I tried to swallow with my suddenly dry throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
I’d hardly ever called anyone ‘“ma’am”‘ in my life, but somehow, it felt very appropriate now.
“Good. Now, I’d like you to do one more thing for me before we’re done.”
“Of course! Anything.” I felt apologetic and outraged all at once. The apologetic half was eager to do anything to stay in Doctor O’Donnell’s good graces.
“I have some intake forms from a couple of the support groups here at the hospital that I promised to get to some families of my oncology patients, but the day got away from me.” She reached back and rubbed her neck in one of the few human moments I’d seen from her. “Will you deliver them to Rowland House on your way back to campus? Most of our patients’ families stay there while their children are under inpatient care.”
“Of course.” I slid the files into my bag.
“Thank you. And please shut the door on your way out. I have some notes to dictate.”
I turned without a word and took three steps to the door. Just as my hand rested on the handle, Doctor O’Donnell’s voice came once more from her desk.
“Josephine? Think carefully about why you’re coming here. Don’t come back unless you can do as I say. Are we clear?”
I hung my head, and my fist clenched around the strap of my bag. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
With that, I left the office, more unsure than ever about what would happen the next week — and especially with the rest of my life.
Chapter 4
Rowland House was on my way home, right in the heart of University City. Most of the ’family hospitality houses I’d seen on commercials or in movies looked like hotels or extensions of the hospital — new and shiny, pristine inside. This building fit right in with Old Philadelphia — stone walls and arches, rooftop spaces with columned borders, complete with a lush green garden where most of them would have had a round driveway or parking lot.
I smiled as I wondered if the kids who stayed there told stories about it being haunted. As it got dark and the craggy outlines of the walls cast shadows on the walkways below, it sure fit the part.
Even the front door, made out of heavy wood with stained-glass window work, looked old and creepy in the dark. Combined with the howling January wind, it sent a chill down my spine. I rang the bell, and a crackling voice came over the speaker outside the door.
“Rowland House.”
“Yes, I have some paperwork here from Children’s?”
“Oh, from Doctor O’Donnell?”
“Yes.” Thank God they were expecting me. I didn’t think I could talk about O’Donnell without losing it.
“I’ll be right there.”
Half a minute later, a middle-aged lady in a Children’s Hospital sweatshirt opened the door. “Hi, welcome to Rowland House. I’m Sherri.” She reached out and shook my hand as she continued, “Wow, this wind is serious, huh? Come in — we’ll get you a cup of tea.”
“Thanks.” I smiled, rubbing my arms and shivering.
We passed down a narrow hallway covered in cheap office carpet, and then the whole house opened up. The office carpet remained, but there were comfy couches, a kitchen area tucked behind a half-wall in the corner, one wall painted with a huge tree mural, and another reserved just for children’s drawings.
On one of the couches, a woman sat with her face buried in her hands. Her whole body shook as she sniffled and blew her nose, piling the tissues up beside her.
“The files you brought are for her,” Sherri whispered. “Her little one was admitted yesterday. She’s having a tough time.”
“Is there a support group for her or something?”
“Formally, yes, at the hospital during the day. Informally, the other parents usually help. They’ll be along, but visiting hours haven’t really ended yet over at Children’s.”
I dug the files out of my bag and handed them to Sherri. I couldn’t drag my gaze away from the woman on the couch. My eyes filled with tears. “Okay if I hang out?”
“She might like that.” Sherri gave me a soft smile, then turned and walked back to her office.
As I approached the woman, my heart swelled. I sat down gently next to her, and she gave me one look, burst into tears again, and scrambled to pick up the tissues.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said.
“Do you have a kid here?” she asked as she looked at me with red, wet eyes.
I shook my head. “No, but I’ve been where you are. Kind of. Ten years ago, my dad had cancer. The first days are really hard.”
“My daughter Rachel just got diagnosed last week. Leukemia. They put her central line in yesterday and started chemo today.” She hiccupped through her tears. “I can still hear her screaming from when they put the line in. But I’d trade that for what she was like today. So tired. So still.”
I nodded. “The first couple days on chemo can be really bad. I remember being so scared. I thought he’d never move again.” I swallowed a lump in my throat as my own eyes filled with tears again.
She raised her eyes to mine, round and expectant. “But it got better?”
“Ah…” I fumbled for the right thing to say. I remembered how, with Dad, it did get better — until it got worse again. Then better, then way worse, and then the doctor came in to have the “six months to a year” talk with us.
But she definitely didn’t need to hear that.
Something incredible happened as I started to talk to her, though. My voice grew surer and steadier. I told her how we discovered that my dad was only hungry for Italian ice and mac and cheese, and we tried recipe after recipe until we found one that he loved. I told her about how he promised us he’d walk one lap around the floor for every good test grade we got. I told her about how cancer sucked, but those weeks I spent sitting by his side in the hospital were the most one-on-one time I’d ever gotten with him. When I ended, tears were streaming down my cheeks. I looked into her eyes and said, “She knows you love her. The pain of the central line and the chemo sickness will pass, but she’ll always know you love her.”
