LUCIEN: A Standalone Romance (97 page)

Penelope

The nurses told me JT would be in and out of consciousness all day. The pain medication they had him on was pretty powerful, and it would be another day before they began to reduce the dosage. So I should go get some sleep.

You won’t be much use to him if you don’t take care of yourself.

Harrison’s words played again and again in my head. I couldn’t believe how generous he’d been. A part of me expected him to ask me to leave the moment he arrived at the hospital. I no longer had any claim to JT. I had no right to be there. But he didn’t. Instead, he allowed me to take the lead with the doctors, allowed me to stay by JT’s side as long as I wanted. Not only that, but he stayed at my side and provided a hotel room for me to rest in so I wouldn’t have to drive the forty minutes back home.

He didn’t have to do all that.

And when I finally decided I should get some rest, I find out that he’s arranged for a taxi for me, too. Does his generosity never cease?

If I hadn’t already handed him custody of JT, I would think he had an alternative motive. But I no longer held any cards. I was no longer keeping him from anything he could possibly want.

I asked for his room number at the front desk of the hotel because I wanted to thank him. But then I stepped off the elevator and found him standing in the doorway of his room, kissing the birth mother.

I was rooted to the ground. I couldn’t move. Jealousy slammed through me so fast that I almost felt as though I’d been the one hit by a car. And when she turned, strolling quite proudly down the hallway toward me, a self-satisfied smile on her lips, I wanted to slap her.

I had no claim to Harrison. Just because we’d slept together twice, didn’t mean I had a right to determine who he could or could not spend the night with. But did he really have to rub it in my nose?

And then he leans around the corner of his door to watch her go. I’m sure it was quite a scene from his point of view, the way her skirt clung to her curves. I suddenly felt like a lump had settled deep in my stomach. I turned to go, a little groan of frustration slipping from between my lips as I watched the elevator doors close, Julia tucked safely inside.

I jabbed at the buttons, scrubbing at tears that were suddenly running down my cheeks.

“Penelope?”

I didn’t want to turn. I didn’t want to look at him. But the words just seemed to bubble up, aching to burst from my throat.

He touched my shoulder and I jerked back, spinning toward him.

“Is that what you do?” I demanded. “Do you just use whoever happens to be available in that moment? Flit from woman to woman like some sort of predatory insect?”

Confusion was so handsome on his face and I hated that that thought flew through my mind in that moment because I so wanted to slap him. I wanted to slap the handsome away and make him see what life was like from a homelier point of view.

“You think Julia and I…?”

“She’s seems more your type: the blond, ditzy type.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, annoyed that I’d put down his lover.

“Do you have no boundaries? I mean, come on! Your son is in the hospital, for God’s sake! And you rush out of there so you can spend the night with—“

“First of all,” he began, grabbing my wrists and pushing me roughly against the wall, “Julia did not spend the night in my hotel room. She simply came by to say goodbye before she returned to her husband and two children in New York.” He leaned close to me, his mouth inches from mine. “Second of all, if I’d spent the night with anyone last night, it would have been you. Because you are the only woman I want.”

Before I could respond, his mouth was on mine; his jaw, his tongue, encouraging me to open to his exploration. The part of me that was still angry, that was still overwhelmed with that surge of jealousy, wanted to push him away. But there was this other part of me that had grabbed on to his words and was holding them close, playing them over and over again as my heart swelled with the knowledge of it.

I would have understood if he’d taken advantage of the melt of my body against his, if he’d taken advantage of my naive willingness to give him whatever he wanted just because he spoke a few, kind words. But Harrison’s hands were gentle as they slid under the back of a blouse I’d been wearing since the day before, as his fingertips played over my ribs, looking for those places he’d first touched in my bed a lifetime ago. He could have hurt me, made me pay for everything I’d put him through these last few weeks. For the cruel words, for the fact that I’d used his body just days ago, for the fact that I allowed his son to run wild and get himself hit by a car. Maybe I wanted the punishment, the pain. Maybe I needed it. But it wasn’t in him to provide it.

He lifted me most gently into his arms and carried me back to his room, pausing only long enough to dig the key card out of his pocket and open the door. His bed, I was almost pleased to notice, was carefully made, displaying absolutely no evidence of the accusations I’d made.

He lay me in the center of that perfect bed, crawling up beside me, his mouth seeking mine again. I slid my fingers into his hair and pulled him tighter against me, opening to him before he had to ask. I didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know what would happen when we left this bed, but I knew I wanted to feel the warmth of his touch and the spice of his kiss. And that was all that mattered to me right now.

