EMBER - Part Three (The EMBER Series, #3) Page 4

  "I'll say it again so you never forget it," he rasps. "I love you, Bridget Grant. I'll never stop."

  ***

  My eyes catch on the leg of my jeans as I watch Dane pull the sweater he was wearing earlier back over his head. After he'd told me he'd loved me, he'd fucked me slowly, the entire time his eyes had held onto mine.

  I had wanted to say those tender words to him but after we'd both came, he had kissed me deeply before pulling himself to his feet. He'd retreated into the bathroom and as I listened to the water from the shower running, I'd stood to stare out the window into the darkened city.

  Everything I wanted was ten feet away from me, singing at the top of his lungs in the shower, yet I couldn't drag my feet across the small bedroom to join him. I wanted to but the weight of the words I can't yet say to him are there, tugging me back, making me retreat.

  Now, as I watch him adjust the ball cap back on his damp hair, I know the moment is gone. I can't share my heart with him tonight. I can't do it with the knowledge that I'm the one holding things back from him.

  "We need to talk about Cleo," he says as if on cue. "I want to talk to you more about her."

  I reach for him as much to feel his touch one last time before he leaves, as to stop the urge I have to bend over so I can pull the white card with Cleo's hospital room number on it, from my jeans. I should have confessed to him that I know where she is. I should have told him that she's a mom now. I shouldn't have held onto all of that as he opened his heart to me.

  He wraps me into his arms. "I'm so glad I came over. I have to go to work but I'll be back tomorrow."

  I nod as I feel his lips rush over my cheek. Tomorrow. That's the day I'll tell him about Cleo.

  Chapter 11

  "It wasn't Maisy?" Zoe holds up the carafe of cream. "Do you want some of this in your coffee?"

  I shake my head slightly, holding my hand over the rim of the paper cup. "I don't have cream in my coffee."

  "Right." She dips her chin down as she rips open the corner of a small packet of sugar. "Vanessa takes cream."

  It's an off-handed comment that isn't supposed to sting as much as it does. Zoe's life is a balancing act. When she's not taking care of Vane, she's either in class at law school or working her way through her internship at an office in mid-town. The fact that she wanted to pour cream into my coffee is a gesture that comes from a helpful place in her heart. She can't know that it only punctuates the fact that she and Vanessa are closer than the two of us will ever be.

  "We can sit over there by the window." I gesture towards a small, empty table next to two wooden chairs.

  She tips the cup in her hand in that direction. "That's perfect."

  I walk silently through the crowded café towards the table hopeful that by the time we reach it, another New Yorker hasn't settled there to read the morning paper or work on their laptop.

  I skim the room as I take a seat at the table, waiting for Zoe to lower herself onto the chair opposite me.

  "Vanessa said it was her sister or something," she says loudly as she blows a puff of air over the cup. She holds tightly to the base when she snaps the plastic lid back on top. "Did you even know she had a sister?"

  I'm tempted to push back with a question about whether Zoe knows if the girlfriend that Beck had before they married had a sibling. Until a few days ago I didn't even know that Dane had a brother. I wouldn't label myself as informed when it comes to the important people in his life or the lives of the people he once loved.

  "They look a lot alike," I offer. "I can see how Vanessa mistook Cleo for Maisy."

  "Is Maisy in a wheelchair too?" Her face twists into a grimace. "That sounded insensitive. I didn't mean it like that."

  She didn't mean it in any way other than curiosity. I know that. "Maisy isn't in a wheelchair. Vanessa saw them both at the hospital at different times. Maisy was sitting in the cafeteria and then she saw Cleo a few weeks later in her wheelchair."

  "What were they doing at the hospital?"

  It's a question I have absolutely no answer for. I've been meaning to ask Dane about his mother's relationship with his ex-girlfriend and her family but if I'm being honest with myself, the answer isn't something I'm sure I want to hear.

