CHAPTER 1
BEN
These waiting rooms always smell the same. Not bad exactly, but distinctly sterile. If this smell were a person, it’d be that guy who ironed his dress shirts before he hung them up and then again right before he wore it, and then he would glare at your wrinkled T-shirt, as if you’d somehow offended him.
It’s giving me a headache.
But I push past it because today is a good day. Today, I meet her. My donor.
My kidneys are shit. My fault. I can’t curse at my parents or a stranger for this situation. Maybe the universe, but I’m not a fan of yelling into the void. Nope, I screwed my body up all on my own.
Still, all my family members and friends got tested to see if they could help me out. Maybe give me one of theirs. No luck there. Every time they called with a negative, I would try to convince myself that it didn’t matter, but then I’d have to hook up to the machine again.
Each treatment with the needles in my arm, sucking my blood out to be cleaned and then piping it back in, pushed me closer to crazy town. The only thing that kept me going was the hope that my wait on the organ donor list wouldn’t be longer than the life left in my body.
Today’s the big day.
My parents are late, but I don’t care this time. Without them here, I can people-watch. Maybe catch a glimpse of my donor before the official meeting.
I only know her name and her brother’s, who needs a kidney just as bad as I do. My doctor said a name is all he could give me without their permission, and some people don’t even get that.
Holly and Marcus Foster. My superheroes. I half-expect her to burst in here, sporting a Wonder Woman getup. Getting a kidney from Gal Gadot would be a bonus.
That’s just wishful thinking though. I’ve got my eye out for a man and a woman more my parents’ age or older. Kidney failure isn’t something people as young as me normally deal with. I’m an outlier.
Yay me.
My glasses slide down my nose as I bend over the book in my lap. I should’ve brought one of my textbooks, but studying political science isn’t as interesting as reading a novel. Normally, I can get lost in a good story, but today, I can’t get through a paragraph without glancing at the door.
Finally, it opens, and in walk a middle-aged man and woman.
They’re obviously here together, her hand wrapped around his forearm. She has her dyed blonde hair pulled back from a round face, making it easy to see her thin lips pinched together. The man looks like any military movie drill sergeant with buzzed hair and steely eyes.
They have to be the Fosters.
I almost jump up and introduce myself, even consider kneeling and kissing Holly’s feet. But I don’t do that because Mr. Foster looks like a man who throws punches first and asks questions never. Better wait for the doctors to call us in.
I’ve no idea if they’ll even be interested in talking to my cousin, Fred, and me over the next few months. They might be good with a quick hello and then radio silence until surgery day.
The Fosters sit down on the other side of the room in the only two remaining empty chairs.
It’s depressing how crowded the waiting room is. When I got here, I ruled everyone present out as possibly being Holly and her brother. A few older men with varying shades of gray hair are scattered around. An elderly woman sits with a young girl, clasping her hand and holding tight to a rosary. A father whispers in Spanish to his preteen boy. A guy with darker skin, who I’d guess is in his thirties, has a sketchpad propped in his lap. And then a young woman sits on her own, next to Holly.
Staring at the two people I’ve been waiting for, while creepy, makes sense. Staring at the mystery girl beside them is only reasonable if you ask my dick for input.
She has a textbook on her lap, and she taps the end of a highlighter on her full bottom lip, like she’s trying to draw attention to it. What man wouldn’t want to get a closer look at that pouty mouth? Of course, I’m making up the invitation. She only has eyes for her book.
Most people here are obviously sick. It’s in the way their skin looks or a smell they have. Or the fear mixed with depression on their faces.
This girl should be on a billboard advertising health. And swimsuits.
Silky brown hair waves slightly, brushes against her cheeks, and ends just below her chin. She’s got on a conservative white blouse, buttoned to her slim throat. I want to pop a few of those buttons open, see more of that skin flushed with a healthy glow. A black skirt covers her to the knees but still lets my eyes trace down her toned calves to where they disappear into a pair of heeled black boots. The whole outfit makes her look like she’s heading into a job interview, but I find the professional look sexy as hell.
I’m curious.
Why is she here? This girl can’t be dying … can she?
A surprising surge of panic has me clenching my hands.
With a deep breath, I push the strange reaction away because it’s not rational. I’ve never spoken to her, so why should I care about her medical issues?
My imagination has too much free rein when I’m stuck in these uncomfortable situations. Like a coping mechanism, to avoid my own problems, I make up fake issues for other people that I can worry about. That has to be it.
