When I Found You

by Brenda Novak

  Lucas gave him a quizzical look. “Mimi makes her so mad.”

  Mack would’ve laughed at the boy’s exasperated response. The expression on his face was funny. But it was tough to laugh when it felt as though Natasha had just shoved a knife in his chest.

  Eight

  When would Mack be leaving? Natasha wondered as she tried to sleep that night. As much as he’d helped—with everything from packing, moving and driving to buying groceries, babysitting and replacing the broken window—he made life so much more difficult for her on an emotional level. When he was around, she couldn’t let her guard down for an instant, had to watch where her eyes wandered, be careful of even incidental contact. She had to police her thoughts, too, so that she wouldn’t start to dwell on what it’d been like to make love with him. Those memories were so potent. If they hadn’t been, she would never have felt the need to write about that night, and then there would have been no journal for Ace to discover.

  She’d dated plenty of men in college, and yet she’d never even recorded their names. But Mack had always been different. She’d continued to write about him even during her first year of marriage, which had been far more difficult than she’d ever anticipated. That journal had helped her cope with the longing and the loss, and the fact that she’d never stopped missing him.

  Ace had to feel betrayed, though. And now that he’d read her journal, she felt completely exposed. Although she’d never had any inappropriate contact—or conversations—with Mack after she got married, she hadn’t been able to stamp out her feelings for him. And now that the curtain had been pulled back on her heart, she felt like such a fraud, as though the failure of her marriage was indeed entirely her fault, just as Ace had claimed throughout the divorce.

  Climbing out of bed because she couldn’t sleep anyway, she wandered quietly around the house for the next few minutes, surveying the progress they’d made moving in via the moonlight streaming in the windows. It wouldn’t take much longer to get settled. She should be ready by the time she started work at New Horizons. Having the move behind her would be nice. No doubt Mack would be gone by the time she went to work, too, so she could focus on rebuilding her life.

  The ironic thing was that she’d thought she’d finally managed to relegate what she’d felt for him to the past when all hell broke loose thanks to “Nurse Ratched.” Now here she was, seeing him again, being with him.

  Wanting him.

  She glanced at his sleeping form on the couch. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I get over him? Squeezing her eyes closed, she shook her head. She would not make the same mistake again. She’d learned her lesson.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and ran her fingers over the casing of the new window. He’d done a nice job. He was good with his hands, could do almost anything.

  She admired so many things about him, which didn’t help.

  Her phone dinged upstairs in her bedroom. Apparently, she’d forgotten to turn it off, and the sound came across as abnormally loud in the silence. To stop it going off again, she hurried up to retrieve it. But she’d forgotten to plug it in to charge and had to turn on the light to find that it had fallen on the floor and must’ve been kicked under the bed.

  She thought maybe it was her mother again. Their conversation hadn’t ended well. Anya had hung up on her. And her mother was often up late, which wasn’t surprising for someone who typically slept all day.

  But the text Natasha had received wasn’t from Anya; it was from Ace.

  God, I’m tired. And I have a big test coming up. I need to concentrate, and yet I can’t quit thinking about Mack finally stripping off our clothes and pressing inside me.

  She cringed as she recognized those words. He was texting what she’d written in her journal.

  Should she respond? Apologize? Attempt to explain?

  What good would it do? Before she said anything, she needed to find out, for sure, if he was Lucas’s father. At this point, even if he was, she wasn’t convinced he’d continue to be the parent he’d been in the past. Maybe he’d use the confusion over Lucas’s paternity as an excuse to duck out on their son, to be free to start completely over. She got the impression it would be easy for him to blame her and move on, which was weird. Didn’t he love Lucas?

  Poor kid... Had she messed things up for her son, too?

  She jumped when her phone dinged again. She’d been so caught up in her own thoughts and in what she was reading that she’d forgotten to silence it, even though that had been her original intent. She took care of that but couldn’t help reading the new text that had come in, even though she knew it would upset her.

  Nothing in my life has ever felt so good. I didn’t want to come, because then I knew he’d come and it would all be over. But it was impossible to hold back. I’ve never had a night like that one.

  Really? Ace wrote. You’ve never had a night like that one? What about the first night we slept together, you coldhearted bitch?

  She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. She’d been trying to move on with her life and be normal—get married and have a family like other people. I’m sorry, she wrote, unable to hold back. I never meant for you to see that.

  I’m glad I did. Now I know that our marriage was bullshit from the start.

  She felt chilled, and her head was pounding. But she figured it was all the drama—emotional pain presenting itself in a physical manner. It wasn’t bullshit, Ace. I gave it everything I could.

  Oh, right. I’m just not as lovable as Mack. Is that it?

  That isn’t it, she insisted.

  Did you cheat on me?

  No. Never.

  I don’t believe you.

  It’s true.

  You’re a lying whore. God, I hate you. I wish I’d never even met you.

  His words felt like bullets tearing into her flesh. She was shaking as she stared down at her phone, couldn’t seem to stop. But neither could she look away. She kept thinking about how terrible it must’ve felt for him to read what she’d written about Mack.

