By the time he was done, she was a puddle on the ground—or pretty close to it. “Don’t fall asleep,” he told her as he pulled his shirt on. “You’ve got to lock the door behind me.” He grabbed her hand and started down the stairway.
“You don’t have to go so soon,” she protested, even as she wondered what she was doing.
The look he gave her seared her all the way to the bone. “I think we both know if I don’t go now, I won’t go at all.”
“Would that be so bad?”
Who was this woman and when had she completely lost her mind? Amanda wondered dazedly.
“Not from my point of view.” Simon grabbed her and pulled her in for a smoldering kiss. “But then, I wasn’t the one who, less than twenty-four hours ago, was saying that we needed to be friends. This is what friends do.”
Another kiss that turned her brain to mush and he was gone, disappearing into the night with a click of her front door. As she turned the lock, she thought about what he’d said. And the fact that from the second he’d shown up in Africa, Simon had done nothing but what was best for her.
It was a whole different side of him, one she wasn’t sure what to do with.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TWO WEEKS LATER, Amanda dragged herself determinedly out of bed. It was already seven forty-five and she was due to open the clinic at eight-thirty. Getting ready for work hadn’t been a problem any other mornings so far, but today it seemed an insurmountable obstacle.
When Lucas had asked her what day she wanted off this week, she’d been an idiot not to say today. Though she’d been dreading it, somehow she’d thought that having something to do, someplace to go, would make things easier. After all, she loved working with these patients, loved being able to help in a way she hadn’t been able to in Africa. But that wasn’t enough. The idea of going into the clinic today made her want to slam her head into the nearest wall until she fell into blessed unconsciousness.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. Getting dressed was. Going to work was. Not sitting here, dwelling on the fact that today would have been Gabby’s ninth birthday. That there should be chocolate-chip ice-cream cake and new art supplies instead of tears and recriminations.
She wanted that alternate reality, wanted her baby safe and whole and healthy, so bad that she could barely stand the torment of being in her own skin. She wanted to scream, wanted to smash things, wanted to burn her whole existence—including the new life she’d started working toward—straight to the ground.
She wanted her baby back.
Dear God, she wanted Gabby in her arms where she belonged.
The agony of it—the absolute, horrible unfairness of it—brought her to her knees, and for long seconds, she was unable to move. Unable to think. She could only kneel there, arms wrapped around herself, face buried in the sheets of her brand-new bed, slowly breathing as the pain rolled through her.
During the past nineteen months, she’d learned that if she could just wait it out, if she could just concentrate on inhaling and exhaling, the pain would become bearable. Not good, never good, but manageable—a dull ache that she could cope with. Today, the pain had become an excruciating wave, one that would easily drown her if she let it.
The abyss beckoned and Amanda felt herself sliding toward it, felt herself giving in. It would be so easy to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over her head. So easy to disappear. She’d done it before—literally and figuratively—and it had been so much better than this.
Then again, anything was better than this.
She’d actually pulled the covers back, had started to slide between them, before she regained control.
Withdrawing from the world wasn’t going to solve anything, she told herself through the pain. Hiding wasn’t going to bring her daughter back, and running away would only ensure that it hurt worse when the pain finally caught up with her. If she’d learned nothing else in those last, desperate months in Africa, she’d learned that.
Besides, if she gave in now, all the work she’d done since coming to Atlanta would come tumbling down around her like so many blocks, and she didn’t think she had it in her to start all over again.
Doing her best to ignore the sadness crashing around her, Amanda forced herself to finish dressing. Then she dragged herself out of her bedroom and down the stairs, leaving her oh-so-tempting bed behind. She skipped the kitchen, with its brand-new flooring and paint, knowing there was no way she would be able to choke even a granola bar down, not the way her stomach was crazily churning.
Instead, she went straight to the garage and her SUV. The sooner she got to work, the sooner she could concentrate on something besides the fire in her gut and the flames that were slowly roasting her alive.
As she drove, she wondered how Simon was doing. Or if he even remembered what day it was. All week, she’d waited for him to mention something about Gabby, to suggest that they spend the day together, since they’d both be hurting, but he hadn’t said a word. Then again, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to say anything, either—somehow, in her head, vocalizing their loss just made it worse.
Maybe he felt the same way.
Or maybe he’d forgotten it was Gabby’s birthday altogether. He’d been known to do that when she was alive. She’d wait to hear from him for hours—hoping for a phone call, an email, a present delivered via Federal Express—but more often than not, she was disappointed.
Two days or two months later—or sometime in between—Simon would blow back into town, with an apology and a fantastic gift to smooth everything over. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t—
She cut her thoughts off as anger welled inside her. The past was over. Yes, Simon had made some mistakes, but then, so had she. If they were really going to move on and give this friendship-and-maybe- something-more relationship of theirs a shot, she couldn’t afford to dwell on what had happened in the past. She had to let it go.
