Vital Sign (18 page)

“Do I have to move
?” he muffles into the pillow.

I laugh
, feeling carefree and relaxed for the first time in 756 days. March 29, 2011, is when my carefree life came to a stop. I think I may have forgotten how good it feels.

“No. I’m sure we can stay like this for a while.”

“Good.” Zander moves his lips to my cheek and I can feel him smile that boyish grin and I swear it
feels
even better than it looks.

I meant it when I said that she scares me too. She does. Sadie scares the shit out of me. I’ve never felt so needy and protective of any woman in my entire life. She makes me think things that I’ve never thought of before.

Sadie Parker makes me want more. More hours in the day. More things to make her smile. More life. More of her.

But none of that is the stuff that scares me.

What scares me is the thought that what if she wakes up tomorrow and decides that she wants nothing to do with me? What if she finds out how much of an asshole I was all those years? What if she finds out that I haven’t been half the stand up kind of man her cop husband was? What if she finds out what my dad did to get her husband’s heart? What if
I
find out, she finds out, that her husband’s death was no tragic coincidence? I’ve never been as worried about my dad’s backhandedness as I am now. I don’t know much about Jacob Parker’s death and I’m nervous to know any more than I already do. Ignorance is bliss right now. For both of us. I just hope that this bliss lasts.

I kick the comforter down the bed and cover us in just the sheet.
My fingers dance across her skin, both of us wrapped up in only each other. The only piece of fabric between us is the shirt she wanted me to keep on. It’s stings a little, I can’t deny that, but I get it. She can’t face the evidence of her reality yet and I respect that. I just don’t know what I can do to help her. There’s one thing that I am unequivocally sure of, though, and that is that Sadie Parker and I are very much alike. Kindred spirits if I’ve ever seen a pair. I guess if I were in her position, I’d just want the other person to sit back and let me come to terms with things as I go. I can’t be forced or pushed or coerced into a fucking thing and I would bet my right arm that Sadie is the same. She’s wired to do things her own way, to rebel against the natural or expected route. It’s only easy for me to see because I’m the poster boy for rebellion. I want Sadie to stay and I don’t want to put a time limit on it. I want her here for as long as I can trap her free spirit. I’ll convince her. I’ll tell her anything she wants to know in hopes that maybe she’ll want to tell me all about the woman who lives behind those soulful brown eyes.

“My dad is a dick. King of dicks,” I s
ay out of the blue.

Sadie props herself up on one elbow and looks at me without saying a word. I find that with Sadie
, words aren’t really needed much. The truth pours from her eyes like soul-baring liquid whether she intends it to or not. She gives the secret liquid freely and my only reflex is to drink up.

“I use
d to pretend that I was adopted when we couldn’t get along, which has pretty much been all my life. I don’t know why.” I shrug a little. “We just don’t get along. His motives are evident in everything he does and I usually end up hating him for it.” I take a deep breath and go on, glancing to Sadie periodically. “I used to try hard for his approval; felt like begging for scraps. I got tired of it.” I search her face for a response and I see her brows draw up a little making that shallow line between them. I don’t like pity usually, but coming from Sadie, it doesn’t feel like pity. Whatever it is she feels for me right now doesn’t feel like pity, it just feels like someone who sees me for who and what I am and can agree with me when I say that the shit I dealt with at the hands of my father sucked. “When shit got really bad in college,” I continue, “I just changed. Overnight. I’ve never really…um…followed the rules to a T, but I got really bad in college. I just kind of did what I wanted when I wanted even if I knew I would be in trouble for it. Actually, I did the shit that I did because I
knew
I’d get in trouble for it and it would reflect badly on him.” I speak openly, realizing that I haven’t been able to speak so freely to anyone. Not in a long time. Not since my grandfather passed away. Thoughts of my grandfather leaving me so alone causes a fucking knot to sprout up in my throat. I’m quick to redirect my train of thought. “My favorite color is blue. Shocking, I know.”

Sadie lets out a small laugh and it chases away the depressing thoughts about my grandfather.

“I used to drink a lot. Too much. I drink vegetable juice every single day and I always moan and groan to myself, wishing I could pour a little vodka into my cup.”

She gets down from her elbow and rests her temple on my shoulder, careful to steer clear of my chest.

