Beyond These Walls (The Walls Duet #2)

by J. L. Berg

  We finished eating and headed to bed, going through the nightly rituals couples do to prepare for sleep. Once teeth were brushed and Lailah removed her makeup, we settled into bed, pulling the down comforter up around us.

  “Want to play a game?” I asked, cuddling into her.

  “If that is a sexual innuendo, you’ve got to give me an hour or so. My heart might be new, but it’s not a machine.”

  I chuckled softly. “No, I meant an actual game.”

  “Like Monopoly?” she asked, her eyebrows rising with curiosity. “’Cause you know I’m terrible at that one.”

  “No. I was thinking something a little less structured,” I offered.

  “Good. I’m not sure my brain can handle much more at this hour.”

  “Okay, roll over,” I instructed.

  I laughed as I watched her suspiciously eye me, but she did as I’d asked and rolled onto her stomach.

  “Oh, and take off your nightgown,” I added.

  Her head popped up to look at me as I innocently waved my hands in front of me.

  “Just trust me.”

  She lifted slightly as the hem of her nightgown rose above her head and fell into a heap next to her.

  Opening her nightstand beside the bed, I pulled out a bottle of sweet-smelling lotion she loved and dropped a dollop on my palm. Warming it a bit, I began smoothing it up and down her soft skin in deep circles.

  “Not that I mind”—she nearly groaned—“but this doesn’t seem to be much of a game.”

  “Just wait,” I said.

  Using the tip of my finger, I traced a pattern across her skin. “Do you feel that?”

  “Yes,” she answered, her head tilted toward me as she laid on her stomach.

  “What did I just draw?”

  “A heart,” she replied, a small smile appearing from the corner of her mouth. “Do something else,” she said.

  This time, instead of a shape, I made letters turning into a word.

  “Wife,” she whispered.

  “Yes.” I bent down, kissing the bare skin of her shoulder.

  She turned and pulled me close, our lips touching softly like two young lovers meeting for the first time.

  She pulled back, enough to slide her hand down toward the hem of my T-shirt before lifting it over my head. Then, the tips of her fingers skimmed my sensitive skin as she traced along the hard ridges of my stomach. Her eyes never left mine as she wrote invisible words along my flesh.

  “I love you, too,” I whispered, closing the distance between us.

  No other words were needed as we came together once more, claiming each other with silent promises, tender touches, and the moving melody of our souls.

  “RISE AND SHINE, sleepyhead,” Jude called out from the hallway.

  He appeared at the bedroom door with a large tray overflowing with food.

  “Breakfast in bed?” I asked, rising up to take a peek at what he’d brought.

  “Well, sort of. Since we didn’t quite get our Thanksgiving dinner experience last night, I thought we might try again.”

  I frowned. “Please don’t tell me corn pudding and stuffing are on that plate, Jude. I might have eaten some weird things in my hospital days, but even they didn’t try to feed me dinner for breakfast.”

  He smirked, setting the tray down beside me. I began to inspect the contents—as well as him.

  “This doesn’t look half bad,” I said as my fingers bent down to check everything out. “But what is it?”

  I looked up to Jude and found him grinning. “Well, I found a recipe for a leftover egg soufflé, and then I thought the mashed potatoes would be good, kind of like grilled pancakes.”

  “But hardly any of this stuff was actually made, so they can’t really be considered leftovers, Jude.”

  He just shrugged and started pouring a cup of coffee for me from the French press.

  “How long have you been up?” I looked down at the feast before me, trying to contemplate how long it had taken him to make the individual dishes and then combine them into a soufflé.

  “A while. I wanted you to have a Thanksgiving meal.”

  I steadied his hand and watched his gaze meet mine. “You’re amazing. Thank you.”

  After handing over a steaming cup of coffee, he disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned, he was ready to begin the not-so-pleasant part of the morning.

  “Mood killer,” I complained.