She pulled up in front of the clinic, checked her cell phone for the tenth time. Still no text or call from Simon. She tried not to let it get to her.
Despite her best intentions, though, the day at the clinic started a little roughly. She was off her game and more than once found her mind wandering when she needed to be concentrating on her patients’ symptoms. But as the day progressed, she managed to settle in, find her stride. That’s when she knew she’d done the right thing. Better to be here, swamped with work, than at home, hiding, as the day crept slowly by. Better to be living, she repeated for what might have been the millionth time in the past few weeks, than the alternative.
And by the time six o’clock rolled around, she was functioning, which was more than she could say about this day last year. That was definitely progress, right? If you took enough baby steps, you could still cover the distance. It would take you longer than if you sprinted, but it didn’t make crossing the finish line any less sweet.
Amanda washed up, took off her coat and stethoscope, then prepared to work her way through the last of her charts. Pulling out her cell phone, she checked her messages—again—but still nothing from Simon, which was weird. Very weird.
Usually, he called once or twice to check on her or ask her to lunch—or to firm up plans for dinner. They’d seen each other every day since he’d shown up on her doorstep with Chinese takeout, and so far, she hadn’t regretted a minute of the time they’d spent together.
Despite their past relationship—or more likely, because of it—they were taking things slow. Concentrating on rediscovering what they liked about each other aside from the sexual chemistry that had always flared between them.
But as the sun prepared to set for the day, Amanda didn’t know whether she should be hurt, angry or concerned. She ended up being a combination of all three and flipped on the television in the break room no one ever had time to use, just to see if all hell had broken loose somewhere in the world. It hadn’t, at least no more than usual, which meant Simon hadn’t had to drop everything and fly o
ff to some hot spot.
So where was he? she wondered, stewing about the situation as she worked her way through the charts. Should she be worried that he hadn’t called? Atlanta could be a dangerous place, after all. Or should she assume he was busy? Just because her life was beginning to revolve around him—
Amanda closed her eyes as she realized what she’d admitted to herself. Her life was beginning to revolve around Simon? How was that even possible? And if it was true, how could she be so stupid? She knew better. Absolutely knew better.
Relying on him was like relying on the wind. He showed up when he was least expected, stuck around for a while, wreaking havoc, and then disappeared as quickly as he came. Sure, she was enjoying spending time with him, enjoying contemplating the possibilities of what could be, but that didn’t mean she was starting to rely on him. She’d made that mistake once and it had nearly killed her. Doing it again was worse than stupid. It was emotional suicide, and now that she’d climbed out of that hole, she wasn’t going there again.
“You look like someone shot your dog.” She glanced up to see Lucas leaning against the door frame, his dark eyes curious and concerned.
“I’m just tired.” She pushed away from the table. “I think I’m going to head home.” To my empty house.
She didn’t say the words aloud, but they echoed in her head. Normally, she didn’t mind being alone, but tonight it seemed like the worst fate in the world. Way too much time to think.
“I’m off in half an hour. Can I buy a drink?”
She stiffened, a little surprised—and dismayed—by the suggestive warmth in his voice. “I probably wouldn’t be very good company tonight.”
“Hence the invitation. Come on, Amanda. I know this great little bar that makes incredible mojitos. Let me take you there, buy you a couple. It’ll cheer you up, and I promise, I have no nefarious intentions whatsoever.”
“None at all?” She raised her eyebrow, pretended suspicion.
He laughed. “None at all. I swear. Come on. It’ll be fun.”
She was tempted to agree. The only plan she had for the night was going home, painting a room and brooding about her daughter. Having a drink with a friend would keep her from brooding about Gabby.
And she used to like mojitos. They were Simon’s favorite drink, so she’d had more than her fair share, even if she had lost her taste for them after they’d broken up.
Going out with a friend, having fun. She added another X onto the checklist in her mind. Another solid step on her path to recovery.
“Fine. One drink,” she told him with a smile.
“Excellent! Let me finish up the cases I have in the rooms, and then as soon as Mike and Priss show up, we’re out of here.” He sent her a wink as he backed out of the door.
Amanda finished her charts while she waited for him, figuring his half an hour would be more like an hour—at the earliest. Lucas had a difficult time letting go, and she had yet to see him leave the clinic even close to on time. Not that she could talk, since she rarely left right after shift herself.
But to her surprise, thirty-five minutes later he was standing in front of her, car keys in hand. “You ready?”
“Absolutely.” She stowed her charts, said a quick goodbye to the two doctors who had just come in, and then they were off. She had a moment’s surprise when she saw Lucas’s car—a beat-up truck that was as far removed from the typical Harvard grad as he was himself.
“So, where’s the bar located?” she asked as they pulled into traffic. “I’m still trying to learn my way around Atlanta.”
“Not too far.” He named two streets she recognized, largely because they weren’t far from Simon’s apartment. She’d been there three times over the past couple of weeks and it had saddened but not surprised her to see how barren the place was.
