My eyes cut back to the fan in front of me, and I dutifully sign her jersey and pose for a picture. I do that three more times, each time not able to resist glances back at Vale as she eats in solitude.
When the last autograph is handed out, Max and Grant start for the door, but I stay pinned in place, indecisive. One more glance at Vale.
"Hey guys, I'll catch up to you in a bit," I call out, and they both turn to look at me inquisitively. "If I'm not there in fifteen, order without me."
I wait for them to leave and then turn toward the restaurant. I'm sliding into the booth seat opposite Vale before she even notices me. Her head jerks up, and at first I don't get even a hint of recognition, but then she breaks out into an easy smile that catches me off guard. I was quite sure I'd be getting daggers.
"Hey," she says as she sets her fork down on her plate.
"Rabbit food for dinner?" I ask with a cut of my eyes down to her meal before looking back up at her again.
"Have to keep my girlish figure," she quips.
I chuckle and stretch my legs out, making sure to spread them wide enough so they don't touch her. I don't think I could handle touching her.
She looks at me with vague curiosity and a touch of wariness. I decide to go ahead and put her totally at ease.
"I'm sorry about Saturday," I tell her with my eyes holding hers. "I shouldn't have come on to you like that. Shouldn't have been such an asshole and said those things."
"Oh," she murmurs in soft surprise, and I can see her shoulders relax a little.
"And I'm really sorry for outing us to Tad," I say with what I hope is a charming smile.
She returns it hesitantly but says, "Todd."
"Whatever. I'm sorry about that. I know it's not stress you need right now."
Vale's eyes hold me for a moment, then drop to her plate. She picks up her fork, toys around with a piece of lettuce covered in blue cheese dressing. "Todd and I broke up Saturday night."
"Oh, fuck," I groan, actually sorry over the fact that I caused that. Well, wait...no, I'm not sorry, but I keep that to myself.
Her face raises and she gives me a smirk. "It wasn't because of you."
Hmmm...I don't like that either. I kind of want to be the cause of her dumping the toad.
"Actually," she says with sober eyes, "I just sort of realized he wasn't the one."
"Bad kisser, huh?" I say jokingly.
"Good kisser," she says, and I wince internally. "But he proposed to me, and that sort of put things in perspective."
My eyebrows raise sky high, as I had no clue things were that serious. "Proposed? As in bended knee, ring, and marriage?"
"Well, he sort of blurted it out in the parking lot of my apartment, but in fairness to him, I think he was nervous."
For some reason, that makes me sad. Sad that a man that wanted someone like Vale to spend the rest of her life with him didn't have the decency to make it good for her. This thought confuses me somewhat, because I'm not sure why Vale holds any vested interest for me. Outside of not wanting to cause her undue stress while she's going through this stuff with Dave, I'm not sure why I've got some protective instincts rising within me.
Vale takes a stab at her salad and an idea strikes me. "Hey, you want to dump the roughage and come eat pizza with me and a few of the guys? We're going to grab a few beers after to celebrate our victory."
She gives me a sweet smile and shakes her head. "Nah. That's not my sort of scene anymore."
"So, what is your scene now?" I ask curiously, wondering exactly how much the party girl I once knew has changed.
Her shoulders lift with silent laughter and her voice is dry. "Nowadays, it's getting a good eight hours of sleep, which I'm actually looking forward to tonight."
"I can understand that," I say sympathetically. The girl is a workhorse, caught by circumstance and obligation to keep her and her dad afloat. "But what about before you moved here?"
"Hmmm," she says thoughtfully before taking a dainty sip of her water. "Let's see...I like to read--sci-fi and paranormal thriller stuff--and I used to spend a lot of time with my dog, Piper. We'd go hiking a lot. She's a Lab and loves the water, so we'd spend a lot of time at this local lake that was near my house."
"Where is she now?" I ask, intently curious now that for the first time Vale seems to be holding an easy conversation with me. A brief thought filters through my head, and that's to hit her up with what she meant Saturday night about loyalty to herself, but I instantly quash it. It's not the time. Maybe it won't ever be.
