Sneak Peek
Of all the hospitals in San Diego, my sister had to pick the one where he works.
Fine—if we’re being technical, she didn’t really have a choice. Her water breaking in the frozen foods aisle of her grocery store wasn’t exactly Theresa’s plan.
But come on, universe. Did the closest hospital have to be his? I feel I have a right to be upset by this, but since I can’t be mad at Theresa, here I am with the biggest bouquet of flowers I can afford (hint: it’s not THAT big) obscuring my face as I slink down the brightly lit hallways. And you’d better believe that anytime I see a tall doctor with brown hair, I hug the wall like it’s wool and I’m static, baby.
But I’m not letting a potential encounter with my ex stop me from meeting my newest niece. Because family trumps everything—even if being in the place where Dr. Kevin Bryant is a surgical resident is giving me sweaty pits and an itchy nose. Or hey, maybe that’s the flowers shoved in my face.
Wiggling my nose like that girl from Bewitched, I book it in my jeweled wedges down the hall, almost to the magical door where Theresa and Jake await with their new bundle of joy.
And then, I hear it—that voice I’d know anywhere, even though it was only part of my life for five months.
And yeah, they might have been the most intense and wonderful five months of my life, but phantom whiplash still hits me when I think about them. Because all the intensity, all the wonder, came to an abrupt halt when Kevin figured out I didn’t fit into the picture he had for his life.
Now, I can’t help the yelp that comes from my mouth as I stop and peek through the flowers. My traitorous heart—which shouldn’t care one fig about the man standing at the nurses’ station after he broke my heart into a million pieces nearly two years ago—thumps a happy jig against my chest.
Down, girl.
Because he may have the same high brow, the same tousled dark hair, the same strong arms and lean body that suggest he still runs and lifts weights every morning like clockwork, but the harshness in his tone, the rigidness of his stance as he yells directives at the nurses and disappears behind a set of doors are proof that he’s not the man I thought I knew.
My Kevin was sweet. A little uptight, yes, but considerate and generous. My Kevin would never treat people like that.
But maybe I just saw what I wanted to see back then.
“Lola?”
I turn to find my brother-in-law standing in the hall outside my destination door, his brown-gray eyebrows raised. Jake’s eyes are a bit red, probably from crying—he’s a freaking waterspout, I tell ya—and his clothing is rumpled, I assume from the long night at the hospital.
Striding forward, I raise on my tiptoes and brush a kiss against his cheek. “Congrats, Daddy.”
“Thanks. How’s Sami?”
After Theresa went into labor and Jake joined her at the hospital yesterday, they asked me to pick up my five-year-old niece Sami from kindergarten and keep her at my apartment overnight.
“Wonderful and precocious as always.” In fact, the girl asked me a million questions about birth and babies that started making me sweat. Thankfully, I was able to distract her with a Disney movie and pizza night. This morning before grabbing the flower bouquet I’m now holding, I dropped Sami back at school, where Jake will pick her up this afternoon so she can officially meet her baby sister.
“That’s my girl.” A grin sweeps his face and he pushes glasses up the bridge of his nose. Then he scans the hallway. “By the way, why were you standing there like Harriet the Spy just a minute ago?”
Note: Sami is obsessed with Harriet the Spy, so it’s completely adorable that Jake uses it as a reference point in conversation. Not so adorable is the fact he caught my strange behavior upon seeing Kevin.
“No reason.” I straighten and tug at the hem of my aqua-colored blouse. “How are Theresa and Baby Girl? Did you guys come up with a name?”
“Not yet.”
“All right, all right. You twisted my arm. I guess I don’t mind.”
“Mind what?”
“Sharing my name with her. Lola Warren’s got a great ring to it, don’t you think?” I wink and breeze past him. As I step inside the room, my sister’s tired voice wades out from the other side of the privacy curtain—and an older voice responds.
Mom.
Ugh. Is it too late to escape? I turn on my heel, but Jake shakes his head. He juts his chin toward my sister’s bed. “I need you to stay with her. Theresa’s craving a breakfast burrito from Dos Brasas.”
“Fine,” I hiss out. “But I expect one too. As payment.”
“Payment for spending time with your sister and adorable niece?”
I stick my tongue out—not so mature for a twenty-four-year-old, but when did I ever claim to be mature? “For forcing me to talk with my parents.”
“She’s already been on the phone for fifteen minutes.” There’s a bit of sympathy in Jake’s voice now. He knows why this is hard for me. “I’m sure you won’t have to talk long.”
“Still, you’d better throw in a Diet Coke to revive my energy when you return.”
He chuckles, pats my shoulder, and leaves.
