Look the Part Page 23

  He grabs my arm.

  I whip around and narrow my eyes at his hold on me. “Let go of me,” I whisper with an edge to my tone.

  He releases me.

  “You don’t get to touch me now. Never again.”

  Alex holds up his new hands. “I couldn’t touch you before. I would have, but I couldn’t.”

  “You didn’t lose all of your hands. You didn’t lose your arms, your legs, your lips … your dick. You sure as hell could have touched me had you wanted to touch me. But you didn’t want to. And that’s fine. I tried to put myself in your shoes. I tried to understand how you might feel like less of a man. But you wouldn’t even let me touch you. And the worst part? For someone without use of their hands, you sure used me like a punching bag. Jab after jab until I was knocked out on my ass in our front yard.”

  He flinches. “I wasn’t in a good place then, but I’m better now. I’ve tried calling you. I thought we could talk.”

  I laugh. “Good for you. I hope this ‘better place’ suits you, but we have nothing to talk about.” I turn, making my way down the stairs.

  “Ellen.” Ron hugs me. “Sorry to hear you’re not feeling well.”

  “Thank you.” I pull back and fight for a smile that is one hundred percent not how I feel on the inside.

  Ron eyes Alex. “You two talk?”

  Alex nods, giving me a concerned look. He used to tell me, “Don’t worry, Elle, I’ve got your back.”

  I think he’s trying to figure out a way to have my back. He’s not the man I want having my back anymore. My gaze gets stuck on his lips, the ones I’ve kissed so many times, but now all I can think about is the venom he spewed from them. I’m the better person, like my mom was always the better person.

  On good days, I convince myself that I’ve forgiven Alex, but I won’t ever forget, no matter how much I want to let every terrible moment vanish from my memory. They’re there—painfully branded—a permanent mark.

  “Ginger ale?” My grandma hands me a small glass.

  “Thank you.” I take it and sit in the chair next to my dad’s recliner.

  His inspection of me intensifies. I smile to let him know everything is fine. Even if it’s not. I have to believe it will be.

  “Alex is going to get back into climbing,” Ron says.

  My dad frowns. I reach over and squeeze his hand. He glances at me. I love how protective he is of me. It’s the same reason I’m here, protecting him, making sure he’s cared for and loved. That’s just what family should do.

  “Really?” My grandpa’s bushy eyebrows jump up his forehead. “Is that possible with those kind of hands?”

  Alex nods. “Yeah. Actually, if I were competing, some would say it gives me an unfair advantage. But I’m not competing. I’m just doing it because it’s what I love.” His attention turns to me for a brief moment.

  I smile. He doesn’t. That pained look lined into his forehead remains. He can be sorry and drown in regret and I can forgive him, but we’re forever broken.

  “He has some sponsors, so he’ll get his travel and gear paid for,” Ron adds.

  Maybe it’s a blessing at the moment that my dad can’t say too much. I feel his conflict. Ron is his friend, but he can’t look past what he now knows about Alex. That saddens me.

  I hope I never have to deal with the physical loss Alex had. But if I ever do, I hope I can navigate it with a little more love and understanding of the people around me. That uncertainty is what prevents me from truly hating him. Destruction of self-esteem poisons everyone around you. It happened to Alex, and I think it happened to Flint to some degree. So even if I can’t say the words aloud yet, I want to forgive Alex.

  *

  LATE THE NEXT morning I wake up feeling like death—I’m so weak. I can’t even drag my ass out of bed. I fear I’m dehydrated. If I feel the need to vomit, it’s going to land on the floor. It might be time to tell my father and my grandparents the truth. I’m supposed to be the caregiver, but I can’t take my dad to his appointments, and I can’t ask my grandparents to drive him, especially not in this snowy weather.

  Coffee. Yuck! They’re making coffee downstairs. The morning aroma I’ve loved for so long is now the odor that turns my stomach. The doorbell rings.

  “Great …” I curl onto my side, hugging my stomach.

