Chapter 9
9
EVE CASSIDY
‘You’re having dinner with him? At his request? What, like a date?’ Gen asks when I stop by the ER to talk to our boss. Or rather, kiss her ass so I don’t get fired for taking all fourteen of my vacation days at once, unexpectedly. Sure, she approved it, going off my description of my current hell, but it never hurts to make sure things are A-OK, so I’m not assigned Trauma Room 1 for the rest of my life. I’ve brought a gift basket, full of every snack item I know Teri (the head of our department) loves. If this doesn’t win her over, nothing will.
‘No, not like a date,’ I reassure Genevieve. ‘Like a dinner. In his hospital room. There’s nothing weird about that. Everyone eats dinner.’
‘Not with their ex-husband…’ she reminds me.
‘Sure,’ I say, sitting the huge basket that takes two hands to carry on the counter, separating me from her. ‘Technically, that’s true. But, if I ran out now, I’d look like a real asshole. I’ve already done that once with him. Now I need to see him through getting released from the hospital to clear my conscience, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’
No need to tell her that every time he and I touch, or our eyes meet, my heart melts for him like he’s got a freaking flamethrower to it. But it’ll never work between us, because we’ve got very different lives. Be strong, Evie girl.
‘What are you going to talk about?’ Gen asks.
I shrug. ‘Don’t know. Maybe the weather. His career. Food, if I know him. You know, casualties.’
‘And if he asks about you leaving a note…?’
‘I will promptly change the subject,’ I finish.
She grins. ‘To doughnuts?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Which will then loop you right back to your first official date and then the next thing you know your relationship is the topic. Are you ready for that?’
I inhale sharply. Why must she be a truth teller when I need anything but the reminder right now. No. I’m not even a little bit ready for that. I’m about to say those words when we’re interrupted with a hand on my back.
‘Eve, I thought you’d be happily floating across the ocean waves in the Pacific by now.’ Teri, a slight woman in her fifties who’s got decades of nursing experience, eyes a can of Pringles in the basket in front of us.
‘Or entertaining past mistakes in room 117,’ Genevieve mumbles.
I shoot her a glare, then turn my attention to my boss. ‘I got you something,’ I say, sliding the basket of goodies her way. ‘As a thank you.’
‘For me?!’ Teri exclaims with surprise.
‘Kiss ass,’ Dale says through a cough from his desk behind us, and with a sly move, I throw a single finger his way behind my back, hearing him scoff, and feeling pleased with myself.
‘It’s just a token of my appreciation for allowing me time off on short notice.’
Teri nods, but her eyes are on the basket of treats. ‘It’s not every day your most dedicated employee asks for time off.’
Just about everyone sitting in the nurses’ station lets out a groan. Great. Now they all hate me for being titled ‘most dedicated’.
‘Thanks, Eve,’ Genevieve says sarcastically, sipping from her coffee mug.
I roll my eyes and turn back to Teri. ‘There may not be ocean or giant flamingo-shaped floaties in my future but perhaps when this nightmare is over, I’ll make a weekend trip to the coast before I come back.’
Teri nods in approval, then digs into the basket, pulling out her favorite brand of chocolate bars. ‘As long as you return ready to work, which I have no doubt you will.’
‘Absolutely,’ I reply, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. The tension eases as I see Teri enjoying the snacks, and I know my job is safe.
‘I’ll walk you out,’ Gen says. ‘Goin’ on break, Dale!’
She steers me out of the ER through a side door only employees use to get some fresh air. ‘You sure you’re OK with this dinner?’ she asks, concern evident in her voice.
I nod, adjusting the strap of the bag on my shoulder. It’s packed full of things I thought Foster might enjoy in his state. Extreme sports magazines. My iPad so he can watch whatever he wants. Cards, in case he wants to practice his skills. And a couple of books that are not about celebrities.
‘Yeah, it’s just dinner,’ I say. ‘Plus, Matty will be there.’
‘Ah,’ she says with a sly smile. ‘Invited a third wheel to make it less weird. Smart.’
‘It just worked out that way.’
‘Well, when shit hits the fan, you know where to find me. I’ll bring the floaties and margaritas and we’ll bob around that hospital pool you so love and cry it out.’