Vale's eyes go sad and I have a sudden urge to reach out and grab her hand. I curl my fingertips into the edge of the wooden table to resist as she says, "I had to leave her with Avery. Todd wasn't a dog guy, but Avery gladly took her for me."
"Where is Avery these days?" I ask, a sudden flush of guilt going through me that not only do I not know where Avery is, but I don't know where Oliver is either. We just simply lost touch.
"She's still living in Sydney. Married to a boat mechanic. They have a little boy who's three."
"Wow," I say, almost stunned at how much has changed when sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday that we were all together. I cough slightly, almost hating to ask because it lets Vale know how much I left everything firmly behind. "And what about Oliver?"
A knowing look filters into her eyes. She's very much aware I haven't kept in touch with Oliver, yet I don't indicate any censure. Instead, she leans forward in a conspiratorial manner and almost whispers, "Well, he ended up getting involved with this married woman. She was married to this really rich old guy and they would spend weekends on Cape Breton. You know Oliver, it was just a screw to him, nothing more. But then the husband caught them together, and because he really liked having his trophy wife on his arm, he just merely demanded she make a choice. Him and his riches, or the young, poor stud."
"And what did she do?" I ask, caught up in the juicy details of this forbidden affair.
Relishing the power of her tale, Vale hunches forward a little more. "Well, Oliver of course was just in it for the hot sex. I mean, Nina is smokin', but she's also really nice too. But she knew Oliver wasn't offering her any commitment, or at least he'd made that clear in the past. So she made with the tearful goodbye and went back to her loveless marriage."
"That's a sucky ending," I mutter.
"But it's not the end," Vale says slyly, and sits back in the booth. With an impish grin, she says, "According to Avery, Oliver realized he loved her and marched up to their mansion on the bay, stormed inside, and carried Nina out over his shoulder."
"You're kidding?" I say, not able to see Oliver doing something like that. It fills me up with respect for him.
"Nope. They got married last year and they're working on making babies. They'll be beautiful too."
We're interrupted when the waitress comes up and asks if I'll be eating. I look to Vale. "Mind if I just hang out here with you?"
She shakes her head and takes another bite of her salad. I turn back to the waitress. "I'll just have a burger and fries. And a Coke."
"Have that out in a jiff," she says, and scurries off.
"So Oliver's still in Sydney?" I ask as I turn back to Vale.
"He is now. They had actually moved to upstate New York where Nina's from, but then decided he missed Sydney too much. So they moved back about six months ago. He's managing a building supply warehouse. Nina is a receptionist at a veterinary clinic."
"Wow," I say in wonder, a sudden feeling of remorse overtaking me. I've missed so much.
"You should give him a call," Vale says as if reading my mind. "He'd love to hear from you."
Weirdly, an odd sense of hope and excitement courses through me. In the matter of just a few weeks, and all due to Vale coming to the Cold Fury, I've been reconnected to my old life, which, let's face it, was a fantastic fucking life. I had good friends, even better times, and despite the way our paths veered apart, the possibility of having them come back togeth
er makes me feel uniquely joyous.
"You know, I think I will," I say as the waitress returns with my Coke.
Vale gives a tinkling laugh, the very one I remember from when she was in a mischievous mood. She leans forward again and says, "So, I'll tell you more about the whole Nina scandal. There was a rumor her rich, old husband had some Mafia ties. Not sure how it got started up, but for the longest time after Oliver carried her out of the house, we were all convinced he was going to swim with the fishes or something. You should have seen Oliver..."
I sit there and listen to Vale. Her voice is light, carefree, and melodic. I let her fill me in on the details of my friends I had lost, and I let myself get swept away in the memories.
Chapter 12
Vale
While I did indeed get eight pure hours of sleep last night, I'm still exhausted. It clearly wasn't enough to catch up on all of the late nights and early mornings I've been suffering through the past few weeks. Still, I went to sleep with a smile on my face last night after Hawke and I had dinner together. It was nice.
Casual.