“I work out every morning,” I continue. “Same routine. Nothing crazy. It’s the fitness regimen that my cardiologist and nutritionist worked out for me. Speaking of him…I see Dr. Hendrix more than I see my family. Isn’t that fucked up?”

Sadie nods against my shoulder
, but still doesn’t speak.

“I don’t have any friends. Not really.”
Sadie drapes her arm over me almost lovingly and fuck, it feels good. Her fingers trace the bands of muscle in my left arm. Her touch is so smooth and calculated and sure. Questions about sculpting spring to mind but I shut them down, knowing that I shouldn’t push her. Not now.

“My dad sends security down here from Atlanta
to check on me. It drives me nuts. I haven’t spoken to him in a long time. I’ll have to see him at the fundraiser. You never agreed to go.” I brush a lock of hair away from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. I do it maybe because I love the way her hair feels slipping through my fingers or maybe because I need a small pause to gather some courage.  “Will you?”

She gives a subtle nod and I tug her
even closer to me. Her face tucks perfectly into my neck. I feel her lips turn up into a smile and it feels so good to know I can make her smile.

I talk. She gives. I drink
her in and then talk some more, getting to know her without her ever having to speak a single word. Her eyes, her movements, her touch are all her tell—her story—and I am rapt, wondering what her ending is. Some newly discovered part of me hopes that I’m the main character in Sadie’s ending. Not her happily ever after, because she’s already had one of those, but maybe I can be her second chance at happiness. I think she could be mine. I’d bet on it.

“C’
mon, Slim. Let’s eat something.” I reach forward and pop her perfect ass with the palm of my hand. She squeals and jumps up, still stark naked. The sight of her has my cock feeling warm and tingly again. Fuck, she’s irresistible.

Zander sets a plate of wheat crackers, cheese, and fruit in front of me while he moves around his kitchen like a professional chef. I study his form as he reaches up to the pot rack above the kitchen island and pulls down a large pan. He flicks his wrist and the handle rotates 360 degrees in his palm. He sets it to a gas burner on his stove with a
clang
.

“Who taught you to cook?”

His attention snaps to me as the burner flickers to life. Without looking, he zigzags what I guess is olive oil into the pan. “TV mostly.” He shrugs. “Some books. I had to learn how to cook for myself since cheeseburgers and nearly all takeout was out of the question after my transplant. No one else was going to cook for me.”

I nod
, feeling a little pang of sadness at the idea of Zander being so alone in this big house and having to teach himself how to cook and abide by a heart healthy diet. As far as I can tell, he hasn’t had anyone to learn those things with. It must’ve been impossibly hard to make those sacrifices and lifestyle changes without the support of another person. My chest fills to the brim knowing that he has taken great measures to take care of himself and the heart that used to be Jake’s.

“What are you making for us?”

“This afternoon’s special, madam, will be cashew-crusted sea scallops, grilled asparagus, and lemon-sage linguine,” he fires off, wearing an animated expression like a waiter at some fancy eatery.

I toss my head back and laugh heartily at him.
“What, no enchilada casserole?” I joke, and it wins me another boy-next-door grin. I could look at that playful grin all day, every day, for…
ever.
 

“
Fraid not, baby. No enchilada casseroles here.” He shakes his head, turning back to the pan on the stove. He lifts it from the burner and swirls the pan around, coating it with oil.              

“My mom cooks for me. My freezer is ful
l of little single-serving meals that only require three minutes in the microwave. She’s a good cook. Makes typical southern food. I like almost everything she makes. But I don’t eat the frozen meals. Want to know why?” I ask, feeling a little nervous but compelled to share a little of my life with him since he’s shared with me.

“Why’s that
, sweetheart?” he drawls, reminding me how much I love a man with that southern Georgia accent.

“Because they
’re these little single person dishes. I look at them and I just…I feel more alone. So I don’t eat them. I make myself a sandwich or eat cereal or order Chinese because they always send way too much and I can eat more of it the next day.”

Zander gives a tight little nod
, his jaw tense, then he turns back to making dinner. I look on with fascination as he prepares our meal with ease. The asparagus is drizzled with something then tossed haphazardly into a waiting grill pan. He shakes it around twice, making the vegetables tumble around in every direction.

“I have a nephew. His name is
Jackson. He’s my sister’s only child as of now.”

