Vital Sign (19 page)

April 25, 2013

Lazy fingers drift up and down my back and I crack a small smile in my sleepy state. “Jake,” I whisper in a hoarse morning voice. The soft touch stops and I feel the bed dip then lift again. I moan petulantly
, wanting him to come back and continue touching me. It feels good. So good. “Come back,” I whine, cracking my eyes open for the first time this morning. A pristine white tray ceiling surrounded by gray walls comes into view and it takes me a moment to remember where I am and to realize that I wasn’t dreaming about Jake—I’m
with
Zander. I groan as I roll over and bury my face in the pillow beside me. It smells just like Zander and guilt consumes me. But it’s a different kind of guilt. I don’t feel guilty for being here with Zander. I feel guilty for mumbling Jake’s name only a moment ago. “Idiot,” I mock myself quietly. I rub my eyes, sitting up in Zander’s bed wearing a white t-shirt that he begrudgingly let me borrow last night. Thoughts of him rolling out his full bottom lip, pouting that I wanted something to sleep in versus sleeping naked, brings a little smile to my lips and makes the blunt knife of guilt stab a little deeper.

I slide from the bed and gravity reminds me that I have a full bladder and a bathroom needs to be my first stop before finding Zander. I shuffle across his bedroom and into the master bathroom. Granite countertops. More gray
walls trimmed in white. A mammoth bathtub. Grecian shower. Tiled floors. Shiny faucets. Plush white towels stacked neatly on an open shelf. I close the door behind me and quickly take care of business, washing my hands before I leave the bathroom.

Zander is sitting on the edge of his bed with his back to me. His hands rake through his hair and he looks lost in thought. I don’t even have to see his face. His body language says it all. The lean planes of his bare back are enough to make me wish I could gather
the nerve to see the scar that I know is there. His body is impressive. He has a shirt in his hands and he tugs it over his head and down his torso. 

“Hey,”
I whisper.

“Hey,” he says
halfheartedly and I know it’s because I called him Jake.

I feel terrible.
I pad across the wood floor and climb back into his bed. “Zander, I—I’m sorry. I thought I was dreaming. I didn’t—”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

I scoot up behind him on the bed and wrap my arms and legs around him from behind, resting my chin in the middle of his back. I feel him take a deep breath. He hangs his head and I know that it still bothers him. I don’t know how Zander ended up needing a transplant. I don’t know all the details about his recovery. I don’t know how long he waited on the list before he got Jake’s heart. I don’t know how or why he made the decision to meet me. I don’t know how he feels about whatever we are. I wonder if he’s as torn up over it as I am. There are so many things that I want to know, but the fragile dynamic between us, two wounded people, doesn’t seem to allow for pushy questions. I understand that better than anyone. I’ll have to take it slow when asking him questions.

“We have to be in Atlanta early tomorrow to get some stuff done before the gala
,” he says, interrupting my train of thought. “But we have the rest of today. What do you want to do?”

“Why did you need the transplant?” I blurt somewhat incoherently
, since my chin is resting against his back.

Zander turns his head to the side in an effort to see me.
“It’s called Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. A fancy as string of syllables that just means my heart hardened to the point that it couldn’t beat or move blood right. That’s all.”

“Hmm
,” I say, considering his answer. “How’d you get it?”

“Just developed. Happens that way for a lot of people. Blindsides you. I was partying too much. Drinking too much. Eating enough junk food to make a frat guy cringe. I got tired a lot. Then I started passing out. I woke up in the hospital one time after I’d passed out on the golf course. Shit got crazy after that.”

“Oh.”

“Enough about that
, huh?” He pats my thigh. “What do you want to do today, Slim?”

I would never admit it to him
, but I kind of like it when he calls me Slim. I smile against his back, dropping a gentle kiss on top of the fabric of his shirt.

I think for a moment
, trying to remember some of the little stupid things that are on my list of things to do before I die. It’s a dumb list that I’ve been adding to and checking things off of since I was a little girl.

“I want to try making chocolate covered strawberries. Like those
fancy ones you can order on the internet,” I answer, feeling a little embarrassed.

“You’re serious?”
Zander asks, getting to his feet and turning to me with a dubious look on his face.

