scared. Don’t…embarrass me.”
Of c
ourse. A kid had to protect his street cred at all costs. Even when he held his mother’s hand in a death grip that threatened to cut off all circulation.
“Sorry,” she told him. “I know you’re not scared.”
If he wasn’t admitting it, then she couldn’t admit it, either. Moms could never admit any weakness. She would, therefore, keep that reassuring smile plastered on her lips and ignore the clammy sweat trickling down her spine right this very second. She would not give way to the rising terror that burned her throat. She would not think thoughts such as:
What if the new kidney doesn’t take?
What if there’s some terrible complication?
What if he dies on the table?
No. She would keep her chin up and her shoulders squared. She would be strong.
For Jalen.
Those double doors were right there now, waiting to swallow up her son.
“Okay, Mom,” said Janet, one of the nurses, with a kindly smile and a reassuring arm squeeze as they stopped the bed and paused. “Tell this boy you’ll see him soon.”
Oh, God.
Her smile quivered, but Lia thought she did a pretty good job of hanging on to it. She leaned over Jalen, imprinting every feature in her memory for the one-billionth time. The curl of his hair against his forehead. He needed a trim soon. The smoothness of his brown skin, the baby fat that clung to those plump cheeks, even now, and the quiet wisdom in those sleepy brown eyes.
“I’ll see you soon, okay?” she murmured, kissing his temple.
“Don’t cry, Mom.”
“I’m not crying,” she said, blinking furiously.
“I’m going to…be better soon.”
“I know you are, baby.”
“Mo-om. I’m not a baby.”
His voice was fading, and his eyes were closing. She was losing him to the sedatives, but it was too soon, and there were things that she should say at a moment like this, things he needed to hear.
“I’m proud of you, Jalen.”
“I…know,” he said.
He did? Well, good. She told him often enough. “You behave, okay?”
“O-kay.”
“See you soon.”
With a final kiss and a nuzzle, she straightened and nodded at Janet, who gave her arm another squeeze. Someone punched the automatic-door button, and the doors whooshed open to reveal yet another inner world of this hospital, a place where mothers didn’t belong and weren’t allowed. They started moving again, wheeling the bed, and Lia started to step back.
Except that Jalen wouldn’t let go of her hand.
She leaned down again and whispered in his ear. “What is it, Jay?”
“You didn’t…say you…love me.”
That emotion trapped in her throat squeezed tighter, forcing her to stifle a sudden sob. She would not cry…she would not cry…she would not—
“I thought you didn’t want me to embarrass you,” she reminded him.
Jalen never opened his eyes. “Yeah, but parents…are supposed to say they love their kids at a…at a…time like this.”
Well, what could she do?
“I love you, Jay,” she said, kissing that sweet forehead again. “I love you.”
Chapter 8
The second Jalen disappeared from sight, Lia wheeled around and hurried back into the pre-op area, heading for Thomas’s room. There was still time for her to see him before they took him down, and she wanted—
“Wait,” she said, banging through the door into a room with a window, a chair and a tray table, but no bed and no Thomas. “Where’s Thomas?”
An aide or orderly poked his head out of the bathroom, where he’d apparently been cleaning. “Gone. They took him about five minutes ago.”
“Took him?” Bewildered and dangerously close to losing it, Lia checked her watch, looked back at the aide, checked her watch again and pointed to it, so this guy would be sure to get the picture. Maybe if she made this perfectly clear, Thomas would reappear, and she’d have time to wish him well and send him on his way before he sacrificed a body part to save their son. “It’s not time yet. They weren’t supposed to take him for ten more minutes. It’s not time.”
The aide held up both hands as though she’d waved a gun during a stickup. “I didn’t have nothing to do with it. All I know is that they came and—”
“It wasn’t time,” she shrieked.
The man, a senior with flecks of gray in his hair and understanding eyes, gave her a reassuring wink. “Don’t you worry none. They’ll take good care of him, you hear?”
Mute with paralysis, she nodded.
The man left, taking his cleaning cart with him, and Lia sank into the lone chair.
The shakes overtook her, wracking her body, as though she’d just finished an arctic trek and lost all her body heat. Resting her elbows on her knees, she clasped her hands together and rocked back and forth, aiming for a self-comfort that stubbornly refused to come.
