KYLE: A Mafia Romance (The Callahans Book 4)

by Glenna Sinclair

I would never forget how beautiful she looked in that moment, the black a perfect contrast to her light hair and freshly scrubbed bronze skin.

  ***

  “Mr. Boggs?”

  A short, handsome man came into the room a good hour later, his lab coat announcing that he was a doctor. I crossed the room in three steps and took his proffered hand.

  “I’m Dr. Caliendo. I’m a neurologist on staff here at Cedars.”

  “You’re treating Harley.”

  “I am.”

  Dr. Caliendo gestured toward the table. Once again, I took a seat, waiting impatiently for him to explain what the hell was going on. He sat, too, taping his fingers against the frame of the iPad he was holding.

  “As I’m sure Nurse Franklin told you, Harley has multiple injuries from the accident. The most concerning is the head injury. Her skull has several fractures. Those fractures have caused a hematoma, or a bleed, on her brain. This is causing pressure within her skull.” He paused, studying me as though he were trying to measure how much I was comprehending. Apparently satisfied, he continued, “We’ve placed Harley in a drug-induced coma to allow her brain to rest while it heals. We’ll monitor the swelling for the next twenty-four hours before determining our next step.”

  “And what would the next step be?”

  Dr. Caliendo shrugged. “It depends. If the swelling doesn’t increase, then we’ll simply continue to monitor her. If it does increase, and increases significantly, we will have to take her to the OR and see if we can repair the hematoma surgically.”

  I nodded, my thoughts whirling. If they had to operate, what would that mean for Harley?

  “At this point,” Dr. Caliendo continued, “it’s touch and go. We really just need to wait and see what happens.”

  “Will she recover?”

  Dr. Caliendo hesitated and that—all on its own—sent shivers of fear through me.

  “We’ll just have to wait and see,” he repeated.

  Chapter 2

  Xander

  They let me see her after I spoke to the doctor. Nurse Franklin came and led the way down the hall to a room situated just a few feet from the nurses’ station. She touched the door, then turned to look at me.

  “She’s got a cast on her right leg and bandages on her arms. There’s an IV and a heart monitor that’s attached to a machine that’s set to notify us if her heart rate changes.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “And her head is wrapped in bandages. Her eyes are bruised, and there is a significant amount of swelling to her face.” She touched my arm lightly. “She won’t be recognizable.”

  “I’ll know her.”

  I’d know Harley anywhere.

  ***

  “You know absolutely nothing about me.”

  “I know you’re an amazing artist.”

  “You use that word a lot.”

  “What word?”

  “Amazing.”

  “Only with you.”

  She glanced back at me as she picked up the pace, disappearing around the corner of a tall, brick building. I followed, but she was gone. Just vanished. I stopped and turned in a circle, trying to figure out where she could have gone. And then I spotted the door.

  It was one of those doors tucked into the side of the building at the base of a thin set of stairs. I started to descend the steps, convinced that someone would appear and tell me I was trespassing. But when I stepped through the door—and my vision adjusted to the dim light—I realized it was some sort of underground nightclub.

  It was crowded. There was a long bar along the back wall that was four deep and a dance floor that was barely big enough for its occupants to move. They were packed in like sardines, allowing for lovers to make the most of public affection, but not doing much for those without a suitable mate.

  Despite the crowd, despite the noise and the dim light and the sense of claustrophobia that was beginning to overtake me, I spotted her in the center of the dance floor. She was moving to the music, shaking those incredible hips and running her hands over her own body, her eyes closed as she let the rhythm overcome her. It had to have been the most erotic sight I’d ever had the pleasure of viewing. I just stood there and watched, sliding my hands into the pockets of my pants to avoid a little public humiliation.

  I think it was in that moment that I knew she was the only woman I would ever desire for the rest of my life.

  ***

  “They cut her hair.”

  “It was necessary to repair the laceration.”

  “Laceration?”

  “There’s a five-inch gash that goes from just past her hairline to behind her left ear.”

  I nodded as I walked slowly to the hospital bed that held the woman I loved.

  Just as the nurse had warned, her eyes were swollen and blackened, her cheeks were puffy, and her lips were three times their usual size. She was wearing one of those gaudy hospital gowns that no one likes, but it was just draped over one shoulder to allow access to the many wires and tubes that snaked underneath. Her right arm was covered in bandages and immobilized by a sling. Her right leg was covered in plaster from her ankle to mid-thigh. Where she wasn’t bruised, she was so pale that the natural bronze of her skin was just a distant memory.

  This wasn’t my Harley. My Harley was vibrant and beautiful. This was just a shell of that.

  It killed me to look at her in this state. But I bent and kissed her forehead lightly, the familiar scent of her shampoo just barely recognizable under the hospital scents that radiated from all around her.

  “I’m here, babe,” I said.

  “If you need anything,” Nurse Franklin said, “just ask.”