I’m being ridiculous. I don’t know why she’s here, who she is, or even what her name is.
She hasn’t even looked at me.
And, like I yelled that thought across the room, my mystery girl glances up from her book, her gaze connecting with mine.
Why did we get here so early?
This is supposed to be a good day, but I’m still a jittery mess. I think it’s these sitting rooms. Maybe the chairs with their poor back support and lack of cushioning or the lighting, always fluorescent. But, really, I think it’s the smell. Brings back bad memories.
I’ve been stuck reading this same page for the last five minutes, trying to focus enough to get the words to stay in my brain.
It’s no use. I’m too excited. Too scared.
Will things finally work out this time?
I glance out the side of my eye to check on Marcus. He grumbled about me staring at him earlier, so now, I have to be covert.
As usual, he’s busy with his designs. Just last year, a prestigious architecture firm in NYC made him a decent job offer. So good in fact that he was willing to leave his beloved Philadelphia to relocate. I might have given him a shove or two, making sure he didn’t let a dream slip through his fingers. I miss him, but at least he’s just a train ride away.
When I’m sure he’s not freaking out, I refocus on my homework for digital marketing. Normally, I’m all about this subject. I carry half of the class participation on my own shoulders.
I still can’t concentrate.
But, this time, it’s not my worries throwing me off. There’s a weird pressure brushing against my skin. Like I’m being watched.
With that creepy thought itching over me, I put my finger on the sentence I last tried to read and tilt my head up to view the room.
Immediately, I lock eyes with a guy sitting against the opposite wall.
He’s staring at me, though he does jerk in surprise when I first look at him. But, instead of doing the usual thing where you dramatically glance around, putting on a show that says, Oh no, I wasn’t staring at you. You just happened to catch me as I was looking at everything in the room, the guy keeps on watching me.
Weirdo.
I scan my clothes, looking for a giant stain or something else that would make me worth examining. But the crisp linen shirt I ironed this morning is spotless. When I brush my hand across my mouth, I don’t feel any stray crumbs. A quick finger-comb of my hair assures me that nothing is sticking out at a strange angle.
So, what’s this guy’s issue?
Flipping my eyes back to his side of the room, I find him still looking my way, only now he has a half-smile. Like he found my self-examination amusing.
Well, he’s not the only one here who can gawk at strangers.
I place my highlighter down, angle my body toward him, and set to staring.
Then, I make my list.
1. Strawberry-blond hair with a touch of a curl in slight disarray. Probably did that on purpose with styling products.
2. Wire-rimmed glasses sitting on a straight nose, making him look like a young professor. Bet they’re not even prescription.
3. Blue-checkered dress shirt, neatly tucked into corduroy slacks. Preppy much?
4. Can’t tell how tall he is, as he’s sitting down, but I bet he’s obnoxiously tall. Like break my neck to look him in the eye tall.
5. Holding a book. Okay, I guess that’s hot.
6. Overall, too attractive for his own good.
As I reach my conclusion, his half-smile morphs into a full-on smirk.
Now, I’m annoyed. I’m over here, worried about my brother’s health, trying to stay sane during this wait, unable to tell which of these older men is Benjamin Gerhard—the person I’m getting myself cut open for—and Mr. Handsome Face is practically laughing at me.
He wants something to laugh at? I’ll give him something to laugh at.
I start with a fierce glare made to wither even the strongest of men. Then, without warning, I cross my eyes and stick out my tongue like the grown woman I am.
There, that should teach him to stare at strangers.
When my eyes settle back into their proper direction, I’m satisfied to find his mouth has popped open in shock.
Situation handled, I go back to my textbook, prepared to lose myself in the technical writing.
But then the chuckling starts.
With the self-control of an Amazon warrior, I keep my eyes on my book, even as the stranger’s choked laughter fills the room. I comfort myself with the knowledge that everyone else here probably thinks he’s crazy.
“Making new friends?” Marcus’s murmured question has me glancing up at him. Now, he’s the one with a half-smile.
Did he see my immature exchange with the stranger?
He grins and crosses his eyes at me.
Yes. Yes, he did.
“He started it,” I mumble back.
The laughter dies off.
Dagnabbit.
The silence is more tempting than the noise, and I can’t hold back the urge to check on Mr. Annoyingly Attractive. His smile is gone. Instead, he appears puzzled as he glances between my brother and me.
I don’t have time to wonder about him any longer because the door beside reception swings open.
