Salvation (Nashville Nights #2) Page 9

  “She has platinum records Mateo,” I correct him as I smile at Kit. “I have them all.”

  “And I am a huge fan of yours as well,” Kit says and steps forward to give me a hug. When we step back she cocks her head to the side and looks me up and down. “You’re taller than I expected.”

  “And you’re shorter,” I answer.

  “It’s the heels I wear on stage. Everyone says that.”

  “Everything looks smaller in a competition size pool.”

  “Ask her where she puts her gold medals,” Mateo prompts as the four of us head to a table in the shade. He pulls my chair out for me, his hand lingering on my shoulder as he continues to speak. I love his touch and it would be very easy to get used to it. “She told me she keeps them in her underwear drawer but I don’t believe her.”

  Kit and I lock eyes as she sits down beside me and I wonder if she will guess correctly.

  “The real ones are in a safe and the framed replicas are in her closet,” she says and I raise my hand to high-five with her. When our palms smack together we both laugh and I decided that I like Kit Landry a whole hell of a lot.

  “Wait? Is she right?” Max asks and then looks down at his fiancée. “How did you know that?”

  She shrugs and then winks at me. “The real medals are pure silver with gold plating so you aren’t going to keep them in a student apartment.”

  “So far so good,” I encourage her to continue.

  “And the replicas are in your closet because it feels too braggy to put them in your living room and you don’t have an office yet.”

  “Perfect score,” I grin at her and look at Mateo. “Did you really think I kept them in my underwear drawer?”

  “People keep all kinds of random stuff in their underwear drawer,” he protests.

  “Come on genius, let’s go get a round of drinks,” Max says and moves off in the direction of a group of coolers.

  “I’ll grab you a water,” Mateo says just before he steals a quick kiss and walks away.

  “So, how long have you guys been together?” Kit asks as we settle in to get to know each other better. I hesitate just a little too long and she jumps in. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. It’s just that he doesn’t bring dates to family stuff.”

  “I’m kind of surprised that I’m here actually,” I say and wonder how much is oversharing in this situation. “This wasn’t supposed to be a thing.”

  “And now it is a thing?”

  I think back to our time in bed this morning when Mateo talked about beginnings and what we could be. It’s a thing.

  “It’s gotten complicated really fast.”

  “Well, that sounds like every great love affair,” she teases.

  A little girl interrupts with a handful of folded brochures she’s placing on each table. I smile at her and pick one up, reading the information on the front for Grace and Peace Hospice Center.

  “What is this?” I ask, turning it over and noting it’s a facility located in Lively.

  “Today is a thank you event for the staff at this hospice center.” She pauses and asks, “Did Mateo tell you about Mari?” When I nod she continues. “Carmela volunteers there now but they like to throw a party for the wonderful people who helped Mari and so many other people.”

  Remembering the kind words she whispered to me just earlier, I am not surprised that Carmela gives her time to a group like this.

  “When I was in the hospital and rehab for so many months, there was a group who assisted the families, brought care packages by, and helped with small tasks. My mom said they were a constant source of support.” I say, looking over the brochure and reading the testimonials from so many families. “Hospice must have been a comfort. It must have been terrible for them to have her go so quickly.”

  “She might have had a little more time but she refused any more treatment after her first round of chemo. She was so sick and she didn’t want to live what little time she had that way. Mateo was furious with her and they had a huge falling out and never reconciled.”

  I remember the way Mateo talked about his sister and I cannot imagine him not making it right. “That doesn’t sound like the Mateo I know.”

  “We were all blown away but he just couldn’t imagine giving up and not fighting it. He thought she was quitting without fighting and he was furious. When Mari explored assisted suicide options, he just lost it. Max had to drag him out of bars and picked him up in jail once. It was a mess.”

  “Did she…” I swallow hard to loosen my frozen vocal cords. My grip on the brochure so tight I can feel the paper rip. “Did she go through with it?”

  “Her autopsy said that she died from the tumor but I think she did it. Mari was ready and she wanted to go out on her own terms,” Kit says, her voice fading as the buzzing in my ears begins to drown out the sounds of the party around us.

  Unease spreads over me and gives me a chill even in the heat of the afternoon. Anger is rising fast, aimed at myself and my selfishness in indulging in anything with Mateo. A man whose sister’s story is so similar to my own and clearly broke his heart. I had my rules. I broke them. And now I have to make sure that I’m the only one who pays the price.

  Chapter Twelve

  Carlisle

  If I ever meet the guy (or gal) who invented Caller ID, I will kiss them on the mouth.

  I glance down at my phone where it buzzes against the couch cushions. Mateo. He’s been calling pretty much non-stop since I insisted that he bring me home last night and didn’t invite him to stay over. It would have made perfect sense to grab his hand, drag him to bed and let him fuck me until I didn’t remember just how screwed up this situation really was. But I just couldn’t.

  I’d wondered where this connection had come from, why we kept gravitating towards each other and I had my answer now. We are both messed up in the head and everyone knows that opposites attract except when the two people are fucked up. Put two head cases in the same room and they will snap together faster than a virgin’s legs on the first date. That had Mateo and me written all over it.

