Beach Cottage Kisses (The Cottages on Ocean Breeze #2)

Chapter Nine

H e was not going to lose her friendship. Scott had known a lot of women. Enjoyed being with them. He’d never, ever known a woman who he just plain wanted to spend time with on a long-term basis.

He and Gray had been best buds since high school. Even after Gray had left Sage just two days before they were due at the altar.

Iris’s friendship meant as much or more to him.

He couldn’t explain it. He just knew that he had to get as drastic as it took to save them.

No holds barred.

And he had to do it fast. The four days of excruciating discomfort on the beach had shown him that much. Every day Iris slipped away from him a little more.

The night before, the way she’d shut herself off from him even during conversation regarding their mutual love—Sage—had brought home to him how critically in danger their friendship had become.

Short of disabling his member, which wasn’t an option, he could only think of one other way to keep himself firmly on the friendship track, and off the sexual one. Cram failure down his throat as hard and as often as he could.

Which meant…surfing.

The one activity he’d tried but never mastered but didn’t fail at because as long as he didn’t quit he was still in the learning stage. Since high school, his drive to get up on a surfboard had defined him. Didn’t matter that he was too tall to have a good shot at success. Or that he didn’t feel the waves in the way he should. Didn’t matter that he couldn’t balance on the board long enough to ride a wave even if he managed to get on top of one.

What mattered was that he didn’t give up.

That he pushed himself to do more. Try harder. Face waves that no beginner should ever be on. He wasn’t a beginner. He just wasn’t what the world considered to be good at surfing.

For his purposes, he was all-star.

Because surfing reminded him that if he quit trying, he failed.

And every time the board slid out from under him and he went under, he experienced the feeling of failure, without having failed. And those seconds underwater, that feeling of not succeeding, were enough to spur him on to not let the sensation become reality in his everyday life.

No one, not even Sage, understood why he kept purchasing the latest and greatest in the surfing world, why he signed up for master classes, and spent so many hours trying to perfect a sport he hadn’t mastered in over fifteen years.

But it made complete sense to him.

He did it because surfing made him the best at everything else he did. Helped him excel in law school. Spurred him on to passing the bar exam first time out.

It would also light the fire under him to lose his attraction for Iris. To get his ass back to the place it had been in her world before Sage’s wedding. It was a case of mind over matter, and surfing beat into him the best and worst there, too.

The best because he kept going back and giving it his all.

And the worst because he hadn’t yet ridden one wave into shore.

Surfing without mastering the skill was dangerous. For Scott, failure was more so.

And because if he didn’t get himself in line soon, he was coming up on a failure of a magnitude he’d never before faced, he got up before dawn on Saturday morning, intent on surfing waves that were larger, more dangerous, than any he’d taken on previously. He drove up the coast. Joined a couple of master surfers for an early-morning, wet-suited display of…pure humility.

Forced himself to stay there, trying again and again, until he was the only one left trying. And, bruised, but not showing it, attended the private black tie gala he’d been invited to Saturday night. Celebrating a well-known prosecutor from the attorney general’s office who’d recently been elected to a superior court judgeship.

Sunday was a Saturday repeat. Different beach. Different waves. Same flying board and underwater forays into fight or flight. Strengthening his determination to choose fight every time.

He took on the waves again and again. Fought his way up to the surface, swam to collect his board, and cold, even in his wet suit, would call up a mental image of Iris, and get hard.

Which sent him back out again. As though he could beat the damned thing out of himself.

With the board in position, every part of his body at the ready as he’d been trained, he waited for the swell that would challenge a good surfer to stay on board, and when it hit, gave his all to it. Thinking that he was going to stay up. To ride…

The wave slammed against his board. A hard punch hit his lower back, something sharp stabbed his left knee and Scott went under.

* * *

Iris was just getting out of the shower after a morning of lounging on Sunday when her phone rang.

Dripping wet, she held a towel to herself while she read the screen lying on her counter. Sage.

Sage? Calling in the middle of her family-moon?

She grabbed the phone with one hand, running the towel over herself as best she could with the other. “Hello,” she said, tension gripping her. Barely holding back the What’s wrong? that was on the tip of her tongue.