  I don't have an ex-boyfriend who keeps in touch with my parents. Most of the boys I dated when I lived in Connecticut didn't even want to hang around my mom and dad when we were immersed in a relationship. I can't imagine any of them purposefully making plans to spend time with them. It's an abstract concept to me, but apparently it's not to either Maisy or Cleo.

  "I think Cleo was there because she had a baby."

  "How does that work?" She leans her elbows on the edge of the table. "I didn't know that women in wheelchairs could have children."

  I didn't know either but it wasn't a conscious thought I had when I first realized she was pregnant. I didn't question the mechanics of how it was possible. I just reveled in the joy that had radiated from Cleo that day I met her. It was only a week later, after I saw another pregnant woman dining on a patio at a restaurant that the question crossed my mind. I'd meant to ask Vanessa about it back then but it didn't hold even importance for me to remember it.

  "I don't know the details of her condition." I want to convey the sensitivity I feel. "It's something I want to talk to Dane about."

  "Do you think he'll be open to talking about her?"

  I haven't confided in Zoe since I left her apartment the morning that I thought Maisy was carrying Dane's son. It's not because I don't trust her with the complicated details of Dane's past. I don't want to cloud our friendship with all of the uncertainty I'm feeling.

  I asked Zoe to meet me for coffee this morning so I could feel normal again, or at the very least, as normal as my life can be right now. I want to hear about her son, her job and I'm even hoping that she'll have a story or two to tell me about the people who live in her building. No one can gossip about strangers the way Zoe can. It's an escape from reality that I desperately need at this moment.

  "I think he will be," I finally answer after taking a long sip of my coffee. "He told me he wants to talk about her."

  "Get all the answers you need now, Bridge." She licks a drop of cream from below her lip after taking a drink. "Don't get closer to him until you know everything you need to about his ex-girlfriend and her family."

  I stare across the table at her, knowing that it's the voice of experience talking to me. Zoe may not have faced the exact same scenario as I am when she first met Beck, but I sense she made certain that every skeleton in his closest was cleared out before she gave her heart to him.

  Chapter 12

  "I've been meaning to ask you something." I swallow hard past the lump in my throat. "It's about the night of the fire."

  He pulls in a sharp breath. "The fire in Queens?"

  I nod. "How are the boys that were in the fire?"

  His gaze travels past my face towards the open kitchen of the small bistro we're sitting in. "They're both still in serious condition. I've been back to visit them at the hospital a few times."

  I'm not surprised by that. I could tell, when he confessed that he'd been at the fire, that he was shaken to his core by the injuries the boys had sustained. I'd stopped at the bodega near my apartment one day when I'd noticed the newspaper's headline about the two boys along with a picture of their smiling faces. They'd both suffered smoke inhalation and burns to their hands and torsos. Dane was credited for helping to save them. I wasn't surprised in the least that he didn't mention the fact that he had raced into the house, along with several other neighbors, to carry the boys to safety.

  "I hope they pull through." There aren't words that can properly convey what I'm feeling. I may not know the two youngsters, but any compassionate person would want them to recover so they can live the lives they're meant to.

  A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "They're fighters. They've got a lot of support around them. The prognosis looks good."
<
br />   "I'm glad," I say looking around the bustling eatery. Dane had asked me to meet him here because he wanted to grab lunch before he came over to my place. He already had ordered for us both by the time I arrived and now as I sip the lemonade the waiter brought for me, I realize that I don't have the small card that has Cleo's hospital room number written on it. It's still tucked deep within the pocket of the jeans that I tossed onto a chair yesterday after Dane left.

  "Are you looking for someone?" he asks casually. "You seem nervous, Bridget."

  I am. I didn't come here to eat half of the club sandwich he ordered for us to share. My stomach is doing so many flip flops at this point that I doubt I'll even be able to finish my lemonade. I need to ask him why he was at the house he shared with Maisy the night of the fire. It shouldn't be this difficult to form the question, but for some reason I feel as though I'm on the edge of a cliff that I don't want to jump off of.