“Of course. It’s on my bucket list.” I shrug.

“Some people endeavor to climb Everest, or cure cancer, or help the homeless. This is the best you could come up with?”

“Not about being the best
, I guess. Just something I want to learn how to make. That’s all.” I smile a little sheepishly and watch as a full-out smile spreads across Zander’s face.

His chest shakes with laughter and his eyes twinkle a little.
“Have I told you how amazing you are?” he says, reaching for my hand then pulling me right into him.

“Not today.”

“You’re amazing, Slim.”

“Ditto.”

***

Zander and I pull out onto the main road and I watch in the side mirror as a black Lincoln follows us. Zander seems a little tense with them there
, but he isn’t telling them to get lost or anything. It’s weird—all this political royalty stuff is real. Zander McBride just doesn’t really fit in with it and I guess I don’t either, but I think I fit in just fine with Zander McBride.

Zander doesn’t hesitate to take my hand in his as we
cruise the grocery store in search of chocolate chips and strawberries. He looks around us repeatedly, I assume, looking for James or Jeremiah whatever his name was.

His temperament shifts back into lovable Zander territory as he watches me fumble around his kitchen
, trying desperately to do exactly as the lady on the web tutorial has explained. Zander is a far better cook than I am, but he has stayed back, just watching me cross something off my bucket list.

The
strawberries have cooled in the fridge, giving the chocolate a chance to solidify again. I pull the tray from the rack and slide it onto the counter. Zander rounds the island to help inspect my work.

“They look terrible,” he says
, surveying the messy chocolate covered strawberries.

“Well—yeah,” I admit on
a snort. I pluck one of the sloppy treats up from the wax paper and stare at it, trying to decide the best way to eat the monstrosity. I twirl the toothpick that it’s stuck on between my thumb and index finger, spinning the strawberry around. It’s a mess. The chocolate has coated the berries, yes, but it’s an uneven hardened glob of chocolate with red berry peeking out where the chocolate has failed to cover.

“T
hey aren’t pretty are they?” I ask, turning to Zander and holding out my creation.

His brows arch and I watch as he fights to hold back a grin. “Ah—yeah…
not particularly. I’m sure they taste fine, though,” he offers as consolation.

Stepping close to the counter
, I tug a paper towel from the roll and set it on the granite countertop. I bring the berry to my lips and my eyes find their way to meet Zander’s. I nip the excess chocolate away from the strawberry, taking each piece from my lips and setting it on the napkin. Piece after piece, I chip away at the strawberry and it reminds me so much of sculpting. I miss the art. I miss taking something crude and shaping and defining it until it’s something worth looking at.

Zander watches me carefully
, saying nothing. He keeps his gaze locked on my lips as they seal over the chocolate and nip off little bits at a time. His eyes follow my fingers as they come to my lips, take the bit of chocolate from between my teeth, and then deposit it on the paper towel.

“What are you doing?” he asks curiously.

“Getting rid of all the excess,” I explain around the strawberry between my teeth.

“You’re wasting chocolate,” he says accusatorily.

“So? I don’t want a little strawberry with my chocolate. I wanted a little chocolate on my strawberry.” I shrug, content with the most simple of explanations.

“So I have a real fuckin’ issue with that
!” Zander exclaims with wide eyes, his hands perched low on his hips like men do.

My brows shoot up and I can’t help but smile wide. Alexander McBride is a chocolate lover.
I’m wasting chocolate and apparently chocoholics can’t handle that. Laughter bursts through me as I set another piece of chocolate on the counter.

“Ha ha. Yes. Real funny. The heart patient who shouldn’t have junk food happens to like
—okay, love—milk chocolate. How can you just waste it like that?! The strawberry isn’t the point at all!” he says, mock scandalized, and I can’t help but giggle again. “Laugh it up, Sadie. I’ll get you back.” Zander nods as he makes his threat.

I stifle my laughter and feel a little pity for the h
andsome man who has made me care so much for him so effortlessly. “Aw. Don’t get grumpy. Where there’s a will there’s a way, right?” I cock a mischievous brow, bringing the berry to my lips and taking a bite, making sure to chew slowly so that the chocolate melts and mixes with the juice of the ripe strawberry in my mouth. I run my tongue across my lips and crook my finger at the handsome, brooding man in front of me.