Fun.
When he first sat down at my table, there was a fleeting moment of awkwardness, and then it was gone as soon as he apologized for what happened at the party. In hindsight, I'm not sure I wanted him to be regretful over what happened in the bathroom, but it was a bit of a balm to know that he seemed truly sorry for making waves with Todd and me. It showed me that despite the anger and secrets and blame, Hawke still has feelings for me.
As I clearly still have feelings for him.
That became evident to me when Todd proposed. While my initial reaction was a general rebellion against the notion of a lifetime with Todd, it was quickly followed with a sad yearning for what I had lost with the man I thought I was supposed to be with the rest of my life.
It was even more evident, and not in a good way, when I woke up this morning in my Chicago hotel room all squirmy with frustration because of a dirty dream I had about Hawke. Call it guilt over showing him my cover-up tattoo job, or the way in which I can all too clearly remember how much I wanted him to touch me in that bathroom, but I dreamt of the night I got his name etched into my inner thigh to be held for all eternity.
We practically tumbled into our apartment. We were drunk, a little stoned, and had just come home from the tattoo shop. Our hands were all over each other, tearing at clothes, deep wet kisses punctuated with groans.
We stumbled into the bedroom, completely naked by the time we fell to the mattress. Well, almost completely naked. I had a sterile pad held in place over Hawke's name with medical tape. He had a matching pad on his right hip, where he had tattooed VALE in a flowing script of dark green ink.
Then he was in me, careful of our bandages, and kissing me hard the entire time.
Hawke and I had sex--and I mean a lot--those first few months after I turned eighteen. But that night was different, almost desperate. What made it so hot, and I'm sure the reason for it infiltrating my dreams, is the way he was so possessive of me. Carefully cradling that leg in the crook of his elbow while he pummeled into me with smooth strokes, he lifted his face and with glittering eyes said, "Need to see it."
"What," I had moaned as he hit me especially deep.
"My name. On you."
He reared up, still seated to the hilt, and carefully peeled the bandage off. Then with the same care, if not more, he held my leg up and out while he fucked me, looking at his name on my tender skin the entire time.
It was the most erotic thing I had ever experienced in my young life, and I was so sure, in that moment, that we were meant for each other forever.
I brooded about that dream the entire flight from Chicago back to Raleigh. When we landed, I called Dad to let him know I was back, but he didn't answer the phone. He's been tiring out quickly since the virus injection so I assumed he was napping.
The rest of the day was spent at the arena, where I did some training with Max and then helped Goose reorganize supplies, but by three p.m. we were out of work to do and I was told to go home. I hadn't seen Hawke since dinner the night before, but I sure was thinking about him, much to my chagrin.
With no training appointments at Xtreme Fit, I'm actually looking forward to a quiet afternoon at home with Dad, and looking forward even more to another full night of sleep before getting back to double duty the next day. I think I'll make spaghetti for us tonight. It's his favorite and it's easy. I could do without the carbs, but with as busy as I've been, they'll get burned up quickly.
When I unlock the door and open it, I'm hit with eerie quiet. The living room is empty and dark, so I turn on one of the floor lamps by Dad's recliner. He must be napping in his bedroom, which is odd, because he normally lives in that damn recliner. He says he doesn't feel like such a wimp in it.
With quiet stealth, I head to the kitchen and dump my purse on the scarred, wooden table that we moved from my small house in Columbus. I had found it at a garage sale a few years ago and I loved the charming farmhouse style. It takes me only a few minutes to pull some hamburger out of the freezer to thaw and cans of sauce that I lay on the counter before I decide to go check on Dad.
His bedroom door is open and when I spot him on his bed, I know immediately something is wrong. My father is a portly fellow and he's a back sleeper, two factors that cause his chest to heave deep in slumber and usually with a resounding snore. It's way too quiet and he's on his side, his back to me.
Absolute terror seizes my body and my heart seems to thud to a dead halt. Then a rush of adrenaline spikes and I reach his bed with a few quick steps. With my hand to his shoulder, I whisper, "Dad?"
