Chapter 49
i was always meant to love her
Rowan
The air gets knocked clean out of my lungs when I spot her.
Mom, Bri, and Dubs dart off to admire one of the tables but she’s all I see.
Candlelight sparkles off the shimmery material of her gown.
Narrow straps run over her shoulders to hold up a fitted light blue bodice modestly molded to the curve of her breasts.
Cherry lips match the bright red poppies printed on the full skirt flowing from the waist down—I imagine spinning her on the dance floor later to watch the swirl of blue and red.
Her warm blonde hair hangs in long waves pinned all to one side.
And her eyes, flecked with hues of green and gold, so captivating I can barely stand it when she finds me in the dim light of the ballroom.
A smile blooms across her face.
Before she says a word, I speak first. “My god, you look…just…” Words, Rowan. “Wow. Stunning, baby. You look stunning.”
She drags a finger down my lapel. “Thank you. You’re looking very…something…in this tux.”
“Something, huh?” I wrap an arm around her waist.
“Yeah…just…wow.” Her fingers curl in the hair at my nape.
“Brat.”
Her smirk kicks up one side of her mouth. “You thinking about kissing me, soldier?”
I tip her lower lip with the pad of my thumb. “Always. But your lipstick looks too good. And I don’t wanna get you in trouble if your boss is around.”
She hums, turning over my palm to plant a firm kiss against it. “Look, no mess.” Bouncing to her toes, she peeks behind me. “And the coast is clear, so unless you’d prefer not to kiss me in front of your fam—”
I gently bring my lips to hers, pressing in just long enough to breathe her in. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
Our eyes locked, something shrewd flickers in her gaze for half a second, barely there then gone before I can read it.
“So what do you think? Looks pretty great, right?”
Hannah scans the event space around us, but I’m only looking at her. “Gorgeous.”
A short time later, the room busts at the seams with guests dressed to the nines, champagne flutes in hand as they browse the auction tables. Hannah makes the rounds, schmoozing attendees like a pro. She tugs me along to meet a few VIPs, but I mostly let her do her thing and admire from a distance.
Mom gets around well enough with her walker. I hover nearby regardless, primarily running interference in Bri and Dubs’ bickering. He looks at her like she hung the moon. She looks at him like he hung the Christmas lights wrong which only makes him go harder. And they’re both living for it.
Hannah managed to seat my crew, along with herself, Lydia, and Richard at one large table near the stage. Her chair remains empty beside me until halfway through the salad course when she finally finds a moment to take a break from her duties.
I find her knee under the table. “You okay?”
She nods nervously, tossing her water back like she hasn’t had a drink in days.
“You want something from the bar?”
“No, I’m too worked up to drink.”
I weave our fingers together and lower my voice to a whisper, lean in close. “You’re gonna do great, sunshine.”
Her eyes level with mine, hand white-knuckling my own like I might disappear if she lets go. Restrained emotion from somewhere I can’t pinpoint bubbles to the surface of her face—that same probing expression from earlier.
“Baby, eat something. It’ll settle your nerves.”
More nodding and she swipes a few bites of salad. Her legs cross under the table and I notice the slit in her gown I hadn’t seen earlier. It’s not scandalous, just a peak of skin above her knee, but I find it with my palm, urging her bouncing leg to settle.
I press in again. “Breathe for me.” She does. “Good. Again.” She obliges, but adds a little side eye. “One more time.”
She grins. “Bossy.” There she is.
We’ve nearly finished our dinner course when an older gentleman approaches the table. “Hannah, sorry to interrupt,” he says.
She covers her mouth with a napkin as she swallows down her steak. “No worries. Is everything okay?”
“Of course, of course. Just wanted to give you a heads up I’ll be introducing you from the stage in about ten minutes.”
“Sounds good.” There’s a layer of panicked energy in her reply, but it goes mostly unnoticed around the table. I find her leg again.
“Mr. Whitley,” she adds, “I’d like you to meet everyone. You already know my mom and Dr. Adelson.”
“Lydia. Richard. Good to see you both.”
Hannah’s attention shifts to me and my family. “And this is Rowan. His mom, Teresa, and sister, Bridget. And friend, Walker. Everyone, this is Adam Whitley, Chairman of the BCH Board.”
Hellos and handshakes are exchanged all around. When Adam circles back to Hannah she gestures toward Bri and says, “Bridget here, is actually a doctor herself.”
Adam perks up. “Is that so? What field?”
“I’m getting ready to begin my pediatric residency at Children’s Dallas.”
