Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Breslin POV
I all but ran over her in the hallway a short time later. A small frown puckered her features as she stared at her phone.
“You get your interview?”
She lifted her head, shot a look in my direction and glanced away. She shook her head. “Sorry, were you talking to me?”
“Who else?”
“Well, that’s very confusing. Has anyone ever told you, you look a lot like that baseball player?”
“I should look a lot like your boyfriend.”
Something flashed across her features. She stared at some point beyond me. “How long? And around who? We didn't say anything to Dotty. I'd hoped it wouldn't be like a whole thing. Just you know . . .”
I shoved my hands in my pockets and shrugged. “This was your idea, you tell me.”
“I was just trying to keep you out of trouble. There wasn't a real plan, I just reacted. I knew a teenaged girl with too many 'details' about her sex life would make those guys squirm and?—”
“Details you have no experience with.” I swallowed a grin.
She huffed and sputtered and turned almost the same color as the jersey I leant her. “I read romance novels and have an imagination.”
“So you're saying you fantasize about me?”
“What? No. Not you, never. Ever.”
I leaned my shoulder against the wall, and wished I wasn't 'on duty'. “You seemed to know a lot about me from day one.”
“That's because I—” She stopped. Wide eyes met my gaze. “I like baseball. And you're good at playing baseball.” She looked away. “I mean, reporters have to do research. Lots and lots of it. I knew everyone's stats from day one, just, ya know, to be prepared. You stand out is all. Between your batting average and your OBP, RBI's, stolen?—”
“We're more than those numbers. Any given day, they can mean everything or nothing. Averages from the past. They make us believe it's everything, but it's not. Cancer doesn't care if I was the best in the league last year. Neither does the IML when I'm labeled toxic and violent.”
“You're not either of those things. Never were.” A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. It twisted into a wry expression. “A total jerk to your college beat reporter just trying to do her job. You've definitely been that.”
I let out a long, labored breath. “Says a lot about a person. What they choose for a career.”
“Who says I want to be a reporter?” She stuck her chin out as she stared up at me.
I shrugged. “Just assumed. But you're right, maybe your real aim is to be a stalker. You'd be good at it.”
“Ha ha ha, so funny these days. Anyway, I think we leave this, pretend us thing, with the coaches. We can appear to be 'so professional' around everyone else, and?—”
“There's still Deputy Reegan.”
“Oh, right.” She shook her head. “It's not like we're ever together around him, though. So, that's not a?—”
“I'll have to talk about it with my 'mental health professional'.”
She blinked. “What, really?”
“The coaches, deputy, and the doc all send reports back and forth. She's the one with the hugging thing. And wants reports of me making friends, and generally not being a temperamental asshole.”
“Ok. So, like, four people then? Pishaw, that's not anything to worry about then, right?”
“Probably Director Wilshire.” I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. Wonder how many people I can work it up to? Her journalism teacher? The dean?
“The lady who runs this place?”
I shrugged. “Friends with the Deputy.”
“You think they'll talk? Like it's a bunch of old guys and a therapist with a HIPAA mandate.”
“Hell if I know. I think they all hang out and watch sod poodles together.”
She chewed on her lip and frowned. “Sod what now?”
“Poodles. Minor league. Family friendly, so their website says.”
“Oh. Well, once sod poodles are involved . . . It must be serious.” She rolled her eyes.
“Probably should just give in and marry me.” My heart sped up. I'm not entirely sure why. I was just trying to get her to get flustered and turn colors. “Before a game, maybe. Even if I can't get on base, I'm guaranteed a homerun later.”
She scowled. Not quite the reaction I'd been going for?
“Not funny, Cooper. That's crossing the line.”
“What?” Heat flared along my jaw and neck. What'd I say?
“I don't joke about marriage. Nothing about marriage or being married. Or leaving and getting a divorce. None of it is funny.” She spun away from me and headed for the lobby door.
Guess I hit a nerve. I sighed and shook my head. Never did get to suggest the dean should know. Too bad . I moved the opposite direction, toward the laundry room. The director had said they had a miracle cure for grass stains, and?—
“Margaret?” A rasping voice called out. I drew to a halt.
