Wallace,” she said.
“I can’t come for lunch?” he asked.
“No.”
And with that Mother was gone, down the center aisle of the room, a warship sending smaller vessels—interns and staffers—scrambling out of her way.
“Your mother terrifies me,” Wallace said.
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
“It’s a very complicated fight-or-flight response. I can’t explain it. I feel that way around most women.”
Harrison smiled. Thought again of that tattoo and the long, silky brown hair falling over it, revealing and obscuring at the same time.
“Let’s get back to work,” Harrison said, walking back to his desk and the call sheets there. The destiny he’d been groomed for his entire life was waiting for him.
And there was no place in his destiny for that tattoo and the woman it belonged to.
Chapter 6
Sunday, August 18
The nausea woke her up. The nausea always woke her up. A greasy, sick pull from sound sleep, from pleasant dreams about money and being able to go a day without barfing.
It was all-consuming, the nausea. Like an untrained puppy who kept jumping up when it shouldn’t. Or a shitty friend with too much drama. It was, in fact, so paramount that it wasn’t until she opened her eyes that she realized she wasn’t in her own bed.
The ceiling was yellow and lacked the water stains from the time her upstairs neighbor left the sink running. Television news was on in the room and she didn’t have a TV in her apartment.
The bed was funny. The mattress uncomfortable and beneath the sheets, covered in plastic.
She lifted her hand to find an IV tube stuck in her vein.
Uh-oh .
“Hey. You’re awake.” It was her brother’s voice and she turned her head slowly, keeping the world steady, to find him sitting beside her bed.
“Hey,” she whispered. Joy bounced through her, momentarily pushing aside the dizziness and exhaustion. Wes. Her big brother, who’d braided her hair after Mom died and forged Dad’s signature on notes so shecould skip school and go with him to Phillies games and showed up with pizza and milk at the end of the month when Dad’s check had been stretched so thin it could barely keep the lights on.
It had been a few months since she’d seen him and as usual, it was a shock. Wes was a shock.
He’d always been an intense guy, an explosive kid and teenager. A lesson in extremes, that was her brother. Slow to love, quick to fight. Short temper, long memory. Smart brain, stupid heart.
But this man version of him seemed … dangerous. As if the years had worn away the middle ground between his extremes. He was all or nothing. In or out. All of his filters were gone, and he sat beside her bed in a sea of palpable anger.
Wes turned and pointed a remote at the TV in the corner behind him, putting the news on mute.
She reached out and touched his beard. Tugged it. An old welcome.
His lips curled in a familiar half-smile.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Flushing Hospital,” he said.
The world rolled off its anchors and her stomach pitched.
“You need to throw up?” he asked.
She breathed through her mouth until the wave passed. “No. I’m okay. It’s just strange being the one in the hospital bed,” she teased.
He smiled so sweetly at her. “It’s a little strange for me too, but it’s been a while since I was the one with the IV tubes.”
“Allen Hayes?” she asked, remembering the last fight that got him in the hospital.
“I had no idea his sister could pack such a punch.”
She ran a finger down the bumpy ridge of his nose. Ithad been broken more than once. He grabbed her hand and pressed his mouth to the back of it.
“Do you remember what happened?” Wes asked.
“You were coming to take me to dinner.” Excited, nervous, not exactly sure how she was going to break this insane news to her brother, she’d buzzed him up to her apartment, unlocked her door, and then run to the bathroom to vomit.
“I found you passed out on your
“I can’t come for lunch?” he asked.
“No.”
And with that Mother was gone, down the center aisle of the room, a warship sending smaller vessels—interns and staffers—scrambling out of her way.
“Your mother terrifies me,” Wallace said.
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
“It’s a very complicated fight-or-flight response. I can’t explain it. I feel that way around most women.”
Harrison smiled. Thought again of that tattoo and the long, silky brown hair falling over it, revealing and obscuring at the same time.
“Let’s get back to work,” Harrison said, walking back to his desk and the call sheets there. The destiny he’d been groomed for his entire life was waiting for him.
And there was no place in his destiny for that tattoo and the woman it belonged to.
Chapter 6
Sunday, August 18
The nausea woke her up. The nausea always woke her up. A greasy, sick pull from sound sleep, from pleasant dreams about money and being able to go a day without barfing.
It was all-consuming, the nausea. Like an untrained puppy who kept jumping up when it shouldn’t. Or a shitty friend with too much drama. It was, in fact, so paramount that it wasn’t until she opened her eyes that she realized she wasn’t in her own bed.
The ceiling was yellow and lacked the water stains from the time her upstairs neighbor left the sink running. Television news was on in the room and she didn’t have a TV in her apartment.
The bed was funny. The mattress uncomfortable and beneath the sheets, covered in plastic.
She lifted her hand to find an IV tube stuck in her vein.
Uh-oh .
“Hey. You’re awake.” It was her brother’s voice and she turned her head slowly, keeping the world steady, to find him sitting beside her bed.
“Hey,” she whispered. Joy bounced through her, momentarily pushing aside the dizziness and exhaustion. Wes. Her big brother, who’d braided her hair after Mom died and forged Dad’s signature on notes so shecould skip school and go with him to Phillies games and showed up with pizza and milk at the end of the month when Dad’s check had been stretched so thin it could barely keep the lights on.
It had been a few months since she’d seen him and as usual, it was a shock. Wes was a shock.
He’d always been an intense guy, an explosive kid and teenager. A lesson in extremes, that was her brother. Slow to love, quick to fight. Short temper, long memory. Smart brain, stupid heart.
But this man version of him seemed … dangerous. As if the years had worn away the middle ground between his extremes. He was all or nothing. In or out. All of his filters were gone, and he sat beside her bed in a sea of palpable anger.
Wes turned and pointed a remote at the TV in the corner behind him, putting the news on mute.
She reached out and touched his beard. Tugged it. An old welcome.
His lips curled in a familiar half-smile.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Flushing Hospital,” he said.
The world rolled off its anchors and her stomach pitched.
“You need to throw up?” he asked.
She breathed through her mouth until the wave passed. “No. I’m okay. It’s just strange being the one in the hospital bed,” she teased.
He smiled so sweetly at her. “It’s a little strange for me too, but it’s been a while since I was the one with the IV tubes.”
“Allen Hayes?” she asked, remembering the last fight that got him in the hospital.
“I had no idea his sister could pack such a punch.”
She ran a finger down the bumpy ridge of his nose. Ithad been broken more than once. He grabbed her hand and pressed his mouth to the back of it.
“Do you remember what happened?” Wes asked.
“You were coming to take me to dinner.” Excited, nervous, not exactly sure how she was going to break this insane news to her brother, she’d buzzed him up to her apartment, unlocked her door, and then run to the bathroom to vomit.
“I found you passed out on your
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