  "I'm not looking for anyone." I drop my hands into my lap. "I was hoping we could talk about your house in Queens."

  "What about it?" He brings the glass of beer he ordered to his lips. He takes a large swallow while he watches me over the rim.

  "Why were you there?"

  His tongue darts over his lips to catch the last traces of the amber liquid. "I met a real estate broker there. I'm selling the place."

  I'm relieved. It's the last tie that he has to Maisy and once it's sold it means he can move forward and find himself a new place. I skim my eyes over his face. I can see the disappointment that is there, hovering beneath the thin grin that covers his mouth. "I know that can't be easy. I sense that house meant a lot to you."

  He blows out a puff of air between his lips. "I thought I'd live there my entire life. I had big plans for the place."

  I don't want to let any jealousy seep into my response but I know, without any question, that part of those big plans involved his future with Maisy. She's not a fixture in his life now, and as soon as the house is sold, she'll be a memory that in time will slip from the forefront of his mind to a distant corner. "I'm sorry that you had to let it go."

  He motions for the waiter to place the plate with the sandwich and a mountain of fries between us on the table. He thanks him quietly before he turns his attention back to me.

  "It's just a house," he says casually although I see a hint of sadness in his eyes when he looks at me. "There are a lot of other houses."

  I nod as I take a piece of the sandwich he offers me. "I guess this means Maisy found a new place to live."

  His eyes close briefly as his shoulders tense. "Maisy is moving to the city. She's actually going to live with my mom for a while."

  I feel like time stalls as the sandwich falls from my hand and bounces against the edge of the plate before it tumbles to the floor.

  Chapter 13

  There's an old saying about killing two birds with one stone. Talking about Dane's mom was the next thing on my conversation bucket list. I thought I'd clear the Maisy plate before I dove into the subject of Dane's mom's ongoing friendship with his ex and her family. Little did I know that Maisy and Anja are besties who are now going to be roommates too.

  "Bridget," he says my name so softly that I have to strain to hear it. "Bridget, please don't get upset."

  "I'm not upset," I toss back honestly. "I'm surprised."

  "You're surprised?" he jokes. "Imagine how I feel."

  I can't. I have no grasp on how anything that relates to Maisy makes him feel. I've seen brief flashes of anger and frustration when he's talked about her, but it's never gone beyond that. I've always assumed that he regrets parts of his relationship with her and wants her to become someone he once knew instead of someone who is still an integral part of his life.

  "They must be close." I put my hand on the edge of the table. "Vanessa said they were at the hospital together too."

  "My mom loves Maisy more than I ever did." He glances at me. "She assumed we'd marry and have kids. She's not letting go of that dream."

  It explains a lot. I've wondered why I haven't met Dane's mom yet. It's not that I believe that we're at a stage in our relationship where that should be happening. The only reason he met my parents was because of circumstance. They were around a lot after the accident, and so it was inevitable that they'd get to know Dane.

  It's different with Anja. She's based in Boston. Dane has told me that more than once. He's also mentioned that she comes to New York to visit him. "Did your mom stay with you and Maisy when she'd come to New York?"

  He takes a big bite of the sandwich. Apparently the tension that is floating in the air between us does little to quiet his appetite. His index finger pops up as he chews hurriedly. "She had her own bedroom at our place. Maisy helped her decorate it."

  "Was she there a lot?"

  "She'd take the train into the city a couple of times a month."

  I adjust the napkin on my lap. "Is it hard for the two of you now? I'm just wondering if you two ever talk about Maisy?"

  "We did the other day," he begins before he stops to finish the last of the beer in his glass. "She was there with Maisy when I went to meet with the real estate broker. She tried to tell me I was making a mistake."

  "A mistake?" I parrot back. "Your mother thinks leaving Maisy was a mistake?"

  "My mother thinks it's all a mistake." His hand flies through the air to circle the space above us. "She thinks I should have tried harder with Maisy. She doesn't understand how I fell in love with you. She wants me to keep the house and let Maisy live there. She thinks I'm just like my brother."