A sweet smile tilts his lips as I motion for him to lean in. My lips cover his and for right now, I’m leading the kiss. I’m giving him what he wants on more than one level. My chocolate
-laced mouth draws him in, closer and closer, until his hips have mine pinned against the edge of the counter. I fist my hands in his sloppy cinnamon hair. Zander groans appreciatively into my mouth. My tongue slides against his. His hips thrust forward subtly against mine.

“You’re going to be sore after this, Sadie” he whispers
breathily against my lips. He completely releases me and steps back, looking at me with fierce intensity. “I’ve always prided myself on being a man who can predict things. There are no curve balls as far as I’m concerned. Everything I do, I see coming. Except you. I never expected this. I never expected you.” Zander steps so close to me again that the tips of our noses graze lightly against each other. His broad chest heaves up and down, mirroring my own labored breathing. The air between us thickens and feels charged to the point of spontaneous combustion. A red hot flush rolls through my body, gaining momentum as it unfurls from somewhere deep in my stomach. The subcutaneous heat wave that this closeness has created reddens my cheeks like the best sort of sunburn. “I never saw you coming,” he whispers, his lips brushing mine so lightly that I wonder if they actually did or if my need for him has me imagining things. “But I’m so glad you did.”

I gasp at his confession just about the time that he pulls me to him hard, tangling his fingers into my hair and consuming my mouth with his perfectly dominating lips. His other hand splays against the small of my back
, pressing my hips against him. All thought escapes me. All I am, all I can think of, all I can manage to be right now, is Zander’s.

It’s all I can do to keep up with him.
I drop what’s left of the strawberry and my hands go to his jaw, holding him to me, or rather, me to him. His mouth moves rhythmically against mine, his lips luring mine into a kind of seductive dance. I can feel his lips part, encouraging mine to do the same. His tongue slides deep, caressing mine.

“
I saw you on that beach and I knew that you had to be mine. I had to have you. I knew that you were who I was looking for. I would have waited for you forever if I had to. Whether by design or just plain dumb luck, I’m the one who was meant to find all the pieces of you so that I might put them back together. Let me put you back together, Sadie. I need you,” he pleads, his forehead resting against mine.

I all but launch myself at him. My legs wrap around his waist. Our mouths crash together. He groans and carries me to his couch
, desperation dominating his features. I’ll give in to Zander. I’ll give him all that I have to give and work on the rest, the parts of me that are still spoken for. He deserves that much.
I
deserve that much too.

April 26, 2013

“Up and at ‘em, sleepy head,” Zander whispers in my ear.

I groan and roll over
, hiding myself beneath the covers.

“
Nuh-uh. We have a flight to catch.”

I spring up in bed and give my sleepy eyes a moment to adjust
to wakefulness. “What?” I ask, looking at a sharply-dressed Zander. He has on a pair of black dress slacks and a crisp navy blue dress shirt that has the top buttons undone, exposing enough flesh to make my mouth water. His hair is actually combed and it’s clear that it doesn’t really matter if his hair is a mess or neatly styled, he is god-like in my eyes.

“We have a flight to catch.
Dad’s jet will be waiting for us in an hour and half,” he explains, checking the hardware on his wrist (high end, no doubt). “C’mon, the shower is already running for you. I’ve got to run to the pharmacy for some of my meds, but I’ll be right back. I’ll bring breakfast. Okay?”

“Um, okay. You’re hot,” I mumble
, feeling suddenly insecure. I don’t look nearly as good when I attempt dressing a little nice. I still look plain in no matter what I have on. Zander? Not so much. Not at all, actually. He looks like a fucking mogul or a globetrotting playboy or…the goddamn
governor’s son
.

Zander looks at me with adoration from the edge of his bed. “You’re beautiful. Especially in the morning,” he says
, kissing me on the forehead.