  Alex said he would check on me today. I don’t want him seeing me like this. I don’t want his help. But I think I need it. The next thing I choke on will be my pride, but I’ll swallow past it because I’m not a one-woman show anymore. I’m also responsible for the baby demon inside of me.

  Even the chatter is nauseating. My grandma laughs about something, and my grandpa says the words “upstairs.” Footsteps approach. I pull the blankets over my head. It’s been two days since I’ve had a shower and I’ve given up on brushing my teeth. I’m a mess. There’s no other way to say it.

  But Alex needed help bathing and wiping his ass. I suppose this is fair.

  “I smell worse than I feel. And I feel like death,” I say when I hear the footsteps stop at my door.

  They continue and the bed dips. This is so embarrassing. I want to stay hidden under these covers forever.

  “Doctor, if you need anything, a thermometer, water, cold compresses, just let us know,” my grandma calls up from downstairs.

  I furrow my brow. Doctor? Inching the covers down like I’m scared of the boogieman, I peek to see the doctor. “Oh my god …” I whisper.

  “God, doctor, whatever you need me to be for you,” Flint grins.

  I reach out a shaky hand, as if I need to make sure he’s real. He snakes an arm around my back and brings me to sitting. I wrap my arms around him. If I weren’t so dehydrated, there would be some serious tears.

  “Are you taking good care of my baby and its mommy?”

  I cough out a small sob, hugging him tighter. “No.” It’s the truth. Clearly he can see things are not going well.

  “My baby and its mommy.” My heart may explode.

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” He pulls back to look at me.

  Ugh. The view is not good. I can feel it.

  “Why are you here?”

  He smiles, pushing my gross, matted hair out of my face. “Elle…” he leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead as his hand cups the back of my neck “…you know why I’m here.”

  “I smell.”

  With his lips still pressed to my forehead, he chuckles. “Perhaps.”

  “I need a shower, but I’m too weak.”

  “That’s why Dr. Hopkins is here.” He stands, shrugging off his suit jacket.

  “You’re wearing a suit?”

  He loosens his tie. “I had to look the part.”

  As crappy as I feel, I can’t help but smile. Dang! My teeth are fuzzy. So gross.

  “Give me a sec …” He goes across the hall into the bathroom and starts the water.

  I ease my legs over the edge of the bed, grimacing at the mix of nausea and lightheadedness overtaking my body.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” He kneels on the floor in front of me and unzips a bag that bears resemblance to an old leather doctor’s bag.

  “Not far,” I murmur.

  “Open.” He holds out a dropper.

  I shake my head.

  “Open,” he says with a bit more authority.

  “I will vomit it right back up on you.”

  “I’ll take my chances. Now open.”

  I open with a half cringe.

  Yuck! “Nasty!”

  He smirks. Screwing the dropper lid back onto the bottle. “Yes. Now drink.” He hands me a bottle of some sort of liquid.

  My nose wrinkles again.

  He sighs. “Just do what I say, okay?”

  I’m not vomiting yet, so I drink the liquid. It’s like a flavored water. Not terrible.

  Flint pulls up his shirt sleeve and glances at his watch. “Another dropper full in twenty minutes.” He stands and unbuttons his whi
te shirt.

  I stare at his bare torso.

  He grins. “See, feeling better already.”

  My gaze shoots up to his. He winks. Arrogant ass.

  He neatly lays his shirt on the bed and unfastens his pants.

  My gaze goes from his to the door. “What are you doing?”

  “Stripping. I’m not bathing you while wearing a wool suit.”

  “The door is open, what are you—”

  “I’m not too worried about the two elderly people downstairs who took fifteen minutes to get to the door, or your father in his physically impaired state. Nice guy, by the way. He already complimented my suit.”

  “He wrote nice suit on his whiteboard?”

  “No.” He pulls off his briefs too.

  Well, damn …

  “He said, ‘Nice suit.’ It was a little choppy, but that’s what he said.” Flint grabs the hem to my shirt and pulls it off. “Arms around my neck, baby.”

  Baby?

  I lean forward and wrap my arms around his neck. He lifts my ass just enough to slide off my pajama bottoms and panties. With one easy motion, he picks me up and carries me to the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind us.

