Isle of Hope (15 page)

And then in one swallow of rosemary-seasoned crust, he suddenly craved to hear that bubbly quality in her voice once again, each and every word shimmering with the potential to laugh whenever she spoke of her family. He cleared his throat and reached for more pizza, hoping to bait the sudden silence with another topic to make her smile, teasing her with a lazy smile of his own. “And then, of course,” he said when she opened her eyes, pizza slice poised mid-air, “one can’t have grandkids until the older ones leave the nest.”

She grinned, and the dusky garden patio suddenly lit up like it was strung with a million twinkle lights. “Oh, yessss,” she drawled, cheeks bulging when she took another chomp, practically swallowing it whole behind a smug smile. “Trust me, I
live
to be a grandmother—spoil ’em rotten and send ’em on home.”

He smiled, trying not to notice the way her tongue swept away a glob of pizza sauce from the corner of her mouth. “Just compensation, I’d say, for all the gray hairs and wrinkles kids dole out to their parents.” He took a long draw of his beer, assessing her over the rim of his bottle. “Although I can’t see where you’ve gotten your fair share of either, Tess. You’ve aged well.”

The muted pinks of dusk seemed to settle and glow in her cheeks. “Why, thank you, Dr. Carmichael. I credit eight glasses of water a day, lots of vegetables, SPF 50, and clean living.”

He chuckled, the sound almost foreign to his own ears. “I’ll vouch for the last one—a veritable Scrabble Gestapo as I recall, who refused to let the rest of us fudge.”

“You mean ‘cheat,’” she said with a righteous jut of her chin, a gleam of tease in her eyes that underscored the squirm of her smile.

Cheat.
The very word sucked all oxygen from the air, paralyzing his lungs. Ah, yes, not all that uncommon, apparently. Cheating in Scrabble. Cheating in cards.

Cheating in marriage.

The pizza seemed to congeal in the pit of his stomach, and glancing at his watch, he pushed away from the table and rose, tossing his napkin on the chair. He was suddenly anxious to be gone—somewhere,
anywhere
but here—where his failure as a husband and father swelled in his throat like the pizza swelled in his gut. “I need to go, Tess, but thank you—the pizza was wonderful.”

She wobbled to her feet as if his abrupt announcement had sideswiped her, leaving her in a daze while her napkin slithered from her lap to the floor. “B-but I have dessert, Ben, warm apple pie with vanilla bean ice cream.”

He pushed in his chair, regret bleeding into his tone. “I’d love to, really, but I still have to shower and shave if I’m going to make Rocks on the Roof by nine.” He passed a hand over his bristled jaw as if to validate his need to go. Eyeing Beau spread-eagle under the table, he squatted to rub his rump, giving a couple of firm pats. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty, time to go home.”

Beau yawned and lumbered up, rattling the dishes on the table when he shook hard as if he were soaking wet. One hand massaging Beau’s head, Ben extended the other to Tess, hoping she couldn’t read the guilt in his eyes. “You’re a good person, Tess, and I’m glad we’re friends again.”

She took his hand, holding on when he tried to let go. “Are you, Ben? Glad to be friends again?” She studied him intently, head tipped in serious question, all of that beautiful tease suddenly nowhere to be found. “Because deep down I get the feeling you’re not.”

Heat braised the back of his neck while he eased his hand from hers and slipped both in his pockets, staring at his Sperrys while he tried to think of what to say. “It’s … still hard, Tess, I won’t lie to you, this … this friendship between us.” Expelling a shaky sigh, he looked up, the gentle look in her eyes reminding him just how badly he had failed and how very much he had lost. “Still too close to home, you know?”

A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Yes, well that tends to happen when one lives right next door, Dr. Carmichael. Of course … I could move, I suppose, but you’d probably never talk to me then.”

He dropped his head and smiled, finally peering up with affection in his eyes. “Like I’d have a choice?”

The adorable grin surfaced. “Well, probably not because believe it or not, I do have a tenacious streak, or so I’ve been told.”

He shook his head, unable to thwart a smile. “Absolutely shocking.”

“So …” she said, staying him with a hand to his arm, “the least you can do is let me wrap you a piece of my pie if you won’t stay and eat it with me.”

He acquiesced with a slow exhale and a patient smile. “Sure, that would be great.”

“Good boy—wait right here.” She led him over to the screen door and scurried inside, exuding so much energy he wondered if she existed on caffeine or just possessed some natural God-given high. His lips canted into a dry smile.
God-given being the operative word.

He watched as she paused to answer her phone, but when the knife dropped from her hand with a faint cry, he opened the screen door and stepped inside, only to be slammed with memories so powerful he actually swayed on his feet. Gripping the doorframe, he forced himself to focus on Tess rather than the emotional tide whirling within, raging waters that wanted to suck him under.

“I’ll be right there,” Tess said, her voice cracking on what might have been a half sob, her fingers trembling as she ended the call and clutched the phone to her chest. “Davey’s hurt,” she whispered, a glaze of terror coating both her eyes and her words. “Fell off the third tier of the bleachers at Hope High School. Jack rushed him to the ER with a possible broken leg, so I have to go.”

