Chapter 12
The sights and sounds of the Minnesota airport begged for Kyle’s attention, but he had this sense to connect right now.
Hey, how was your day?
Her reply came a minute later.
It’s still going.
Huh. That’s right. He’d forgotten the two-hour time difference between Minnesota and Seattle.
How’s your day been going so far?
Okay. You?
He smiled.
Good. I’m just waiting on the limo to pick us up.
He hesitated, wondering if he should switch limo for something less pretentious.
She’d always had a thing about money and unnecessary spending.
Which was probably fair, considering how she’d grown up.
Still, the Northwest Ice crew had calculated that six guys would probably fit in a limo more economically than two vehicles for one trip, so it didn’t feel too pretentious to him.
Still, he didn’t want her to think he was a tool any more than she might already, so he swapped limo for car and sent the message.
Hope you have fun. I’m waiting on a multi-vehicle collision so need to go.
He winced.
Praying for you.
She didn’t reply. Maybe it was because she’d already left, or maybe it was because she was still a little thingy about matters of faith. Regardless, he’d keep praying for her.
He remembered back in high school when they’d talked about religion.
She hadn’t seen the point of it. Neither had he.
His parents had always touted that hard work and connections were what saw people get ahead in life, not trusting in an invisible God.
God was a psychological crutch, nothing more.
And anyway, for them—and yes, him—real success was measured in dollars.
His dad’s success in property investments had partly motivated Kyle’s desire to see an equally prosperous life for himself, which had seen him undertake financial studies at college.
He’d graduated four years ago with a degree in finance that he’d put to good use, investing in properties, like the apartment Gen had stayed in on Monday night, and another on Bainbridge Island.
But another part of him had wondered if perhaps he could use this success to support a wife and family one day.
And now, looking at the message from the woman who might object to him riding in a limousine, he realized afresh what that other motivation had been.
He’d wanted to ensure that Gen never had to live in the way she’d grown up, in near poverty.
But she would need time to come around to the idea that he cared, to see their differences could actually prove a blessing to each other, not a burden. He frowned.
“You okay there, Tinks?” a voice he recognized asked.
“Hey, Mike.” He slapped him on the back in a bear hug. “I was wondering when someone else would show.”
“We showed up a while ago, but you were so busy checking your phone you didn’t notice.” Mike pointed to a nearby service road where a long white limo waited next to a group of guys.
Oops. Kyle pocketed his phone. Grabbed his bag.
“We called out but you looked preoccupied.” Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Must’ve been important, huh?”
“Yeah.”
He was soon smothered in backslaps and catcalls and tease as various members of the Northwest Ice crew asked just who was on the phone.
“More interesting than us, huh?”
“One guess who.”
Kyle’s cheeks heated.
“Aww. Dude, that’s just adorable.” Ryan smirked.
“I don’t think real men say the word adorable,” he grouched.
“Aww. Someone’s getting touchy.”
He fought to not roll his eyes. “Haven’t you got anything better to talk about?”
“Nope. You’re it. So, how is she?”
“How is who?”
“Okay, play dumb. Your doc. Your lady friend. The woman you’d like to one day be the mother of your children.”
“Would you please stop?”
The others laughed. “Come on. It’s just tease.”
“She needs to get saved first though. That’s right, isn’t it?” Zac asked.
Yeah, that.
The car quieted, all eyes fixed on him. “I’m praying for her.”
“As we all are,” Mike said, clapping him on the back.
He nodded, his throat tight. But it felt weird to be the odd man out here, knowing everyone else was in a committed relationship while he was playing tag with his hopes.
Maybe Mike sensed that, because he changed the subject to the recent celebrations that Luc and his Winnipeg team had enjoyed, as they celebrated their maiden Stanley Cup.
The evening passed with more jokes and less alcohol than Kyle had seen on similar nights out. It seemed these guys didn’t need to be liquored up to have a good time. Mitch was in his element, telling jokes, singing karaoke, eating big, swapping stories.
But the man once known for his huge hits, who had at various times taken on and crushed most of his guests tonight, was definitely a little softer than the last encounter Kyle remembered on the ice.
Mitch was kinder, generous, and it was obvious he adored his bookish wife-to-be.
Britta was apparently having her bachelorette party as a Regency-themed high tea, whatever that was.
