Within These Walls (11 page)

I tried to look away, aware I was eavesdropping on a personal conversation, but I’d never seen Dr. Marcus lose his cool before. He was what I would call,
California chill
—mild-mannered and always laid-back.

Right now, even though I could only make out part of his face from the corner I was standing in—okay, spying from—I could see that his eyes were wild, full of fire and heat.

“Do you think that’s all this is? Do you think all of this”—he made a gesture meant to encompass the two of them together—“was just so I could protect you? And Lailah, too?”

My eyes widened, and I pulled back further into the shadows, not wanting to give up my position now that I’d figured out he was talking to Lailah’s mother.

It was no wonder her platinum locks and petite frame seemed so familiar. Looking at her again, she bore a striking resemblance to her daughter. I’d never met Ms. Buchanan. I’d only heard about her from the few stories Lailah had told me. Most shifts, I usually didn’t come in until later in the evening, and she had normally left before I clocked in.

“No, I’m sorry. I know you care, Marcus,” she said, hesitantly touching his bicep as the anger began to ebb.

“I more than care, Molly.”

Someone rounded the opposite corner, and they pulled apart before saying a quick good-bye and turning in different directions. Lailah’s mother headed toward the elevator, and Dr. Marcus marched down the hall where I was standing. I started pushing the wheelchair again, trying to act nonchalant.

“Hey, J-Man. Dressed up for work today?” Dr. Marcus asked as he approached.

He tried to cover up the sadness in his eyes with a smile, but it wasn’t working. I could still see it there, lingering behind those deep blue eyes. Pain recognized pain, and I’d been looking at the same set of eyes in the mirror for the last three years.

“I don’t clock in until tonight. I’m actually here to visit Lailah.”

A bit of surprise danced across his features. “Lailah? Really?”

“Yeah.”

I explained my plan to him, and he silently listened, watching me with the appraising eyes of a father figure. After I finished telling him the details, he grew still. I nervously stuck my hands in my pockets, waiting for some sort of reply. It seemed like an eternity of being looked at like I was one of those lobsters in a fish tank at a seafood restaurant.

Then, he finally said, “That’s very kind of you, Jude. I think she’ll enjoy it, and she should be okay as long as you don’t plan on sticking her on a treadmill while doing any of this,” he said with a chuckle.

“I’ll do my best to avoid the treadmill,” I joked.

“Just make sure you don’t get too attached to Lailah. She’s innocent—in every way,” he stressed. “I have every hope that all will go as planned with her, but I don’t want her to get hurt.”

My brows furrowed together in confusion. “I don’t think you understand, Dr. Marcus. I’m not pursuing Lailah. Listen, I lost someone. She was the one, and it happened a while ago. I can’t…I’m not capable of those types of feelings anymore,” I said, fumbling over my words.

His hand came to my shoulder, steadying me. “Then, I guess we don’t have a problem, do we?”

His eyes met mine, and I could see understanding there. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost his one and only as well.

The only problem was Marcus’s ghost was still very much alive.

SOME DAYS IN the hospital would fly by. I’d open my journal, find a groove, and the words would just start flying. Before I knew it, someone would be knocking on my door to deliver dinner. I loved days like that. It made time feel fluid and precious.

Today was not one of those days.

It was barely noon, and I’d spent the last thirty minutes watching the clock slowly tick away, each minute seeming to last longer than the one before, until I was near the point of ripping the stupid thing off the wall.

It was long, endless days like this that made me wonder,
What’s the point at all?

I hated these days. They made me doubt everything—every action, every decision.

I was sitting in a lonely hospital room, staring at a clock.

Is that any way to live? Is it living at all? Why have a beating heart if I don’t know why it beats in the first place?

These were my deepest, darkest doubts. I would keep these feelings bottled inside of me, and I’d refuse to acknowledge them until another day like this would creep up on me. Then, I’d find myself once again staring at a ridiculous clock, wondering why I was even on this earth if I was bound to spend my life in this room.

A soft knock pulled me from the staring match I was having with the clock, and I looked down to find Jude stepping through the door.

Holy crap on a cracker.

I sucked in a breath and tried not to drool.

I’d grown accustomed to seeing Jude in his signature teal scrubs. Many nurses and CNAs would wear a variety of scrubs to work. None were as crazy as Grace with her cartoon characters and weird prints, but Jude was very plain, wearing the same traditional color each and every day I saw him.

He was not wearing teal today.

And he was definitely not wearing scrubs.

Today, he was in black jeans and a fitted black T-shirt that hugged his upper body in a way that scrubs definitely could not. His hair was still in need of a haircut, but it looked like he’d attempted to at least run his hands through it.

I’d love to run my hands through it.

Oh my God, stop it, Lailah.

I didn’t know how long I’d been staring at him, but I suddenly realized I hadn’t greeted him or even offered a wave.

Nope, I was just sitting there with my mouth hanging open.

“Um…hey!” I finally said with far too much enthusiasm.

He smiled that shy grin I’d seen before, and then he glanced down at the ground before looking up at me.

“Hi. I know I said I’d come and visit this evening, but I thought you might enjoy some company during the day.”

“You mean, you can actually come out in sunlight? I was starting to wonder if you sparkled.” I laughed.

The joke was obviously lost on him because he just gave me an amused expression and shook his head.

“Anyway, I have a bit of a surprise for you, if you’re up for it.”

“Does it involve pudding?” I asked.

“Um…no, but it involves chocolate,” he answered.

“You should have started with that. Always open with chocolate.”

