One Night Only

  A lump formed in my throat as a desperate sort of hope twisted my heart.

  "We're getting married in two weeks." He gave us a wry smile. "And then we're going to Ireland in the fall for a big Catholic wedding."

  "Better you than me," Reb muttered, pressing the heel of his hand into his temple.

  "You'll see," Alix said. "Just wait."

  "Like hell I will." Reb reached for one of the appetizers. "I'm happy for you and Erik, finding these women you guys are head-over-heels for, but I'll be damned before I let some woman lead me around by the balls."

  Erik shrugged. "Trust me, my balls quite like the attention Tanya gives them."

  Reb rolled his eyes. "You two are pathetic."

  "Perhaps." Erik got this disgustingly heart sick look on his face. "But she's worth it. Worth all of it."

  Alix nodded in agreement. "When you find someone you can't stop thinking about, can't get enough of, when no distraction is enough, you'll understand that there's no excuse good enough, nothing that could ever come between you and the woman you love."

  Nothing. Right.

  But that didn't apply to me because they were talking about being in love.

  I wasn't in love with Savannah.

  I didn't fall in love. Not after watching my mother use men. Not after Bianca had used me and left me.

  No, I didn't believe in the sort of love Erik and Alix claimed to have found. The fact that Savannah even spoke to my mother for two seconds had proven that she shouldn't be trusted.

  Right?

  I let my head drop onto the table with a hard thunk.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  What had I done...again?

  Twenty-Six

  Savannah

  When I was sixteen, my four-year-old cousin, Patrick, died because no donor had been found in time to save him from kidney and liver failure. He'd been adopted as a baby after having been left at a firehouse in Indianapolis, so there'd been no biological family to get tested after he was diagnosed at just two years-old. My family had done everything they could, even loaning my uncle and his husband money to hire a PI to try to track down Patrick's birth mother. We'd all been tested to see if we matched since a single kidney and a partial liver could have saved his life, but none of us had. Because of Patrick, I registered as a living donor as soon as I turned eighteen.

  I'd gone through almost all of the testing process two years ago for a ten-year-old with CLL, but her older brother made it home from his deployment before my donation had been necessary. He'd been a better match.

  It was Patrick I'd been thinking of when I told Veronica and Iggy that I wanted to see if I was a bone marrow match for his sister. I promised myself that when it came back negative, I'd swallow my pride and call Jace to beg him to be tested. I didn't know Iggy, but I wasn't going to let her die without doing everything in my power to make sure she lived.

  Except when my information was pulled up and matched against Iggy's, it was a match.

  I started volunteering in hospitals after my cousin's death, and I'd kept it up when I moved to New York. I'd organized blood drives and marrow drives, done fundraisers and written informative pamphlets. Which meant that the moment I decided to do everything I could to help Iggy, I'd started making a list of all the people I met over the last few years. I might not have had the sort of money or influence that Jace wielded, but I had some personal connections that I had no problem using.

  It was thanks to those connections that, what would normally have been a four to six-week process of testing had been reduced to Iggy checking in Saturday evening for prep while I checked in this morning for my own final testing and prep. The transplant would take place tomorrow morning, and I'd be home tomorrow night or Wednesday morning. I had no idea how things had gotten accomplished so quickly, but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  "You do know you're crazy, right?"

  I gave Everett the best smile I could manage. Just because I was willing didn't mean I wasn't a bit nervous.

  He grabbed my hand as he leaned onto the bed. His eyes were full of concern...and a little anger.

  "That bastard doesn't deserve to have you doing this for him."

  Okay, a lot of anger.

  When I'd gotten home Saturday night, I told him everything, then made him promise to not go after Jace. The last thing I needed was for my friend to end up in the ER with a broken hand because he'd beaten the shit out of my former lover. It was only my request to have him at the hospital with me that kept him from being the overprotective big brother I'd never had.

  "I'm not doing it for him," I reminded Everett. "I'd never be able to live with myself if a seventeen-year-old girl died because I was too pissed at the half-brother she didn't even know to do what was right."

  Everett scowled, his fingers tightening around mine. "He didn't deserve you."

  "I'll agree with you there," I said lightly. When he gave me a skeptical look, I continued, "We were both in the wrong the first time he blew up at me, but I know I didn't do anything wrong this time. Whatever issues he has, they're all on him."