Groaning inwardly, I brace myself for the inevitable. Then I throw on a happy face and walk around the curtain, ginormous bouquet in tow.
Theresa’s blonde hair is a bit grungy, tossed up in a messy bun on the top of her head—stay-at-home mom style, as she’d say—and her face is devoid of makeup like always, but the tiny smile lines around her lips are on full display as she snuggles her infant daughter against her chest with one arm and holds up her phone with the opposite hand.
When she sees me, Theresa turns the screen my way. “Look who’s here.”
I wave at the grainy image of my parents, who are squeezed in front of their computer in Zambia, where they teach English to underserved communities. Apparently they do a lot of good in the village where they’ve lived for more than a decade.
I hope so, considering what it’s cost them—what it’s cost all of us.
Stuffing down the bitterness, I set the flowers on the windowsill of the small room. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.”
“Lola! So good to see you.” My mom looks older every time I see her on-screen—her hair a little grayer, the wrinkles around her eyes a little more prominent—but maybe it’s just the terrible Internet connection. I wouldn’t know, since they haven’t been back to visit since Sami was about six months old and I’ve never been to Africa.
“You too, Mom.” I move to the head of the bed, and Theresa flips the phone back around so it’s fixed on her youngest daughter, who is sleeping and breathing in and out with an adorable little mew. At 8 pounds, 6 ounces, she’s bigger than Sami was, though her legs are scrunched up like a little frog. Theresa has dressed her in pink footy pajamas that are just about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
Bending down, I kiss her sweet downy cheek, then the top of Theresa’s head. “Good job, Sis.”
“She’s pretty great, isn’t she?” My sister yawns and nearly drops the phone. “Sorry. Long night.”
“We won’t keep you, dear.” Mom clicks her tongue. “Oh, I just wish I was there to hold my grandbaby.”
“You could come home, you know.” The words are out before I can call them back. I know better. Nothing is going to change. At this point, why would it?
“Lo …” Theresa warns.
Dad sighs deeply, taking his glasses off and rubbing his chin with a big meaty fist. “You know we would, Lola, but the people here need us.”
We need you.
They’re the words I’ve longed to say for eleven years since they left a thirteen-year-old me in the guardianship of my twenty-three-year-old barely married sister because their new life was “too unstable for children.” But I don’t say those words, because they’re not true anymore. Nope. Theresa and I have learned to rely upon each other. We are all the family we need.
I force another smile. “I know.”
After a few more pleasantries, my sister says goodbye and hangs up the phone. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Torture.” I tilt my head. “But worth it to meet this sweet girl.”
Black-as-night curls stick out the bottom of Baby Girl’s white cotton beanie with a pink satin bow. Apparently all Flanagan girls are born with dark hair that eventually falls out and comes back in nearly white blonde. At least, that’s what happened with me, Theresa, and Sami. “Can I?”
“Of course.”
My long hair falls forward over my shoulder as I gather the tiny bundle in my arms and get her situated. Her button nose and rosy lips remind me so much of her older sister, it’s uncanny. “The Flanagan genes are strong with this one.”
“Right?” Theresa pours a glass of water for herself from a pale pink jug. There’s only enough to fill half her cup, and she downs it quickly. Then she relaxes against the bed. The room is small but thankfully private, and it smells like a mixture of baby formula and lemongrass. A large window lets in the morning light of another gorgeous mid-September day in San Diego.
As Baby Girl coos and inhales, I sigh in contentment. This is where I belong. With my family, who need me. I’ll never regret choosing this life.
“So.” Theresa studies me then tugs at the thin sheet covering her. “Did you see that job opportunity I sent you yesterday? You know, before I made a complete mess in Aisle 3.” She hangs her head. “I’ll never be able to show my face in my favorite grocery store again. Can you imagine the person who had to clean that up?”
“Oh, stop it. The staff will take one look at this sweetness and forget all about how she came hard and fast into the world.” I run a fingertip along her forehead, tracing her cheeks, her nose. “Although maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get them all gift cards as a thank-you. I’m definitely glad the manager acted quickly when she realized your contractions were coming so close together.”
“Me too. And so grateful Jake made it just in time.” Theresa, who is not the crier in the family, sniffles despite herself. “Find yourself a nice guy like him, Lo. It may have taken me a few years to see him as more than my nerdy lab partner, but now I find him the most handsome man alive. There’s nothing sexier than watching him hold our daughters. Daughters. As in, more than one.” Tears start streaming down her cheeks at an alarming rate. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. These postpartum hormones are something else.”
I reach across to the counter and snag a few tissues, shoving them into her hand. “You definitely scored one of the good ones.”