All she could think of was the things she hadn’t had the time—or the chance—to tell Thomas. The two days since the test results came back had passed in a whirl of tests and scheduling and last-minute details involving releases and insurance and God-knew-what that she couldn’t even remember. Now the opportunity was lost, and Thomas had gone into that O.R. all alone, without anyone to hold his hand and wish him well. And there were risks for him in there; they’d tried not to talk about them, but they existed. What if Thomas had complications, and she hadn’t even sent him off properly? What then?
Pain knifed through the center of her chest, threatening to cut her in two.
Had she thanked Thomas? Really thanked him?
Had she told him how brave and honorable she thought he was?
Had she told him that it was hard to breathe when he looked at her?
Would she ever have the chance to tell him, or had she wasted the only opportunity she’d ever get? Funny how her fears about romantic relationships and being vulnerable didn’t amount to diddly-squat now that she had the time to worry about whether Thomas would come out of that procedure in one piece.
Working hard to keep the despair and fear at bay, Lia rocked herself a little harder and settled in for the long wait for both of the males in her life.
Thomas floated in the clouds, trying to slip back into the sweet white oblivion that hovered just out of reach. For reasons unknown, some idiot insisted on calling his name and trying to pull him back to solid earth, and he didn’t like it any more than he liked the annoying beeping of some unseen machine.
“Thomas,” said the voice again. “Come on, now.”
Okay, wait. He recognized that voice. Liked that voice. It sounded like Lia.
Lia.
He slammed back into his body with a hard jolt, struggling against both the breathing tube stuck up his nose and his brain, which refused to come up to speed and seemed to have been replaced with cotton fluff.
“I knew you were going to be a lousy patient,” said Lia, reaching out to soothe him with her cool hands. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
This was no time for soothing, even if he did love it when she touched him. Jerking the cannula out of his nose, he forced his heavy lids open and tried to focus. Damn nurses had him wired up like the sound system at a Prince concert, with IV lines and tubes everywhere.
“Jalen,” he croaked. “How’s Jalen?”
Lia smiled, a beam of purest sunlight, and he knew right then, because he’d never seen her look so happy and his eyes had never seen anything so beautiful. Still, he needed to hear it.
“He’s great,” she said.
“Yeah?” he slumped back against the pillows—not that he’d have been able to go anywhere anyway—flattened by such blinding relief that the emotion overwhelmed him and his face crumpled. Embarrassed, he lifted his hand to cover his eyes and tried to get a grip.
“Yeah. The kidney took right away. It’s functioning already, and everything looks great. He’ll wake up soon, so I need to go, but I just wanted
to say…thank you.”
Thomas swiped at his eyes and met her gaze, trying to hold the anesthesia-and sedative-induced fogginess at bay for another minute.
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you before they took you into surgery. I came by after they took Jalen, but you were gone already.”
Renewed disappointment needled at him, not that he wanted to guilt-trip her or anything. Nor did he want her to know how much her absence had stung. He shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” She stared down at him, her tired face aglow with admiration. “I think you’re amazing. I just want you to know that.”
This, to his surprise, annoyed him. “I’m not some big hero. I just did the right thing.”
“That’s why you are a hero.”
Yeah, okay. Now she was starting to piss him off. What kind of a jerk did she think he was? That he’d let his son wait for a kidney from someone else, perhaps die, rather than give him one of his own?
And did she see nothing else worthwhile in him?
With a supreme act of will, he kept his heavy lids open and focused on her face. “We need to get past this gratitude thing. That’s not what I want from you.”
She stilled, seeming to hold her breath. “What do you want from me?”
“Everything else,” he murmured, the drugs making him more open and honest than he’d meant to be this soon in their budding relationship. “Everything.”
The last thing he saw before his eyes drifted closed was the soft and beautiful smile that curled her lips.
“Go to sleep, Thomas.” That sweet mouth of hers pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. “I’ll see you later.”
“Mom!” Jalen woke in a sudden flurry of arms and legs, flailing as though he’d been woven into a spider’s web and needed to escape. “I don’t like it! I don’t like it!”
“It’s okay, buddy.” Lia, who’d been sitting in a chair right by the bed, quickly leaned in to hold his shoulders and settle him down before he yanked his IV line or tore his stitches or some such. “Open your eyes. You’re fine.”
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