“I mean, she chose me when she wanted Mr. Darcy so that’s saying something.”
“Who’s he?” Kyle teased.
“Huh. And I thought you were supposed to be the smart one in the bunch.”
“Hey!” Zac protested.
“Just statin’ facts.”
“I know who he is,” Kyle declared. “He’s the dude who made a million women weep with a hand flex.”
“Man, do not say that to Britta,” Mitch warned. “She thinks that version is the pits.”
“I’ll be sure not to,” he said, smiling.
The evening passed, and the next few days did too, but he couldn’t help but notice how the various events showed how much the others felt relaxed. Him? Not so much. He put it down to them all being here with their wives or girlfriends, which made him long—hard—for Gen to occupy that status one day.
And on Saturday, as the minister asked Mitch if he took Britta to be his lawful wedded wife, Kyle’s heart twisted painfully. He wasn’t jealous. But he was filled with regrets.
Having Gen stay—even if it had been accidentally—the other night had only fueled his desire for more.
This could’ve been them if he hadn’t given up. If he hadn’t been so focused on his career instead of her. Her, waking up at their house, him making her breakfast—that could’ve been their normal.
Instead, thanks to fear or selfish focus, he’d ensured they’d parted, creating deep division.
A sense of strain remained, even if it seemed to be easing a little more with each encounter.
But it wasn’t fast enough. He wanted more, now.
And yes, she needed salvation—Mitch and Britta’s wedding service showed that two people needed to be equally yoked in matters of faith—but that would happen.
It had to happen. Gen was his person. She always had been.
He loved her. Couldn’t wait to see her. To let her know how he felt.
He tuned in to the vows being made.
“…and I promise to love you, in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live.”
Kyle’s chest grew tight, as the room seemed to take a collective breath in recognition that these weren’t just words, but poignantly true. Mitch’s history of concussions meant there was a strong likelihood that he might die younger than most. The diagnosis of CTE hovered like a specter in the air.
But Mitch and Britta were determined to make the most of whatever time they had left, to love while they could. Life was short, carpe diem, seize the day, and all that.
And yes, he wanted to seize this moment with Gen. His heart hungered for her. He wished she was here. He’d call her tonight if he could.
Because standing here, cheering his friend who was kissing his new bride, Kyle recognized now that he wanted the same.
And the only candidate for wife-dom in his world was the one person it had always been.
Gen.
* * *
Saturday night at Seattle General’s emergency department was always a fascinating insight into human nature.
From drug addicts to drunken teens to domestic violence victims and the usual car crash vics, chest pains, broken limbs and lacerations, they saw them all.
And along the way she treated the deserving, the undeserving, the grateful and those who couldn’t care less.
And tried not to take it personally when people abused her, spat or vomited on or hit her.
She knew they either couldn’t help it or lashed out because they were in pain.
But come on. She was only doing her job.
Those kinds of patients made treating people like little Emeralda, whose identity documents and insurance were mysteriously waylaid, far more enjoyable, even though there had been a lot of tears.
“There you go, sweetie.” She glanced at the little girl’s mom. “She’ll feel sore but she can have ibuprofen.”
“Thank you much,” the woman said in broken English. “So worried, so worried.”
“She’ll be okay. Young bodies heal faster than we expect. But you’ll need to bring her in to get her wound checked again soon.”
The woman nodded, and Gen completed paperwork to discharge her.
The girl smiled then sucked her thumb—not the burned one Gen had just applied ointment to then meticulously bound up—and the sight strummed a memory across her chest. Bella used to suck her thumb, and had possessed that same shy expression.
She’d always been so sweet, and while she still could be, there’d been something so innocent and trusting in her younger years.
Younger years that Kyle had missed out on.
Her heart twisted again. Guilt played a loud guitar solo at the strangest times.
Sometimes it was in her dreams. Other times it was in the middle of transcribing her notes at work.
Other times it came just by looking at the soft white, now freshly-laundered T-shirt that stared at her accusingly from where it hung over the back of the chair in her room.
She’d foolishly added it to the laundry, forgetting Mom would find it when she hung things out. And sure enough, Mom had found Kyle’s T-shirt, and when Bella had been distracted, had pointed to it with upraised brows.
“Care to explain?”