And once upon a time, I thought I’d done the same. From the moment I met Kevin at the diner where I still work—and accidentally served him a hamburger instead of his requested pastrami sandwich—things were like lightning between us. Hot and charged, yes, but deep too, leaving a lasting trench, a mark, on my heart.
Theresa blows her nose and then fixes her eyes on me again. “You didn’t answer my question.”
My nose scrunches. “What question?”
“The job opportunity. Did you look at it?”
“Oh.” I kind of want to ask her which one she means, since she sends me several each week. But I’m not sure if she’s in a teasing mood, given the sheen of tears still coating her eyeballs. “Um, no, haven’t had a chance yet.”
“Well, I think it’s perfect for you. Assistant costume designer at a theater in Los Angeles.” She straightens and I can tell she’s about to go into teacher mode—I guess she can’t help it after teaching science to middle schoolers for so many years. “Now, I know it doesn’t pay all that well, so you might have to have a second job, but you’re basically working two jobs now anyway. And this way, you’d get paid for the theater work. No more of this volunteer stuff. Which would be fine, but you have a bachelor’s degree in costume design, for goodness’ sake. You should be paid for your genius.”
Baby Girl rustles and makes a sound like a grunt. I agree, girl. I agree. “It does sound like a great opportunity.” I let my words trail off.
“But?”
“But you know how I feel about moving. I’m not going to be some distant aunt who never sees her nieces.”
“Lo, Los Angeles is only a few hours away.”
“I know, but?—”
“And”—I hate how big-sister bossiness pervades her tone—“if you’re ever going to go to New York and design on Broadway, then this might be a good step in the right direction.”
“New York isn’t happening, Reese.” I try to infuse a lightness to my tone, as if my statement doesn’t prick my insides.
“But it’s your dream.”
“Was my dream. In middle school. But now that I know what it would require … well, I’m just not willing to make that sacrifice.”
I refuse to abandon the people I love like my parents did.
Like Kevin did.
Not for a million dollars—and not even for the chance to design costumes on the Great White Way.
As if I’ve somehow summoned her help, Baby Girl opens her big beautiful blue eyes—and starts to wail. It happens so suddenly that I jump, but Theresa just laughs and holds out her arms. “Saved by the cry of hunger.”
Standing, I hand over the hangry monster who has replaced my sweet little niece. But as soon as Theresa has her suckling—like a freaking boss, I might add—she turns her pointed gaze to me again. “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah. About to dissect the trauma our parents unwittingly unleashed on you by sticking you with me as a pseudo mom. Is that about right?
“I mean, when you put it like that …” I tease.
Thankfully, I’m saved by yet another interruption when Jake waltzes through the door, a brown paper bag in hand and a soda. He wiggles them in the air and Theresa nearly leaps from the bed—but doesn’t, of course, because I’m guessing Baby Girl would deafen us all if she unlatched. But when Jake places a foil-wrapped burrito the size of my forearm on the table in front of Theresa, she gives him the most solemn expression before saying, “I don’t think I have ever loved you more than in this moment.”
He turns amused eyes to me before handing me a burrito and the soda. “Do you feel the same?”
“Would it be weird if I said yes?” I grin. Living with him and Theresa for five years before living on campus at the University of San Diego for my undergrad gave Jake and me lots of time to perfect the brother-sister relationship. Even though I have my own apartment now, I still spend lots of my free time at their house, watching Sami and doing movie nights with my sis.
Theresa rips into her burrito, taking a bite and sighing with pleasure. The scent of sausage and cooked eggs makes my own stomach rumble, and I start to unwrap my burrito, which is warm in my hands.
“Do you have to work today?” Jake asks.
I freeze. Shoot, what time is it? My eyes land on the ancient clock above Theresa’s head and the tension leaves my body. “Not for another hour.” Which is good, because the lunch rush at Dom’s waits for no one. Of course, I’ve told my boss that I might be switching shifts a lot in the next few weeks as Theresa might need me. And thankfully, the first costume fittings for The Music Man aren’t until this weekend, so I don’t have any set times I need to be at the theater until then.
Before I can even take a bite of my burrito, Theresa has inhaled hers, all while Baby Girl happily nurses. Jake is watching in awe of them both, and suddenly I feel like the thirdiest third wheel ever. I should be used to it by now—it’s basically been happening since my parents foisted me on the newlyweds—but I still can’t seem to escape the ick swirling in my stomach at the thought that I’m more an invasion than a help.
I stand, set the burrito on my chair, and grab the now-empty water jug from Theresa’s side table. “I’ll get you a refill.”
“Oh, thank you. That would be great.” My sister strokes Baby Girl’s back. Both of them look like they’re in a food coma.