A woman in watermelon-colored scrubs appears and reads off her clipboard. “We’re ready for the Gerhards and the Fosters now.”
As I stand, I scan the room, trying to get my first look at Mr. Gerhard. But the only person who stands up besides Marcus and me is Mr. Getting-on-My-Nerves Gorgeous.
Oh no.
“You?” I can’t hide my disbelief. I shake my head to clear it. Or to deny the truth.
He’s too young!
I just stuck my tongue out at him!
This can’t be right!
The guy looks just as confused as I am, gaze flitting between me and the woman sitting in the chair next to mine. I’m still convinced that he is joking and will sit back down. But then he says one word, and my fate is sealed.
“Holly?”
I do my best to play catch-up as our group settles around the conference table. I stared like an idiot in the waiting room, but now, I try not to gawk at the girl sitting across from me.
No, not the girl. Holly. Holly Foster.
Apparently, I was way off base, thinking my donor would be a middle-aged woman. Instead, I’ve got this little brunette, sexy in a girl-next-door kind of way, with heart-shaped lips and the ability to sass me without speaking a word.
I’m not sure if she’s going to save me or destroy me.
Dr. Stevens and a woman I expect is this lovely girl’s physician both lean over a laptop. They’re probably getting the Skype session set up, what with my cousin joining us long distance. I take advantage of the free moment to force the blood back to my brain, so I can avoid making an ass of myself.
Other than her hilarious exchange with me and the first moment of recognition when our names were called out, Holly hasn’t glanced my way. I should be grateful, but instead, I miss having those coffee-brown eyes glaring at me.
Okay, so our first interaction was slightly awkward. But that doesn’t change things. Now, I have a face to pair with the name. Now, I know who is willing to undergo surgery to save my life.
And I have to admit, kissing this Holly’s feet is more appealing than doing so with my first assumption. Kissing other parts of this Holly is tempting, too. Like the delicate hand she’s tapping on the table. Or maybe the soft cheek that blushed red when she realized who I was. Possibly that pouty bottom lip she’s nibbling on at the moment.
Whoa. Pump the brakes. Put it back in your pants.
I give myself a firm mental shake and try to dump a proverbial bucket of ice water on my overly excited brain.
I cannot fantasize about making out with my organ donor. There has to be a rule somewhere that says that. Like in the Bible or something. I definitely feel like I should go to hell for the thoughts of what I want to do to her mouth.
Trying to take my mind off of forbidden fantasies, I turn my attention to Holly’s brother, Marcus. I’m guessing they aren’t full siblings, based on the differing skin tones. Holly is the color of whipped cream, light and pale. Marcus’s skin is much darker. If I were painting them, I’d use alabaster for her and russet for him. I can see the relation more in the shape of their faces and the set of their eyes.
“You’ve probably guessed by now, but I’m Marcus.”
Shaking the hand he offers me, I smile in response to his amused grin. He probably saw his sister’s antics in the waiting room.
“Good to meet you. I’m Ben.” Under the pretense of being polite but really because I need to hear her speak, I turn to hold my hand out to his sister. “And you must be Holly Foster. My knight in shining armor.”
She blinks and then gives me her hand, rewarding me with a smile even though it does appear tight around the edges. “At your service.”
If only.
Just as I’m trying to brainstorm ways to hear that sweet voice again, my parents are ushered into the room.
“So sorry we’re late,” Mom says before giving me a kiss on the cheek while my dad pats me on the back. “Are these the Fosters?” She turns hungry eyes on the siblings, who stand up to greet my parents.
“Yeah, Mom. This is Holly Foster and Marcus Foster.” I try to meet Holly’s eyes, but she’s shifted her attention away from me. “And these are my parents, Victoria and Benjamin Gerhard.”
More handshakes are exchanged, and everyone takes their seats. Dr. Stevens lets out a noise of satisfaction, and the large TV screen at the end of the room emits the ringing of a telephone. A few seconds go by before my cousin, Fred, appears on the screen. He grins through his thick beard and waves. Next to him is a well-dressed man with more hair on his upper lip than the top of his head. Introductions resume, and I find out that Fred’s companion is Dr. Gupta, and Holly and Marcus’s is Dr. Williams. After everyone says their hellos, the doctors get into the details.
“Now, I want to reiterate to Holly and Fred, this is all voluntary. You are under no obligation to complete this donation if, at any point, you feel uncomfortable with proceeding.”
I swear that Holly flinches slightly at Dr. Williams’s words.
Does she not really want to donate? Is her brother forcing her into this?
