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4
Dane
The dull throbin my temples demands I take an extra-strength dose of ibuprofen once Caiti is settled, and I can disappear for a few hours to check in with my staff.
“You can bring me to the nearest hotel. I’ll text Evie to meet us there, and I can pay for a cab to return you home.”
Make that two ibuprofen and a shot of something strong. She’s repeated the same thinly veiled demand several times since we left the triage room. I shift my eyes to the side before returning them to the road. Damn, she’s pretty. Having her beauty seated beside me hits me straight in the solar plexus. Even when she sat at a table in my bar with her husband three years ago, I had a hard time keeping my gaze to myself. Allowing myself to enjoy looking, but nothing more. When she returned to my bar six months later a widow, all bets were off. I thought she was on the same page, or I would have never taken her to my bed. The way she fled by morning speaks to her regret.
Though more important matters persist at hand.
“How are you feeling?” I evade her request and ask the question nagging at me for the last eight hours. Even in a small town, emergency room visits are not swift.
Caiti lifts her head from resting on the window and stares blankly ahead. The silence stretches. At the next stop sign, I chance a glance to find her chewing her bottom lip.
“Caiti?”
She shrugs. “I’m really tired.”
“To be expected after the day you’ve had.” I ease on the gas. “We’re only a few minutes away. Do you want something to eat now or after you’ve had a chance to rest?”
“I’ll wait, thanks.” The softness in her tone convinces me she’s battling her emotions.
She remains silent when I park her car at the curb and lead her up the walkway to my apartment. I wonder if she remembers the last time she was here in as much detail as I do.
“It’s not much,” I mutter. I don’t need to take stock of my bachelor-style abode. Maybe she won’t look too closely either.
“It’s just what I need.” Caiti yawns and toes out of her black flats near the door.
“If you weren’t taking a nap, I’d tell you to leave those on.”
“I’m not going to make more work for you by tracking dirt in. You’ve done enough for me today.” Her lingering sigh quells any further argument from me.
“Come on. There’s a bed this way.”
This morning, I had a few minutes while Ophelia demolished a snack to straighten up my room, which mostly consisted of picking up a week’s worth of laundry from the floor and shoving it in the hamper. I’m a pretty clean guy. I can proudly admit my bathroom is free from piss streaks and beard clippings, and I know many dudes who can’t say the same. Or whose wives would declare otherwise.
Entering the dim space, I’m thankful I had the foresight to straighten the black comforter from the crumpled mess I flung off me during the loud awakening this morning. I chance a glimpse over my shoulder. Caiti travels at a sluggish pace into my room. Without pause, she meanders straight passed and climbs onto my king-sized bed.
Does she know how fucking sexy she makes the simple act look?
“I’ll, uh…” I clear my throat and rub the back of my neck. “I’ll be down at the bar if you need anything.”
Silence stretches. My body burns to walk over and check if she’s already fallen asleep. To cover her with my blanket and trap in her flowery scent. The only time she spent in my bed left my sheets smelling of her for over a week until I was ready to wash them.
I walk to the door and wrap my hand around the bronze handle, pulling it closed behind me. Before the latch clicks, I swear I hear her voice calling out a faint, “Thank you.”
My chest tightens. I’ve kept a lock on my emotions all day, but I think it’s time for that shot or two.
I’m down the stairs, through the bar's back door, passing the kitchens, and into my office without a single distraction. For once, I’m thankful for a slow afternoon. My mother’s old clock on my desk says it’s nearly four-thirty. The aides will be helping her get ready for dinner any minute, then it’s television time, a bath, and bed by seven-thirty. I scratch out a note on a scrap paper to my left to bring her a box of her favorite cookies when I visit tomorrow. It doesn’t make up for the distress I probably caused her today, but it’s a start.
A knock sounds when my door swings open, and my best friend, Rhett, pokes his head inside.
“You must have heard from Evie.” I slide out my bottom drawer to grab the bottle of vodka I keep stashed. I own the place, but I don’t like to take from my inventory, and it doesn’t set a good example for my staff if I’m on the floor serving myself drinks.
Rhett steps fully inside and closes the door behind him.
“She was goddamned over the moon to show up at our place with that adorable little girl in tow. Evie and Tommy have been busy all afternoon keeping her occupied with toys and snacks.”
My stony face gives no indication of the burn as I toss the first shot back. “Want one?”
“Nah.” My friend waves his hand. “Evie and I have a pact while we’re trying to conceive. No alcohol for either of us.”
“How noble of you to decline in her honor.”
“If you’re going to spit sarcasm, mind sharing with the class what’s up your ass?” Rhett sits on the arm of the green-velvet armchair I keep in the corner and rests his ankle on his opposite knee.
I swallow shot number two and flick the cap back onto the bottle. If I don’t stow it away now, my entire evening might be shot, and I have important shit to do. Like find out what Caiti is doing here after all these years and why she didn’t try to find me sooner. I’m trying to reserve judgment on calling her out for keeping my kid from me until I hear her reasons. I firmly believe people deserve the chance to explain themselves. But waiting is fucking hard.
I stop peering at the mess of papers on my desk and fix my gaze to Rhett’s. “You remember the last time Caiti was here about three years ago?”
“You mean the time you banged on my door half naked at seven in the morning searching for her, and all you could say was you fucked up? Yeah, man, hard to forget. Evie was pissed for months and blamed you for running Caiti out of town.”
I release some irritation with a sigh.
“Ophelia’s mine.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Caiti hasn’t made an official declaration, but c’mon. The resemblance is undeniable.”
Rhett rubs his chin. “I don’t know, man. She’s pretty cute. Either she got it all from her mother, or you’re off the mark because you’re dead ugly.” He grins to soften the mock blow.
He would say that with his cover-model good looks. He takes the trophy for a pretty boy, where I fall somewhere on a spectrum between clean and rugged depending on how much scruff is on my face.
“Save the wisecracks for another time, if you wouldn’t mind. Maybe when I don’t have so much on my plate.”
“What are you going to do besides calling your urologist to demand a refund?”
