TRACE (The TRACE Series, #1) (2 page)

I say it as much out of hope as belief. I don't want Garrett to remember me. I'm optimistic that his face first fall into the floor will erase from his memory what I said to him. He's an attorney. If he goes to the hospital board with a complaint about me, my job is history.

"He remembers." He turns to walk out of the lounge. "He told me he remembers everything about you."

I
'm on the third floor. Visiting hours are over. My shift is over too. It's actually been over for more than an hour but I hung around in the cafeteria debating whether I should go see what Garrett Ryan wants.

In a perfect world, I want him to forget about me and about what I said. Internally I feel justified for calling him an asshole, but there's no way in hell my supervisor, or the administrative board, would view the situation the same way I do. If he reports me, I'm going to be out on the street and trying to find another nursing job won't be easy.

"Vanessa," Carla calls to me as soon as I exit the elevator. "What are you doing up here?"

Carla was the first friendly face I saw when I started working here. She was working in the ER then and fortunately, our shifts almost always overlapped. We hit it off instantly and when she told me that her and her roommate needed a third wheel to make rent, I'd jumped at the chance. It got me out of my small apartment in Brooklyn. Living in Manhattan may be expensive but I'm close enough to walk to the hospital every day and I get to hang out with Carla whenever our shifts allow it.

"There's a patient in your ward." I gesture down the dimly lit hallway. "He was in the ER earlier. I thought I'd check on him."

"Garrett Ryan," she slides his name over her lips with a purr. "That's the one, right?"

If my mouth isn't hanging open, it should be. "Why would you think I'm up here because of him?"

"Let me count the ways," she begins before she taps her index finger on her forearm. "The man is absolutely drop dead gorgeous. That's reasons one through five."

"Very funny."

"Reason number six is because of his voice. Have you ever heard a voice like that? Number seven is because he's single."

That tidbit of information doesn't surprise me at all given the fact that he was on a breast catching mission when he rammed his bike into a tree. "I assumed he was single."

"Number eight is because he's a lawyer? Have you ever seen a lawyer in that great shape?"

I shake my head slightly. "I can't say that I have."

"I caught a glimpse of what's under his hospital gown earlier when he was walking down the hallway, " she lowers her voice to a whisper as she leans in close to me. "That's either reason number nine or it could even be ten. If you know what I mean."

I know what she means. I have no doubt what she means judging by the way she's holding her hands almost a foot apart and nodding with a cocked brow. "I don't care what's under his hospital gown."

"Then why are you up here?" She pushes against my shoulder with her hand. "You're just like the rest of us. You want a moment to bask in all his masculine glory."

Technically I want a moment to convince him not to report me. "I actually just wanted to talk to him about something that happened when he was in the ER."

"What happened?"

I can tell by her tone that she's craving a juicy piece of gossip she can share on her coffee break tonight.

"Nothing," I shrug it off. "I just needed clarification on something for one of my reports. I'll just talk to him briefly."

"You can't." She gestures down the hallway with a tip of her chin. "Ben prescribed a sedative to keep him quiet. He's sleeping like a baby."

Great, that's just fucking great. The man who holds the power to ruin my career is tucked away in dreamland while I'm living in the nightmare of not knowing what his next move will be.

***

"H
ow's your friend?" I ask as I settle into a chair next to Ben in the cafeteria. I should know the answer myself but when I went up to the third floor before my shift started two hours ago, Garrett wasn't there. The charge nurse told me they'd taken him for more x-rays and although I'd hung around hoping to talk to him, I had to bail. I couldn't be late for work.

"He's good." He grins as he looks up at me. "He'll be discharged today."

"Did you see him this morning?"

He pushes a rectangular, disposable plastic tray of fruit towards me. "Do you want some?"

I reach across to snag a piece of an apple. "Thanks. I'm glad he's going home today."

"Not as glad as he is." He pops a grape into his mouth. "He was back to normal this morning. His glucose levels are stable and there are no signs of head trauma so he's good to go."