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, as I feel a headache wash over me. Maybe it's just anxiety. After all, I just heard that the mother of the man I'm falling in love with is his ex-girlfriend's biggest fan.

  Dane pushes the plate that is sitting between us aside. He reaches forward to grab hold of my right hand. "I love my mother. She's everything to me but she's wrong about this. You're the woman for me. Maisy and I didn't belong together and I'm nothing like my brother."

  I smile at the faint grin on his face. "I thought my mom was difficult."

  "I don't live my life for anyone but myself, Bridget." He brings my hand to his lips. "I can't make my mother happy. She wants to move to New York and right now she wants to live with Maisy. That's her decision. It has nothing to do with me and you."

  ***

  "You're not going to invite me up to your place to show me your drawings?" He winks as the question leaves his lips.

  "My drawings?" I cock a brow. "Isn't that some old pick-up line men used to use years ago?"

  "If I had drawings, and a place to live, I'd use it only on you."

  I throw my head back in carefree laughter. "There is something I should show you but I can't today. I'm meeting a friend. He's showing some of his stuff at a museum in a few weeks and they've agreed to include a few of my drawings."

  "You're talking about Brighton Beck, aren't you?"

  "I am," I say bluntly. "Do you know who he is?"

  "He was at the hospital the night you were hit by the car." He cradles my cheek in his palm. "I knew it was him right away but I was too torn up over you to say a word to him."

  "You like art." It's a statement, not a question.

  "I've always liked it," he confesses. "I used to take Cleo to some exhibits before..."

  "Before the disagreement?" I offer, wanting to move the conversation along. "What exactly happened between you and her?"

  He reaches up the scratch his ear. "It's too complicated to get into now. It seemed like a big issue at the time, but now I realize I was wrong."

  I don't push. If he wanted me to know, he'd at least give me a generalized account of what happened, without all of the pointed details. I can't ask for more than he's willing to give. "Disagreements have a way of fading away once time passes."

  "I just wish I could talk to her again." He rakes his hand through his hair. "There's a lot I want to say to her."

  I study his face. I onl
y see compassion and goodness there. He may have fallen in love with someone who wasn't right for him and he may have to face the consequences of leaving her each and every time he speaks to his mother, but at his core, he's an honest man who has been nothing but loving and supportive to me.

  "You can talk to her again." I tap his chest. "I know where to find her."

  Chapter 14

  "What is this?" He holds the small white card in his hands. "What is this number?"

  I don't want to veil the truth of how I know where Cleo is behind any lie. I have to confess. "It's her room number at the hospital."

  "Cleo is in the hospital?" His hands visibly start shaking. "Is she okay? What's wrong with her?"

  For the briefest of moments before I pulled the card free from the pocket of my jeans, I wondered if his own mother had told him about Cleo since Vanessa saw the two of them together at the hospital. "She had her baby."

  "She did?"

  I don't know any details. I can't offer anything other than that card with the blue ink. "Vanessa told me that when she saw Cleo at the hospital with your mom last week that she wasn't pregnant. I asked about her at the reception desk and the woman working there told me Cleo was admitted. She actually called her Cleo Durand."

  "Durand," he says the name softly. "She married David."

  It's another name that holds no meaning to me. I feel the same emptiness that I did when he first mentioned Cleo a few days ago. These are people who are part of his past.

  "David was one of Cleo's doctors." He taps the edge of the card against his palm. "He loves her so much."

  "What happened to Cleo?"

  His eyes dart up to my face as he shuffles nervously on his feet. "You mean why she can't walk?"

  I nod, not wanting to give a voice to my curiosity. I've never known anyone in a wheelchair. I don't know the politically correct way to ask the obvious questions. I don't want to be insensitive but since I stood next to her in the museum that day, I've wondered how someone so bright and positive could find strength when her life is impacted in such a fundamental way.