  “Toilet?”

  I shake my head.

  He eases me to standing and gives me a frown. “You’re way too dehydrated.”

  I nod.

  Flint shuts off the water and steps into the bathtub. Then he helps me in before sitting down and guiding me to sit between his legs with my back to his chest. He wastes no time before washing my hair. His fingers massaging my scalp feel incredible. I’m pretty sure I hum an entire symphony.

  After he gently and thoroughly washes me from head to toe, he leans back and folds me in his arms with his right hand splayed over my tummy. It covers my whole abdomen right now. “I want you.” He kisses my head.

  I blink my eyes open, but I don’t respond.

  “And I want this baby.” He kisses my head again.

  I slide my hand over his and interlace our fingers. I don’t know how this will ever work out without huge sacrifices, but I refuse to worry about it in this moment—a moment that feels so perfect until the bathroom door opens.

  “Ellen? Oh!” My grandma jumps, her hand covering her heart.

  I hope it’s still beating.

  “Dr. Hopkins … well, I … I just wanted to see how things were going.”

  I cringe, biting my lower lip, but Flint doesn’t even flinch, not one single muscle of his flexes a centimeter.

  “We’re just finishing up a round of hydrotherapy. We’ll be out in a few minutes. If you wouldn’t mind, Ellen could use some broth soup if you have any.”

  “Hydrotherapy …” She nods slowly. “Broth soup … yes, I can do that.”

  “Thank you.”

  She eases the door shut.

  I let go of his hand and slide my entire body under the water because … Kill. Me. Now. He grabs my arms and pulls me up again, handing me a towel to wipe my face.

  “The most embarrassing moment of my life.”

  Flint chuckles. “I thought it went quite well.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Flint

  “I THINK BRUSHING your teeth three times is enough.”

  Leaned against the doorway to the bathroom, I watch Ellen spit out a wad of foam, gagging a bit each time. Something tells me blowjobs will be out of the picture for a long time. It’s pathetic my mind even goes there, but it does.

  “Never underestimate the power of clean teeth.” She sets her toothbrush by the sink and turns toward me. “I’m weak, but I don’t feel like vomiting. That’s good, right?”

  I smile, pulling her into my chest. “Never underestimate the power of herbs. But we need to get some food in you. We’ll start with broth.”

  She grabs my tie as I start to step into the hallway. I’ve missed her hands on me like this. “Where’s Harrison?”

  “New York with my parents. They’re going to watch the ball drop tonight.”

  She lights up, still pale as a fucking ghost, but her eyes have some sparkle. “Do they know?”

  Sucking my lower lip between my teeth, I shake my head. “I haven’t figured out the logistics of this yet. I’m still trying to figure out how to bring another child into my life without sacrificing the relationship I have with the one I already have.”

  She frowns as if it’s her fault she’s pregnant. “And you’re trying to figure out how to bridge the fifteen hundred mile gap between your two children.”

  I frame her face and brush my lips over hers, inhaling her minty breath. “I’m trying to figure out how to bridge the fifteen hundred mile gap between us.”

  “Speaking of us. How’s this going to go down?” She nods toward the stairs.

  “They like me. All of them. Your grandfather said it’s so rare to find doctors who make house calls these days, and your dad smiled. I think he’s impressed not only with my suit but also with my bedside manner.”

  “Bedside manner?” She quirks a brow. “You sent me a bottle of personal lubricant. My dad thinks it was a watch. He was pissed you didn’t get it engraved!”

  I chuckle. God, I love this woman. And there it is—the truth. I love her and it hurts like hell to not know how to be with her. I grin to hide my concern. “Such a wasted purchase on my part. By the time we explored that territory, you were plenty lubed all on your own.”

  Her jaw plummets to the ground.

  I pinch her cheeks. “There’s my girl. Finally, a little color in your face. Shall we go eat?”

  As expected, Grandma eyes me with suspicion. The mood here has changed. I no longer feel like the hero doctor who makes house calls. I feel like the teacher who just got caught with his hand up a student’s skirt.