I'm immediately relieved when I feel warmth radiating from underneath his white cotton T-shirt and his body jerks from my touch. He lifts his head from the pillow, tries to angle his face toward me, and mutters, "Vale?"
His voice is hoarse and my hand immediately goes to his forehead. It's so hot that fear jolts through me again.
Dad rolls to his back and looks at me blearily. "Hey, honey. I had a headache and was just taking a little nap."
"You're burning up," I tell him as I lift my hand from him, turn it, and place the back against his cheek. Just as hot. "Are you sick? Maybe flu or something?"
"No," he says as he shakes his head and then winces. "I just have a really bad headache. Little nauseous, I guess."
Dave Campbell may be portly, but he's still a strong man. He hauls himself up so he can lean back against the pillows and headboard. His hand gingerly rubs against the side of his head where I assume he's hurting.
"Let me get the thermometer and some Tylenol. Some ice water too," I say as I turn from him, only to have his hand come to rest on my forearm.
"No, I'm good. It's time to get up anyway. I'll come out there."
"Okay," I say guardedly. The fever is freaking me out a bit. "But straight to your recliner. I was going to make spaghetti tonight, but I'm thinking some good old chicken noodle soup. What do you think?"
Dad chuckles then winces again. "Sounds good, honey."
He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, puts his hands on the mattress, and pushes himself up. I want to put my arms around his waist to steady him, but I know he wouldn't like that. He gives me a wink as he stands straight, and the pressure in my chest seems to lessen a bit. He looks strong and lucid.
I watch keenly as he takes a step forward, a smile of relief gracing my face.
Then I watch as his eyes roll into the back of his head, and he drops to the floor.
--
My hands are shaking when I dial Hawke. They hadn't been shaking in the past fifteen minutes, but they're sure as shit quaking now. He answers on the second ring.
"Hawke." My voice is piteous, trembling, and weak.
"Vale? What's wrong?" he asks urgently. He can tell something is definitely wrong.
"It's my dad. He's got a fever and he had a seizure."
"Where are you?" I can hear rustling, maybe a drawer sla
mming.
"At our apartment. The EMTs are here. He's conscious, has a really bad headache. They're getting him on the stretcher now."
Fifteen minutes ago, my dad's eyes rolled and his body dropped dead weight. He landed on his side and immediately started convulsing. If ever there was a time I was grateful for my training, it was then. I fell to my knees, held him lightly to keep him on his side should he vomit, and I rode it out. I even had the sense to look at my watch and time the seizure.
Sixty-seven seconds of pure hell and torture.
When his body relaxed and his eyes started to flutter open, I was already on the phone calling 911. Ordinarily, a single-episode seizure may not warrant an ambulance trip to the hospital, but my dad is no ordinary person. He has a brain tumor and an active, live virus attempting to do battle with it. His poor brain is the battlefield, the enemies fighting without regard for the tender tissue surrounding them.
I was cool, calm, and collected. I attended to my father as only a daughter with medical training can do. I kept him assured, watched him carefully, and only left his side to unlock the door when the EMTs arrived. I efficiently filled them in on his medical history, and I even shot off a quick email to Dr. Furhman, his oncologist at Duke. I did all of this without a single quake in my body.
But the minute they started loading him onto the stretcher, an almost shattering weakness gripped my body and I felt my knees buckle. I was fortuitously standing at the foot of Dad's bed and I sat down on it hard and heavy. My hands immediately started shaking, and I thought to myself, I can't do this. I can't just sit by and watch my dad possibly die.
My hands automatically worked to dial Hawke, the one and only person I thought to call.
"Where are they taking him?" Hawke says, and I hear the jingle of car keys.
"To Duke," I whisper. "I've emailed his oncologist."
"Ride in the ambulance with him," Hawke orders me, and I hear the opening and closing of a car door. "Don't you dare get in your car."
As if I'd leave my dad's side, but I understand what he's saying. He can tell by my tone of voice and the mere fact that I reached out to him that I'm in no shape to be driving a car.