He undressed me slowly, his lips exploring each inch of flesh that exposed itself as my clothing hit the floor. I laid still, watching the contrast of his warm skin against my paler flesh, watching the pleasure that floated in his eyes each time he looked up at me. I helped him out of his shirt, unable to bite back the moan that came each and every time I saw the beauty of his pecs, of his broad shoulders, and his awesome abs.

And then he was tugging me underneath him, and that touch that was growing so familiar sent waves of pleasure up and down my spine, made my thoughts disappear. I pressed my bare feet to the backs of his legs, pushed my hips up as tight against his as I could. I felt a shiver run the length of his body, and that made the pleasure my body was receiving that much better. How I could I not feel pride in the fact that I could make such a big, strong man shiver like a child? And then he began to kiss my throat, his hips moving in a slow roll, and I forgot everything but what it felt like to have this amazing man inside of me.

I woke hours later, content in the warmth of the hotel bed sheets, the smell of Harrison’s cologne all around me. I didn’t open my eyes, didn’t move, content to just lie in the receding peace of sleep. But then I heard his voice, words I didn’t at first understand. But then as sleep drifted further and further away, they began to make sense.

“…he plays football. What I really want to know is if there is any way we can make sure he will be ready for spring training come March or April?”

Silence for a minute, and then: “And that’s in Portland?”

Portland. He was making plans to take JT away.

Tears burned my throat, but they didn’t spill. I think maybe my eyes were just too dry. I’d cried so much these last few days, there simply wasn’t anything left.

I must have said, or done something else to alert him to the fact that I was awake.

“Let me get back to you,” I heard him say. And then I felt his weight on the bed just before his hand fell on my shoulder.

“Hey, babe,” he said softly. “Did I wake you?”

“No.”

He pressed a kiss to that space between my shoulder and my throat, my body responding instantly with a rash of goose pimples.

“I talked to the nurse at the hospital. She said that JT’s been sleeping since you left. And Nick’s there, sitting with him until we can get back.”

“Okay.”

There must have been something in my voice. He tugged at my arm, pulling me onto my back, his eyes—always so expressive—filled with concern.

“What’s going on?”

I sat up, tugging the sheet up over my breasts, suddenly wishing I was fully dressed before we began this conversation. But, again, he wasn’t really dressed, either. He’d pulled on his briefs, but was naked otherwise. And that didn’t make anything easier. His chest was quite distracting.

“Penelope…”

He reached over and touched my jaw lightly, lifting my chin to force my eyes to his. I shook my head free and watched his expression change as his hand fell to the mattress.

“You’re taking him to Oregon.”

The truth fell like a brick wall between us. His nod only added the finishing touches.

“But it’s not what you think.”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I signed that paper, giving you custody. You’re free to do what you want.”

“I didn’t sign it. I still have it, in my suit jacket.”

I cocked my head slightly, shocked as much by the honesty in his eyes as his words.

“Why not?”

“Because I want to do this together. I don’t want to take him from you and just offer you a visit here and there. I want you to be a part of his life.”

“But you live in Oregon and I live here.”

He waved his hand like that didn’t matter. “We can work it out.”

“How?”

And that was the real question. I could see the wheels turning in his head, useless as a truck stuck in the mud. He didn’t know any better than I how best to proceed. So we were just back where we’d started. Stuck.

“There’s an orthopedic surgeon I know who specializes in athletes,” he said, apparently changing the subject. “I told him what happened to JT and asked what he’d recommend.”

“And?”

“He knows this physical therapy clinic in Portland where they’ve had some real success with this kind of injury. We’ll have to send him JT’s x-rays and whatever, but he thinks he can get JT into the program as early as next week.”

“But the doctor said—“

“This guy says that it would be better to start as soon as possible. There are things they can do while JT’s still recovering that will strengthen his muscles and get him ready for the actual rehab part. My friend says that it makes a huge difference in the range of recovery the patient can expect – that JT could expect.”

I dragged my fingers through my hair, a little disgusted by how greasy and tangled it was. I pulled my fingers away, my thoughts spinning.

“He could play football again.”

“It depends on how well the bones heal and how hard he works at rehab. A lot of it is up to how much he wants to get better.”

“If he could play football…”

I remembered my brother on the football field, how brilliant he was at making plays, how happy he always was when the team did well. I knew he would work hard for that.

“Take him,” I said. “If it’s the best place for him, then you take him.”

Harrison touched my face. “I want you to go with us.”

I started to shake my head, but he wouldn’t allow it. He cupped my chin in his hand like a parent scolding a child.

“We do what’s best for JT. And, right now, what’s best is for him to be in Oregon. But it’s also having you there with him.” He ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “He’s going to be in a lot of pain and he’s going to be scared. He needs you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Harrison

I watched JT’s face in the rearview mirror as I pulled the car to a stop alongside the jet. He was staring out the window, his eyes as big as saucers.

