Chapter 19 #2
She yanked out her phone. “Yep. I’m working the five days before that to the seventeenth and then the nineteenth through the twenty-fourth. Why?”
“Come to my place for the St. Patrick’s Day party. I know it should be the seventeenth, but that’s a Thursday. I’m hoping if I hold it on a Friday, that more people will have the Saturday off and can enjoy the blast I plan to throw.”
“I can be there. Sounds like fun.” Her blue eyes lit with obvious excitement.
Should have invited her sooner. After all, she’d been legal to drink for several years now. “Great.” I grabbed the bag. “Thanks for this.”
She shrugged. “I had Cook put a rush on it. I won’t ask, but your expression says rough day, and a rough day for you is always ten times worse than anything that might happen to me.”
Unless her mom or brothers were the reason for the tough day—but she wasn’t going to say that and I wasn’t going to bring it up. I squeezed her arm. “You’re the best.”
“No worries. Take care, okay?”
I nodded and wordlessly slipped out of the diner. Again, the winter wind bit. So much for the promise of balmy weather. Hadn’t the forecaster said several days of well above freezing? Well, that hadn’t happened yet. Not that I was going to check the forecast.
After getting into the SUV and turning the heat on full, I headed back down the main street leading to the Cedar Valley Connector.
Normally I listened to music when I drove but, for tonight, silence was better.
Perhaps because I needed to arrange my thoughts.
Perhaps because I needed to offer prayers for the woman I didn’t know who had died of a massive stroke after a harrowing surgery.
Perhaps because I wanted to respect the family she’d left behind.
I didn’t even know if she had a husband, kids, parents, or what.
Someone had been in the waiting room, though.
Someone—or someones—whose lives had just been changed forever.
Leo would have to deal with that.
I’d never had to deliver that news to a loved one.
That was up to the doctors. They had training in medical school and everything—but some still did a much better job than others.
Somewhere between the arrogance of believing they could keep patients alive for as long as possible—and the acknowledgement they couldn’t—came the compassion for those left behind.
As I drove farther north, the houses and townhouses thinned.
Soon the properties were spread apart. The streetlamps had bigger distances between them.
Eventually, they were klicks apart. I rarely drove this far out of town.
Well, to visit Maddox and Ravi, Stanley and Justin, as well as Adam and Dean.
Okay, and a few other friends. But not regularly.
Leo had to make this trek every night after work—just so he could be closer to his kids.
I had great admiration for that.
They meant everything to him. As I had to my parents. As all kids should to their mothers and fathers. Even as I knew that wasn’t the case. Too many stories of abuse. Too many evil people.
When I arrived at Leo’s driveway, I turned in and squinted as I broke through the treeline.
One light on in the main room and no SUV.
Did I miscalculate? Or has he just not made it home? What if he goes somewhere else?
What if he goes to Gideon and Archer’s house?
That felt improbable…except he might want to see his kids. Might want the assurance that they were well. When I had rough days, I took great comfort that Mama was okay.
As my hand hovered over the power button, headlights cut across my rearview mirror.
He’s home.
Somehow, I’d known he’d come here. Maybe not right away—but that he’d wind up here eventually. This was the space he shared with his children. This was the place that grounded him.
I killed my engine and sat still.
He parked, shut off his engine as well, and sat staring straight ahead.
Wow, you really didn’t think this through to the end. What if he doesn’t want to see you? What if he sends you away?
A small voice inside me pointed out that Mama was home tonight, and she loved Fifties’ food almost as much as I did. Or I could just hand him the bag and head home. Quick detour to A&W and I’d be fine. Onion rings were a favorite.
He got out of his SUV. He met my gaze through my window. After a long moment, he gestured toward the house with his chin. Then he turned and headed that way.
I grabbed the food and followed him.
As he held the door open for me, I was able to step inside.
He closed the door and, for a long moment, we just stood—staring at each other.
All the pretty words I’d planned fell away. Instead, I swallowed.
“Yeah.” His voice was gruff as he removed his coat. Once he had it hung up, and his shoes removed, I shoved the bag of food into his hands.
He touched the cloth, as if trying to discern the temperature.
“Fresh off the grill—I only just got here.”
“Okay.” He still continued to hold my gaze—with his intense, piercing green eyes seeing all the way into my soul. Finally, he broke eye contact. “If you’re staying, you might as well remove your coat and boots. I’ll get plates.”
Which was more words strung together than I expected. As I removed my coat and boots, he moved into the kitchen. By the time I joined him, he’d pulled the containers out of the bag. He tried to hand the bag back to me. “Later.”
He grunted.
The truth was I had about thirty cloth bags in the back of my SUV and another ten or twenty at home. Doing my part for the environment—but often forgetting to take them into the store with me. One of these days, the habit would stick. I’d be less distracted.
Right. Pull the other one.