  But I’m glad I found out about his sister when I did because that was a recipe for a disaster that would rival the Titanic, Pompeii and Justin Bieber all rolled up together. Our stories aren’t identical but the conclusion would be the same: Mateo would end up hurt. I’m not ready to put a name to whatever pulses between us but it’s enough of something to make me think twice about continuing it any further. It would be a shitty move and while many would say my plans to check out on my own terms is the ultimate in shitty, I’m not going to drag him any deeper into this when I already suspect that I’m in over my head.

  A week of avoiding his calls and he’ll have another woman in his bed and Gross Anatomy on his mind and I will be forgotten.

  The phone alerts me that I have a voicemail and I pick it up, thumbing over the screen to pull up the app. My finger hovers over it and I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t tempted to hear what he has to say. I wouldn’t call him back but it would be nice to hear his voice. To see if he is pissed off enough with me for the hint of a Hispanic accent to coat every irritated syllable.

  My thighs clench together at the memory of his voice and I moan and it catches in the back of my throat. I swallow hard and try counting to ten to get my heart rate back to a normal level.

  I swipe to the left on the screen and press the red “delete” icon when it appears and watch as it removes my temptation. If I’m thinking about listening to his message and hoping he has that sexy, southern Spanish drawl thing going on… well… just no.

  Mateo Butler is fun and sexy, loves his mother and fixes cars with his dad. He is a guy who helps his grandpa cheat at cornhole and loves his sister so much that her photo displayed on a banner puts tears in his eyes that he doesn’t even try to brush away. And then in the ultimate “fuck you” from the universe he’s the lover who makes me wet with a heated look and shatters me into a million pieces with his body. He has access to a
part of me that’s only been touched by one other person; a part I truly thought I’d buried with Aaron.

  I’d been wrong.

  I consider going to New York to visit Olivia for a week or so. Long enough for things to cool off between us. Long enough for me to forget how it feels to have his weight on top of me, the slide of his rough palm along my body, over my arms, his fingers sliding perfectly into alignment with my own. I knew that staying overnight was a risk. My Achilles Heel was morning sex and when you add to the equation the fact that Mateo is such a great guy, it all adds up to the cost of a plane ticket to JFK.

  Am I running? Fuck yeah, I’m running. Because the only direction my inner compass is pointing me towards at this moment is wherever Mateo Butler was. And I just can’t go there. Not anymore.

  I open a new tab on my laptop and begin my search for flights. I can leave as early as tomorrow morning if I stick to non-stop in first class. Perfect. I reach for my phone to call Olivia and make sure I can crash at her place. It barely gets to the second ring when she picks up.

  “HRH! What’s up?”

  I smile at her voice, happy to hear the joy across the line. She’s loving New York, loving her new job, and head-over-heels for Sarah.

  “You sound happy so I guess this means you’re not coming back to me.”

  “Sorry babe, you’ve got all the right equipment but my heart belongs to another.”

  I laugh, settling back against the couch, suddenly so glad that I called her. I miss her. She’s my best friend and I send up a silent thank you to the heavens that she answered my ad for a roommate all those months ago. She was strange, hard to impress, and even harder to love. We were a perfect match.

  “If I didn’t love you so much, I’d write bad things about you on the bathroom wall.”

  “That’s not really a threat since they’d all be true.”

  “I’ll tell them you like dick,” I tease.

  “Oh, that’s low even for you,” she chuckles on her end of the phone and I can hear the sounds of the city in the background. “I’m late for work so I gotta cut this foreplay short princess. What’s up?”

  “Can I come hang out with you and Sarah for a little while? A few days? A week, tops.” They are still in the honeymoon phase of finally living together again after two long years apart and I don’t want to cramp their style for too long.

  “Sure. Stay as long as you want.” She does something on her end that makes her voice fade a little but I hear her question. “When will you be here?”

  “I was thinking of flying out tomorrow morning.”

  She stops. I can’t see it but I know she has by the swift inhale that travels over the line.

  “Carlisle, are you okay?”

  I kick myself for putting the fear in her voice. If she’s using my real name, I know she’s freaking out. “I’m fine. I’m still going to set off every metal detector I get near at the airport but I’m fine.”

  “No. You’re not.”

  I sigh and throw her as much of the bone as I want to send over the line. “It’s nothing physical. I need to see my best friend, eat pounds of frozen cookie dough, and watch an Avengers marathon.”

  She sighs. “Fuck. It’s Mateo Butler isn’t it?” And then all traces of nice leaves her voice and the chill in her tone makes me shiver. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No. No, it’s not that.”

  “But this is about him. I’m right. Yes?” When I don’t answer she demands, “What’s going on?”

  “He’s a nice guy, Livvie.”

  Her pause is filled with horns honking and the bustle created by millions of people crammed on an island and I count off the seconds until she responds, her voice low and a little shocked.

  “Well, that fucking sucks.”

  “Yeah. It does.” I take a deep breath and try to inject something other than the panic I am feeling in my response. “So, can I come stay with you guys?”

  “Stay as long as you want. Just get here already.”

  “Tommorrow. I’ll text you my flight details.”

