Chapter 10 #2
Wella glances down, swiping on her tablet.
“Yes, things are looking good. The head nurse on the procedure said she’s out of surgery and stable.
Dr. Romanescu set her leg and her arm. Hip turned out not to be a fracture, so she won’t have to be immobilized and should be discharged in a day or two.
Dr. Singh, one of NOLA’s best in plastics, is taking care of her cheek now.
” She looks up with a crooked grin. “I guess one of you has connections, huh?”
I nod, silently thanking Charlotte for being the best of the best. “Yes, my future sister-in-law. She called in a favor.”
Wella smiles. “Good for her. Dr. Singh will take great care of your friend. She does beautiful work. Clover’s going to need rest and help getting around for a while, but chances are, she’ll heal up just fine.”
Relief floods through me, making my voice tremble as I breathe, “Thank God. I’m so glad. I was afraid…” I shake my head, not wanting to speak the scary things aloud, just in case. “I’m just so glad she’s going to be okay. Can I see her? When Dr. Singh’s done?”
“She’ll still be groggy from surgery and will need to be monitored before she can receive guests.
But you should be able to visit later this evening.
Or, at the very latest, tomorrow morning.
” Her forehead furrows as she glances over her shoulder before continuing, “But Nurse Clapton said she was already stressing about work and bills, even fresh out of sedation. So, if there’s anything you can do to put her mind at ease about that, that would be great.
Or just…not mention that stuff for a while, maybe. She needs peace now, too.”
My heart clenches. Of course, Clover’s worried about money.
She lives paycheck to paycheck, cobbling together a living from waitressing at the diner, a bartending shift on Saturdays, and whatever gigs she can book as a fill-in bass player.
A few weeks trapped in bed could destroy her financially, and it’s doubtful she’ll still be in line for that assistant manager job she was so excited about after this… .
I’ll offer to pay for everything, that’s not up for debate, but I don’t know if she’ll let me. She’s determined to make it on her own, even when it hurts.
This time it definitely will hurt.
Before I can formulate a plan to trick her into letting me help her get back on her feet, Blue murmurs, “I’ll cover her expenses until she’s better.”
Both Wella’s brows shoot up this time. “Really?”
“Really,” Blue confirms. “Medical bills, rent, whatever she needs help with, I’ll make sure she knows it’s taken care of, and that I’m happy to do it. It’s no burden at all.”
Wella’s eyes go a little dreamy. “That’s incredibly generous.”
Generous.
The word scratches the record again.
She’s clearly starting to see Blue as a hero, a man who steps up to do the noble thing in a friend’s time of need. And he is noble, but his offer also reminds me of the check that started it all.
If he hadn’t sent that stupid check for fifty grand, I might never have left New Orleans.
Fifty grand.
It was too much and not enough, generous and tone deaf all at the same time.
Most men wouldn’t have sent anything, certainly not with a note assuring their baby mama that there was more help available any time she needed it.
But I didn’t want his money. I didn’t need it, either, and he should have known that.
He should have known that a check would make me feel shabby and small.
And even more alone.
Because Blue wasn’t Blue anymore, he was a jerk with a checkbook, too stupid to know that wasn’t the tool he needed in that particular situation.
The anger I pushed down when Wella stepped inside flares back to life. “Thank you so much for the update,” I say with forced calm. “We really appreciate it.”
She nods and smiles at both of us now, clearly having decided that Blue isn’t the pregnant-partner-agitating force she initially judged him to be. “I’ll check back in an hour, and we’ll see if we can’t get you ready to head home.”
I thank her again, hands rubbing slowly back and forth over my stomach, playing the peaceful pregnant woman to the hilt until her footsteps fade down the hall.
Then I turn to Blue and hiss through a tight jaw, “You are not covering Clover’s living expenses. I am. She’s my friend.”
“She’s my friend, too,” he reminds me.
“She’s my roommate,” I counter. “And I don’t want her feeling indebted to you.”
“I would never make her feel that way,” he says, looking hurt again. “I promise.”
“You can’t control that. You can’t control how writing someone a check makes them feel. They get to decide that, and I know Clover will feel more comfortable if that money comes from me.”
Blue’s wounded gaze sharpens. “I think we both know this isn’t about Clover. I’m sorry I wrote that check, Bea. You have no idea how sorry. I know it was stupid now, believe me. Probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
There it is. Finally.
