Ashley’s fingers fluttered back to his chest. She’d snuggled into him, even kissed him before, but this was different. This was a woman reaching out to a man, intentionally touching him, up close and personal. Her fingertips glided over his shirt. Up his collarbone. Lighting a wave of heat and appetite beneath them.
Tripp’s hands curled around her biceps, and he pulled her close. There would be no one-and-done with a woman like Ashley. While that had always been his take on the women he’d partied with before, something else was happening here. Until this moment, he’d thought he’d known Ashley’s future. It included children, a white picket fence, and a good man in her life. Some Plain-Joe who’d always put her first, who’d work a nine-to-five job, and take the family to Disneyland once a year. It included her big, pink bird and her safe job. What it hadn’t included was a vigilante.
Keeping his distance and his true identity had made perfectly good sense until she’d touched him. Her sweet fingers were laying claim to him. Time held still. Peewee stopped squawking. Tripp stopped breathing. The only sound in his head was the rhythmic ba-bump of his heart valves opening and closing, the heady rush of blood in his veins, and the reflexive, involuntary movement of life. In him. In Ashley. Around them.
The rest of the world fell away. There was only Ashley and Tripp. Just one more kiss. Another taste. That was all he wanted. But one more kiss wouldn’t be enough, and he knew it. He wanted Ashley in his bed and beneath him. Tripp leaned into her, every move a calculated hope that he was doing this right. That he wasn’t scaring her.
Trembling with what could’ve been the same need—but obviously wasn’t—she eased out of his hands. “Uh-uh. Your mom needs you,” she whispered, her breath still soft and warm against his mouth. “I’ll stay here tonight.”
“But I need you,” he growled, his body going up in flames at the scent of her skin and hair. At the taste of her.
Ashley kissed him then, a sexy, wet meeting of lips and tongues that promised there would be another kiss. Tripp kept it hot, but quick. When he ended the kiss, they were both breathing hard, but he knew Ashley was right. Andy needed him tonight. Maybe Trish did, too.
He had to get back to the hospital. “Promise me you’ll be okay?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
In the end, Tripp only left Ashley because tonight wasn’t an appropriate time for her to meet his mother, not with Trish still in surgery. Andy could only handle one trauma at a time, and if things went sideways with Trish, Tripp didn’t want Ashley there. Besides, she was ten shades beyond exhausted. She promised she’d be ready to go the next morning. He stood outside her door until he heard her deadbolt click into place.
The Alexandria Surgical Center wasn’t far away. His truck was parked and Tripp was back with his mom and his TEAM within twenty minutes. Not much had changed. Alex sat with Andy, his wife Kelsey at her other side. Which was damned thoughtful, Kelsey being there. Everywhere Tripp looked he saw friends, empty and half-full paper coffee cups, and plenty of empty fast-food wrappers. He took the chair across from his mom. “Any word?”
Her eyes and nose were red. “Doctor Smith is in with her now. He came and talked with me first, but he said we should go home. That this kind of surgery will take hours. But I don’t want to leave, Tripp. I’m staying.”
Kelsey held Andy’s hand sandwiched between hers. “I told her she’s entitled to stay if she wants. She’s Trish’s mom, and moms know what’s best.”
Tripp could’ve seriously kissed Alex’s sweet wife for her fierce loyalty to a woman she’d just met. “I agree. I’m here now. If you guys want to go—”
“No.” Alex shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. You stay, we stay. We’re family, and we’re here to serve. What do you need?”
“My mom could use a room and a bed,” Tripp answered quietly, staring at Andy. “We’ve been down this road before. She won’t leave until—”
“Done,” Alex interrupted, his cell phone already in his hand, as if he had the world on speed-dial. “What else?”
Tripp had no idea. “Mom? What—?”
“Nothing for me. A miracle for Trish would sure be nice, though.” She ran the tip of her tongue over her top lip, then turned to Alex. “Can you do that, too? Can you make my baby want to live?”
Tripp could’ve cried at the beseeching tone to her question.
“No, ma’am, I’m sorry. I’m not in the miracle business,” Alex said kindly. “But I know people. Let me see what I can do for Trish.” Pushing his palms to his knees, he lifted to his feet, winked at Kelsey, then strode into the hall with his phone at his ear.