“Good. That’s in my comfort zone, so I shouldn’t have too much trouble finding my way back.”
“Your comfort zone?”
“Yeah. I have about a ten-square-mile area that I’m familiar with. I’ve ventured outside it a few times, but I usually stay within it. Since everything I need is in those boundaries, it’s not bad.”
The look he shot her was rife with disbelief. “Aren’t you the world traveler?”
“Are you kidding me? In most of the places I’ve worked, I’ve been stuck in about three square miles of desert or island or whatever. I may have traveled to a lot of countries, but believe me, I don’t do many exciting things once I’m there.”
“Too busy working?”
“Exactly.”
He shook his head. “We make a great pair.”
“I’ve noticed you practically live at the clinic.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve noticed that you do, too. Maybe we should start planning to do things together—it will help get us outside our ‘comfort zones.’ Although, I admit, I’m willing to go more than ten miles in any direction.”
A warning bell sounded distantly in her head, not because he was teasing her, but because he seemed to take it for granted that they’d be seeing each other outside work again. She’d like to make a friend or two here, but the last thing she wanted was for him to get the wrong idea. She could barely handle the friendship she had going with Simon right now. Anything else was completely out of the question.
Although, if she was honest, it was more likely that Lucas felt sorry for her. She’d been working hard to get more sleep and regain the fifteen pounds she’d lost, but to date, she’d only managed to put on three. Which meant she was still too thin, too drawn, too tired- looking.
It also meant she was being ridiculous. Shooting Lucas a grin, she finally let herself relax. They chatted casually the rest of the way to the bar.
She had a few seconds’ hesitation when she walked into the place, largely because it was decorated in shades of Gabby’s favorite color, green. For a second, she almost walked back out. How could she be here, having a drink, on Gabby’s birthday? How could she be trying to have fun, when her daughter would never get to do any of this?
As if he could sense her hesitation, Lucas grabbed her elbow and propelled her to a table toward the back. As they slid into the booth, she was struck by how understated and comfortable the place was. She’d been imagining some chic downtown bar where people tried too hard to impress members of the opposite sex, and instead he’d brought her to a place that had a really nice neighborhood vibe. An upscale neighborhood, sure, but still a neighborhood and not a meat market.
They chatted over happy-hour snacks and what might have been the best mojito Amanda had ever had. Mostly they talked about the clinic, but occasionally the conversation got more personal. Lucas told her about growing up poor in Atlanta. His parents had worked overtime trying to feed their three kids and never gotten ahead. Many times they’d gone without the basics, like medical care, so that their kids could have a little more. That was why, when he’d gotten his Ivy League scholarships, he’d sworn to come back and help make life better for those who were struggling as his parents had.
She admired him for that. A lot of people would have taken their degrees and run, but Lucas had stuck it out. Had made something important in a community that had almost nothing.
Of course, he also got points for never prying—not once did he try to figure out why she was so sad. Instead, he simply tried to make her feel better. It had been a long time since she’d had such a nice, uncomplicated time with a man.
About twelve years or so, to be exact—unless she counted Jack.
As she was waiting for her second mojito to arrive, she got up to use the restroom. Raised voices were coming from a few of the stools positioned in front of the bar.
She paused and would have headed to her table to give whoever was so agitated time to cool off, except one of the voices, with its clipped British accent, sounded familiar. Pausing, she tried to get a good look in the dim interior.
She couldn’t see much, but then it came again. A very annoyed, very male, very drunk voi
ce demanding another drink in the most proper British accent she had ever heard.
What were the odds? she told herself, even as she inched closer. Of all the bars in Atlanta, it was ridiculous to think that Simon would show up in the one she was sitting in. Especially drunk. She had never once seen him even close to tipsy in the years she’d known him.
Still, now that the suspicion was planted, she wasn’t going to be happy until she knew for sure that it wasn’t him. Giving up on subtlety, she strode over to the men—and felt her mouth drop open at what she saw. Simon was propped on the bar, sheer will holding him on the bar stool. It was obvious he was too hammered to function. One wrong move and he was going to end up on his ass on the floor.
There was an empty mojito glass in front of him and he was in the middle of arguing belligerently with the bartender, telling the man that he was more than capable of holding his liquor. Which made her wonder how much alcohol he had imbibed.
A hell of a lot more than one mojito, that was for sure.
A few people had gathered behind Simon, whether to order drinks or watch the show, she didn’t know. But as she wove her way through them, she got up close and personal with a man she was pretty sure was the club’s bouncer. Terrific. Simon was famous enough that getting tossed out of a bar, totally drunk, was sure to raise eyebrows.
When she was finally close enough to touch him, she lay a hand on his elbow. “Simon?” she said. “You okay?”
When he turned to her, his eyes were bleary and unfocused, his face slack.
Shit. He was really gone.
“How many drinks has he had?” she demanded of the annoyed bartender, wondering if she needed to worry about alcohol poisoning.