I laugh, but truthfully, that might be as much of a vacation as I get this year – or any year since I’ve worked here. Me, Gen, and probably my favorite over-sixty-five folks, all getting lit on hospital facilities while floating in the Olympic-size pool on water floats shaped like summery shapes – it’s not exactly my dream vacay.
‘Here’s to a dinner of all the best hospital cuisines. Wish me luck,’ I say, backing away from Genevieve so I’m not late.
‘Don’t eat the fries!’ she reminds me. Our hospital can’t seem to work a fryer for the life of them. They’re either so crispy they taste like rocks or so mushy they’d stand in as mashed potatoes. I let Foster order for me, so we’ll see how well he still knows me.
‘Knock, knock?’ I call, lightly tapping on Foster’s ICU door as I slide it open, peeking in.
He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks genuinely happy to see me.
‘Evie,’ he says with relief in his voice. ‘I’d have dressed up, but this is all I’ve got.’ He glances down at the hospital-issue blue scrub pants he’s now wearing. Otherwise, he’s still shirtless and it’s showing off his hard shoulder (singular, since I can only see one) in a way that’s bringing back memories I’d rather not relive.
I glance down at my outfit: black skinny jeans, a white ribbed button-down tank, a wheat-colored bomber-style sweater, and white Birkenstocks. The top part of my hair is braided and pinned behind one ear, just to keep it out of my face, and I didn’t exactly throw on a face full of make-up. Instead, I went for my ‘easy’ routine: quick foundation, under-eye brightener, a dab of blush, mascara, and nude lipstick.
He’s sitting up in his bed, still attached to wires, IVs, and a nasal cannula of air to help his oxygen levels. Machines beep regularly next to him. His dark hair is tousled and he looks comfortably glazed over on pain meds so I’m not sure how much of any conversation he’ll retain. But besides all that, he looks good. Almost exactly like the Foster that easily wooed my heart in our past.
‘Wow!’ he says, his eyes on me. He blinks a few times, looking me over like it’s been a while. Which it has. ‘I sort of wondered if you were just one of the many dreams I was having. But I’m glad you’re not. Also, you never change, Jellybean,’ he says in a soft voice, still shaky from the intubation ordeal. ‘Actually, you do, I’m pretty sure you’re even more gorgeous than I remember.’
Heat rushes to my cheeks and I’m sure it’s visible. He’s been awake one day and already he’s got me blushing. I want to tell him I’m not any more gorgeous than I was, but come on, what girl doesn’t want to hear that from a man?
‘I go by Eve now,’ I joke at the sweet but a tad too much nickname he gave me a long time ago. ‘But thank you. You look… a lot better than I expected.’
He laughs, coughing when he does so. ‘I feel 50 per cent alive.’
‘That’s something,’ I encourage, glancing around the small room. ‘So, where’s Matty?’
‘He’s on his way. Refused to eat hospital food so he’s stopping by the In-N-Out for the good stuff.’
‘Ah,’ I say with a nod. ‘Smart man. On that note, I brought you some stuff too.’ I make my way to the empty chair near his bed and set my bag down, unloading things one by one and setting them on the tray in front of him.
Once the items are fully displayed, he looks to me with a hint of worry. ‘Does this mean I’m on my own for entertainment now?’ He frowns.
‘Why do you look disappointed about that?’
He shrugs his one good shoulder. ‘I was sort of looking forward to hearing the rest of Matthew Perry’s story. I’m intrigued by MattMan.’
My jaw drops. I had mentioned Matthew’s last social media post only one time, in the middle of two paragraphs in his book. I can’t believe he remembered that. ‘You really were listening?’
He nods. ‘A guy’s not got a lot to do while in a coma, except listen.’
‘Do you remember anything else?’ I ask, sort of nervous to hear his reply but ready for it.
‘A lot of things. Just not what brought me here.’
‘I’ve got the remedy for that.’ Matty’s voice startles us as he makes his way into the room, In-N-Out bag in one hand, his phone in the other. ‘Red Bull sent me the video – and this.’ He sets a Red Bull bag with handles on the end of Foster’s bed. I peek in, seeing a couple of cases of Red Bull and enough merch to decorate this whole room.