It’s such a sweet, intimate thing to do. It feels nice. It also feels a little wrong. Jake use
d to kiss me on the forehead every morning before he left for work. I shove the guilt away and scoot off the bed, ready to shower and get this show on the road. I’ll have to call Mom and give her the whole story before she sees it on the news or something. That should be a fun conversation. I haven’t devoted much thought to what everyone in my small world is going to think about me going to the gala as Zander’s date. I’m not entirely sure if I can even dissect that situation right now. It will have to wait. My mother won’t wait though. Telling her the things she needs to know will save me trouble, at least. She’ll tell those who need to know what they need to know and I won’t have to make a more than one awkward phone call.

***

I rifle through my bag for the best outfit, finally deciding on the last clean sundress I brought with me. As if I have any other alternative. I don’t have time to go shopping and just about every other option is either dirty or not suitable for this short trip back to Atlanta.

I pull the
linen coral A-line dress over my head and smooth it down. It has an empire waist and a ‘50s kind of flare to it that has always made me feel a little Grace Kelly-ish when I wear it. The hem is scalloped and falls just below the knee, which makes my cork wedge sandals look even better paired together with the simple but elegant dress.

“Shit,” I mumble to my reflection when I realize that I didn’t bring my hair dryer since I knew I’d be staying in a motel that furnished one.

I see Zander come into view in the doorway of the bathroom. His blue eyes examine me head to toe, sending goosebumps spreading across my skin.

“Wow,” he mouths.

“Oh, stop it,” I shake my head, smiling bashfully down at my makeup bag as I zip it up. My makeup is done in my usual way. My perfume is sprayed in all the right places. My hair will just have to work this way. It will air dry and hang like a wall of brown down my back.

“Ready to get out of here?”

I take a deep breath, giving myself another look in the mirror. “Yep. Let’s burst some tabloid bubbles.”

Zander smiles
, but I can tell that he’s tense over me being tossed into his world. It’s intimidating as all hell, but neither one of us needs a bunch of lies and bullshit being plastered everywhere. I’m no secret mistress. I’m no knocked up girlfriend. I’m not a transvestite prostitute. I’m Alexander McBride’s
friend
who will be his date tonight. At least, that’s the story the media will be spoon fed.

***

“I can officially check ‘fly on a private jet’ off my bucket list,” I say to Zander as we board the small aircraft. It’s small but opulent and impressive. It works to ratchet up my nervousness a little and I consider jumping back onto the tarmac to suck down one of my emergency cigarettes or at the very least, wash down one of my anxiety pills. I decide against both and try to focus on Zander. He sits across from me in the small cabin. I settle into the plush beige leather seat and buckle myself in. Zander doesn’t buckle in and it makes me feel like the newbie that I am. “The cool kids don’t use seatbelts?”

“Nah,” he waves his hand dismissively
, “it’s a pretty short flight. I’ve been on this thing plenty of times.”

“I see,” I say as I lean over into the aisle and peek into the cockpit
, where the pilot is doing all kinds of stuff with a million different switches and knobs and toggles. I grimace a little as my nerves run away with me.

“Hey. You ignoring me?” Zander taps my foot with his
, drawing my attention back to him and I’m thankful for it.

“What if I am?” I jest.

“Well…I guess I’d do my best to get your attention,” he says seductively as he leans forward, prowling closer to me, his blue eyes smoldering.

“
Nuh-uh. No way. This tin can is way too small,” I murmur, shaking my head and wagging my finger at him simultaneously.

Zander smiles a crooked grin and sits back in his seat.
“Fine, but you can’t hold out forever,” he says with a devilish wink.

Fuck
. He’s hot and sexy and charming and sweet. I swallow hard, doing my best to ignore the warm tingling that is growing between my legs.

“Okay. Time for more twenty questions,” he declares
. I think it’s his way of keeping me distracted for the duration of this flight.

“Okay
.” I nod. “You go first.”

“Will
you ever try sculpting again?”

“I would
, but when the creativity, the inspiration, isn’t there…it just isn’t there. There isn’t an on and off switch for that. Wish there was,” I explain. Some days I think a little flicker of creativity is trying to grow, but then it dies and any desire to sculpt again dies with it. “I don’t really have a studio anymore anyway.” I shrug, ready to change the subject. “What kind of music do you like?”