“Thank you.” The woman blew her nose one more time. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Theresa.”
I squeezed her hand. “Theresa, it’s gonna get better. And it’s been a pleasure talking to you.”
“You, too.”
“I’ve gotta run,” I said, cringing at the sheer volume of Orgo homework I knew lurked back in my room.
“But you’ll be back, right?” Her eyes flashed down to the Children’s Hospital badge still pinned to my clothing. Oh. She thought I was assigned to come here or that I worked here or…
The look in her eyes forbid me from saying anything other than what came out of my mouth next. “Of course I will. Of course.”
I knew two things: I had next-to-no time to be hanging out at Rowland House and sitting here with Theresa was the most fulfilling thing I’d done with myself all year.
I ducked into the bathroom to check my face on the way out — a total disaster, so much so that I pulled up my hood and wrapped my scarf around the bottom half of it just so I wouldn’t draw any attention to myself on the bus ride home.
I pushed out the door and sucked in a breath, turning my face down against the brutally whipping wind. My feet flashed over the flagstone walkway as I hurried to the covered bus stop a block away.
I was two feet from the main sidewalk when I smacked face-first into someone — a six-foot-tall, solid figure of lean muscle — pulling a dolly behind him. I rubbed my shoulder and stammered an apology, but he was tending to what the collision had knocked off the dolly. Ten huge, heavy-duty aluminum foil pans stacked inside large cardboard boxes had fallen onto the sidewalk behind him. Thank goodness they were quickly and easily tipped back upright, and there were no traumatic spills of whatever food was inside.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Let me help you,”
“No, it’s okay.” A casual gruff laugh
came from the guy, who’d already picked up two of three of the boxes and situated them back on the dolly. I felt like I’d heard that voice before, but it could really have been anyone with the howling of this wind.
–That is, until I got close enough to see the skin between the guy’s gray knit hat and the collar of his jacket when he bent down. There were three tendrils of black ink on the back of his neck just like I’d seen on —
“Hawk!” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
He stood up, turning his head slowly and peering at me.
“I’m sorry — do I…”
I yanked my scarf down to uncover the lower half of my face. “Joey.”
He narrowed his eyes and peered at me harder. It was only then that I remembered exactly how awkward our introduction had been. I sighed and pointed to myself. “Josephine? From business class?”
Realization flooded his face. Those same icy blue eyes that had shocked me when I first saw him widened slightly with recognition — and completely took my breath away. His mouth dropped open, but before he could say anything, I blurted out, “What are you doing here?”
He pushed out a half-laugh. “Uh…food. For the House.”
My brow wrinkled in confusion.
“I work at a little place in the City. We bring whatever lunch bar food we can’t sell for an early dinner for these folks.” He gave a slight smile, and his eyes ’sparkled.
Damn. This guy was totally gorgeous. “Wow. That’s…”
“Yeah, and I’ve gotta get it in there before this food turns into chunks of ice. Tomorrow?”
“Uh…what?”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. For our project?”
When he said “project,” it was like a switch had flipped, like the magical, cold-repelling bubble containing his muscles and breathtaking eyes had burst.
“Right. Tomorrow. Library. Great.” A rude — albeit hot — guy and a group project for a class I didn’t want to be taking. Pretty much the opposite of ‘great.’ “Uh…do you need help with that?” It was freezing, but I’d been raised to always go out of my way to help people.
Hawk snorted and gave me a once-over again. “You’re smaller than the dolly.” Then he brushed past me without another word, nearly knocking me off my feet. Smelling like cologne and warmth.
Not cigarette smoke.
My heart jumped, but I tamped it back down. What the heck was wrong with me? I yanked my scarf back up over my face, but my cheeks burned and I stared at my feet again.
Before I knew it, I was standing at the front door to the sorority house, key in hand. I’d completely forgotten to take the bus.
Chapter 5
After sweating through my Orgo homework for three agonizing hours, I’d collapsed in a heap on my bed, not even brushing my teeth, and stayed there until the sun woke me the next morning. Actually, I couldn’t tell whether it was the sun or the smell of the coffee Cat was waving in front of my face while she sat in my desk chair.
I inhaled sharply when I saw her, rubbing my eyes. “What the hell? Did your parents name you ‘Cat’ because you’re just like the Cheshire variety?”
Cat laughed. “No. But I figured if you wanted to make it on time to your Orgo class, I should probably raise you from the dead at some point before nine.”
“It’s nine?” I scrambled to my feet. “How in the hell…?” I stammered, digging for any pants I knew to be remotely clean, panic rising in my chest. If you’re not early, you’re late, my mother’s voice repeated in my head.
“Almost nine. What happened to you last night?” Cat could be so damn chipper since she met Nate. I was glad, but invading my room with coffee in the morning? It was like I didn’t even know her anymore.
After I’d pulled on a sweatshirt and run a brush through my hair, though, the coffee was certainly welcome. I managed to get half a mug down before I had to hunt for some breakfast in the kitchen — a banana and bagel with peanut butter — corralled Cat into a quick hug, and barreled out the front door to the bus stop.
