ROAR (15 page)

“Let’s take a nap together.” He’d missed their lazy weekend naps. Okay, so maybe he still wasn’t ready to let go of her, even after all these years.

He’d spend the night with her, trying not to think about seeing Pamela on Monday. If only he could be certain Tori would forgive him for moving on. He liked to think he’d want her to do that if their situations were reversed.

If Tori exhibited any expression of emotion, any hint of recognition, he’d put Pamela out of his mind forever.

But there had been no communication from his wife since right after the accident. He’d been given a tiny glimmer of hope when she’d opened her eyes once and seemed to smile at him. Had he only imagined it? Had it been nothing more than a muscle spasm? An errant twitch? Whatever, he’d been certain then that she would bounce back, despite the doctors and their dire predictions.

For months, he’d disagreed with them vehemently. But they’d been right all along. The years that followed had taken their toll.

Pamela had brought light into his world again. His time spent with her showed him how lonely he’d become. He woke up in the morning anticipating getting to see her again.

Was he finally coming to terms with the way things were?

He drew a deep breath. “Sweetheart, I hope you’re at peace wherever you’ve gone. I wish you could assure me that you’ve truly moved on. That you want me to do the same.”

No response. No surprise.

He closed his eyes, alone with his thoughts. Despite how sure he was now that he needed to move on, he could never abandon the woman he’d married.

And no woman should have to settle for half a man. While he wasn’t the Dom Pamela was looking for, he could provide some guidance when it came to making her take better care of herself. He didn’t have to let on what it meant to him to share a meal or engage in stimulating conversation.

He wanted to spend more time with Pamela, either as friends or as he transitioned back to the living. But he needed to come clean with her first.

T
he weekend dragged into Sunday afternoon. She’d never been this idle in years. After catching up on the latest journals in her field, she’d taken a nap, probably out of sheer boredom. Now that she was awake again, she wondered what she’d do with the rest of the day. She couldn’t wait until tomorrow’s working lunch with Kristoffer.

Yes, her thoughts had drifted to Kristoffer quite often this weekend—sometimes to the project they were working on. But mostly to him. Such a mysterious man. She knew very little about him, but realized she’d shared an awful lot about herself with him. Why was he so easy to talk to?

Her phone pinged. Speak of the devil.

KRISTOFFER:
Busy tonight?

What on earth could they do on a Sunday night? They’d agreed to start spending Gunnar’s money tomorrow when the medical equipment businesses were open to make deals. But she’d never welcomed anyone’s text quite as much as this one.

PAMELA:
No plans. Where shall we meet and when?

Almost a minute passed before he responded.

KRISTOFFER:
Good. I’ll pick you up at 7. Chinese sound good?

PAMELA:
Sounds great. I’m starving.

She realized too late she shouldn’t say that to Kristoffer. Sure enough:

KRISTOFFER:
When’s the last time you ate?

PAMELA:
Lunch, but Chinese sounds awesome.

KRISTOFFER:
Make it 6.

They’d held all of their meetings over a meal. If he hadn’t scheduled their first lunch before finding out about her illness, she’d think he was trying to make sure she ate regularly.

His expedited time frame didn’t leave her a lot of time, so she chose to wear black dress slacks and a light blue cotton sweater. She started to pull her hair into the usual donut bun, but suddenly decided to leave it in a ponytail instead.

Kristoffer rang the buzzer a few minutes before six, and she ran down the stairs to meet him. He’d also worn a sweater along with khaki pants. She carried her briefcase with the laptop inside, wanting to be prepared for anything, but he stared at it as if it were a monster.

“You won’t be needing that.” He wiggled his fingers until she handed it over to him. “But I don’t want you going back up the stairs, so I’ll just stow it in the trunk.”

If they weren’t getting together to talk about the project, what were they doing? Maybe he
was
making sure she ate regularly. He tucked her inside the Jag and roared off to their unknown destination. He took the interstate toward downtown.

“How’ve you been, Kristoffer?”