“What can I do?” he asked, his throat hoarse as he watched her rifle through her purse like a madwoman, far too upset, in his opinion, to drive herself to the hospital.

She glanced up with a hollow look in her eyes, body quivering while she continued to rummage through her bag. “Pray.” It was only a whisper, but it shouted her fear loud and clear before she assaulted her purse once again. “Where-are-my-keys?” she bit out.

“How ’bout we pray together … on the way to the hospital?”

“No, you have plans—” She dumped everything onto the table, frantic as she turned her purse inside out. “Oh, no!” A painful groan parted from her throat. “Cat took my car.”

“Doesn’t matter—I’m taking you,” he said with a clamp of his jaw, striding to the oven to turn it off before he hooked her arm to lead her to the door. “What needs to be done before we go—doors locked? Candles blown out?”

“Just those on the patio, then the front and back doors.”

Without a break in his stride, he bolted the front, then the back after dousing the candles and shoving the remaining pizza and salad in the fridge. Hand clutched firmly to hers, he led her around the hedge to his driveway, helping her into the passenger side of his Range Rover before sliding in on the other side. He started the car and backed out with a squeal, pausing to shoot her a reassuring look. “It’s probably just a minor fracture, if that.”

She nodded, hands welded to the purse on her lap. Biting her lip, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, brows tented in worry. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely.” He slipped into physician mode with a practiced smile, prickles of alarm over the sudden compulsion to comfort her in his arms. She ingested a deep draw of air before she expelled it in one long, bumpy sigh, and he wondered just how and when she’d breached his defenses. “I have a gut feeling he’s going to be fine,” he reaffirmed, forcing his gaze straight ahead where his emotions retained some element of control.

Now, me?
He swallowed hard while she started to pray.

All bets are off.

Chapter Fifteen

“Jack!”

At the sound of his mother’s voice, he turned in the tunnel hall that led to the ER waiting room, his senses assaulted by vending-machine coffee, rubbing alcohol, and 80-proof vomit from some drunk who’d puked at the door. Unfortunately, his normally calm and in-control mother looked like she was ready to do the same thing—saucer eyes in a pale face and an off-center ponytail that appeared to have seen better days.

As have I.
Venting with a weary sigh, Jack strode to meet her, determined to cut off any worries at the pass. “He’s fine, Mom. A little bruised, a little sore, but I don’t think his leg is broken.” He pushed the cup of machine coffee into her hands with the patient smile of authority he’d mastered as a third-year resident. “Here—decaf—you need this more than I do.”

“B-but … but … if he fell from the top of the bleachers, how can you be sure?”

He arched a brow, one edge of his smile veering high. “Third row, not the top, Mom, and we can’t be sure till he comes back from X-ray, but after eleven years of school and a real nice picture frame that clears me for pediatrics, I’d say we’re looking at a mild fracture, if that.”

“Oh, Jack …” She wrapped her arms around his middle, coffee and all, squeezing a grin out of him. “I was so worried!”

“I know, but he’s going to be all right, I prom—” Jack halted mid sentence, his gaze meeting Ben Carmichael’s over his mother’s shoulder, standing there mute not ten feet away. Lacey’s father stared back with his hands in his pockets, wearing that same cold look he’d always reserved for Lacey’s boyfriends.

Especially me.

Jack stiffened, the gentleness of his hug fading as he stepped back from his mother. “What’s he doing here?”

His mother glanced over her shoulder and back before her chin elevated several degrees. “Ben was kind enough to drive me here since Cat took my car, Jack, so I’ll thank you to temper your tone.”

Ben cleared his throat. “Tess, I’m going to take off now—”

“Yeah, that would be real good,” Jack said, tone curt.

His mother cauterized him with the same fiery glare as when she’d caught him smoking behind the garage the summer he was ten. “That’s quite enough.”

“Jack?”

He and his mother whipped around to see the resident physician—a year behind Jack in residency—striding forward with a file in his hand. “Looks clean, but I’d feel a whole lot better if you took a look, if you don’t mind, since he’s your kid brother.”

Jack held the X-ray up to the light, squinting hard. “Looks good to me, Steve, but I’d like to check it out under the view box.” He shoved the X-ray into the folder and handed it back. “I’ll be right in.”

“Sure, Jack.”

“Hairline fractures can be tricky to diagnose,” Ben said quietly from behind, a mere foot away. “I’ll be happy to offer a second opinion if you like.”

Jack spun on his heel, eyes itching hot. “Might I remind you you’re not a specialist,
Dr.
Carmichael,” he snapped, shocked at just how much anger he still carried for Lacey’s father, the man he blamed for Lacey running away. The same man who had always treated him like dirt, from the moment he’d answered the front door on his first date with Lacey.

A nerve twittered in Lacey’s father’s jaw, hazel eyes burning like a brushfire spark about to flash out of control. “Neither are you …
Jack
,” he said in a lethal tone, the tight clip of his name a loaded gun aimed right at Jack’s heart, letting him know what he really meant to say. The name he’d reserved for Jack alone from the first moment he’d caught him making out with Lacey in the hammock on his front porch.