The day flew by in a blur. I tried not to hyperventilate as my Orgo professor lectured on a whole new set of concepts when I’d only barely figured out the last class’s. My fingers flew across the keyboard, making notes on what to ask my TA for clarification on the next day. When the lecture wound down, I groaned. There were three full pages — in typing, not handwriting — and enough reading to take my brain at least two hours to process.
After grabbing a quick lunch from a food cart and sitting through a statistics recitation, which, thankfully, did not break my head, I trudged to the library. I’d been planning on going home first to change so I could look halfway decent before meeting Hawk at eight — even though I didn’t know why I cared — but I had too much work to do and not an ounce of energy left in my body. The huge Temple sweatshirt, old yoga pants, and sneakers would have to be okay.
Not that Hawk would care what I looked like, anyway.
Not that I cared if he cared.
I gave my head a quick shake as I unloaded my bag onto my favorite table, right in view of the main entrance, and buckled down. It took two more cups of coffee from the cafe in the lobby and until the sun had well set outside, but I finally made it through the answers to six questions with all the right answers.
I checked my watch and saw that it was eight thirty at the same time that a growl ripped through my stomach.
Seriously? This asshole was going to be half an hour late to our first meeting?
I stood up in a huff to throw my books and laptop into my bag. Frickin’ fine. If he didn’t care, neither did I. I’d just get to class a little early tomorrow — even though I cringed at the thought of getting to there even earlier — and talk to Professor Simon about either changing partners or just doing this stupid thing myself. I’d be perfectly fine doing all the work, having the excuse to daydream about my future practice, and being 100 percent responsible for my own grade in an easy-as-pie general education class.
I threw on my puffy winter coat, slung my bag over my shoulder, and headed out. Right when I pushed through the heavy door that led outside, I smacked headfirst into someone else.
“Ow!” I cried. I really had to stop doing that.
I looked up and, once, again, my eyes met a pair of ice blue ones.
“Joey,” Hawk’s gruff voice said through clouds in the frigid air. “I know I’m late. I….”
I held up a hand, and he stopped mid-sentence.
“Whatever,” I said. “Your life is busy. I get it, okay? I’ll talk to Professor Simon tomorrow and get a new partner.”
I shouldered past him, trying to ignore the amazing cologne-of-boy smell that followed me. Why did a guy so infuriating have to smell so good? Not only that, but why did he always smell either really bad or really amazing?
“Hey, hey, hey! Josephine!” he called.
Something about the way he said my full name sent shivers down my spine and stopped me in my tracks.
I stood for a few seconds and let him catch up with me. Snow flurries whirled through the air, and the bitter cold surrounded me. But when Hawk reached me, I felt suddenly warmer. The soft glow of the street lamps cast his face in warm light, and for the first time, I noticed a feature other than that cool blue sparkle of his eyes. Several, actually. There was a hard line to his jaw that, when combined with his high cheekbones, was absolutely statuesque. A day’s worth of scruff stretched out along his face and perfectly matched the wild, dark brown mop on top of his head. His lips were full and warm, the breath coming from them seeming to heat the air an unusual amount, filling the space between us with fleeting white clouds of steam.
“Look, I had to work late, okay? I forgot my watch and I wanted to clean up, and by the time I left the house again… I ran here, basically.” Then he was quiet, staring at me expectantly.
My stomach responded before my mouth could, ripping a growl through the air.
“Well, I guess I don’t have to tell you I’m starving,” I
said. “And frickin’ exhausted. My best friend had to drag me out of bed for class, my Orgo homework is kicking my ass, and I haven’t had anything to eat all day.”
“I don’t know what Orgo is, but I can definitely help you with the ‘starving’ thing.” His lips looked like they wanted to curve into a smile, but they sort of trembled and fell again.
Was this some weird kind of pickup line? I narrowed my eyes at him and cocked my head to the side.
“I work at a restaurant, remember? Come on — I’ll get you something to eat, and we’ll have our project meeting or whatever then.”
I took a deep breath. I barely knew this guy, and I was so tired I could collapse in a heap right there in the middle of the sidewalk, but there was no denying how hungry I was. And, I rationalized, I did sort of know this guy. I mean, he was enrolled at the University. How bad could he be?
Stupid, Joey. That’s stupid.
I pulled out my phone and pulled up my text messages, typing in Cat’s name. “Where is it?”
“Right near 39th and Sansom.” He laughed. “Text your friend or whatever, but I promise you it’s cool.”
I clicked send on the text.
He leaned his head to the right and said, “This way.”
We headed toward a bright blue motorbike with slim tires, its once-shiny front splattered with white salt scars from the winter city roads.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You’re driving us? On this thing?”
“Unless you want to walk fifteen blocks in this weather,” he said, the left side of his lip quirking up.
I hastily texted Cat the description of the bike — “blue motorbike, God help me” was about the best I could do.
Hawk handed me a helmet, one of those full-head deals with a face shield.
“Where’s yours?” I asked, examining it for a second before realizing I really had no choice but to put it on.
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