I should talk to Holly alone at some point. To ask her about the donation, of course. Definitely not because I want to try to get a real smile out of her.
“Over the next few months, you will undergo multiple tests to ensure you are healthy enough to donate. You will also submit to mental evaluations, so we know you are emotionally ready to take on this task. You will be counseled on the procedure as well as the potential risks and the recovery period. Do you understand all of this?”
Both Holly and Fred nod.
“Good. Once we finish with those steps, assuming everything goes well, we will schedule your surgeries. Now, you’ve all introduced yourselves to one another, but we like to provide you with this time to get to know a little more about each other. Also, you can decide on how much communication you’d like to have during this process.”
“How much is there normally?” This is from my mother, who keeps smiling at Holly, likely just a step away from hopping over the table and planting a kiss on the girl’s mouth.
Get in line, Mom.
“It differs from case to case,” Dr. Stevens says. “Some decide that meeting once is all they need and don’t converse until the day of surgery. Maybe not even then. Others exchange contact information and actually spend time together. They like the idea of having that connection. It’s really up to you all.”
Well, I know what I want, and it doesn’t involve leaving this room and never getting to see Miss Foster again.
In a strange reflection of my mom, my donor now wears a huge smile. Unfortunately, I’m not on the receiving end of it. That lucky bastard is cousin Fred, who grins right back.
After a beat of silence, I’m about to open my mouth when Holly takes the words from me.
“I understand if you all would prefer not to, but I’d really like to keep in touch. Even if it’s just texting. Or a phone call every so often.” She directs all these words at Fred.
I get the strong urge to remind her that it’s me she’s giving her kidney to.
Then, I notice her hand. It’s not tapping on the table anymore or fiddling with her highlighter. Instead, she has it wrapped around her brother’s wrist, gripping hard. As if to reassure herself that he’s still sitting beside her.
I glance back at my parents and find them both staring at Holly like she’s a magic genie, here to grant them a wish. In a way, she is.
My parents gaze at Holly the same way she’s looking at my cousin, and I can’t fault her for ignoring me.
But I decide that, when she’s done thanking the universe for the gift that is Fred’s kidney, I’m going to make her notice me again.
“You want someone to talk to? I’m your man.” I lean over the table toward her, trying to catch her eye.
Holly hits me with the full weight of her attention. “Regular phone calls and everything?” The hope in her voice gives me all the opening I need.
“Why stop at phone calls? Other than Fred, we’re all in Philly. You wanna hang out, then just give me a place and time.”
I know I’ve said the right thing when her soft mouth curls up at the corners. The sweet smile does strange things to my chest, and suddenly, every inch of my skin heats up.
I’m so screwed.
Mr. Distractingly Devastating is getting back on my good list.
The idea of exchanging good-byes with this family today and then Marcus having his new kidney in a few months, no problem, is not something I can trust. I don’t need tabs on Fred twenty-four/seven or anything, but forming some sort of friendship could only help the situation. Same thinking when it comes to Mr. … okay, I should probably start calling him Ben.
“I’ll hold you to that. But Marcus just moved to New York City, so it’s really just me who’s local.”
Not that my brother is pushing for a get-together. Marcus is invested, but he has always been a bit of a loner. He trusts me to handle the human interactions most times.
“Yes, tell us about yourselves. All we really know are your names, that Marcus needs a kidney, and that you’re willing to donate one.” Ben’s mom stares at me, her gaze as fixed as a missile target.
I’m not intimidated. Mrs. Gerhard is my kind of woman. Straight to the point.
“Okay, sure. So, Marcus”—I wave my hand at my brother, knowing that he wants me to take over the introductions—“moved because he was offered a job at an architecture firm. That’s what he does for a living. Designing buildings and spaces. He’s pretty much a genius at it.”
“Holly.” Marcus uses his chiding big-brother tone, but I just roll my eyes at him.
“And, unless he’s trying to get you to hire him, he’s annoyingly modest about how amazing his work is.” Now, he’s the one rolling his eyes, but I just ignore him, as is mandated in the little sister’s guidebook. “As for me, I’m a student at Wharton, the business school at—”
“The University of Pennsylvania,” Mrs. Gerhard finishes my sentence with a surprised look.
I don’t know why though—unless she’s shocked that I made it into an Ivy League school.
“How long have you been at UPenn?” That’s from Ben’s father.
“I just started my third year. I’m working on a BS in economics and hoping to qualify for the fast-track MBA program.”
