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Kayla waves her hand dismissively. “Not. The. Important. Part. Cole.” She bends down, getting in my face. “Call her.”
And with that order, she takes her coffee, purse, and my certainty that I’m doing the right thing by staying away from Janey with her out the door.
CHAPTER14
JANEY
“Good morning, Mrs. Michaelson!”I sing as I enter her room. “How‘re you today?”
Of course, she doesn’t say anything, but that’s expected. I open the blinds to let some sunshine in, check the machines at her bedside, and then focus on the woman herself. “You look good. Like you slept well.” I pause as though she responds. “Me? Pretty well too. I was up reading—I got the new Vampire King book I’ve been waiting on—but I forced myself to stop at chapter five. Dragul had just spotted his latest victim-slash-soulmate, so it was nearly impossible, but I made myself promise when I started it that I would only read for a bit, not all night.”
Truthfully, I’d been distracted while I was reading, which is not a problem I usually have. I fall into books and imaginary worlds like they’re building around me, brick by brick and word by word. But since I got back from the cabin, my thoughts have been preoccupied with one thing...
Cole.
I’ve wondered what he’s doing. If he’s on a case or even in town. Shoot, I’ve wondered if he’s dead in a ditch along the winding road home because no one would know to look for him.
But I’ve also remembered... his touch, his array of smiles, his kindness, and his grumpy charm.
I miss him. Despite the painfully weird goodbye, I miss him.
I’ve done a good job of staying busy, though. I’ve worked, catching up with my patients and the other staff because life went on without me here. Ariella, one of the aides, is pregnant with her third, and we’re excitedly planning a baby shower, even though she’s barely twelve weeks. Dr. Vincetti announced his upcoming retirement and subsequent plans to travel with his husband. Mr. Culderon’s son, who we don’t like, came in flashing a ten-dollar fake Rolex, thinking it would impress the staff and we’d treat his father differently, which of course, we don’t. We continue our top-notch care, regardless. Mrs. Michaelson has a sore on her hip, a common concern for bedbound patients, and I’ve made it my personal mission to heal it with love, positivity, and a healthy dose of prescription ointment. And best of all...
“I did it,” Mason says from the doorway. “You were right, and I finally listened. I did it.”
I look up from the spread of wound care items in front of me. “Of course, I was right,” I answer automatically. “What was I right about this time?”
Mason comes in, taking position on the other side of the bed to assist... and gossip. “About me and Greta,” he answers with an eye roll. “As the announcers would say, it’sovah!”
“What? Oh, no, Mase! I’m so sorry!” I truly am. Though I worried they weren’t a good fit because she didn’t appreciate Mason’s awesomeness, I hate that he’s hurting, which I know he is beneath his macho man guise.
“I’m not. Unfortunately, she made it easy. She told me that my bare chin lookedsogood,” he mocks, “and was rubbing all over my face like a cat in heat. Then, like she was testing a stolen credit card and got approved for the candy bar at the gas station, she went straight for the 70-inch TV and said I should shave the ‘stache too and maybe get an undercut and a hard part. And then we could go shopping.” He throws his voice falsely high and whiny. “Won’t that be fun?”
“Ooh, that’s not good.” I wince.
“Right? I’m not some dude bro who needs a makeover to pass as human. And want to know the worst part?” he asks, sounding like this is going to be a head-run off a cliff.
I cringe, preparing for something like she wanted to shop for engagement rings or wanted Mason to get her name tattooed on his chest in three-inch tall Gothic letters.
“It’s gonna take months to grow my beard back out,” he finishes, sounding exasperated. He sighs heavily and holds gauze out for me. “I’m not one of those guys who sprouts facial hair like a werewolf. It’s gonna take time, but it’s happening, Mrs. Michaelson. You just wait. Mason’s getting his groove back.” He dances, wiggling his hips and kicking out a leg, but conversationally including our patient like she’s been involved the whole time, something he learned from me.
I laugh in surprise at his good-natured, Golden Retriever-esque response to a breakup. Considering mine was more tears and pathetically begging for Henry to at least go to the wedding, I’m impressed by Mason.
Not that I’m still in that headspace. I’m more in the Henry Who? mindset now.
“Congratulations, then?” I say carefully.
Mason dips his chin, agreeing that congrats are in order. “You know what this means, right?” he says. “You and me, both single and ready to mingle. We should get drinks tonight and see who’s out there.”
There’s never been anything between Mason and me, so I know he’s not asking me ‘out’, but even the idea of sitting in some club, sipping an overpriced, watered-down drink and making myself available for any Tom, Dick, or Henry to choose me sounds dreadful. Especially when I already know who I want. He just didn’t want me.
Not that I’m bitter! I’m fully in my Janey-Self-Love era, taking care of me, myself, and I and remembering why I left my family in the first place, and analyzing why the hell I got caught up with Henry, who treated me like a second thought, so I don’t do either of those things again.
As I’ve recently been reminded, I’m a strong, beautiful woman worthy of more, and any man who doesn’t appreciate that can go. As Ariana Grande famously said... thank you, next!
Somehow, it doesn’t sound so badass when I tell Mason, “Can’t, I have a date with a bottle of wine, takeout pasta, a hair treatment, a collagen face mask, and Dragul tonight. I’m gonna be naughty and go all... the... way... to chapter fifteen.” I shimmy my shoulders in giddy excitement as I make my reading sound dirtier than spreading book pages. “Already promised Mrs. Michaelson that I’ll tell her how Tiffany gets snared in Dragul’s seductive web of nips and nibbles.” Finished with my patient’s wound treatment, I throw away the trash, yank my gloves off with a snap, and then load up on waterless soap from the dispenser on the wall.
“Your vampire guy, who’s like a thousand years old and has lived through war, the rise and fall of civilizations, and the advent of sour gummies as an entire genre of candy, is in love with someone named Tiffany?” Mason echoes, his face screwed up in distaste. “Let me guess, she’s twenty-one, has zero life experience, but they’re somehow inter-cosmically connected?” Mason laces his foamy soap covered fingers together to illustrate.