“All kinds. It really just depends on my mood. You say
anymore
. What happened to the studio?”

“I trashed it like a maniac. It was right after Jake died. I just…I was so angry and I felt like just destroying something. So my studio got the worst of it.” I make my admission shamefully.
“It was an irrational thing to do, but it felt good at the time.”

Zander studies me carefully, reading me so easily. It’s unnerving.

“If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?” I ask him.

“
Who I was before,” he answers immediately. “I didn’t deserve another chance. I’d sleep better at night if I felt like I deserved any of this, if I felt like I deserved to be right here, right now with you.” He turns away from me for the first time since we boarded the plane and pretends to look outside at the clouds that are now just below us.

When I asked that question
, I assumed he’d say something trivial and silly. I didn’t expect
that
. My heart aches for the handsome, kind man sitting across from me. I unclip my belt and smooth the back of my dress as I move across the space between us and help myself to his lap. “Don’t say stuff like that. You’re amazing,” I say, taking his defined jaw in my palms and forcing him to look at me. The regret I see in his eyes mirrors my own. Right here, in this moment with Zander, I can feel the connection between us strengthening. Whatever I am, whatever he is, we are one in the same. Two people who have been so very lonely and awful and live with guilt that refuses to fade. If anything, with every passing minute of solitude, the guilt, the sadness—it grows.

Zander searches my eyes like I search his. His mouth comes down on mine in a passionate kiss that spells out his gratitude and his need. I open myself to him
, letting him plunder my mouth, taking whatever he needs from me. He kisses me hard then breaks away, leaning in and resting his head high on my chest.

“I miss you,” I mumble with my chin resting against the top of Zander’s head, swathed in his
perfectly tousled cinnamon locks. It’s the truth. I miss him even when I’m right there with him. It’s an odd emotion, one that I’m not yet familiar with. I never felt like this with Jake. With Zander it seems that I’ll never get enough. Not ever.

“I’m right here,” he reasons.

“I know.”

“I’ll always be right here, Sadie.”
One of his hands drifts up my thigh under the fabric of my dress. His fingers squeeze and knead at my flesh. “I need you. I want you,” he whispers, his lips brushing lightly against my chest. The way he said those words makes me wonder just how much is behind them.

I spend almost the entire 55 minute flight in Zander’s lap, holding him and letting him hold me.
He took what he needed and so did I—soft touches, lingering kisses, and meaningful looks. So much about him feeds my soul. So much about Zander soothes the frayed parts of my heart.

I find companionship in him. I find comfort. I find chemistry. I find that something that is terrifyingly similar to what home feels like. It’s a sensation that makes me deliriously drunk on the i
dea that I could be happy again.

Happy
with Zander.

A
t the same time, it scares me so much. I’m not ready to let go of Jake. How could I possibly have enough room in my heart for both men? I know that I can’t. I have to pick. Someone has to go and no matter the choice, heartbreak is inevitable. It’s either me with the broken heart because I’ve moved Jake out of that sacred shelter forever or it’s Zander who get’s left in that lonely beach house to live out his life in the little private prison he has made for himself. Tormented tears threaten to spring up in my eyes as the captain announces our descent into Atlanta.

“Buckle up, baby,” Zander orders softly, scooting me from his lap.

I scoot back in my seat and watch Zander get on one knee to adjust my belt and buckle it for me. His eyes meet with mine and remain there for a long moment. A plea can be seen in those blue eyes. It’s one that I know he would never say out loud. He doesn’t think he deserves to even ask it of me, but then again, he doesn’t have to. I can see it crystal clear.

“Make room for me,” his eyes urge.

Without looking, he pulls the strap snug across my lap and leans in. I take his handsome face in my hands and kiss him, doing my best to relay a message of my own.

“I’ll try. Don’t give up on me. I’ll try,” I convey to him with only my lips
on his.

I hope he reads me like I read him
, because I can’t say my words aloud either. They only remind me that someone’s going to get hurt soon and quite frankly, I’m not sure that either one of us are in any condition to endure any more than we already have.

We are the forlorn consoling the sorrowful
, neither one in a real position to help the other, but wanting to nevertheless.