“Iris?” One word and fear struck Iris, forcing her to lean against the counter, towel clutched to her chest, just from Sage’s tone. “I just got a call from the hospital,” Sage continued before Iris even had a chance to confirm that she was on the line. “Scott’s been in an accident…”

No!

No. No. No.

“…he’s insisting on leaving and they can’t make him stay, and I need you to go get him, Iris. Please. You’re the only one he’ll listen to…”

Leaving? Insisting?

He was alive.

“How badly is he hurt?” she asked, not caring if Sage had already said so. She’d missed some things. Had to be on top of them.

“He has a torn MCL and a lower lumbar sprain. They’ve already taken him into surgery for the knee, but when I talked to him, he said he’d be home tonight.”

Pulling on underwear, with the phone held to her ear by her shoulder, Iris reached for the closest jeans, pulled a button-down shirt off a hanger. “I’ll need permission to get to him,” she said.

“I’ve got his medical power of attorney and it’s already done,” Sage said. “The staff knows that all reports are to go to you.”

Good. “Does Scott know?” Putting the phone on speaker, she dropped it to the bed. Donned her bra and shirt in record time.

“He will when he comes out of surgery.”

She slid into tennis shoes without untying them. “I’m on my way,” she said, picking up the phone to take it with her.

If Scott balked she’d deal with him.

No way in hell was the day going to end with his life on the line.

Keeping her mind focused, Iris made a call over her vehicle’s hands-free system as soon as she was on the way. Dale picked up right away and agreed to take care of Morgan and Angel until she got back. She had no idea how long that would be. Maybe even overnight. Told Dale where she’d left spare keys, to her place and Scott’s. And disconnected the call.

The man had asked no questions. She’d offered nothing.

She concentrated on traffic. Being in the right lane at the right time. Watching lights and turning to avoid them.

Prior to going into surgery, Scott had spoken to Sage. She’d said he’d insisted on doing so after the hospital had called her. Just as he’d insisted he’d be home that night.

His sister had said something about how he’d sounded. The memory was vague.

Iris couldn’t bring the rest of it back to mind.

Except that Sage was waiting to hear from Iris. Not catching the next flight home.

And that Scott had spoken.

Both key things she focused on as she drove. Parked.

Walked briskly into the emergency room.

And, after a brief wait, was shown into a small office where a nurse filled her in on Scott’s situation.

He was already out of surgery. In the recovery room. Not yet fully awake. They’d take her to him shortly. His MCL tear had been a level three. The worst.

The surgery was normally performed as an outpatient procedure, but under the circumstances, the doctor would like to keep Scott overnight, but wasn’t insisting on it. He’d left the choice up to Scott.

“What would you be watching for tonight if he stays?” Iris asked. And listened to various indications of medical distress.

All things she recognized from her months in and out of the hospital.

“He’s not going to stay,” she said then. “I’m assuming I can get everything at the pharmacy I’m going to need?”

Including bed restraints if she could figure out a way to tie them to a king-size bed.

The thought came with determination, not humor.

Or even a hint of sexual connotation.

Scott was in no condition to pee by himself, let alone perform any other physical feats.

Sage was out of town.

And Iris was up.

By the time she was shown into the curtained-off cubicle where they’d brought Scott from recovery, Iris had a bag filled with supplies and written instructions. And a head filled with everything the pharmacist, RN, neurologist and surgeon had told her, too.

RICE was foremost for the knee. Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation.

And wound care. Warm water. Soap. Waterproof bandage. Stitches out in ten days. Antibiotics. Pain reliever. No weight-bearing. Some immobility.

For the back it was RICH. Rest. Ice. Compression. Heat.

Armed for whatever fight Scott might give her, she stepped behind the curtain quietly, not sure he was awake.

“You look better than my sister would right about now.” His words were a little slow. Sleepy sounding. But still Scott.

And relief hit so hard, so fast, she dropped down to the chair beside his bed. Setting her bag on the floor with her purse. “How would Sage look?” she asked, simply because she wanted to know.