  “How was your hydrotherapy, sweetie?” Ellen’s grandma sets a bowl of broth at the table and eases into the chair next to her.

  Ellen smiles, giving me a quick glance. “Grandma, Dr. Hopkins is not really a doctor. His name is Flint. I told you about him and his son Harry. Remember?”

  Grandma looks at me. I give her a wink, sitting across from Ellen.

  “Oh, why did you say you were a doctor?”

  “I didn’t. I said I was here to take care of Ellen. You inferred doctor from that. I didn’t argue.”

  Ellen sips her soup and wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Flint is an attorney. He’s good with word manipulation.” She smirks before taking another sip of soup.

  “Samuel, he’s not a doctor.” Grandma calls like she wants the neighbors to hear too. “Hydrotherapy is not a real thing. It’s just a perversion.”

  “A what?” Samuel either lacks good hearing or needs to turn the TV volume down. It’s pretty loud.

  “El-len …” Ellen’s dad calls her name.

  She eases up from the table and sits on the arm of his recliner.

  “Fl-int?”

  “Yes. He’s the guy I told you about.”

  “Love … him …”

  My favorite blue eyes shift to meet my gaze, and she nods, giving her attention back to her dad. “Yes. I love him.”

  I want to pound my chest. The last time I felt like this was the day Harrison came into this world.

  Her dad grabs a whiteboard from the end table and writes on it. She reads it, giving me another smile.

  “His parents are in New York with Harrison. Flint came to spend New Year’s Eve with me.”

  I guess we’re not sharing the baby news yet. It’s a relief since I’m not sure what I’m doing here, except taking care of a sick woman and unborn child. I still don’t know how I’m going to explain this to Harrison without blowing up his world.

  Harrison doesn’t like it when I change his sheets or rearrange the furniture in the family room. A baby and a possible relocation will completely overwhelm him. Cage is right, I coddle him. But killing his mother buys him more than the average amount of coddling. Killing his mother means I owe him a life that doesn’t involve turning his world ups
ide down.

  “I’m feeling better, Dad. Flint’s not a doctor, but he’s really knowledgeable about herbs. In fact, after your stroke, he used herbs to get me on a plane. When he’s not being completely obnoxious, he’s pretty fantastic.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. Fantastic.

  *

  Ellen

  “WELL …” I lie on my bed that Flint just stripped to wash my sheets. His household domestic skills are quite impressive. “I think my dad likes you, even though you’re not a doctor.” I grin. “But I’m pretty sure my grandpa still thinks you’re a doctor.” Flint lies beside me, holding my hand. “But my grandma … a hundred bucks says she’s on her iPad right now doing an internet search on hydrotherapy.”

  He turns toward me, resting his head on his hand. “And how are you feeling?”

  “Like a new woman. I’m still pooped and I haven’t done anything, but I don’t feel nauseous. You and your contraband herbs are my magical unicorns.” I yawn. “But I do need a nap. Why don’t you let my babies out of their cage so they can come cuddle with us for a nap?”

  Flint turns his head, giving my babies a look. I doubt it’s a favorable look. “Maybe we wait until tomorrow or the next day when I leave.”

  When he leaves. Of course he’s leaving. My brain knows this, but my heart won’t come down from the incredible high over him being here and confessing that he wants me and this baby.

  “What’s the plan, Flint? I know you well enough to know that you have a plan. Even if you aren’t sure how you’re going to execute it … you have a plan. You wouldn’t have come here without a plan.”

  His forehead wrinkles with deep lines of thought as he reaches over and curls my hair behind my ear. “What if I told you I don’t have a plan? What if I told you I booked this trip last minute after you texted me yesterday about not wanting to be pregnant?”

  “Flint, I didn’t mean—”

  He shakes his head. “I know you didn’t mean it—at least, I do now. All I knew at the time was you were feeling bad and you have no one to take care of you. So, I just reacted. No grand plan.”

  No grand plan. I let that sink in for a few moments. “It’s early. I could miscarry. You just never—”