He opened the first drink container and a hint of a smile ghosted his lips. “Cotton candy or—”
“Unicorn. Total sugar rush.” Because who didn’t need a cold milkshake on a frigid night?
He gestured to the other cup.
“Apple Pie.”
“Oh.” He furrowed his brow.
“You probably don’t want to ask.” Because if he asked me how they made a milkshake that tasted like apple pie, I wouldn’t have been able to answer. I just knew it totally tasted like apple pie.
“Right.” He removed the first food container and squinted at the handwriting.
“I don’t have a clue what any of the shorthand means. I chose plenty of things so you’ll have leftovers for days.”
His gaze shot to mine yet again.
Pure, naked pain.
My heart broke. I yearned to reach out. But I didn’t know how. We weren’t close enough for me to know what words would comfort and which might trigger a bad reaction.
Still, he opened the first container. “Fried baby shrimp.”
“With cocktail sauce.”
“Yeah.” He opened the next container and frowned.
I peeked over. “Oh, French toast connection. I got scrambled eggs because, frankly, who doesn’t love scrambled eggs?” I was certain plenty of people didn’t, but Leo had made them for me one morning last week. Why would he make them and eat them if he didn’t like them?
He pried open the next lid and, again, the ghost of a smile. “Cheeseburger?”
“Double bacon cheeseburger. Lots of cholesterol.” Given Leo’s fitness, and his lack of concern previously, I figured I was okay with this choice. “Somewhere there should be an order of Caesar salad as well as a container of poutine.”
“Because it’s not a Canadian meal if there isn’t any poutine.” He rolled his eyes.
Score! Such a small thing—but proof that maybe I could at least, for tonight, get him through this.
“Keep digging.”
He selected another large container and opened it. He arched an eyebrow.
“Rayne swears meatloaf is the best comfort food in the world. Gravy and mushrooms on the side so it didn’t get too soggy. And veggies, right?”
He nodded.
“Check the last two.”
He cracked open the second-to-last and again rolled his eyes.
“What?” I poked my head around. “Oh, New York style cheesecake. Which has me confused because what’s a non-New York cheesecake?”
“I have no idea.” He uttered the words softly as he pried open the final container. “Jesus.”
“Right? Who doesn’t love chocolate lava cake? Not me. We nuke that sucker and sink into the gooey goodness.”
He gestured. “There’s so much.”
“You pick what you want, I’ll grab something, we’ll eat, then we’ll put the leftovers in the fridge.”
“That simple?”
“Really? Yeah, that simple.”
He blinked. “She died.”
“I know.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“But you’re going to eat anyway because you have to go back to the hospital tomorrow. You’ve got that triple bypass in the morning.”
“I don’t think I can—”
“You can and you will. That guy is a heart attack waiting to happen. You’re going to ensure that doesn’t happen.”
“He might die.”
“He might. That’s a risk all of us take when we live.
Michelle doesn’t think you did anything wrong, and she’s a fucking brilliant nurse.
If you did, then you’ll learn from it and you won’t make that mistake again.
” Slowly, I eased my hand over his. “You can have a textbook-perfect surgery, and shit can still happen. A stroke is a known complication and something you can’t plan for. ”
“If I’d just—”
“No.”
“But maybe if—”
“No.” I held his gaze. “You know I’m right. You know it, Leo. You can replay that surgery a hundred times and there’s nothing you would have done differently because you did it perfectly.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Maybe not with absolute certainty. No. But if you’d done something wrong, you would be able to articulate it. You can’t because you didn’t. If something turns up, then you’ll deal. For tonight, you eat your meatloaf, you shower, and then you get into bed.”
His eyes widened. “I don’t think I can…you know…”
I squeezed his hand. “I’m going to hold you tonight, and that’s an end to it. Not up for discussion.” Of course, if he turfed me, then I’d go. I wasn’t going to stay where I wasn’t welcome. I also wasn’t going to leave him alone unless he sent me away.
“Meatloaf?”
“Best comfort food ever. According to Rayne.”
“And Rayne’s never wrong.”
I shrugged. “You saved his fiancé’s life.”
“Everett’s injuries weren’t catastrophic.”
“Would he have survived without surgery?”
Slowly, Leo shook his head.
“Then you saved his life.”
“Yeah.”
“You said you’ve never lost a patient?”
“Not just after surgery.” He winced. “Except my first one.”
I stilled.
“Let’s eat.” He grabbed a fork as well as the container with the meatloaf. “Maybe another time?” He didn’t meet my gaze.
“Yeah. Sure.” I gestured to the food. “Any preference on which I choose?”
He cocked his head.
“Which are you least likely to pick?”
“Truthfully?”
I nodded.
“I’d eat any of them. You chose wisely.”
I grinned. “Sometimes I get it right.”
This time he held my gaze. “You get a lot right.”
Because I loved maple syrup, I chose the French toast.