  A nurse came in and Everett excused himself to make a call. By the time he came back, she was finished, and he was smiling.

  "You were talking to Cal," I guessed, happy for my friend.

  "Guilty." He grinned as he plopped back down in his chair. "Back to–"

  "No..." I held my two pointer fingers into a cross as if warding off the ghost of that topic. "I don't want to think about Jace or any of that. I'm doing the right thing here, I know that, and nothing is going to change my mind. What I need from you is a distraction."

  He was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "I can do that."

  "Good," I said. "Now, distract. Tell me how that amazing boyfriend of yours is doing."

  The puppy dog expression reappeared. "He got that promotion I was telling you about last week."

  "That's great!" I reached over and grabbed his hand.

  "It is," he agreed, squeezing my fingers. "In fact, they gave him a huge account with the promotion, and he's going on a two-week trip to Greece in September to meet with the company heads face-to-face." After a moment's pause, he added, "And he wants me to go with him."

  "That's wonderful," I said sincerely. "I'm so happy for you."

  While I could see that he was still worried about me, the light in his eyes was one hundred percent genuine. The emotion that squeezed my heart was part joy at seeing my friend so happy...and part grief that I wasn't able to experience the same thing.

  Maybe someday, but not right now. It'd be a while before my heart recovered enough to even think of being with another man. Anger hadn't burned away what I felt for him, no matter how much I might've wished it would have.

  Twenty-Seven

  Jace

  Why wasn't she answering her damn phone? Or at least responding to a fucking text?

  The moment I left Café Carlyle on Saturday night, I'd been trying to reach her, to ask her to see me so I could properly apologize. But her calls had gone straight to voicemail, and the texts I'd sent left unanswered.

  I deserved nothing less, I knew. The first time I acted like a jackass, she'd forgiven me. This time, I didn't deserve her forgiveness. She'd done nothing wrong. It had all been me.

  It had occurred to me more than once as I waited for her reply that maybe I should walk away, should leave her alone. She deserved someone who would treat her better than I was capable of doing. Someone who wasn't going to assume the worst of her because of the other women he'd known.

  But I didn't want to be that man anymore. I wanted to be a better man, one who might be able to eventually make peace with her. Be worthy of her.

  My thoughts ran ragged through my mind, around and around, reminding me of all the ways I'd failed her...and of how miserable I would be if I couldn't at least convince her of how sorry I was. Even if I never won her back, maybe she wouldn't hate me.

  I spent Sunday
painting in the hopes it would distract me enough to keep me from calling or texting. Not artistic painting. I had no heart for that at the moment. No, I'd painted one of the guest bathrooms. It had been eggshell, and now it was alabaster.

  On Monday morning, I went to Savannah's apartment, hoping to catch her on her way to work, but she didn't come out. No one did. I paced in front of the building, my agitation growing with every passing hour. By noon, when she still hadn't appeared, I reluctantly went back home.

  Except home didn't offer the solace I wanted. All it had was reminders of what I'd lost. Rooms where I'd made love to her. Furniture full of memories of what it had felt like to be inside her, above her, behind her. And all those sculptures of her, of that amazing body, of how she made me feel. There wasn't a single one of them that hadn't been inspired by her.

  Which meant I had no chance of escaping her.

  And yet another night of broken sleep and dreams of her.

  When I woke up, I knew there was one more place I could find her.

  I was halfway to Abel Updike's office when a stout middle-aged woman stepped in front of me.

  "Mr. Updike isn't seeing anyone right now," she said firmly.

  I looked down at her and reminded myself that nothing that happened was her fault. I'd gotten myself into enough trouble projecting my issues onto other people. I didn't need to take things out on this woman too.

  "I need to talk to him." I wasn't rude, but I certainly wasn't backing down either. "Tell him I'm here."

  Something on my face must have told her that I wasn't going to walk away, because after just a few seconds, she sighed and shook her head. "He's just eating his breakfast. I'm going to step out to get him some coffee. If you happened to slip inside while I'm out, well, there's nothing I could do to stop it."

  I waited until she disappeared before I went into the office. Abel was behind his desk, the front of his shirt dusted with crumbs and sugar. He glared at me as I shut the door behind me, but didn't tell me to leave.

  "Where's Savannah?"