I breathe an audible sigh of relief.  If Garrett leaves the hospital without mentioning what happened between us yesterday to any of my superiors, I may be able to escape with my job.

"When I went up to see him he asked about you again."

My stomach drops instantly. "He did?"

"He did," he answers. "Your name was actually the first word out of his mouth when I walked into his room."

I take a gulp of water from the bottle I bought when I walked into the cafeteria. "What did he say?"

He picks up a piece of pear and holds it in the air. "He wanted to know if you were seeing anyone. I told him I didn't know."

It takes me a minute to absorb the words. They're so completely unexpected. "He didn't talk about what happened yesterday?"

"He's way too proud to talk about that again. Garrett wants to forget that yesterday ever happened."

He's not the only one. "I'd like to forget it too."

He scans his smartphone's screen as he gives me an absentminded nod in return. "It was intense when he collapsed. I think we all want to leave it behind us."

"I hope that we can," I mumble under my breath.

"How's your mom?"

To anyone listening to our conversation, it would seem like an unnatural segue. It's not. Each time Ben and I have lunch, or dinner, during a shift, he asks about my mother. "There's no change. I'll go see her after work today."

He glances at the silver wristwatch he's wearing. "Kayla and I are having dinner with some friends in Brooklyn tonight. I'll stop in and check on her."

Ben's fiancé, Kayla, has become an unlikely friend. We shared a short exchange in the hallway one night when both Ben and I were working a late shift. Since then whenever she stops by to see Ben, she'll find me to ask about my mom. Her heart is limitless.

"You don't have to." I catch my bottom lip between my teeth. He doesn't have to, but I want him to. "She's responding well to the antibiotics you prescribed for her last week."

"I want to follow-up," he says graciously. "I love seeing your mom."

I wish that I could say that she loves seeing him. I doubt that she even knows who he is. The majority of the time when I'm sitting next to her in the extended care center she lives in, her eyes are vacant and she can't remember my name. The bitter journey of watching her sink into the clutches of Alzheimer's has been wrenching for me. I'm an only child of a single mother who has essentially disappeared within herself. I wish I could have just one more lucid moment to say all the things that have gone unspoken.

"We'll try to stop by when you're there." His eyes brighten. "Around eight, okay?"

"I'll be there," I say through a stilted smile. It gets harder every single day to see her like that, but I'll be there. I need to be. She's still my mother.

"H
ave you given any thought to searching for your biological mother, Van?"

I look over my shoulder to where Zoe Beck, my best friend is standing with two paper cups in her hands. I already know what's inside. It's cocoa. It's Zoe's favorite and I have to admit, although I don't crave the taste the way I do a strong cup of coffee, I like the reminder of the cocoa my mom used to make for me when I was a little girl growing up in Maine.

"I haven't." I reach for the cup she holds out for me. "I don't know if I can do it."

She carefully lowers herself into the chair next to me. Zoe is six months pregnant. She and her husband, Brighton Beck, are expecting a son in just a few months. The beautiful curve of her belly beneath the pale printed dress she's wearing only adds to my confusion regarding my biological mother.

"I love you like a sister so I need you to listen to me." She pats her hand on my knee. "The first time I saw you here with her I could see the love between you. You adore her. Finding your birth mother won't change anything between you and Rowena."

Zoe is my voice of reason in all of this. We became fast, and close, friends after meeting one afternoon when she was volunteering here at the extended care center my mother lives in. She was helpful, caring and would always spend more time than she could probably spare with my mom. Our friendship naturally transferred to the world outside these walls and we devote at least an hour a day to texting or talking on the phone.

"She never wanted me to search." I motion towards where my mother is sitting in her wheelchair in front of a square plastic table covered with the pieces of a never completed jigsaw puzzle. "I'm betraying her if I start looking now."

"Rowena gave you a beautiful life." She rubs her hand over her swollen stomach. "Finding your birth mother now won't change any of that."