The admission—and the apology—I’ve been longing for.
But it’s too little, too late…isn’t it?
My ribs lock around my heart, warning it not to relax its guard just because he finally said the “S” word. A second later, Bean kicks my spleen, as if reminding me that her father spent five months pretending that she didn’t exist, when she very much did.
And does.
“Okay,” I whisper.
The word hangs in the air, vibrating with accusation.
His brows lift. “Obviously, it’s not okay. But if you’ll give me two minutes to explain, I know I can make this better.”
“How?” I demand, ignoring the stinging at the back of my nose. “How can you make this better? You can’t.”
“I can,” he promises in this genuine, caring way that makes the emotion swelling in my chest even worse.
“No,” I choke out. “You can’t. I can’t forgive five months of nothing, Blue. I’m sorry, but I can’t, and I certainly can’t forget that you—”
“I’m not asking you to forgive or forget. I’m just asking for the chance to—”
“No explanation can make up for that,” I insist, with a shake of my head.
“I understand that.” Frustration mixes with the pleading note in his voice as he adds, “But, Bea, please, if you’ll just listen, I—”
“Maybe I don’t want to listen. Maybe I know better than to listen to someone who pretends to be this kind, wonderful man, only to turn around and—”
I break off with a huff as he surges to his feet.
I expect him to make a break for the door, but he doesn’t.
One second, he’s in the chair, the next, he’s braced one giant hand on the bed beside my hip. The other cups my jaw with a gentleness that mixes dangerously with the intensity in his eyes. Dangerous for me, anyway, a woman who’s far too vulnerable to his touch, even when I’m at my strongest.
And I’m not at my strongest.
I’m scared and exhausted and angry and sad, and then his mouth is on mine, and all the conflicting feelings vanish in a rush of joy.
In the bliss flooding my veins, celebrating the return of Blue’s lips to mine…
We haven’t kissed since that night, since before he apologized for making me come my brains out and called a car to take me home.
Deep down, I knew then that my romantic dreams about us were never going to come true.
I should have started grieving that very second.
A part of me did, I guess. After all, I wasn’t completely surprised when he was weird.
Or when weird turned to weirder, and weirder turned into ghosting me completely.
In fact, the only surprising thing that’s happened between us since that night is…this.
This kiss like a confession, like a beloved chorus, coming back just when you thought the song was over. This kiss that makes my nipples tighten and my panties wet for the first time in weeks.
Maybe months?
I was pretty sure the second trimester had killed what little remained of my sex drive, but apparently not.
Definitely not.
I curl my fingers into Blue’s T-shirt, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until our tongues twist and dance. Until his sexy Blue smell fills my head and my skin tingles from the press of his fingertips at the back of my neck, and a wicked voice in my head wishes that Wella had closed the door.
Because if that door were closed, I would absolutely be begging Blue to slide his hand up my skirt right now.
That’s where I am. Five months of hurt and rage banished by a single kiss.
What a weakling.
I should push him away, hold the line, stand my ground.
Instead, I’m a hot second from telling him to shut the damn door when he pulls back, breathing hard.
“I texted you, Bea,” he whispers, gaze locked on mine.
“Every day for a while, then every week. I never stopped. I can prove it.” He tugs his phone from his pocket, unlocking it and scrolling to his sent messages. “See?”
He shifts his cell. I read my name, clear as day, at the top of the screen as he thumbs through a seemingly endless stream of green bubbles.
Message after message after message…
All to me.
But how?
“I… Why didn’t I get them? I had to get a new phone because I forgot mine the morning I left, but once I transferred the eSIM over, it worked just fine.” I shake my head, my mind reeling. “I didn’t block you, I swear I didn’t, and I was still getting messages from all my other…”
I drift off, stomach bottoming out as I remember how much trouble Charlotte had reaching me at first.
I had to approve a different setting somewhere to receive her messages.
We figured out I wasn’t getting her texts during a family check-in call a few weeks after I left and had to troubleshoot the connection.
For a while afterward, I hoped that might have something to do with why I hadn’t heard from Archer.
But the setting changes only resulted in new messages from Charlotte, not the man I was dying to talk to.
But Blue was trying to make contact the entire time.