Within minutes, a young man in scrubs entered the room and zeroed in on Andy. “Are you Mrs. McClane?” he asked gently, his brows raised.
“Yes, that’s me,” she answered, her voice as weary as Tripp had ever heard.
“I’m Thane Roberts, your family advocate,” he said. “The hospital has rooms available for families of trauma patients. You must be exhausted. Come with me, ma’am. I’ve got just the room for you. It’s near the chapel, and it’s quiet. You’ll be able to rest.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“I’ll go with you,” Kelsey told her. “At least you can freshen up there, then we’ll come right back.”
Andy buried her face in her hands and cried. Tripp looked away. It never got easier, but hearing his mom beg Alex for a miracle gutted him.
“Mom,” he said, his voice hoarse from his own pain. “I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. Go with Kelsey and grab some sleep while you can. We’ll rotate shifts. When you get back, it’ll be my turn.” Like we’ve done all those other times.
She made a strangled noise. “You always say that, but I know you, and you never sleep when you should. You’re as bad as me.”
“Or as good,” Jameson murmured from where he sat with Mark and Beau. “Don’t worry, Mrs. McClane. There are plenty of us here for you and Tripp. Let us help. Get some rest while you can, and I’ll make sure Tripp gets some shut-eye when it’s his turn.”
Andy nodded, but Tripp could see the signs. She was already running on empty, the cumulative effect of Trish’s destructive lifestyle. “Well, okay then. I’ll try. Ready?” she asked Kelsey.
“Sure,” Kelsey answered easily. “This way, with the two of us, we shouldn’t get too lost.”
She had her arm around Andy when they walked into the hall with Thane. Tripp could’ve bawled at the kindness everyone had for the mother of a guy they barely knew. He’d bounced between Seattle and Alexandria over the last two months, and his nightly excursions hadn’t fostered any close friendships. Until now.
Alex walked back into the room and took the seat across from Tripp. “I called in a few favors. The best thoracic surgeon and spine specialist in the country are at your disposal. They can both be here tomorrow. Second opinions never hurt.”
“Thank you.” Tripp nodded, nearly struck dumb at his boss’s reach and generosity. Physicians of that caliber would be pricey, even for second opinions. But Tripp would find a way to pay for it all. Trish deserved a second chance.
The hours ticked by. Midnight came and went. His mom returned with Kelsey when the sun came up. She must’ve talked Andy into sleeping. Andy looked rested but as weary as she had last night. Beau and his wife, Doc McKenna Fitz, returned with baskets of home-cooked breakfast and industrial-sized thermoses of coffee and juice. Kelsey made sure Andy ate, then stayed at her side, chatting about kids and babies and the joys of motherhood. It was good to hear Andy chuckle over the happier times before Trish derailed.
At last, after hours of waiting, a nurse appeared with news that Trish was out of recovery and had been moved to the ICU. A tired Doctor Smith was waiting there to discuss her prognosis with her family. Only two family members at a time were allowed to visit her. Ten minutes per visit. Six visitors per day. Which would never be enough time for Andy to spend with her only daughter.
Tripp held out his hand to
her. “Come on, Mom. Let’s go see Trish.”
After they checked in at the Intensive Care nurses’ station, they were redirected to a family counseling room. Doctor Smith was much younger than Tripp expected. Tall and dark-haired, he was built like an athlete. Had to be close to seven feet tall. Broad, muscled shoulders but trim at the hips. Long-legged. And grinning.
Tripp took the seat across the table from him. “Basketball?” he guessed.
Smith’s tired eyes lit up as he stretched a long arm to Tripp. “Yes, sir. Gonzaga U, power forward, twenty years ago.”
“The year Gonzaga went to the Sweet Sixteen?” Tripp asked, shaking the guy’s big hand. And instant rapport was born. He’d seen those reruns, too. A man who could handle a ball like Tripp had seen Smith do during those long-ago NCAA college playoffs, had to be the best doctor for Trish.