“So serious you’d feel like you were at a funeral.”

She tried to smile. Couldn’t. He had no idea how close he came to how she’d felt when she’d first picked up the phone earlier that day.

And he wasn’t going to know, either.

The man didn’t need a confessor.

He needed a keeper.

And she was it.

* * *

That face. The green eyes, oval cheeks. What guy wouldn’t like to see them appear in his drug-induced haze?

“They gave me something for pain,” he said, fighting sleep so that he could take charge, get up, get out, get home. “No more.”

“Did you tell them?”

He wasn’t sure. He’d meant to. “I think so. Could you check on that?”

She’d looked like she needed something to do.

And he didn’t want anyone witnessing his first attempt to take back his autonomy. Not until he had an idea what it was going to cost him.

And knew for sure what he did or did not have on under the sheet covering him.

“I’ve, um, already talked to everyone.”

What in the hell did that mean? “Who’s everyone?” He struggled to find his beach voice. The one where he was relaxed, confident, taking on the world.

Hoping once he got the voice, the rest would follow.

“Sage, the nurse in charge, your surgeon.”

They were ganging up on him. Had sent her in to do their dirty work.

Because they thought she was the one who’d be able to convince him to stay.

Sorry to disappoint them all . “I’m not staying,” he said.

“I know.” She held up the bag she’d carried in with her. He was pretty sure she had, at any rate. He’d been looking at her face.

Glad to see her.

“I’ve got everything you need right here, including pain meds. You’ll have them if you decide to take them.”

Wow. She was good.

He’d known that.

“And Sage is on board?” Didn’t matter, he was leaving anyway. Just had expected her to have put up a fight.

“She’d rather you spent the night, but she knew you wouldn’t. And the doctor says that while he’d like to have you stay, you’re fine to go home as long as you follow all instructions.”

He would. “I don’t have them yet.”

“I do.”

Okay. “I’m going to need them.”

She nodded. Just that. Nothing more.

He needed some privacy. Had to get on with the exploration of his current circumstances. Moved his hand under the sheet to find out that he was in a hospital gown.

And nothing more.

“Where are my clothes?”

“You were in a wet suit. They had to cut it off.”

He’d opted to go nude underneath. Had left his neoprene swim trunks wadded in the laundry sink the day before and they’d stunk.

“I have pants and a shirt in my car.”

She nodded again. He didn’t like it much. But before he could tell her, she said, “It’s still parked in South Beach.”

Where he’d been surfing that morning.

Fine. He was getting somewhere. Had his first hurdle to tackle.

“I bought you some sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt in the pharmacy gift shop,” Iris said, nodding toward the bag she’d set back down on the floor. “Nurse Windsor said that you’ll probably prefer shorts at home, but for now, we can cut the one leg of the sweats to prevent any friction against your bandage.”

We? As in, her and him?

Made sense since he was currently immobile, and she was in the room.

Something else occurred to his slowly wakening brain, too. “Would you mind giving me a ride home?”

He didn’t have his car. Could call a cab, but since she’d be going where he needed to go…unless…

What time of day was it? He’d been surfing early, just after dawn. “That is if you’re going home from here,” he added. Cab would be second choice. And…

“ My phone’s in my car.”

That time when Iris nodded, her chin was puckered. He tensed. Sensing some kind of barrier coming his way. When all she said was, “I can take you home. And get someone to take me to get your car, too,” he was confused.

She was there at his twin’s behest. Seemingly ready to make sure he got just what he wanted. So why her sudden chin dimple?

“What’s the catch?”

“You leave here, you get me as a roommate for the next week or so.”

They were all plotting against him. Led by Sage, he was sure. She’d know how he’d be feeling. Know that he’d be climbing the walls caged up when his health didn’t ultimately require him to be trapped in a hospital bed. The two of them had spent enough hours within hospital walls, visiting their ailing mother as kids.

And she’d called Iris.

Who’d talked to the medical staff while he’d still been out.

He froze all thought. For the second it took him to realize that once he got home, they were no longer in charge.

“Fine,” he said.

And started his own counterplotting.