  “You know me—highly punctual and responsible,” he said, shaking the box of pills marked off by the days of the week.

  “So sexy,” I retorted.

  Although I had a new heart and was as healthy as I could be, I would never be able to outrun the pharmacist. Transplant patients, whether with a heart like mine or any other organ, had one major fear that ruled their lives—the possibility of rejection.

  This heart now beating inside my chest was a stand-in, a counterfeit for the damaged sick one that I’d been born with. At any point in my life, my body could reject this perfect organ and this life. Everything I held so dear could be over in the blink of an eye.

  Tossing my head back, I dutifully took my morning pills before diving into my breakfast. “Oh, wow. This is good.”

  “Yeah?” he asked, scooping a chunk of cheesy soufflé onto his plate.

  “Absolutely. And the mashed potato thingies . . . yum,” I said between bites.

  He laughed at my enthusiasm as he dived into his own breakfast. The comfortable silence settled between us while we ate.

  “Are you sure you’re okay with going alone today?” he asked after he’d set his plate back on the tray.

  I was going back for seconds but nodded as I licked butter off my thumb.

  “It’s just a checkup, Jude. I have them every month, which seems a bit of an overkill anyway.”

  He ignored my comment about the frequency of doctor visits and sighed. “I know, but I always go with you.”

  Briefly setting the plate down, I looked up at him. “I know, and I appreciate it, but go spend a little time with your mom. She doesn’t come into the city that often anymore. Take her to Bloomingdale’s and get some shopping done. I’ll meet you for lunch.”

  He let out an audible shudder. “I can’t believe she chose this day. Of all the days to shop, she had to pick this one.”

  “Maybe she wants a bargain?” I offered up as a reason his mother would drive into the city on Black Friday, the busiest shopping day of the year, to spend the day with her son.

  “A deal? At Bloomingdale’s and Saks? I doubt that.”

  “Well, maybe she just misses you. We did ditch her on Thanksgiving this year—and there is the little issue of Christmas.”

  He rolled his eyes, rising from his spot on the bed, and he walked toward the closet. I took the time to appreciate his backside, covered only in boxers. He was just as handsome as the first day I’d met him—tall, muscular with a hint of danger swirling around those black tattoos angling down his arm.

  “We did not ditch her. I asked if she wouldn’t mind if we had dinner here. She chose to stay in the country with friends.”

  “I know. She told me, and she was actually excited about it. She said it was the first time she wouldn’t have to worry about planning a menu in years. Notice that I didn’t say cook.” I laughed.

  “She never cooked, but she’d still make herself sick while planning every damn detail for the holidays. She wanted everything to be absolutely special for us.”

  “And was it?” I asked, picking my plate back up to gobble up the last of my potatoes.

  “Of course. She loved seeing us happy.”

  “Runs in the family,” I said.

  “Well, some of us,” he commented.

  “Give him time, Jude. He might surprise you just yet.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not holding my breath.”

  As he returned to the bathroom to shower, my attention turned to the windows near our bed. I couldn’t help but look out onto the city and w
onder if, somewhere in that sea of people, someone was out there for Roman, someone who could find the man I knew he wanted to become.

  The first time I had gone swimming in the ocean was about a year ago. Jude and I, back from our adventures in Ireland, had flown to Santa Monica to visit my mom and Marcus for the weekend.

  We’d spent two days with them, enthralling them with stories and pictures of our visit to the Emerald Isle. Of course, I couldn’t say no when they’d begged me to share the epic way in which Jude had proposed to me. It had been a lovely weekend, and it had gotten even more perfect when Jude asked me to take a walk along the beach that Sunday afternoon.

  We’d dipped our toes in the ocean, remembering the first time we’d been here together.

  Suddenly, he’d said, “Let’s go swimming!”

  “Like right now?” I’d asked, not bothering to cover my laughter.

  “Yeah. Why the hell not?”