‘The video?’ I ask, confused.
‘Of his wreck.’
I suck in a breath. Of course, I should have expected it to be on film. Most of these events are televised. ‘Should he watch that, considering his condition?’
Matty looks him over, then looks at me. ‘He’s alive, and a grown man, why shouldn’t he watch it? We already know how it ends.’
How can I argue that logic? ‘Yeah, but what if it horrifies him?’
‘What if it helps him regain his memory,’ he counters.
I clench my teeth together, nervous for Foster. ‘What if it makes him never want to ride again?’
Matty waves a hand at me, implying I’m being ridiculous. ‘We could “what if” all day. Question is, do you want to see it?’ he asks Foster, now leaning over his bed, his phone planted in front of his face.
Foster grimaces, obviously not completely sure of his answer. ‘For now, I’m going to pass. Let’s get beyond the hospital, then maybe I’ll take a look.’
Wow. He’s matured. Usually, he’d be all over watching himself on film. But he’s choosing his peace of not remembering over his ego.
‘Alright,’ Matty says, shoving his phone into his pocket.
‘Plus, look at her.’ Foster nods my way. ‘She’s terrified and she’s standing on solid ground. I can’t make her worry about me more than she already is.’
‘That’s right,’ Matty says. ‘How could I forget that you always hated his job.’
‘Not hate. I worried. About exactly this scenario,’ I say, motioning toward the injured Foster.
‘Hey,’ Foster says, reaching out and touching my hand. ‘I lived, and according to Nurse Chelsea, I’ll even get to walk out of this place. You don’t need to worry any more.’
‘Easier said than done,’ I mumble, staring down at his hand wrapped around mine; and for a second, I undeniably feel that spark that I always did with Foster. The longer we’re in contact, the stronger it is. ‘I was there in the immediate aftermath and I’m still trying to forget that part.’
He says nothing, but his eyes say thank you. I only nod.
Despite the rumors about the bisque, Foster downs it like he’s been on a forty-day fast. I opt for one of the burgers Matty brought – because Foster sweetly also ordered me the bisque, and having made that mistake before, it was a real quick ‘no thanks’ from me. But the blueberry crumble dessert he also requested is to die for. I won’t lie when I say I begged Miguel, the house chef, to sneak me the recipe that he claims was his great-grandmother’s favorite finger food for guests, and I now make it at home and sometimes eat it as a meal in itself.
‘Aww,’ Chelsea says when she walks in for her next round of vitals. ‘I’m so glad to see you two reunited. You’re just adorable together. This must have been so hard to see, Eve.’
‘Yeah,’ I respond, hoping she doesn’t say anything further.
‘So, how many years have you cuties been married?’
Matty’s attention is on me like a beacon. It was going too smoothly. I should have known I’d not get away with this.
‘Years?’ he says with a laugh. ‘More like months.’
I shush him under my breath.
‘Months?’ Chelsea asks with surprise in her tone.
‘Yeah, you’re backward. They were married for only months, and ended things years ago,’ Matty continues, not reading the cues on my face for him to shut up.
Chelsea stops what she’s doing, placing a single hand on her hip and staring me down like I’ve done something wrong. ‘I thought you said you were his wife?’
I nod, shoving the rest of the blueberry bliss into my gullet so maybe she’ll mishear my words. ‘I was his wife,’ I say, my mouth full.
My gaze meets Foster’s and he gives me this look – one that I know well. It’s of admiration and forgiveness. How on earth can we still have silent conversations when we haven’t laid eyes on each other since I left?
‘Now she’s his ex-wife, sort of,’ Matty says, earning a glare from Foster that I’d know anywhere. That’s his shut the fuck up glare. I feel like there’s more going on here than just my original lie to get in to see him.
‘You know what?’ Chelsea says after jotting down his vitals. ‘I’m going to just let you three be, and we’ll talk later.’ Her eyes are glued to me, and even though I don’t know her well, those are the accusatory eyes of someone who’s just realized I lied. Oops. Does it help that it was for a good reason? I sure hope so.