“So, is that a yes?” he questioned.

“To the mysterious surprise? Even though I have no idea what we’re doing or where we’re going? Hmm…I had an eventful afternoon planned,” I started to say in a sarcastic tone. “I was going to paint my nails and watch a soap opera. You know that Stefano was almost murdered, right? Very scandalous.”

He rolled his eyes, his grin widening, and he pivoted on his heels. Turning around, he walked the few steps to the door and walked out.

Oh no!

Did I upset him? Is sarcasm not socially acceptable?

Just as I was about to chew off the entirety of my pink thumbnail, the door opened back up, and he reappeared—along with a wheelchair.

My first thought was,
Yay, he’s back! I didn’t scare him away!

My second thought was,
Ugh, stupid wheelchair.

Considering I’d spent the morning cursing the clock and the fates that had brought me to this place, at that moment, I would gladly go anywhere in a wheelchair as long as it was out of this hospital room and with Jude.

“So, where are we going?” I asked, sitting myself down into the wheelchair.

When I bent over to push down the footrests, I saw Jude moving forward to help, but I shooed him away with a wave of my hand. He wasn’t working, and I definitely was not as frail as I appeared.

“Nope,” he answered, taking a step behind me. His hands brushed the skin of my shoulder as he moved to grip the handlebars.

He took a step forward, and he propelled me down the hall.

“What do you mean, nope?”

“As in, nope, not telling you.”

I muttered a curse and heard him let out a small laugh as we passed by the nurses’ station. He stopped briefly to let them know that he was taking me for a while. He leaned against the counter as he spoke in low whispers, telling the nurses of our secret destination. His arms bulged against the weight of his upper body, and I eyed several of his dark tribal-looking tattoos that covered his left arm, as I listened to the sound of his low voice.

I noticed several of the single young nurses curiously watching me as he spoke. I suddenly grew uncomfortable under the attention. Having never attended school or social events with my peers, I didn’t know how to react to this kind of scrutiny. The desire to run and hide was growing with every passing second.

What is he saying to make them look at me like that?

Grace, who was just returning from down the hall, took one look at me and must have seen my distress. She briskly walked behind the nurses’ station before glancing in my direction and giving me a quick wink.

“Have y’all seen my ring yet?” she said loud enough for me to hear.

Girlish squeals followed.

I chuckled, knowing she’d purposely diverted the unwanted attention away from me.

I truly love that woman.

Luckily, Jude had mostly finished at the nurses’ station before the squeals erupted, and we made it to the elevator without any other inquisitive sets of eyes following us. He pressed the button, and we waited in slightly awkward silence.

“So, are you going to tell me now?” I finally said.

“Nope.”

I folded my arms against my chest and made an exasperated sigh.

He chuckled behind me. The elevator dinged, and the doors parted. He wheeled me around and backed both of us in, so we were facing forward.

“You have the patience of a gnat,” he said.

The door closed, and we headed downward.

“I have a great deal of patience.”

“Well, not today,” he said.

Then, I felt his hot breath against my ear as he bent down behind me.

“Or maybe it’s just me who ruffles those feathers of yours.”

“Um—“

I had no witty comeback, nothing to say that would equal what he’d just said, because he’d just rendered me speechless. I tried to compose myself, but all that came out was word garbage. His breath against my earlobe alone had reduced me to a mumbling mess of letters and syllables.

Why does his presence affect me so?

I’d grown up in the hospital. I’d spent my teenage years—the most vulnerable time of a young girl’s life—being poked, prodded, and exposed to countless people, including several men.

But no one had ever made my skin flush and my heart flutter the way he did.

It was something I’d never felt before—and also something I needed to forget.

Jude wasn’t for me.

He couldn’t possibly want a mess like me.

Besides, a life outside these hospital walls wasn’t something I could think about right now. Hope was an emotion that could give the smallest man the strength to move mountains. But if a man was given too much hope in a dire situation, that four letter word would suddenly crush him, weighing him down by the impossible belief that things would somehow get better when there was no chance in hell they ever possibly could.

Until I knew more about my transplant probability, I was staying far away from the idea of hope.

“I don’t have feathers,” I finally answered, finding my voice again.

“What?” he asked.

The elevator once again dinged, and the door opened. He pushed the wheelchair forward, and I took a look around, but all I saw was the same boring hallway that covered every floor. That wasn’t much of a clue.

“You said my feathers were ruffled. I don’t have wings. I’m not a bird,” I pointed out.

He pushed the wheelchair to a set of glass doors. I looked in and saw people in scrubs and regular clothes walking around, carrying trays.

We’re at the cafeteria? Is he buying me lunch?

I looked up and found green eyes staring down at me.

“Every angel has wings, Lailah,” he answered.

He pushed me through the double doors, and rather than finding a spot in the line with the rest of the folks waiting to grab a bite to eat, he took a turn toward the kitchen.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

“Relax! We’re almost there,” he said from behind me with an amused tone. “Hey, beautiful,” Jude said, greeting someone.

My head flew up to see who he was addressing

Is he introducing me to his girlfriend? That would not be my idea of a fun afternoon.

An older woman, probably in her late sixties, with long silver hair twisted up into a complicated bun, looked up from the cash register and batted her eyelashes at Jude. “Hey, Puddin’,” she answered. “This your girl?” She glanced down at me with a wrinkled warm smile that reminded me of my late grandmother.

“This is Lailah,” he simply answered.

“Well, your stuff is all back there and ready to go. Take as much time as you need, hon.”