Punk.

Jack’s mom pushed him aside to face Carmichael head-on, making Jack flinch when she grasped the jerk’s hand, her tone soft and soothing like the idiot was somebody who deserved respect. “Thanks again, Ben, for the lift, but Jack can take it from here. You have plans to keep.”

Carmichael’s gaze flicked to Jack, as hard and cold as a tiger-eye stone before it lighted on his mother, softening enough to squeeze Jack’s ribs in a vise. “Anytime, Tess. If there’s any question at all as to a hairline fracture, don’t hesitate to ask for a CT scan, okay?”

Jack bristled. He walked toward the ER double doors, hoping his mom would take the hint when he glanced at her over his shoulder.

“Thanks, Ben,” she whispered, dropping Jack’s jaw when she gave the moron a hug.

“Let me know how the little guy fares, okay?” Carmichael slipped his hands in his pockets.

“Jack!” Lacey rounded the corner at the end of the hall with Spencer, obviously returning from the cafeteria with soda cups in hand.

A silent groan grated his throat when she took off in a run. With Spencer in tow, she dragged the poor guy down the polished linoleum hall, which sparkled more than the lenses in the kid’s Coke-bottle glasses. Every nerve in Jack’s body strung tight as his gaze darted from Lacey to her father and back, spiraling around his chest until he thought he couldn’t breathe.

“How’s Davey?” she called, huffing to a stop in front of Jack, apparently oblivious to the frozen stance of her father all of ten feet away.

“He’s f-fine,” he stuttered, wishing she and Spence had never insisted on following them to the hospital. “I’m heading in to double-check the X-rays now, but we think it’s clear, so you two should go on home.” In a split-second reflex, he glanced at her father before he hooked her arm to lead her back to the waiting room entrance, but it was more than enough.

Lacey peeked over her shoulder, a smile blooming when she spotted his mother. “Mrs. O’Bryen, hello—” Voice tapering off, her body went to stone the moment she saw her father, like the statue game they used to play on his front lawn, smile frozen and face marble white.

“Lacey, it’s so good to see you again,” his mother said, gathering her in a warm hug, “and Spence too.” She skimmed the boy’s cheek with a gentle stroke before she looped Lacey’s arm with her own, as if shoring her up when she faced her father for the first time in years.

“D-daddy,” Lacey whispered, her tone as tense and taut as every limb on Jack’s body, the slight falter of her voice clear indication of just how much she still feared her father.

The fool had the gall to stand there and stare as if she were some awful apparition, a tic twitching in his cheek faster than the sprint of Jack’s pulse. He gave a curt nod, his voice gruff and low. “Lacey.” Without another word, he turned and strode silently down the hall. The sliding doors swallowed him up, spewing him out on the other side of a glass wall as thick and cold at the one he’d erected around his so-called heart.

“He’ll come around, Lacey,” his mother said with a gentle pat of her waist, smoothing a palm down Lacey’s ponytail. “You’ll see. All it takes is a little patience and a lot of prayer, honey, and you’ll both be on your way to a new start.”

“Thanks, Mrs. O’Bryen,” Lacey whispered.

“It’s Tess, remember? And you’re more than welcome, sweetheart—always.” His mom pressed a kiss to Lacey’s hair like she used to when Lacey was small.

Body shuddering with a heavy exhale, Lacey turned to Jack with a tremulous smile, the sheen of moisture in her eyes reigniting his fury at her father. He ground his jaw tight in an effort to keep from pulling her into his arms and comforting her like he used to, kissing all the hurt away. His temple twitched. But that was no longer his right or responsibility, he reminded himself, squaring his shoulders as she curled an arm around Davey’s shoulder. “I think Spence and I might go back to the cafeteria,” she said with a shaky smile, “for that piece of French silk pie I resisted before. You or Tess want anything?”

“No, sweetheart,” Tess said, “but thank you.”

Jack sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Nope, we’re almost through here, Lace, so you and Spence can head on home.”

Her chin jutted up in a familiar show of pluck, her trademark twinkle returning to her eyes. “I think not, Dr. O’Bryen,” she said with great drama. “Spence and I plan to stick it out to the bitter end if it takes every piece of pie in that cafeteria to do it.”

Bitter end.
A prophecy if ever there was. He forced a smile, latching an arm to his mother’s shoulder. “You always were a sucker for pie, I guess.”

“Ooooo, suckers! I think they had some of those too, didn’t they, Spence?” She tickled her cousin’s side, coaxing a giggle as they made a U-turn for the cafeteria.

His mother laughed. “My kind of girl,” she called over her shoulder, shooting a grin while Jack ushered her toward the ER, “and definitely headed in the right direction, Lace, both with the pie
and
with your father.”

Jack’s mouth wrenched tight, memories of all the grief her father had given Lacey causing a sudden ache in his jaw. Yeah, he’d like to head in the right direction with her old man too, a direction his fist had been itching to take for a long, long time.

A hard right.