  “What is it?”

  Mack must’ve heard her phone go off or her movements around the house, because he’d come up and was shoving his hair out of his eyes as he walked into her room wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts.

  Swallowing hard, she let the hand holding her phone drop. “N-nothing.”

  “I can see that you’re about to cry.”

  She was about to cry, but she couldn’t tell him why. She was terrified he’d see what Ace had sent—not the “I hate you” and “lying bitch” parts but the parts where he quoted her journal. She didn’t want Mack to know her response to that night, how badly she’d wished he’d follow up and pursue the kind of relationship she’d always wanted with him. “No, I’m fine. It’s okay. It’s going to be...f-fine,” she said, as if the mere repetition would make it true—or at least more convincing.

  “Give me your phone,” he demanded. “Let me see what’s going on.”

  She clutched it to her chest. “No!”

  “Is it your mother?”

  She shook her head.

  “Ace?”

  “He—he’s angry. That’s all. He has a right to be angry. Anyone would be angry.”

  Mack didn’t seem sympathetic to him. “How angry? What’s he saying?”

  “Nothing. I can handle it.”

  “Then why are you trembling?”

  “I’m not. I’d better...get back to bed,” she said. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

  “That’s not a problem. But I hate that you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

  “Like I said, I’m tired. That’s all. For some reason, I’m not...f-feeling very well,” she said and grabbed the wastebasket just in time to throw up.

  * * *

  Natasha didn’t get sick very often. She d
idn’t even have seasonal allergies. But she’d been under a great deal of stress for a long time. So maybe it wasn’t any wonder that her immune system would struggle.

  For the next twenty-four hours, she couldn’t keep anything down. Even after she quit throwing up, she felt drained—too weak to get out of bed.

  Fortunately, Mack was there to take care of Lucas, because she couldn’t have done it on her own. During the few minutes here and there that she was awake, she could hear them talking or playing, which both soothed and worried her. She could rest assured that her son was happy, safe and well. She trusted Mack with Lucas in that way. But her son was spending too much time with the man she’d always loved, despite all her efforts to stop loving him. She was afraid Lucas was getting attached, and that he’d suffer for it the way she had, but there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Whatever she’d caught was too virulent to enable her to get out of bed.

  Late Saturday afternoon, she could hear a show droning on in Lucas’s room when Mack came in carrying a bowl of soup on a cookie sheet he was using as a tray. “How’re you feeling?” he asked as soon as he saw that she was awake. “Any better?”

  “I’ve quit throwing up,” she replied. “So there’s that.”

  “How do you know? You haven’t eaten anything.”

  “I’d rather not test it,” she joked. “My stomach’s too tender.”

  “I’d take you to a doctor, but you are a doctor, so...is there something else we should be doing to get you well?”

  “Nothing. Rest and plenty of liquids.”

  “What about a painkiller?”

  “Not on an empty stomach.” She frowned at the chicken noodle soup in the bowl; it didn’t look the least bit appetizing. “Thanks for the food, but, like I said, I’m not ready to eat.”

  “You need to try. I have to get something down you. You haven’t eaten anything since Thursday.”

  “It’s been that long?” She knew it had, but it sounded worse when stated that way.

  “I’ve heard doctors make the worst patients. Now I know it’s true.”

  “Fine. I’ll take a few bites. Where’s Lucas?”

  “Watching a panda movie on the television we bought today.”

  “Why’d you buy a TV?”

  “Because you must’ve given yours to your ex along with everything else.”

  “Lucas could’ve continued to use my iPad.”

  “You needed a TV.”

  She glowered at him. “No, I didn’t. I don’t care about TVs.”

  “I can tell.” He set the tray to one side so he could adjust the pillows to make it easier for her to sit up. “You look completely spent.”

  “I’m not surprised. I don’t remember ever being so weak. I’m sorry if you’re dying to get home and I’m holding you up. I’m sure my strength will return soon.”

  “I’m not in any hurry. I rarely take off work. I figure Dylan owes me as much time as I need. Besides, my dad has been a little more reliable lately, so he’s been helping out again.”

  He dipped the spoon in the soup and tried to feed her, but she gestured weakly at her lap. “Just set the cookie sheet here. I’ll do it.”

  He did as she requested and watched as she summoned the energy to take her first bite. “What do you think’s wrong with you?” he asked, looking worried.

  “The flu, I guess. I don’t know.”

  “You’re a doctor, and that’s the best you can do?”

  “If you understood how many viruses are floating around at any given moment, you wouldn’t be surprised.”

  He watched her struggle to take another bite and moved as though he was tempted to help, but she held up a hand, proud of herself when she managed it on her own.

  “Aiyana called yesterday.” He gestured at her phone. “I saw the call come in.”

  She remembered the texts Ace had sent right before she threw up for the first time. “And my ex?”

  “He’s been texting you. He’s getting pretty pissed off that you won’t respond.”

  “What’s he saying?”

  When Mack hesitated, she rolled her eyes. “Tell me. I know you read them.”

