“Nicole.” I grabbed a fistful of black material and yanked, the snaps holding the cape closed at the back of my neck protesting with apop!My feet tangled on the footrest of the chair. Blast! She’d make it out the door before I could even stand up. “Nicole, wait!”
Her backside offered a nice view, but this time I couldn’t just watch her storm away. I had to chase after her. Offer an apology.
Stopping at the salon had been a bad idea. Visiting a piece of my personal history in the oncology unit, seeing all the kids currently fighting for their lives, left me in a weird headspace. Not to mention the long hours from my shift. I should have gone home and gotten some sleep.
But I’d seen her car, and something inside clicked to autopilot. And apparently stayed that way until I’d not just toed a line but jumped so far over it that I’d have to crawl back on my hands and knees.
The front door opened with a rattle—of course she wouldn’t wait—and I dug into the deep pocket of my scrubs and withdrew my wallet. I pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and laid it on the counter without a backward glance.
The sun blinded me when I stepped outside, and I blinked against its harsh affront. Shielding my eyes, I looked left and right, then spotted her rounding the corner to the other side of the building. I jogged to catch up, then slowed my pace to match hers.
“For someone who isn’t afraid to throw some verbal punches, you sure do run away a lot after you get your jab in.” I threw a small smile her way, hoping my attempt at humor and charm would dial down her degrees of anger. I needed her to at least hear me out, and she couldn’t do that with steam coming out of her ears.
“Keeps me out of prison on murder charges,” she said through clenched teeth.
I reached out and took ahold of her wrist, gently pulling her to a stop. She turned, yanked her hand away, and squared off. Feet braced, she pushed her shoulders back.
“What, Drew?” Hurt thickened her voice. “What else could you possibly have to say that you didn’t already say back there?”
I swallowed down regret, wishing I could go back and stop myself from trying to get a rise out of her over climate change. I’d let Miranda and the other kids fighting cancer take up residence in my mind. Disease had stolen their childhood. Fun looked and sounded different for a lot of them. And it wasn’t fair. Sierra didn’t have those roadblocks. Her life should be filled with giggles and shenanigans and carefree splendor.
I met her gaze, hoping she saw my sincerity. “I’m sorry.”
She scoffed and looked away, but not before I could see her pushing down emotions of her own. Even so, she stayed standing in front of me.
“I shouldn’t have said anything about you or Sierra. It’s just—”
Her tongue clicked as she shook her head, a derisive laugh cutting me off. “Why do people do that? Offer a semblance of an apology only to follow it up with a ‘but’ or ‘just.’ ‘But’ and ‘just’ only negate everything you’ve said previously. Apologies don’t need to be given with a side of justification.”
Control slowly slipped through my fingers. Yeah, I’d been wrong to voice my insinuation that Sierra didn’t have enough fun and that the too-serious apple didn’t fall far from the strait-laced tree. Wasn’t my place to speak up. However, I hadn’t been wrong, either.
“I don’t know.” I laid the sarcasm on like thick frosting. “Maybe the same reason why people shut others down and aren’t willing to listen to another perspective or where someone else is coming from.”
Her blue eyes flashed, lightning over a cloudless sky. “Are you calling me close-minded?”
I forced myself to lounge against the exterior wall. The swirls of stucco bit into the back of my arm. I propped the sole of one foot against the hard surface, hoping I looked like I couldn’t care less. I wanted—no,needed—to care less. After all, what was it to me if Nicole and Sierra didn’t smile or laugh nearly often enough?
“Yes. As well as being sanctimonious.”
The pulse point in her neck thrummed, her voice going eerily quiet. “When you have kids of your own someday, you can make all the decisions. Until then—”
“I can’t.” I cut her off, surprising both of us. Why had I said that? The last person I’d uttered those words to had eventually left me cradling an unwanted ring in my palm.
But maybe that was why. Maybe I wanted to see if she’d walk away one final time.
Or if she’d stay.
“What?” Her breath fanned over me, and I realized again our heated words had worked like two opposite-charged ions, attracting and pulling us toward the other.
I moistened my dry lips and looked over Nicole’s shoulder. People expected women to dream of being mothers one day. To envision their life with a soundtrack of pitter-pattering feet, kissing booboos, and waking up on Christmas morning with the wonderment and joy only a child can bring.
For a doctor to sit down with a man and give him the news that he’s infertile—that those trusting eyes would never look up to him and call him daddy, that there would never be monsters to chase from closets or tea parties with teddy bears? Well, that wasn’t supposed to be as devastating as it would be for a woman.
And yet I’d forever exist with a hole in my heart.
I cleared my throat, hating the show of emotion. “I can’t have kids.”
Her head tilted. If her temper had worked like a steam engine (which it wouldn’t, because coal wasn’t a renewable resource, and this was Nicole), then the tiny guy shoveling the black diamond into her furnace would have just slowed, dropping her temperature.
