32. Dalton
32
DALTON
I s this long-distance thing working?
I don’t know how to tell. It’s been two weeks. I’ve had a hell of a schedule, so the phone calls and texts have been fewer.
Are we fizzling?
I hope not.
I’m alone in the cafeteria. Fitz has another surgery assist. She’s winning the race on racking up time with her specialty.
Harrington knew going in that he wanted orthopedics, and he’s setting a femur at the moment. Dude got all giddy about a broken bone. Unlike the patient, I’m sure.
The line of windows let in the bright sunshine of a glorious fall day. There was the tiniest nip this morning when I got in my Jeep. My first California winter is coming. Not that it will be a big change in temperature. That’s the glory of SoCal.
I stick my spoon in my empty soup cup. I shouldn’t have bought lunch from the line, but lately I’ve been unmotivated to meal prep and bring my own. Mom found another job, averting a total disaster, but I still had to intervene with her apartment since she wouldn’t get her first paycheck in time.
I press the heel of my hand into my eye. It’s all such a grind. The texts and rare phone calls when my days off line up with Nadia’s free time aren’t enough to stave off the loneliness and drudgery.
At least, not today.
My phone buzzes. I’m almost glad to have a reason to go back to the ER. Better than sitting here brooding.
But the message says, “Visitor at the main desk.”
For a second, my heart leaps, thinking it might be Nadia. She never came here before. Did she want to surprise me?
But it can’t be. She texted a photo of the snow-capped mountains this morning. And she was heading to a rescue later to volunteer. Her first day.
She wouldn’t fake all that.
Mom is on the other side of the country waiting tables. Hopefully.
Everyone else I know in LA is on shift with me.
I drop my cup in the trash and stride quickly through the rotunda to the dome of the main entrance. The visitor’s desk is a huge round counter with two attendants and a security guard.
Quite a few people stand around it, but no one I recognize. Maybe this is random. A salesperson. Someone trying to recruit me. I don’t know. I’ll get rid of them.
Then I hear my name.
“Dalton.”
I whirl around. It’s Max, Nadia’s deli cousin, big and intimidating in a sweatshirt and jeans. People move around him like a current, eyes on his build. I look like a kid in comparison.
Why would he come here? My stomach drops. Is something wrong with Nadia?
I have to force my voice out. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Max aims his thumb at a line of chairs. “You got a sec?”
“I do. But it might end at any moment.”
“Understood.”
We sit in the seats with an empty between us. Max barely fits between the arms. “I wanted to talk to you about Nadia.”
Hell. Is he here to break up with me on her behalf? To warn me away from her? Wait. Does he even know? I won’t make any assumptions again, not after I accidentally outed her in the bar bathroom as having a roommate.
I keep a straight face. “Is she doing okay?”
He shakes his head. “Did she really take in five extra cats?”
His tone is light. I force myself to relax. “Yeah. She’s a rescuer at heart.”
“She didn’t even ask if she could come back and live with us.” He stares at his hands, as if this is something that’s bugged him.
“She didn’t want to make Camryn deal with the allergy. It’s a lot of cats.”
Max leans back in his chair. “My head chef noticed her singing a ways back.”
This is random. “Nadia was singing?”
“Yeah.”
“She doesn’t normally sing?” I don’t know why I ask. I already know. Nadia wasn’t a singer when I met her. It started … after. After we got together. She was lighter somehow. She smiled more.
“Not in the least. Her family is more serious than mine overall. My mom was a singer, Nadia’s aunt Pat.” His jaw twitches.
“Your parents include this Uncle Sherman she talks about, right? The one who wants her to work for the Pickles?”
Max nods. “Dad is kind of larger than life. Anyway, that’s not what this is about.”
But I’m not quite going to let this go. Max may not even know how Nadia feels about working with the other Pickles. “She said your dad wants her to work in the family business.”
“He wants all the Pickles in it, yes. But it’s not mandatory.”
“She thinks it is.”
He frowns. “He’ll always make a place for a Pickle.”
“Even if they don’t want it?” I hope I’m not doing something out of turn, but maybe I can help Nadia. Max seems reasonable about this. Maybe something I will say can take the pressure off.
“Is that your opinion?” His expression darkens. I’ve walked into dangerous territory.
My phone buzzes. Damn. I’m out of time. I glance at it.
Booker: Head to curtain six.
She’ll mean now. “I only have a quick sec.”
Max leans forward. “The reason I brought up singing is because we all wondered if you were more than a roommate to Nadia. Her behavior has been, well, different.”
He waits for a moment to see if I will confess.
Nope. I’m not giving up a single thing. Not this time.
Finally, Max grunts. “I see you’re not going to talk about it.” He stares me down, and dude, he’s intimidating. It’s like he’s Thor, ready to beam you with his hammer.
I decide to evade. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“She’s pulled out of the family business, and here you are spouting off about how she doesn’t want it.”
Ah. He’s finally put that together. “She’s happier volunteering at the rescue.”
His eyes narrow. “So, you are still talking to her?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know. A random roommate she barely knew. Then started singing about. Who are you, exactly?”
Now I’m mad. “Someone who cares about her. She didn’t want to leave.”
“She was never meant to live in LA.”
“She liked it here.”
“She’s easily the smartest Pickle. She has an MBA.” His voice is practically a growl.
“I know that.”
He glares at me again. He’s looking at me like I’m the bad guy. Am I? Am I holding Nadia back?
“What are you looking for from me?” I ask.
Max sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “I’m asking you, whatever hold you have on her, let her be. If she comes back to you, fine, whatever. But her brother is helping her get her dream. The family has her back. Whatever has made her hide what she’s doing and who she’s doing it with…” He fixes me with another oriented stare. “Can’t be good for her.”
He’s right. Nadia kept secrets. But she felt she had to.
My phone buzzes.
Harrington: Booker’s looking for you. Get down here.
I stand up. “You’ve made your point.”
“All right.” He doesn’t stand or try to stop me as I head into the bowels of the hospital.
The Pickles protect their own.