Hustling from the room, I quickly find the kitchen area where the nurses stash little packets of crackers, containers of applesauce, and sandwiches for hungry mamas. There’s an ice and water machine and I use both to refill the container to the brim. Once I set the lid on top, I take my time moseying back to the room. I stop to study a wall papered with children’s artwork from the pediatric wing, smiling at the crooked lines and creative shapes.
“Lola?”
For the second time in an hour, someone is calling my name. But this time, it isn’t my brother-in-law.
It’s him.
And his voice in my ear is so unexpected that I shriek and jump, forgetting that there’s a full container of water in my hands.
Liquid careens out of the top—guess I didn’t secure that lid as well as I thought—and all over Kevin. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I drop the jug, allowing what’s left inside to spill out onto the floor beneath him.
Eyes wide, he’s staring back at me with a look that likely mirrors my own. Along his strong jawline is a dusting of stubble, which is kind of a surprise given his propensity to shave every day. He always said doctors should present themselves as professionally as possible.
I lift a hand and give him the tiniest wave known to mankind. “Hi, Kevin.”
“What …” He looks down at his green scrubs, which are drenched. Then his gaze moves back to me. “What are you doing here?”
The once-bustling hallway is now strangely devoid of people, as if the universe knows this moment is embarrassing enough. “I didn’t come here to see you, that’s for sure.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“That’s not what …” Kevin tugs at the badge on the pocket of his scrub pants. “Sorry. It’s, um, good to see you.”
“Sure it is.”
Kevin shifts from one foot to the other. I’m shocked he’s still standing here, to be honest. Maybe he’s expecting me to go quietly like I did the last time we spoke. But I’ve got two years’ worth of pent-up anger and hurt just begging to be unleashed on him. The only reason I’m keeping them in check? I don’t want my sister’s care to suffer. Not that a surgical resident would have anything to do with Theresa. But still.
Oh, yeah. And I guess I also maybe feel like he wouldn’t care one way or the other. He was so clinical when he dumped me.
No feeling. No heartache.
It was so … easy … for him to let me go.
So sue me if I’m relishing his discomfort in this moment just a tad.
A pager on his belt goes off and visible relief finds the cracks in his face. “Well, I’d better go. I hope …” He swallows. “I hope everything is okay.”
Dang it. There’s a sliver of the Kevin I knew—the one who understands what it is to lose someone and works desperately hard so others don’t have to. I can’t leave him thinking that there’s something wrong with my family. Or me. “Theresa had a baby.”
“Right. Of course. That’s why you’re in this wing.”
“Yep.” My smile hitches one corner of my mouth at his logical brain at work. “Why are you here though? Doing a rotation in OB?” While dating him, I acquired quite the medical vocabulary.
“Just covering a shift for a colleague.” He checks his watch. “Speaking of.”
“Right.” I bite the inside of my cheek, because the idea of saying goodbye … “Well.”
“Well.” His eyes connect with mine and spear me right there on site. I can’t move, can’t breathe. Their deep chocolate tones wash me in their sweetness, in the depths of what was. What could have been. If only …
Then the connection is severed when he pivots quickly.
But instead of moving away, he slips in the puddle of water that—until this moment—I’d forgotten completely about.
Apparently he did too.
His head bangs against a medical cart behind him. Before I know what’s happening, his eyes loll back into his head and close.
“Kevin?” I drop to my knees, and my jeans are soaked in an instant—not that I care. He looks really pale, though I don’t see any blood and his breathing seems okay. I pat his cheek but he doesn’t wake up. Turning my head toward the nurses’ station down the hall, I cry out. “Help!”
A few people come running and they push me aside while I watch them take stock of the situation. They call for a bed and a woman in a white coat hurries over and examines him. It’s all happening so quickly and my own breath is coming in short bursts. I clench my fists at my sides.
Finally, as they lift him onto a bed, his eyes flutter open.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I step forward.
But the doctor gives me a side-eye. “Sorry, miss, you need to step back.”
“Don’t talk to my girlfriend like that,” Kevin says before his eyes roll back into his head and he passes out again.
Did I miss the “ex” in ex-girlfriend? Maybe I’m the one who hit my head. And no, it’s NOT wishful thinking, thank you very much.
The doctor and team start wheeling him away and I realize I’m biting my lip so hard that I taste blood. One of the nurses—a sweet older woman with a white poof of hair—puts her hand on my lower back. “We’re taking him to the emergency department to get a full workup. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him.”
And I do the only thing I can do. Because this is Kevin, and even though he is the absolute last person I wanted to see today, this is kind of all my fault and I owe it to him to make sure he’s all right.
After shooting Jake a quick text, I follow the nurse down the hall.
* * *