“Fine. And you?”

She felt awkward for the first time with him. “Well, a little at loose ends. Not used to having so little to do.”

“That’s good. Means you’re following doctor’s orders.”

“Oh, most assuredly. I had a CBC the other day and my doctor said my iron’s a little low, but otherwise, I’m much improved from the first time he saw me in April.”

They must have passed a dozen Chinese restaurants to get to the one downtown, but the meal was scrumptious. He ordered pineapple duck and she the Kung Pao chicken. They even shared a bite off each other’s plates.

As the meal came to an end, she realized they hadn’t really talked much about anything. She wondered why he’d wanted to come out. He seemed preoccupied, leaving her wondering if something was wrong.

He took a sip of his water, and then he spoke.

“There’s something I wanted you to know. It’s not something I share with many people, but given your profession, I think you might understand better than most.”

This sounded heavy. What on earth was he about to reveal? “I’ll try.” Perhaps he intended to dispel some of the mystery surrounding him. Her curiosity was piqued.

“My wife suffered a traumatic brain injury four years ago in an automobile accident.” The words came out in a rush, the furthest from what she’d expected to hear.

She found it difficult to wrap her mind around what he was saying at first. He stared straight at her, waiting for a response. She reached out to touch his arm, hoping to find the right words. “Kristoffer, I’m so sorry. I had no idea!” He’d been so reluctant to share information about his wife. Now she understood why.

He blinked and visibly relaxed his shoulders a little. “You couldn’t have known.”

But he had shared it with her. How badly had the woman been injured? Short-term memory loss? Spinal cord injury? Coma? Christ, while she hoped his wife had made a full recovery, his words didn’t portend anything of that nature. Four years ago. Somehow, she managed to keep the torrent of questions racing through her mind unspoken to give him his privacy.

He chose to share more of his own volition. “She resides in a long-term skilled nursing facility just outside the city. Persistent vegetative state.”

Tears pricked her eyes. The worst possible outcome. “No awareness whatsoever?”

He shook his head. She must be on the worst end of the spectrum for traumatic brain injuries then, although she knew from her work that any brain injury had devastating and long-term effects. “I can’t imagine how terribly difficult this must have been for you.”

He shrugged. “I won’t deny there’ve been some dark days dealing with denial and depression, but over the years, I’ve come to accept and have tried to come to terms with it as well as anyone can.”

Her heart broke for Kristoffer. She turned toward the wall to regain her composure, blinking away the tears. He was a proud man and wouldn’t want her sympathy or pity.

“I’m telling you this so that when you ask me about her again, I don’t have to keep skirting the truth.”

She met his gaze again. “You don’t owe me any explanation, but thanks for letting me know. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“Believe me, we’ve consulted every kind of expert there is. No hope is the unanimous consensus.”

“Feeding tube and ventilator?”

“Just the feeding tube. I had her removed from the ventilator when she came out of the coma, but she’s hung on. She’s a fighter, but I don’t know where the fight comes from these days.”

She squeezed his arm. “I can only imagine what kind of hell you’ve been through.”

“You’d be surprised what a person can adjust to when given no choice.”

“Yes, I’ve seen that resilience many times over. Just never been on the receiving end of having to deal with such a loss.”

She pulled her hand away, suddenly feeling as though she was intruding in an unforgiveable way. Yet her mind couldn’t release the image of his wife being separated from him, not by choice but most likely by a tragic and violent accident. What had happened?

Had she been injured alone? Kristoffer exhibited no visible signs of physical trauma.

A million questions bombarded her, but she wouldn’t ask a single one. If he wanted her to know, he’d tell her.

She couldn’t help but think how extremely exhausting this must be for him. He’d been forced to face this harsh reality day in and day out for years. No wonder he worked hard for Gunnar—work probably provided him the escape he needed from his personal life.

Did he visit his wife still, or was seeing her in that state much too painful?