  We say our goodbyes and I end the call, settling back against the couch to think about what I need to do in order to be gone a week or maybe two. With no classes, I can zip down to Texas and see my parents. The last time I talked to my mom she’d laid on the guilt pretty thick and I need to go see them or they will come here.

  My phone buzzes again and I look at the Caller ID, smiling at the name flashing on the screen. Speak of the devil.

  “Hey mom. That’s weird, I was just thinking—” I stop when I hear her clearly crying on the other end of the line and my stomach churns with icy hot fear. “What’s wrong? Is it Andrew?”

  With my older brother serving in the Marines overseas, I hate that my mind always goes to the worst case scenario but I know first-hand just how very breakable we all are.

  “No,” she manages to say through the sniffles. “Andrew and Dad. Everybody’s fine.”

  I let up on the death grip I have on my phone and stand up, heading to the kitchen to grab a soda from the fridge. I yank the door open and snag one of the glass bottles that hold my favorite local root beer. I pop off the cap with the opener and take my first sip while I wait for my mom to pull herself together. She’s not a crier. April Queen is the one who kicked my ass when I didn’t want to get up and go train, who protected me from all the crazy that happens when your kid is a world-class athlete at thirteen, and the one who held our family together when I was hurt, so I know that whatever this is…it’s something worth crying about.

  “Mom. You’re freaking me out.”

  “I’m sorry Carlisle but it’s the most incredible news.” Her voice is muffled and I realize that she’s talking to my dad. The phone makes a weird clicking sound and the abundance of background noise tells me that I’m on speakerphone. “We got the most amazing call today from Dr. Bertrand’s office.”

  Dr. Bertrand? Who the hell is he… or she? I’ve seen a million doctors on every freakin’ continent since I was hurt and I gave up keeping track a long time ago.

  “Mom, I have no idea who that is.”

  “He’s the doctor who can do the surgery you need to remove all of the shrapnel.”

  That stops me. I know exactly who she’s talking about now. This Bertrand guy is the doctor of all doctors who can do this intricate type of spinal surgery to take all of the metal out of my body. If he does this, then the chance of this killing me disappears but there is a high likelihood that I will emerge from the surgery with some level of limited mobility. I could end up using only crutches after months of physical therapy but there is a higher chance I will be a paraplegic. Wheelchair bound for the rest of my life. I feel queasy and I out the soda down on the counter.

  I barely register that I am asking follow-up questions. “He said he wouldn’t do it. What changed his mind?”

  “He looked at your latest x-rays and MRI’s and thinks you’re a perfect candidate. He’s prepared to do it as early as next week. Isn’t that wonderful news?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know? This is the chance for you to live a long, happy life,” my mom responds, her voice flattened by her confusion. “You aren’t thinking of not having the surgery are you because that would be crazy. Selfish.”

  “I don’t want to live my life as a paraplegic. I don’t think I can.” I sigh. “I’ve told you this before. That is not what I want.”

  “I don’t understand,” my dad says, his deep voice booming over the phone. “Are you saying you would rather die than be in a wheelchair?”

  “I would, yes.”

  My parents go silent on the other end of the phone and I wonder if we got disconnected until I hear my dad’s voice, low and soothing and the unmistakable sound of my mom crying.

  “Mom, don’t cry,” I plead, knowing it will not work.

  “I prayed for this… ” Her voice breaks but she pulls herself together enough to scold me. “I prayed for this mi
racle and you’re telling me you don’t want it?”

  “Not if it is going to condemn me to a life I do not want to live.” I struggle to gather my thoughts will all the things pinging in my brain like a pinball machine. I don’t want to hurt them but I don’t know how I can do that and still tell them the truth. “I’ve lost enough already. I should get to choose how this all ends.”

  The voice that rings out in my ear is the one that made coaches weep and cower in the corner. April Queen was the fiercest mom in competitive sports. Nobody even looked at me sideways without her defending me, my training time, my opportunity. I saw the biggest, baddest coaches and sports professionals duck around the corner to hide when they knew they’d wandered into the crosshairs of my mom.

  Dr. Bertrand held out longer than the rest and the last “no” he delivered to us sounded pretty final to me. Apparently, my mother didn’t take no for an answer.

  And she isn’t going to take it now either.

  I hear my mother take the call off speaker and pick it up. Her voice is firm, immovable. “I’m flying out in two days to help you get ready for the surgery. He wants to do this next week and you will have it. This is not up for discussion Carlisle. I will not stand by and let you kill yourself by failing to act.”

  She hangs up before I can tell her that I am planning to act quite decisively if it comes down to it. She wouldn’t hear me anyway. My mom has made it her life to track down any and every doctor in the universe who could help me. I’m beyond grateful. I’m still walking around because she kept pushing and persuading and harassing every medical professional to look at my case and do something.

  And it will take a face-to-face argument to change her mind now.

  I sit on one of my barstools and let it sink in. I’ve been living with a death sentence hanging over my head for so long I don’t really know how to feel. I gave up hoping for a reprieve so long ago that my plans to go out on my own terms was an old friend. Comfortable and predictable.