  I’d had no answer, so on that seasonably hot afternoon in September, we’d jumped into the waves, fully clothed in the warm ocean. I’d never felt the surge of water hitting my chest, and I’d had no idea how to duck under an oncoming swell of white water.

  I remember holding my breath as we’d dived further into the surf and that wonderful gasp of fresh air that had followed as we broke the surface once again.

  Since my heart transplant, I’d experience that same feeling each and every time I visited the doctor.

  Sitting in this uncomfortable green chair, my foot nervously bobbing up and down, was like sitting at the bottom of the ocean. I felt like I hadn’t taken a single breath of air since I left home.

  So far, I hadn’t had a reason to doubt anything, yet that was exactly what I did.

  Everything was perfect. I was finally living beyond the walls of the hospital. I was in love, and in less than a month, I’d be married to a man who had made all of this possible.

  So, of course, I expected everything to go wrong.

  I never shared these fears with anyone, especially Jude. I knew it was most likely ridiculous, but I had spent the majority of my life thinking I wouldn’t make it past my twenty-fifth birthday. It was a hard notion to shake.

  These checkups were like my monthly pat on the back. It was the reassurance I needed to get through the next thirty days, knowing my heart was pumping and nothing was going wrong in my perfect slice of heaven. I’d fought with Marcus—well, everyone—about the frequency of the appointments. Marcus, my lifelong doctor and now stepfather had won in the end though. Every month was excessive, but to be honest, it was nice to know I was still healthy, still whole. It was like playing monopoly and getting one of those jail passes every four weeks.

  What were they called?

  Maybe I should have added Monopoly to my Someday list.

  “Lailah Buchanan?” the young blonde nurse called, peeking her head out from a door across the waiting room.

  I stood and walked briskly past the other patients to join her.

  She ushered me back to an exam room. “How have you been feeling?”

  We settled into the small white room after checking my weight. I stepped up to the table and took a seat, hating the way the paper crinkled and crunched with every slight adjustment.

  “Good,” I answered.

  “Nothing different? No changes we should know about?”

  I shook my head as she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm. “Not really. Maybe a bit of additional stress from wedding plans and finals coming up but nothing out of the ordinary.”

  Her mouth curved into a slight smile as she tucked the tip of the stethoscope into the crook of my arm. “When is the big day?”

  “December sixteenth,” I replied.

  “Oh, wow. That’s soon!”

  “I know. I can’t wait.”

  She finished her routine of preliminary checks, taking vitals and writing them into my chart.

  “Well, I wish you the best of luck. The doctor will be in shortly.”

  She stepped out, and I was left alone to stare at the walls and pick at my nail polish.

  How many minutes and hours of my life had been spent waiting on doctors?

  The time lost was something that would most likely make others mad, enraged even. A fraction of my life had probably been wasted away in this exact position, waiting.

  Always waiting. In retrospect, it wasn’t all that bad.

  I was healthy.

  And I was alive.

  I’d gladly stare at a thousand more dingy white walls and pick apart a million more manicures while I sat waiting for a specialist to come in and examine me as long as the end result was the same.

  “Hey, Lailah!” Dr. Hough greeted happily as he walked through the door before taking a seat.

  “Hi. Happy belated Thanksgiving,” I said. “No Black Friday shopping for you today, I’m guessing?”

  His smile turned into more of a grimace. “No, thank you. I’d much rather be here with my patients. Although, I think I’m in the minority.”

  “Well, I appreciate you coming in, especially on a holiday.” I winked.

  Dr. Zachary Hough was one of the best cardiac surgeons in the state. This, paired with the fact that Marcus and Dr. Hough had been roommates in college, had made him an excellent candidate to take over my care once I’d made the decision to move across the country. It had been a tricky decision, especially for someone who had just undergone a heart transplant, but luckily, my medical team at UCLA had been willing to make it work, and everything had transitioned smoothly.

  Dr. Hough had worked closely with my doctors back home, and he still spoke with them, providing updates and taking guidance if needed. If something were to go wrong, I had no doubt in my mind that he would be able to handle it.