“This belongs to you?”

“To my company,” I said, as though that qualifier meant much of anything to a fifteen-year-old boy.

“Wow.”

I turned my gaze to Penelope, but she wasn’t as easy to read as JT. And I knew her thoughts were back in that small town of hers, going over checklists, trying to make sure she didn’t leave anything undone, unsaid, or unchecked. It was a bit of an ordeal for her to leave Nick in charge of the bakery. I could see it in the tension that never seemed to leave her shoulders and the crowbar it took to get her out of there this morning when it was time to pick JT up from the hospital.

“It’s going to be okay,” I said for what was probably the millionth time.

She smiled, but the smile only touched her lips.

I climbed out of the car and walked around to the back, tugging the wheelchair JT was required to use for the next few weeks out of the trunk. He was already, in just three days, becoming quite the pro at transferring himself into it. I wanted to help, but I’d already been lectured about that once today.

I can do it myself.

Where had I heard that before?

“I can’t believe we’re flying to Oregon on a private jet,” JT said as Penelope came around and joined us. “I feel like a rock star!”

“More like a sports star,” Penelope said. “Don’t forget, I’ve heard you sing.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” JT said as he laughed.

I wheeled him over to the plane, but I had to carefully carry him up the steps. Penelope followed, guiding me so that I wouldn’t slam his cast, or his head, into anything solid. JT was quite pleased to be settled in one of the leather captain’s chairs, his leg propped on an ottoman the flight attendant provided from some unknown source. He was also happy to ask for a scotch and soda when the flight attendant asked if she could get anything for him.

“Too young,” Penelope quickly reminded him.

“Awe, just once?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Maybe a soda would be more appropriate.”

He groaned, but I don’t think the hurt lasted long with the way he watched the flight attendant walk away.

I turned to Penelope and gestured for her to take a seat across the aisle from her brother. She looked from him to me, reluctance in every line on her face. But then she went, settling into a captain’s chair directly across from JT. I took the seat beside her, glancing out the window in time to see the pilot and co-pilot doing the last of their preflight tests while the airport crew stashed our luggage into the compartment in the bottom of the plane.

It was all routine to me, things I rarely noticed anymore. But I found myself seeing things through new eyes as I prepared to take my son home for the first time. I hadn’t thought I’d be nervous. Excited, yes, but not nervous. As I packed up my little rental house and put my affairs in order here in Texas, all I could think about was how great it would be to be back in my own surroundings. But now I found myself wondering how my world would look to JT and Penelope. Especially Penelope.

Penelope had her cellphone out, her thumbs moving quickly as she wrote a text.

“Everything okay?”

She looked up, her big eyes round with something like fear. “I was just reminding Nick about the Jaminsky wedding next Friday.”

“I’m sure he’s on top of it.”

“I know, I just…” She sighed. “I always did all the scheduling. Nick overbooks things because he sometimes forget to check the calendar.”

“He’ll be fine, Penelope.”

“Stop worrying about the bakery,” JT said, tossing the wrapper from the straw the flight attendant had brought with his soda. “Nick’s worked there since he was my age. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Listen to your brother,” I said, reaching over to touch the back of my hand to hers. “He’s a smart kid.”

“Hey, I’m not a kid. I’m an adolescent.”

That made Penelope laugh, which made me smile.

It felt like we hadn’t been alone together since that day in the hotel room. We were always with JT in his hospital room, or we were taking turns going back to town to pack up and prepare for this trip. I’d kind of hoped that we could sneak out a night or two together, but she didn’t want to leave JT at the hospital alone during the night. The days she spent at the bakery, trying to put the finances and other paperwork into some sort of order.

I was kind of hoping we’d find some time together once we arrived in Oregon.

The plane took off a few minutes later. JT held on to the armrests of his seat like he was on a roller coaster or something, but he calmed down once we reached cruising altitude. And then he was full of conversation, going on and on about this and that, keeping us distracted until the plane began its descent into the private airport outside of Medford.

“Where is your house, exactly?” JT asked as the plane negotiated a small strip of land that was cleared between massive copses of trees.

“About ten minutes from here. I live in Ashland, right over the hill there,” I said, gesturing toward the window beside my seat.

“Ashland. Isn’t that part of your company’s name?”

“My father named the original company, Ashland Furniture, after the town where he was born and raised. And I decided to keep it when I expanded the company.”

“Cool,” JT said.