“Excuse me?”
“Margaret, honey, I’ve been looking everywhere.”
I turned back around. Mr. Demoral, one of our most spry memory care patients, had Milline cornered. “I, um, I’m glad you found me?” She said and took a step back. Her rear hit the door.
I glanced both directions down the hallway, looking for assistance. I wasn’t qualified to handle?—
Milline shrieked! I spun back in time to see Demoral grab her around the waist as he planted his lips over hers. She pushed and squirmed, and finally threw her head back to escape his kiss. “Breslin . . .” She whimpered. My brain clicked into gear about the same time as the rest of me.
I pried his hands off Milline and shoved her free. Positioning myself between her and Demoral, I took a slap to the face from the elderly man. Stars sparked in front of my eyes. The lights hazed into fuzzy globs. I blinked but stood my ground.
“That’s my wife!” He groused and spit. His face turned red as he hollered about Margaret, clearly lost in a memory. He swiped at me again. I dodged and moved behind him. I dug my hands under his shoulders, scooping the smaller man up and held him off the floor. He flailed. My head pounded. Haze drifted around the room for a second, sounds echoed strangely in my ears. I turned to cart him back toward his room.
I didn’t make it far before his caregivers ran in. Demoral howled. One of the nurses began speaking to him in a calm, neutral voice.
“I know you miss Margaret.”
He wailed and kicked. I held tight. A male orderly approached. “I can take this. You shouldn’t have to restrain?—”
“He assaulted a visitor.”
“Ah, shit. We’ll have to sedate him tonight.”
I didn't know how to let the guy go. He wasn't more than skin and bone, but he didn't hit like it.
“It’s not his usual behavior. He’s likely experiencing pain or fatigue.” The orderly touched Demoral's shoulder. “Hey, it's ok, sir. We can help.”
“He hurt Margaret. My Margaret.”
“You did all right, kid. If you put him down, I promise, I’ve got him.”
I grunted out a reply. The world wasn't as focused as it had been a few minutes ago.
“Can you check on the visitor?”
“The girl he grabbed?”
“Uh, yeah. Geez. We already paged the Director. But if you can calm her down . . .”
I set Demoral on his feet and took a step back. The elderly man turned, but found himself staring at the rather stout orderly. “I know it’s confusing. Tell us how we can help you.”
I huffed a relieved breath as I removed myself from the situation. Shouldn’t have let it happen. I griped at myself. I glanced one way, then the other.
I needed to find Liv. If the ashen color of her skin hadn't said enough, the way she cried out my name . . .
Dammit. You should have stopped it sooner.
I found her in Dotty’s room. The old lady was still asleep. Liv sat on the floor, curled into a ball. She hugged her shins and lay her head on her knees the same way she did that time in the maintenance closet.
I didn't have words or know anything at all . . . about what to do. Pretend girlfriend, real one, she managed to take charge even when everything around us seemed to be chaos. I was sorely lacking in . . . whatever life skill that was called. I sat beside her for a moment, in the quiet. I had no idea what to do for her. My head was pounding, and the room pulsed with it.
Her hand found mine. Her forehead pressed against my shoulder. I closed my eyes, held her hand, felt her tremble . . . listened to her breathe.
After a long moment, she lifted her head, but didn’t look at me.
“I’m sorry, I should've acted sooner.”
“You stopped him.” Her fingers tightened around mine. “That’s all that matters.”
Airy relief filled my chest. It wasn't all that mattered, but, she accepted me, what’d I’d done, as enough.
I helped her to her feet. Her soft, small hand fit against my palm as I walked beside her. The night air buzzed around us, crisp and thin and clean—sweeping the haziness from my injured brain.
Liv stopped and turned her face up toward the sky, as if she could somehow bask in moonlight. She turned to me, eyes practically glowing. I caught my breath as she moved closer. She wrapped her arms around my ribcage and settled against my chest. “I promised you a hug.” She spoke to my shirt. Her warm breath filtered through layers of fabric to brush against my skin.
“You're supposed to hug me back.”