  “So, how’s the new ticker doing?” he asked, scrolling over the latest lab work results I’d gotten done a few days prior.

  “Everything is great,” I answered.

  “Good.”

  Silence fell as he continued to read through everything, and I watched in apprehension as his finger thumbed through the pages, tracing over numbers and summaries.

  He looked up at me, and our eyes locked.

  The walls began to feel like they were closing in, and my breath constricted in my chest.

  “Well, everything looks good, kid.”

  Air filled my lungs as I swam to the surface of relief.

  Thank God.

  “You’re sure?” I asked.

  “You ask that every time,” he replied, shaking his head back and forth. “You’re doing great. Just keep taking your meds and stay active but not too active,” he said with a grin. “Stay away from sick people, especially now that flu season is coming. And what is the last thing?”

  “Enjoy it,” I answered, knowing exactly what he’d say.

  “Exactly. Now, get out of here. You have a wedding to plan, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, sir. I just got your RSVP. I’m so glad you’ll be able to attend.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, kid,” he answered.

  I hopped off the table and smoothed out the back of my skirt, only to rise up on the tips of my toes to give the big beast of a man a hug. “Thank you,” I said softly.

  “Anytime. Oh, and on your way out, tell the receptionist to schedule you for after the first of the year.”

  “What?” I asked in confusion. I always came once a month, like clockwork.

  “You’re doing great, Lailah. Go enjoy your honeymoon. We’ll be here when you get back.”

  “Okay.”

  I made my next appointment for the middle of January and headed off to find Jude and his mother in the midst of their shopping spree.

  As I walked down the streets of New York by myself—something I’d never even imagined I would be able to do—I took a deep breath and reminded myself that everything was just fine.

  Too much good in your life didn’t mean the rug was about to be pulled from beneath you.

 
; I just needed to take a deep breath and trust—trust myself and this new heart beating inside my chest.

  EVERY FEMALE WITHIN a two-block radius saw the sleek black car pulling up to the curb. The second glances and hopeful looks I received when stepping out of the limo, carrying a dozen red roses in my hand, were priceless.

  Sorry, ladies. These are not for you.

  I’d only met Lailah on campus for lunch a handful of times, but I knew her routine. She was a creature of habit and loved to walk under the Washington Square Arch on Fifth Avenue. Even if her classes were blocks away, she’d always manage to find some excuse to bring her back to this place.

  I’d once asked her why she loved it so much.

  She’d smiled, her eyes looking off in the distance, as she formed her answer. “I don’t know honestly. I think it just reminds me that I’m really here.”

  I planted myself just under the arch, leaning against the stone, and I waited. It didn’t take long before I spotted her, bundled up in a long wool coat. Under a knitted hat, her blonde hair peeked out the sides, falling around her face like straw. She moved gracefully among the crowds of tourists and students with her backpack on one shoulder as she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth.

  It took several moments for her to spot me, but I knew the instant she did. Her eyes lit up, and her smile grew wide with surprise.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, throwing herself into my arms.

  “Obviously, I came to surprise you. I wanted to be here to congratulate you on another semester finished!”

  “Thank you!” she replied. “It feels amazing! But it’s not as amazing as getting married! Do you realize that, by this time tomorrow, we will be hitched?”

  “Hitched?” I laughed at her word choice.

  “Yep, hitched—to tie the knot, to wed . . . I could go on.”

  “So smart,” I commented, holding out the bouquet of roses in front of her. “These are for you, by the way.”

  “They’re beautiful, Jude. Thank you.” She took them in her hand, leaning forward to inhale their sweet smell, before taking my hand.

  “You hired a limo?” she exclaimed as we reached the curb.

  “Well, it is a special day.” I grinned.

  Shaking her head, she reached her free hand into the pocket of my jacket and pulled me closer. “You’re too much, Mr. Cavanaugh.”