“Are you going to have kids one day?” he asks as he
reaches to a plastic dish on the counter and transfers a fistful of scallops to another dish with crushed cashews in it, I presume. Another flick of his wrist and the scallops are coated.

“Jake and I wanted kids. He would have been a great dad,” I mumble
, thinking about just how true that statement is. Jake was so much more patient than I am. He got along well with kids and had a way of attracting children no matter where we were. Kids would just wander up to Jake like they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in ages. It always impressed me.

Zander nods
, his back to me. He carefully places each scallop in the hot pan. It sizzles and sends steam up in rolling plumes. The kitchen immediately fills with the vague scent of garlic and seafood.

“Will you have any kids?” I ask.

Zander’s lean shoulder lifts and falls in a shrug as his head tilts to the side in thought. He grabs two little containers of pasta from the fridge of and dunks the linguine down into a pot of boiling water on the back burner. The cold pasta meeting with the water sends huge amounts of steam up in the air, but Zander ducks away from it gracefully.

“I don’t really have any friends
, either,” I admit, remembering the way he had quietly confessed the same thing. It made my chest ache for him. I don’t like the thought of Zander being so lonely. So isolated. So cut off from love and companionship.

He uses his hands for everything, I’ve noticed. I haven’t seen him use one cooking utensil the entire time. He turned the scallops with skillful, quick fingers. He tossed the asparagus with just a flick of his wrist. He poured the pasta into and out of the boiling water.

He tugs a drawer open and produces the first utensil I’ve seen. With two forks, he grabs up the pasta and plates it for both of us.

With a knife from another drawer, he slices open a big lemon then jabs a fork into the flesh of the ripe fruit, twisting the knife back and forth in half turns, causing lemon juice to flow freely into a bowl. He steps to a little planter box of fresh herbs in the kitchen window and grabs what I guess is the sage. He takes two leaves from a sprig and tears them into little pieces, scattering them into the lemon juice, then pouring the mix over our plates.

He turns to face me wearing a rueful smile and leans back against his granite countertop, wiping his big hands on a dishrag. He tosses the rag across his shoulder so that it drapes down his back and chest. Crossing his arms, he studies me without saying anything for a long time.

“Well, I’m here,” he finally says, holding out his arms like he’s presenting himself to me.

I watch him, wondering if I should tell him that he’s a good friend or something. Fuck, this has turned awkward quick.

We aren’t friends
, are we? We’re definitely not dating. Are we? Fuck.

“You’ve turned out to be such a good friend to me
, Zan—” I stop as he sighs and brings his hands to his head, looking completely exasperated with me. He rakes his fingers through his messy hair then lets his arms fall to his side. He’s just as confused and frustrated as I am. Or is he?

“I’m not your friend
, Sadie.”

“What?”

“I’m not your friend, Sadie. Friends don’t fuck. Not like that.” He motions back toward the hall that leads to his bedroom. “Are you really that blind or is it that you’re ignoring what’s right in front of you?” Zander steps close to me in that way that makes me impossibly weak. “Look at me,” he demands.

I look right into those dark blue eyes of his
, captivated, and wait for what I know is coming—complete submission to my truth. Zander is my truth.

“I know you’re hurt and scared and confused. But there’s one thing I know for sure—I’m not your friend, baby.” Without a chance to even think
, Zander’s greedy lips cover mine. I surrender to his touch. I surrender to all of him. He kisses me breathlessly with his hands tangled into my hair, holding me to him. He tugs my bottom lip into his mouth, nipping it, then breaks away from me. “So much more, here, Sadie,” he pants, his eyes closed and his forehead resting against mine.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Why? I’m not. I’m glad that we’ve cleared that up. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I guess so. It’s just—this—we—whatever—”

“We don’t have to label this, Sadie. This is whatever we want it to be. Understand what I mean?”

I nod my head and lean into him. Zander kisses my forehead so tenderly that I could cry.

“Hate to ruin the moment, Slim, but I just made a kickass meal and it’s getting cold as we speak.”

I giggle un
der my breath and let go of him, actually acknowledging that I have an appetite for what Zander is serving up. Everything that Zander is serving up. The guilt that I know is shadowing me may catch up later today, tomorrow, or next year, but for right now I’m choosing to grow something pretty like Dawn said. And whatever this thing is between me and Zander is my something pretty.