I tried to find the right space to put my hands. I ended up with one behind her head, one on her low back. The feel of her hair, slipping against my fingertips. Whisper soft threads shining in the moonlight. Her curves fit against me in all the right ways. My breath slowed as I held her. Waited. Crickets chirped in the distance.
She pulled away. “I should go.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Don’t think I’m up for any more abuse today. Pretty sure you’re not either.”
“We have ended up in some very odd situations lately.”
“Your fault.”
“What? How do you figure that?”
“Pretty sure you're the one that got us locked in the closet.”
She glared. “You're the one who headbutted a mechanical bull.”
“I was defending myself, it swung first.”
She snickered. “It probably took the worst of it.” Her eyes glimmered and she touched the bandage on my head. “You're supposed to be resting.”
Is what I think she said, but my brain wandered off, found someplace lower to hang out with space to dream of resting. With her, naked.
“Breslin? Hey.” She snapped fingers. I blinked and met her gaze.
“Hm. Sorry, guess I'm bitter over finding my fake girlfriend kissing someone else.”
She blanched. Her mouth opened and closed. It wasn’t the red-faced, sputtering reaction that was so amusing. This was different. She wiped at her mouth and shuddered.
I winced. “Too soon?”
“It was awful.”
“You didn’t seem to hate kissing me nearly as much.”
She gasped. “When did you? Oh, the ER.” She rolled her eyes. “Right, I forgot, it's always about you.”
“Was just trying to, I dunno, make it a little less awful?”
“By comparing the old guy to kissing you ? How does that help? Might as well compare it to kissing a frog. Maybe a toad . . .” She toyed with her chin.
That smart mouth of hers. “Glad you’re feeling better.”
“Better? Reliving nightmares I’ve been?—”
“Nightmares. Really.” I leaned down, and into her personal space. “ You kissed me .” I planted my hands against her car door.
“Ok, ok, 'nightmares' is a bit much, sorry. You just have this special ability to irritate me.”
“Seems only fair.”
“What?” She gaped at me. “Are you saying I irritate you?”
“You’re the most irritating girl, woman, I’ve ever met. I've used sandpaper that’s less grating.”
“Kissing you was a bit like kissing sandpaper.”
“Never had complaints before.”
“Well, allow me to make up for it, Breslin.” My name dripped like syrup from her lips. I wanted to taste them again.
I tipped her chin and leaned down. “Seems I have something to make up for.”
“What? How do you—” I brought my mouth down over hers. Warm and tingly and more than a bit dizzying—or I was still slightly concussed. She kissed me back—her lips moving, nibbling, nipping at mine. Her hand cradled the back of my neck as she pressed into me, spurring on that other part of me with its baser needs. Greedy and searching, it collided with her hip. She gasped, and I swept my tongue between her lips. She tasted like that cinnamon tea, sweetened with honey, and syrupy soft.
She broke the kiss, ducking her head to rest on my sternum. I'm sure she could feel the pounding pace of my heart. Between that and the erection in my scrubs, I was an open fuckin book.
“I should . . . get a warning. Before you pretend things like kisses.” She extracted herself from my embrace.
“Pretend.”
“Like today at school.” She toyed with the end of her ponytail.
“Eberhardt was?—”
“Yeah, but I didn't know. You just tucked hair behind my ear like you actually cared and?—”
“You're confusing things. I'm not—” Pretending. When have I ever been good at pretending anything? “I've not had a serious relationship before,” I said. Coach Jay would say I’m as 'dumb-brained' as ever.
“Just your own group of 'special fans'. I get it.” She huffed. “Let’s just leave it as we irritate each other and go back to life as usual.”
“Life as usual where a handful of people believe we're dating.”
“As long as it's only a few, it's manageable. And we can figure out a good time, the right time, to oh-so-unfortunately 'break up'.”
Uh, no, hell no, fuck no, all of the above no. I wasn't sure where that voice was coming from, but something inside me said this was wrong. And would be a terrible mistake. But the parking lot lights blared in my peripheral vision, and my skull pulsed against the squishy parts of my brain.
She said words I couldn't make out, and then she was in her car . . . driving away.
I watched her go—head aching and empty. That same voice spoke again, the words echoing through the heavy silence. There's only you, Liv.