Doctor Wesley Smith proceeded to prove just that. He offered no judgment on Trish’s lifestyle or choices, just gave Andy and Tripp what they needed to keep on keeping on. At the end of his simplified version of what had been a full night of delicate spinal surgery, he stood, reached a long arm across the table, and took hold of Andy’s hand. “Trust me, Mrs. McClane, your daughter will walk again. Yes, this surgery was complicated. Spinal compression fractures always are. I fused six of her vertebrae, and she’ll need to manage her pain for the first month or so, but she’s going to pull through this. You’ll see. Normal recovery time is six to twelve weeks. I’ll be glad to give you the names of a couple excellent care facilities that specialize in critical-care patients like her. They’ll get her up and walking in no time.”
Tripp didn’t dare say anything, but damn. The dollar signs were adding up.
“But her neck. I mean her throat. Won’t she need to recover from throat surgery first?” Andy asked.
Doctor Smith’s dark-brown eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “Which she’s doing right now, as we speak. The days of keeping patients with spinal compression fractures in bed, while they turned into vegetables, are long past. I’ve already assigned her own personal physical therapist. After a short stay in a rehabilitation center, Gracie Fox-Armstrong will go home with Trish and stay with her until she’s not needed. She’ll teach your daughter how to meet her goals and stay the course. Gracie works at one of those facilities I mentioned. She’s a doll. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”
Tripp ran a rough hand over his hard head. “Feels more like hell on steroids.”
Smith turned those bright dark eyes on him. “I understand your sister survived a heinous attack last night, is that right? That she’s lucky to be alive?”
Tripp nodded, not going to out Trish any more than she’d already outed herself.
“As her primary homecare specialists…” Smith’s gaze rolled from Tripp to Andy and back again to Tripp. “It’s essential that you two believe this is an opportunity for Trish, not an impossible obstacle she’ll never get over. It’s a second chance. Focus on what I just said. She’s lucky to be alive. Let that be the mantra you start and end each day with. Prove it to her. Make her believe she’s the luckiest person in the world. That she can do it. Because she most definitely can.”
“Kind of like ‘if you believe it, you can be it?’” Andy asked.
“‘Fake it ’til you make it,’” Tripp muttered what Ashley had said. Only with Ashley, miracles seemed doable. Real possibilities. But with Trish…?
“Exactly!” The excitement in Smith’s voice was palpable. “Your daughter is lucky to be alive. Will the next year be tough? Absolutely. Will it be worth it?” He grinned with all the energy of a kid on a sugar high. “That’ll be up to you.”
“And Trish,” Tripp added, but without the hopped-up faith in a woman who’d crapped all over her family—most of all, her mother—that this stranger had.
But Andy seemed encouraged and hopeful, and Tripp wouldn’t rain on her parade. Yet he couldn’t help but think: Here we go again. False hope followed by crushing disappointment, Trish’s modus operandi. Her everloving MO. Too bad Smith had no concept of her track record. It was easy to believe in miracles when you weren’t the guy in the foxhole fighting through yet another one of Trish McClane’s shitstorms.
Andy must’ve picked up on his gloom and doom. She reached over and patted the back of his hand. “We can do it this time, Tripp. I know we can. You’re home. You’ll help me, won’t you?”
“What kind of question is that?” he groused. “Of course, I’ll help. You’re my Mom. That’s what I do.”
“How about Trish?” Smith asked, those damned bright, brown eyes too sharp, maybe even all-seeing. Like Jameson’s.
Discouraged or not, Tripp gave his words right back to him. “She’s lucky to be alive.”
I hope Mom believes that line of BS, because right now? I sure don’t.
Chapter Twenty-Five
After she checked the peep-hole and unlocked the deadbolt, Ashley opened her door to a pale, depleted version of the man who’d left her last night. Tripp’s face was lined with fatigue, worry, and defeat. He stared at her, his crystal green eyes devoid of his usual enthusiasm for life. Even his hair looked limp.
“Do you have to go right back?” she asked. Pulling him into her place, she shut the door, snapped the deadbolt in place, and locked them in.