  He looked like a little boy who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I couldn’t resist,” he said, and then that endearing expression morphed into a scowl. “I knew the bastard was up to something.”

  “Up to what?”

  “Trying to hurt you as much as possible. I get the impression that’s been his goal for some time.”

  “That’s what divorce looks like,” she said, letting her head fall back. “Please tell me you didn’t respond.”

  “I may have said a few things...”

  She felt her eyes widen. “From my phone? As me?”

  “From me. I have his number now, too, so he’d better be careful.”

  “You stole his contact information from me.”

  “I figured you’d want me to have it.” His grin went a little lopsided. He was completely unrepentant, but she didn’t complain. She was too weak to care about what he said to Ace.

  “Okay, whatever. I guess that bridge has been burned anyway.”

  Mack lowered his voice. “He’s being a complete asshole about Lucas, too. That’s the part I don’t understand. Lucas is an innocent child. He hasn’t done anything wrong, and it’s not fair to try to punish you by hurting him.”

  “Ace is hurt himself,” she tried to explain.

  His lip curled in contempt. “He’s a big baby—that’s what he is.”

  She opened her mouth to try to make Ace sound more sympathetic. She thought that was only fair, didn’t want to be that bitter ex who was always complaining about the person she’d been with.

  But on second thought, she realized Mack was right. Ace had always felt sorry for himself if things didn’t go his way, tried to blame his unhappiness on others and looked for excuses as to why he could never do his part. So she didn’t bother defending him. “I feel gross. I need a shower.”

  “It takes you fifteen minutes just to shuffle down the hall when you have to go to the bathroom. I don’t trust you to be able to stand up long enough for a shower. How about a bath instead?”

  Grateful that she didn’t feel as though she was going to throw up what little soup she’d eaten, she nodded. “That’ll work.”

  “Great. I’ll fill the tub.”

  She slumped back onto the pillows. “Can you take the soup to the kitchen?” she asked before he could leave. “I can’t eat any more.”

  “You barely touched it,” he complained but lifted the tray off her lap.

  “I’m more interested in brushing my teeth and having that bath.”

  She almost drifted off again before he returned. It’d been weeks since she’d been able to grab a solid night’s rest, and now she couldn’t stay awake for thirty minutes at a time.

  “It’s ready,” he announced from the doorway. “You all set?”

  “I think so.” Except that she wasn’t fully dressed. “I’ll make my way down there in a minute.”

  “I’ll help you do it now.”

  She hesitated. “Then...can you hand me something to put on?”

  He did as she requested and turned away while she wiggled into a pair of shorts. But she swayed as soon as she came to her feet and would’ve fallen if he hadn’t scooped her into his arms.

  “I got you,” he said.

  Grateful for his steadiness and strength, she let her head rest on his shoulder as he carried her into the bathroom and didn’t even try to stop him when he stripped off her clothes and lowered her, naked, into the water. He’d always taken care of her when he was around. On some level, it seemed perfectly natural.

  “You’re scaring me,” he said when she looked up at him before letting her eyelids slide closed.

 
“I’ll be okay. Believe it or not, I’m through the worst of it.” She heard the breathless quality to her own voice and couldn’t remember ever being quite so sick. “Can I...can I get my toothbrush?”

  He put some toothpaste on the bristles and handed it over, and she managed to brush her own teeth. But she was even more exhausted afterward—as if she’d used up what small amount of energy her body had been able to store while fighting this illness.

  He sat on the closed toilet seat, watching her, but after she was finished with her toothbrush, and he’d rinsed it off, she said, “I’m fine. You don’t have to stay.”

  He didn’t move. “I’ve never seen you like this. I’m not leaving you.”

  Since she didn’t feel capable of getting out of the tub by herself, let alone walking back to the bedroom, she didn’t argue with him. She rested for a few minutes before she started trying to wash her long hair, but her arms felt so rubbery she couldn’t get the shampoo out of it without taking breaks every couple of minutes to rest, so Mack took over. Kneeling on the floor next to her, he rinsed her head and put on some conditioner.

  It felt good to get clean. But it felt even better to have Mack’s hands on her. Especially when he started to scrub her body. At first, he was careful to keep the soap between her and his palm as he washed her feet, her legs, her stomach and, finally, her breasts, but those simple actions were somehow still erotic. After all, it was him. The longer he scrubbed, the slower his movements became. He even stopped once when his thumb accidentally brushed her nipple.

  Natasha felt every swipe, but she was too sick to have a problem with anything that made her feel better, and this definitely made her feel better. It wasn’t just his touch; it was the care. She’d felt isolated and alone for so long, was constantly striving to give love to her husband, her son and her patients, but she’d been running on empty.

  She watched Mack’s face as he worked, saw a muscle flex in his cheek when he returned to her breasts. He had to be enjoying her bath as much as she was, because he certainly wasn’t in any hurry.

  After he washed her shoulders and neck, which he rubbed for several minutes to ease the soreness, he let go of the soap—and when he touched her again, it was with his bare hands. He watched her as carefully as she watched him, and she guessed he was wondering if she’d accept the change.