  I nodded without moving my eyes from Harley. I heard the door close as I settled in the chair beside the bed. I took her hand in mine and sat back to wait for her to wake up.

  ***

  “Do you dance?”

  “It depends on what kind of dancing you’re talking about.”

  Harley smiled as she took my hand. “The kind where you keep your clothes on.”

  “Oh. The boring kind.”

  She laughed, the sound so much better than the pounding bass beat that was threatening to give me a headache. And then she was in my arms, pressing her body against mine as she moved in a decidedly cruel shimmy. I slid my arms over her back, cradling her gently so as not to scare her away with my eagerness. But that didn’t seem to be enough for her. She moved closer, a teasing light coming into her eyes as she brushed her lower belly against the evidence that I was enjoying her closeness.

  “You do like to dance.”

  “With the right partner.”

  “Do I make the cut?”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  I grabbed her hand and pushed her away from me, then turned her into a spin, catching her against my chest before she could trip and fall into the guy doing something like a jig next to us. She laughed as she caught herself, moving closer to me than she’d been before, if that was even possible.

  “You’re a tease,” she said softly.

  “I don’t know who’s teasing whom.”

  “I’m not a tease. I’m quite blunt with my intentions.”

  She slid her hand up my chest to my jaw, then rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips softly to mine. I sighed, as I slid my hand around her neck and pulled her closer, a little surprised that she was the first to part her lips just slightly, the first to deepen what began as a chaste little kiss. I was usually the aggressor, the one who was unafraid to take things as far as they could go. But Harley needed to be in control. At least, she needed to feel as though she were in control. And I was most willing to let her have that.

  It was our first kiss. The first of many.

  ***

  “How is she?”

  I glanced at the electronic monitor that showed Harley’s steady heartbeat.

  “Stable. I think.”

  “Wow.” I could hear Jonnie shuffling papers on the other end of the l
ine. “Is there someone I can call? What about her parents? Her brother?”

  “Not yet. I want to have something positive to tell them.”

  “You don’t think they should know now?”

  “There’s no reason to upset them until there’s something to upset them about. The doctors don’t even know what’s going to happen in the next twenty-four hours. I’d hate to get her parents on a plane if it turns out she’s going to be home, safe and sound, by the time they get here.”

  Jonnie was quiet for a long minute. “Okay,” she finally said. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “No. Just keep things running smoothly at the office. I’ll stay in touch.”

  “Okay. Tell Harley we’re all rooting for her.”

  I disconnected the call and stared at my contacts list, wondering if I should call Margaret. I probably should. She would be worried when Harley didn’t show up for work tomorrow. But then she would want to be here, and I wasn’t sure I could do that. I wasn’t sure Harley would want that.

  I knew Harley wouldn’t want that.

  I set the phone on the side table and rested my elbows on the edge of the bed, Harley’s hand caught between both of mine. I pressed my mouth against her palm.

  “I love you, Harley.”

  ***

  “What do you want out of life?”

  I laughed. It seemed like such a college career assessment kind of question that I wasn’t sure she was serious at first.

  She set the cup of coffee she’d been blowing on down very carefully, her fingers playing along the edge of the rim.

  “I’m just curious if you’re the kind of guy with commitment issues or not.”

  “Are we talking commitment already? This is only the first date.”

  “Yes, well, first implies more to come.”

  “I hope so.”

  I sat back and studied her across the table. We’d left the club and wandered into this little diner that was quiet now, but would probably be overrun with drunks and rowdy college kids as soon as the bars closed. She ordered coffee in a proper cup with a saucer while I picked at the flaky crust of a piece of apple pie.

  “What about you?” I asked. “We’ve been so focused on my playboy ways, but you’ve never mentioned anything about your dating history.”

  “It’s not like you’ve actually admitted to a dating history, either.”

  “I do have a history. But most people do, don’t they?”

  “Most.”

  “So, how about a game of I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.”

  She smiled slowly. “And I guess I get to go first.”

  “Of course. Ladies first.”

  She studied her mug of coffee for a long minute. “Okay,” she said on a sigh. “My dating history. Well…” A blush burned over her cheeks. “There’s really not that much to tell. I grew up in a very small town where there were maybe three eligible boys to date. Needless to say, none of them really struck up much interest for me. And then I came to the big city for college.” She kind of gestured toward the windows, drawing my attention to the darkened campus of the University of Texas at Austin that began across the street.

  “And there you met the guy who broke your heart.”

  “There I met many guys who had the potential to break my heart.” She smiled softly, as though remembering something somewhat amusing. “But, yes, I met that one guy.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Philip.”

  “Very mundane.”

  She looked up, surprised amusement again making those big, green eyes even bigger. “Not everyone can have a name as exotic sounding as yours.”

  “Because I am unique.”

  She giggled, pressing her fingers to her lips to mute the sound. “You really are conceited.”

  “No. I’m just confident in who I am.”