Penelope was staring out the window, her eyes moving from the trees to the mountains back to the trees. I couldn’t decide if she was nervous about the impending landing, or if she was thinking about something else. At least it seemed her head was no longer back in that bakery.

JT grabbed the armrests again as the tires bounced off the tarmac and the engines began to scream as the pilots threw them into reverse. The plane came to a stop without much of a bump, the pilot making his customary speech, informing us of the time and how long, exactly, the flight had taken.

“Why do we want to know that?” JT asked.

“There’s a time difference between here and Texas. It helps you reorient yourself.”

He lifted his chin slightly in a sort of nod as he turned and stared out the window. “Sure are a lot of trees around here.”

Once again, I carried him off the plane as Penelope followed, advising me when he was about to hit his head or his leg on something. My car, a Mercedes-Benz Maybach S600 Base, was sitting on the tarmac waiting for us.

“Cool!” JT cried when he saw it, almost jumping out of my arms when we got to the bottom of the steps and his wheelchair. The moment he was in the chair, he pushed the wheels over to the car, moving around it somewhat awkwardly as he tried to maneuver his casted leg around to get close enough to touch the cool metal of the car.

“Is this your car?” he asked.

“It is.”

“Wow. Do you think I can drive it next year when I get my license?”

“You kind of need to get out of that wheelchair first,” Penelope reminded him.

“After that.”

I chuckled, remembering how eager I was to learn to drive. “We’ll see.”

Once our things were packed in the trunk and JT was safe in the backseat, I walked Penelope over to the passenger door.

“You’re really impressing him with all this stuff.”

“What about you?”

She looked up, her eyes a little clouded. “What do you mean?”

“Am I impressing you?”

Her eyes moved from my mouth to my chest and then to her hands where they were clutched in front of her.

“Does it matter?”

“I guess that’s my answer,” I said, reaching around her hip to open the door. She shot me a look, but like before, I wasn’t sure what it meant.

The drive to my house is quite impressive. The highway between Medford and Ashland cut through some pretty impressive mountains. And the dip into Ashland is surrounded by trees, quaint little shops, and a lovely park that covers several miles of lush green fields. Then we rise back up into the mountains, turning onto a private lane that dead ends in a circular drive in front of my private lodge.

I designed the house myself. It’s made of glass, steel, and wood. I wanted it to look something like the hunting lodges in all the good old movies of my childhood. The front sported more than a dozen windows interspersed with crisscrossed logs that were cut from a local logging site that planted a sapling for every tree logged. The house itself is set back on flat mountain top, looking out over the city, including the original factory that houses the furniture business and Ashland-Philips’ corporate headquarters.

My sister used to tease that I was setting up my throne to watch over my subjects when I was building this house.

JT was speechless.

“This is your house?”

“Yep.”

I climbed out of the car and took his wheelchair from the trunk. He was, as before, quite anxious to get out and explore on his own. I watched him go, grateful I had decided not to go with grand steps in front of the house. He could just roll straight from the driveway to the front door with no trouble.

I went around the car to help Penelope out, but she was already standing behind her door, leaning on it a little as she looked around.

“Are you impressed?”

She didn’t answer.

I went to the door and threw open the door, barely moving out of the way quick enough to avoid having my toes crushed by JT’s chair. I followed him inside, moving through the wide entryway to the sitting room that opened up into the kitchen, the living room, and the lovely brick and wood deck out back. I loved the open design, loved that I could have people over and talk to them while I cooked. Cooking was one of the few pleasures I often indulged when I wasn’t working. And it was something I liked to share with my close-knit group of friends and family.

JT wheeled around, making the circuit of the three rooms several times before he paused beside a high, thin table that sat along the back of the couch in the sitting room. He picked up a picture that rested there, his fingers careful not to smear the silver of the frame.

“Who is this?”

I moved up behind him and smiled when I saw that it was one of the many pictures of my niece and nephew Libby always made sure I had.

“Libby’s kids – your cousins. You’ll probably meet them tomorrow night when we go to my mother’s for dinner.”

“They’re cute.”

He set the picture back down and looked at a few more before moving on, coming to a rest at one of the high French doors that opened onto the deck. He didn’t seem terribly interested in the pink and blue lights of the setting sun and moved on. But Penelope was drawn to it, standing with her hand resting lightly on the doorknob, staring out over the garden that made up my back yard.

I moved up behind her, close enough to smell the light scent of her perfume, but not close enough to touch.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

For just a brief second, the tension left her shoulders and she moved back slightly, enough so that her back brushed my chest. I could have wrapped my arms around her waist, could have tugged her closer to me and buried my face in the side of her neck. I really wanted to. But then JT called to me from somewhere near the kitchen.

“Hey! What’s for dinner?”