“Not right away. She’s out of spinal surgery, and she’ll be in ICU for a few days, maybe more. She’s still out cold. Mom’s with her, and everyone else is still there in case Mom needs anything, but I just...” He shrugged out of his leather jacket, then the double holster she hadn’t realized he’d still been wearing. Huh. Two black pistols. The holster went over the back of her couch. Both pistols went to the top of the hutch over her antique, Amish roll-top desk.
His heated gaze rolled over her like a steamroller. She’d dressed to meet his mother this morning, in her comfiest jeans, a lavender knit top with a cowl collar, and running shoes with purple laces. She still didn’t have her messenger bag or her phone. They were in Tripp’s apartment. But she had him; she’d be safe without them. Err, not that she’d ever had Tripp, but the thought was certainly tantalizing enough to make her palms sweat and her heart flutter. “But you can’t stay,” she told him.
“I shouldn’t.” His lashes lowered. He ran a hand over his face, ending at his chin. “I’m just so damned tired. Mom and I have been cleaning up after Trish for so long…” Exasperation groaned out of him. “Yet here we are again. Working our asses off so she can shit all over us again. But mostly on Mom. She’s always carried the brunt of this… this mess.”
Ashley clamped her hand over his wrist to pull him into her kitchen for coffee or something. “Are you hungry? I’ve got—”
“No, thanks. I’m so damned caffeinated, I couldn’t sleep if you drugged me.” With a gentle tug, he pulled her into his arms. “You’re what I need right now. Just you.”
Ashley melted against his thickly muscled chest, content to listen to his heartbeat. To feel his nose in her neck and his breath on her skin. To know he was safe. No matter when or what, Tripp always smelled of wind and leather.
Her fingertips fluttered over his collarbones, from there, they slid up his neck. She looked into the dark eyes of a hungry man staring down at her. Any hint of green in his pupils had been swallowed by black, and she was caught in a tantalizing, paralyzing trap.
Ashley lifted to her toes and, without taking her eyes off him, kissed his prickly chin. Her arms looped around his neck, which put her breasts on his chest, where he could touch them or kiss them. She wasn’t afraid anymore.
“You need to sleep. At least take a nap,” she told him, but her voice came out ragged and needy. Breathless.
Tripp’s head slanted. His gaze slipped from her eyes to her mouth. “No. I just need you.”
He’d turned his back to the window. She’d already opened her room darkening curtains for Peewee; the sunlight streaming behind him cast golden light into the room. He looked like an angel, backlit
with all that gold. Fierce and powerful, but broken. Tired of fighting the world, of fighting his sister’s demons.
Yet he was nothing like the fallen angel from Friday night. That guy had been frighteningly powerful and brutal in the justice he’d dished out. He’d offered no quarter to the man who had assaulted her. But Tripp had only ever been kind and sweet. Gentle with her and Mrs. Harrison. Now he needed someone to pour a little kindness on him.
They stood there on the edge of forever, both suddenly breathing hard. Wanting.
“I’m not afraid of you, Tripp McClane,” Ashley whispered daringly.
Something dark shifted through his eyes. “Maybe you should be.”
Her heart started pounding, but she sucked up her fear and gave his sentiment right back to him. “No. Not of you. Never you.” Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “My bedroom is that way if you… if you…” The suggestion caught in her throat. Darn. Just when she’d thought she could act tough, she couldn’t. It took all of her courage to finish the invitation. “If you’d like to lay down for a while.”
A sad smile curled his bottom lip. “With you?”
She nodded, bobbing her head, too afraid if she said anything else, she’d make a bigger fool of herself. Never in all of her twenty-some years had she been the aggressor. Not that she was now, because she hadn’t the nerve to be that kind of strong or pushy. But this man needed her, and she wanted to give back a fraction of what he’d given her. She wanted to make him smile.
Trembling, because she’d never done this before, Ashley took the first step into the unknown, reached for his hand, and then tugged him along behind her. Not that Tripp resisted, because he didn’t. But because doing this, taking control of this one thing in her life, was important. She needed to be the leader. It was her home and her bed and...
Oh, fudge. What if he rejected her invitation? Her heart stuttered to a full stop. But no. She wanted this man, and she was pretty sure he wanted her. Else why had he come back?
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