I know she's right. When I was younger I couldn't comprehend my mother's unbending reluctance to discuss the details of my birth and what brought me into her arms. There was never a moment where she sat down to explain to me that I was adopted. It wasn't necessary. I knew from the time I could absorb my reflection in the mirror that my straight blonde hair, blue eyes and pale complexion were in direct contrast to her wild mane of black hair, her exotic brown eyes and her olive skin. She was as old as the grandparents of all of my friends and she told me that I was chosen to be her last chance at happiness. I felt special every day of my life.

"I can go to Maine with you to get your adoption records," Zoe offers. "We can do it tomorrow if you want."

It's an offer she makes at least once a week. I sometimes regret telling her that all I need to do to access my original birth certificate is to go to Augusta, Maine, fill out a few forms, pay a fee and I'll have my birth parent's names in my hands.

"Once you have your birth mother's name, I can help you do research to find her," she says quietly. "Beck can help too. He knows a lot of people."

My brows pop up. Zoe's husband is an artist. His watercolor paintings are hanging in some of the most prestigious galleries and museums in the world. To say he knows a lot of people is an understatement. The man has connections that I can't even begin to fathom. "He knows everyone, Zoe."

She laughs so heartily that a small splash of the dark, rich liquid in her cup spills onto her lap. I reach quickly into my purse to pull out a tissue.

"Thanks, Van." She glides it along her dress, carefully pulling up as much of the cocoa as she can. "I'm so clumsy now that I'm pregnant."

"I think you're perfect." I reach to rest my hand on the top of her belly. "Clumsy or not, you're the best friend I've ever had."

"I always will be." She cups her hand over mine. "Let us help you, Van. Let us help you find your mom."

***

A
fter Ben and Kayla had stopped by the center, I took Zoe up on her offer of a ride home. We used to take the subway from the extended care center in Brooklyn into Manhattan together, but now that she's pregnant, a driver is always waiting out front for her and when she insists I join her in the car, I'm quick to accept. The ride is more comfortable, less crowded and it gives me and my best friend an extra chance to talk before we have to say goodbye.

"You're sure you don't want us to wait to take you home?" Zoe dips her head a touch so she can see me standing outside the open back door of the car. I had quickly slid across the seat after hugging her goodbye once we stopped in front of the hospital.

I'm tempted to say yes to escape the walk to my apartment in the chilly spring air, but I want her to get home. "I just need to grab my tablet from my locker and then I'll call you once I'm home."

"Promise?" She cocks a dark brow. "I worry about you when you walk alone."

She shouldn't. I've never felt unsafe in Manhattan although my adventures are generally confined to a twenty-block radius around the hospital. I live only a few blocks from work with two other nurses. It's a sublet that affords all of us the chance to live in one of the most vibrant cities in the world, while still saving for a rainy day.  "I'll be fine."

I spin on my heel and stare at the front of the hospital. This is my dream. This is what I've worked for my entire adult life, and yet, each and every time I walk through the front doors I question the irony of my ability to help people get well every day, while at the same time, my mother is slowing slipping away from me and there's absolutely nothing I can do to save her.

"I
come in peace." A deep smooth voice resonates from behind me.

I don't turn. I'm standing next to a crowded nurses' station in the ER. There are at least six of my co-workers within a few feet of me. If one of the doctors needs help, I'm going to sit this one out. I've been on my feet for close to ten hours and I'm counting the minutes until I can finally go home to soak in a warm tub.

"Vanessa." There's a rasp in the tone that's oddly familiar. It can't be a doctor. I don't work with anyone who has a voice that sounds like that. Please don't let it be one of the three men I've slept with in the past year. I dated two briefly and the third disappeared into an excuse about having a sick friend. He may have been good in bed, but I don't look back once I've said goodbye.

A faint tap on my shoulder is enough to turn me around. There's the hint of a smile on his lips as I soak in his features. He's incredibly good-looking. His dark hair slicked back from his face, which is chiseled and clean-shaven. His green eyes are keen and intense. He's tall. I'm suddenly aware that the sneakers I wear to work aren't doing me any favors. I feel miniscule. He towers above me. He has to be at least six foot two and judging by the way the black dress shirt and matching pants he's wearing are clinging to him, he's muscular, toned and more than likely well hung.