  She studied me for a minute before shaking her head. “Anyway,” she said, drawing out the syllables. “I met Philip my sophomore year. He was a year ahead of me, a history major. His father’s into politics and Philip was planning to follow his footsteps after law school.”

  “Interesting. But I’m more interested in the part where he broke your heart and made life harder for the rest of us.”

  She groaned. “It’s called background. And it helps to put things in perspective.”

  “Things are already pretty much in perspective,” I said, purposely dropping my eyes to her cleavage.

  “Stop!” she said, giggling again as she slapped the back of my hand. “Is that really all you think about?”

  “Only when I’m with you.”

  She shook her head, another blush darkening her skin.

  “So, Philip and I dated until just before my college graduation. Someone told me he was going to propose after the ceremony. Instead, two days before, someone emailed me an engagement announcement that appeared in the Houston newspaper a week before. Philip was engaged to a girl from his hometown.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “He told me that his father arranged the whole thing, something about her father having influence over his father’s bid for the state senate, and he intended to break it off before it went much further.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “No. And even if I had, he was still engaged to someone else when I’d been expecting a ring on my finger at any moment. I couldn’t forgive that.”

  “So you ended it.”

  “I did.”

  “And then?”

  She shook her head. “There is no ‘and then’ to this story. That was the last of it.”

  “What about other guys?”

  “I haven’t really dated that much since then. I’ve been busy with my career.”

  “I don’t believe that. A girl as pretty as you? I’m sure there’ve been plenty of opportunities.”

  “None I was interested in.”

  I sat back and studied her, truly shocked at the lack of experience she had. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five—I learned later she was twenty-three—yet she had only been involved in one serious relationship. Only one lover. At least…I assumed. Compared to my romantic history, she was just a baby.

  “What about you?” she asked.

  How was I supposed to tell her about all my conquests when she was so pure? I was suddenly a little uncomfortable, a little ashamed of my past.

  What would she think when I began telling her my story?

  Chapter 3

  Xander

  Hours passed in a matter of minutes. Nurse Franklin came in to check…something. She touched Harley’s IV, her monitors, her leads. Then she looked at me and offered a soft smile.

  “Is there anything I can get for you?”

  I shook my head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “Well, if you want to stretch out, that chair over there pulls out into a small lounger.”

  “Thank you.”

  She picked up the iPad she’d been noting Harley’s vitals in and began to cross the room. As I watched her go, a thought crossed my mind. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “How did you know to call me? I mean, she was jogging, and you said she was unconscious when the paramedics arrived…”

  “Oh. There was an emergency contact card in her fanny pack.” She set the iPad on the end of the bed and went to the small wardrobe next to the door. From there, she retrieved a small, black and red fanny pack that was very familiar to me. I’d actually bought it. “I think her cellphone is in there, too.”

  “Thank you,” I said for the third time, suddenly feeling like I was a parrot repeating the same phrases over and over.

  She touched my shoulder lightly. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  I waited until she left before I looked at the bag she’d handed me. A sharpness cut through me when I realized the dark spots on the front of the bag were blood. She’d been wearing this around her waist when she was hi
t. Somehow, the sight of her drying blood made the whole thing a little less surreal than the sight of her injuries.

  I unzipped the top of the bag and slipped her cellphone out. Her earphones were still lodged inside the jack. The phone’s screen was cracked, but it still had a little more than half its battery charge. I almost smiled when I saw that she was listening to a Drake song when…well, she was listening to Drake. My taste in music was beginning to wear off on her.

  Her driver’s license was in the bag, too, with the address of my L.A. house on it. And the emergency contact card I filled out and handed to her when she first moved to Los Angeles and began jogging alone outside the gates of my neighborhood.

  “Just in case something happens and I’m not around.”

  She laughed at me. Said if I’d run with her every morning, it wouldn’t be an issue. But I was so glad now that I’d done it. And relieved that she’d actually taken my advice.

  I picked up her phone again, scrolling through the call history. Margaret had called her half a dozen times in the last couple of hours. But her parents hadn’t called in more than a week.

  I should really call Margaret. And her parents. If this happened to me…I suppose my mother would want to know right away, no matter what the prognosis.

  ***

  “Who was your first love?”

  There was a spark in her eye, but also a touch of caution. She seemed almost as reluctant to hear about my romantic history as I was to admit to it.

  “My mother, of course.”

  “Hmm,” she said, settling back against the cheap vinyl of the booth seat, picking up her cup of coffee. “My mother always told me to be wary of mama’s boys.”

  “I’m not a mama’s boy. Not in the traditional sense of the word. But my mother and I are close. I guess that kind of happens when you grow up with a single parent.”

  “Oh? Where’s your dad?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  She looked down into the depths of her coffee. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. My mom tells me that he was never really a prince of a guy. She always insisted we were better off.”

  “You never knew him?”

  “No.”

  “That’s too bad.”