“Look, there’s a reason why I’m telling you this.” He ran his hand through his thick mane, raking the loose strands off his forehead before his piercing blue eyes met her gaze. “I’ve never done anything to dishonor myself or the vows I took the day Tori and I married. I don’t plan to start now, either. But…” He drew a deep breath. “I want to ask you to join me from time to time—for dinner, a concert, a play, whatever. You’d begin to wonder why a married man was asking you out, so I wanted to come clean and make you aware of the circumstances.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t mind, Kristoffer. I enjoy our time together, too. You’re easy to be with.” She smiled. “Besides, I was going stir-crazy before you invited me out tonight. I’m not used to sitting still for long.”

“So I’ve noticed.” The creases in his forehead smoothed out when he smiled back. “How’d you like to go the jazz club down the street tonight?” When he mentioned who was performing, she nearly jumped at the chance.

“They’re one of my local favorites. I’d love to!” When the server brought the check, she reached for it, only to have it snatched away. “But you’ve been paying for all our business meals. It’s my turn.”

“No. That’s not how I operate.”

“Then at least let me pick up the next tab.”

“I don’t imagine humanitarian aid workers make what private-practice cosmetic surgeons do.”

She laughed. “Far from it. Or any other type of medical professional, for that matter. But we’re rewarded in nonmaterial ways.”

“I’ll get the tab.” He stood and pulled out her chair. His tone told her there’d be no further discussion about who paid.

They chose to walk because the evening was so mild. Inside the darkened nightclub, the mellow strains of the saxophone wound their way into her body as the hostess showed her and Kristoffer to their booth. Sitting side by side so they could both see the stage, she ordered a white-wine spritzer and he a Perrier with a twist. The bar was dark with rich wood paneling on the walls and hardwood floors.

“Have you been here before, Kristoffer?”

He surveyed the room before his gaze came to rest on her. “Yeah. A long time ago.”

Had he come here with his wife? If so, why would he take her to a place that conjured up such poignant memories, unless he was attempting to exorcise them? She decided to give him an out if he needed to leave. “If you don’t want to stay, we can go somewhere quieter.”

“No way. It’s nice to be in the place again. Been too long since I’ve been out for a night of good food and great music.” He did seem more relaxed than usual.

Pamela plopped the lime slice into her glass and took a sip. “I can’t remember the last time I was here. Thanks for suggesting it.” She leaned her head against the back of the booth and listened to the ensemble play. “Aren’t they fabulous?” she asked, after the song ended. Fairly new to the local scene, they probably hadn’t been performing when he’d last been here.

“I haven’t heard them before, but they’re very good.”

Feeling no need to carry on a conversation while they played, she closed her eyes and let the melodious sound form an intimate cocoon around them.

When the music stopped, he asked, “Enjoying the set?”

“Very much so.”

He tossed back the rest of his water.

Compelled to express something she hadn’t had the presence of mind to think of back at the restaurant, she said, “Anytime you want someone to talk to, I’m here.”

He met her gaze and stared in silence, leaving her wondering what was going through his head. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

When a new set started, they turned their attention back to the stage as the server brought him another bottle. She ordered some salty snacks to munch on, not because she was hungry, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself. She’d switch to Perrier herself after this drink, too. Good thing he was driving. She never had been able to drink much.

Pamela closed her eyes again and let the music wash over her. Her feet moved to the beat of the music. Christ, she wanted to dance, but had better leave well enough alone. She lifted her glass to her lips and took another sip.

Kristoffer was so easy to be with. She didn’t want the evening to end, but all too soon, the ensemble announced the final song of their last set. Another group would take its place in fifteen minutes or so, but they weren’t as talented as this one.

When the applause faded, he leaned toward her. “How about some dessert? I know of a nice, quiet place around the corner that serves until midnight.”

“Sounds great!” She’d have a little more time with him.

They gathered their things, and with his hand at the small of her back, he set off electrical shocks up her back and down her legs.

Stop thinking about him touching you more intimately.

He was Kristoffer, a new friend. He’d established his boundaries, and she’d respect them.