“That is a wonderful coincidence.” Ben’s mother smiles at me, so some of my defensiveness melts away.
“What is?”
“Well, we were excited enough to learn that there was a donor living in Philadelphia who was a match for Ben. But then to find out that you two attend the same university? It’s a small world!”
My eyes flick to Ben, and for the first time since the waiting room, I give his face a thorough examination.
1. Strong jawline with a clean shave.
2. A slight cleft in his chin.
3. Red-gold hair still maintaining its skillfully tousled appearance.
4. Broad shoulders filling his shirt out to perfection.
5. Straight white teeth bump his genuine smile up a notch. Probably flosses like a champ.
6. Still too attractive for his own good. And for my state of mind.
I’m completely sure I’ve never seen him before in my life. “What’s your major?”
“Political science.” Ben watches me studying him, unmoving, as if he knows I want him to keep still during my perusal.
“He’ll be applying to law school next year,” Mr. Gerhard adds, smiling at his son.
“So, you’re a junior?” I’m not completely sure how the whole pre-law situation works.
“Really, I should be a senior, but I’ve had to go part-time the past two years. You know … medical issues.” He gives a general wave to take in our surroundings.
I nod in understanding. It took Marcus an extra year to get his degree because of classes conflicting with treatment times.
“Maybe we can be study buddies.” Now’s a good time as any to reach out the hand of friendship. “I don’t understand a word of that legal mumbo jumbo, but I can hold up flash cards like a pro.” I use my most braggy voice, and Marcus snorts at my antics.
Ben grins broadly.
My goodness, that’s a smile that could run a car off the road.
“Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse.”
“Obviously, I can’t meet up with you all, being out here in Colorado. But I can give out my phone number. Text me anytime.” That offer comes from Fred, the image on the screen a half-second behind the audio.
After he’s done with his, we all rattle off our phone numbers, including Ben’s parents.
I think it’s sweet that they’re here with him. Our dad tends to keep a relatively hands-off approach to the situation, trusting us to update him on any new developments. Secretly, I think my adoptive father is self-conscious about his lack of a college degree, as if he’d only hold back the discussion by being here. I’d try setting him straight if it wouldn’t embarrass him more. Someone who can disassemble and rebuild a car engine and then rewire an entire house could never be considered uneducated.
“Well, if you’ve no further questions for us, then I think we’re done for today. Fred, you can talk to your doctor about setting up all your pretests in Denver. Holly, you can stop by the front desk to arrange your appointment times.” Dr. Williams ends the videoconference after we wave good-bye and stands to lead us from the room.
We file out, and I head toward the front desk but stop when I feel someone grip my hand.
Mrs. Gerhard lingers and clutches my palm. “Miss Foster—”
“Holly,” I correct her.
Victoria Gerhard lets a smile trace over her serious face. “Holly. I just wanted … I needed …” She huffs out a frustrated sigh, and I get the impression that this is a woman who normally knows exactly what to say. “What you’re doing for my son … thank you.” She gives my hand a soft squeeze before releasing me and hurrying after her departing husband.
I stand still for a moment, recognizing in her a reflection of my own gratitude. If Fred were in this room with us, I would have bruised his ribs from my death-grip hug.
When I go to turn to the desk, I’m stopped again, this time by a gentle brush on my arm. I glance back to see Ben, his cheeks turning faintly red.
Would his skin be hot to the touch if I pressed my fingers there?
Stop thinking about touching the guy’s face. His face is off-limits.
“Sorry about my mom. She can be a bit intense at times, but she means well.”
“Oh no, it’s fine. I totally get it. You’re her son, and she’s just happy that you’re going to be healthy again. And, believe me, having a mom like yours is nothing you should ever be sorry for.”
At his quizzical look, I realize that I’m babbling and tripping close to a topic I don’t even like talking to my brother about. Good time to cut and run.
“Nice meeting you, Ben. I’ll see you around campus.”
“Yeah, see you.”
I hear his response as I briskly walk away, front desk in sight.
Do not look over your shoulder. Do not look over your shoulder.
The internal mantra is useless. When the office door creaks open, my eyes flit toward the sound, finding Ben Gerhard paused in the doorway. As if waiting to get my attention again, he grins and waves, and then he finally walks out of my sight. Marcus sits in a chair by the door, waiting for me to schedule my appointments, so we can head out.
I love spending time with my brother. But, today, there’s a tug of regret that he’s the one I’m leaving this office with instead of a bespectacled man with a propensity for staring.