He bobs his head, impressed. “That’s a great program. You have plans for a specialty once your residency is complete?”
“I’m thinking emergency med, probably,” Bri replies.
Reaching into his coat pocket, he says, “I’m not one to poach doctors, and I certainly don’t make final decisions on hiring, but when the time comes, if you’re on the hunt for a fellowship, don’t hesitate to reach out.”
Adam offers Bri a business card. “I’ll do that. Thank you, sir.”
My attention lingers on my stepsister as she surveys the card for several beats, tucks it in her purse.
“I’m gonna get another glass of wine,” she announces, pushing to stand.
Dubs rushes to his feet. “I got you, Brooky. Chardonnay, right?”
“I can get my own drink.”
“‘Well, I’ll be, that’s so kind of you, Chuck. Yes, a glass of chardonnay would be wonderful. Thank you,’ I think is what you meant to say.” He flashes her a wink and saunters off.
Bri’s look of resignation lands on each of us, one by one, as she lowers back to her seat.
“Brooky?” Hannah asks.
With a smile she’ll never admit to, Bri says, “Brooklyn Bridge. Don’t look at me like that, I don’t understand it either.” Then she pins her exasperation on me. “This is all your fault.”
I lift my glass. “Cheers.”
Dubs returns to the table, wine in hand, and what’s sure to be a questionable plan at best written all over his face. He lowers to one knee beside my stepsister, presenting her glass like a servant honoring royalty. “Your royal nectar, my queen.”
Heads turn all around us, looks of uncertainty abounding. Is he proposing? Begging for forgiveness? Performing Shakespeare? Who’s to say.
Bri takes the wine as if this is totally normal black-tie function behavior, sips it slowly without taking her eyes off Dubs’ moronic expression.
She rolls the chardonnay as a seasoned sommelier would before swallowing it down.
On a tired sigh, she says, “That’ll do.” A dismissive hand wave. “Be gone, peasant.”
The table erupts with laughter as catering staff clears our plates, dinner music fading.
Mr. Whitley takes the stage and spends a few minutes welcoming everybody, thanking the organizations who donated to tonight’s festivities. He wraps up by acknowledging Hawkley House for their continued stellar work for the hospital.
“Ladies and gentleman,” he continues, “this event would not be possible if weren’t for a woman by the name of Hannah James.
She’s the hospital’s PR manager at Hawkley, but more importantly, she’s a longtime advocate of our mission.
In fact”—he gestures around the room—“this event was her idea from the start.
“Nine years ago, I received an email from an ambitious nineteen-year-old college student looking to log some philanthropy hours as a requirement for one of her courses. She told me her story then—her experience with Boulder Children’s—and I knew right away she was something special.”
Hannah’s chin drops to her chest, feet shuffling anxiously beneath her. I stroke my thumb over her knee.
“I signed off on her hours at the end of her semester, but Ms. James didn’t stop there.
Between that inaugural event and the six events since, we’ve raised funds sufficient to purchase cutting-edge, life-saving equipment, add full-sized sleeper sofas to every overnight room, and increase critical care staff so our nurse to patient ratio is now the best it’s ever been.
And tonight, year eight, we’re on track to complete our fundraising efforts to break ground on our expanded, state-of-the-art, pediatric oncology wing as early as this fall. ”
Applause breaks out amongst everyone else, but Hannah has my hand locked in her grip.
“A member of the board usually gives the keynote speech. Tonight, however, we wanted you to hear from the woman whose heart and soul has made this all possible. The person who took a tragedy that would break most people and, instead, used it to fuel a passion to do good and serve others.
“Ladies and gentleman, would you please welcome Ms. Hannah James.”
I scoot out of my chair to help with hers as she climbs to her feet. Her eyes find mine for a moment, lips tight like her nerves hold her smile hostage.
While the applause continues, I tell her, “I’m already so proud of you. Just breathe, okay?”
She nods, squeezes my hand once, heads for the stage. Adam eases back from the lectern and the two exchange a quick hug as the room quiets down.
“Good evening, everyone,” she says. Hannah starts by thanking the board for their kind words while she pulls her speech from her pocket.
Elbows propped on the table, I rest my chin on my clasped hands and listen in.
“The first time I stepped inside the doors of Boulder Children’s Hospital, I was a patient. Unfortunately for my first-grade ego, I didn’t get anything cool I could show off to my friends like a cast or crutches. Nope, just a good ol’ run-of-the-mill appendicitis.”
The room chuckles. Her lips quirk up.