  He shrugged as he swallowed. "Not here."

  I waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn't, I stepped closer to his desk. "Where is she?"

  "Home would be my guess." Abel brushed off his shirt and pushed back from his desk. "But even if she was here, I'd tell you that she can't give you a preview of her article. That isn't how we do things around here. So if she promised you that you could have some sort of final say–"

  I held up a hand and gave him a glare to back it up. "I just need to talk to her. You say she's at home?"

  "I said that would be my guess," he corrected. "Or she better be, because I don't just let people take two weeks of sick leave if they're going to use that as a way around not using their vacation time–"

  "Wait." My stomach dropped. "Savannah's sick? Sick enough to need two weeks off?"

  Had I upset her that badly? That didn't sound like the tough woman I'd come to know. Something had to have happened since I last saw her. Something that had made her take that much time off. Had something happened to her family?

  The questions hit me one after the other as I waited for Abel to give me some answers. When he didn't, I stepped around the desk. "What's wrong with her?"

  "I don't know," Abel snapped. "Not my place to ask, is it? She just called yesterday morning, said she needed two weeks sick leave, it was important, and she'd have all the paperwork in by the end of the week."

  I wanted to grab him and shake him. How could he not have asked her if she was okay? If she needed anything? Was he an idiot or just fucking irresponsible?

  But I didn't do any of that, didn't yell any of my questions at him, because I knew they were directed more at me than they were at him. I should have been the one to know where she was and what was wrong. She should have called me to tell me what was going on. I should have been taking care of her.

  But I was the asshole who'd been too caught up in my own shit that I wasn't able to see the best thing that ever happened to me had been right in front of my face.

  "I need to talk to her – not about the article – but I can't get ahold of her."

  Abel's eyes narrowed. "Mr. Randell, I don't know what you're playing at, but if Miss Birch isn't answering your calls, then maybe you should take a hint."

  I ignored his sage advice and asked another question, "What about her friends? Where can I find them? Her roommate, Everett."

  "I would assume you could find him at her home address." Abel walked around me to the door.

  "And if he wasn't at home but rather at work..."

  Abel scowled, but seemed to figure that the best way to get rid of me was to just give me the information I wanted. "He works in the NYU physics department."

  "Thank you," I said as I left. I gave the receptionist a smile and nod, but my mind was already a million miles away, running through all of the possible things that could be wrong with Savannah, all the things I should have protected her from.

  By the time I reached NYU and managed to find the right department, my nerves and my patience were both frayed. Fortunately, I spotted the familiar blond before I snapped at anyone.

  "Everett!"

  He raised his head, his pleasant face immediately twisting with fury as soon as he saw me. His hands curled into fists and wondered if I was about to get a black eye for my troubles. It'd be worth it though, if I found out if Savannah was okay.

  "What the fuck do you want?" he snapped.

  "Where's Savannah?" I blurted out the question. "She's not answering my calls or texts, and her boss said she took sick leave. I went to your apartment and she wasn't there."

  Everett stepped right into my space. "Stay away from her."

  I was taller than average, but he still had several inches on me. I didn't back down though. "Where is she?"

  "She's in the fucking hospital, okay? No thanks to you."

  Twenty-Eight

  Savannah

  I wasn't regretting my decision to donate to Iggy, but as my drug-assisted slumber began to fade, I was definitely ready to get out of the hospital.

  My part of the procedure had been finished by early afternoon yesterday, but after a negative reaction to the anesthesia, the doctors wanted to keep me in overnight, which meant I hadn't been home in days. As I became more aware of myself, I realized that I felt better than when I woke up yesterday, but still, all I wanted was to go home and curl up in my own bed.

  I'd had some weird form of post-operative hypothermia, one that hadn't just given me chills but a fever as well. I'd been groggy through everything, but Everett had been here, and I'd focused on his voice as he talked to the doctors. As he calmly discussed my reaction, I was glad I hadn't called my parents to tell them about the surgery. Mom would've been freaking out, and I probably would've been lectured about taking unnecessary risks. I loved her, but when it came to us kids, she always overreacted. Then again, I supposed having watched her brother go through losing a child didn't really make it overreacting.

  "Her temperature's back where it should be."

  A woman's voice I recognized as belonging to the doctor cut through the haze. My eyelids still felt too heavy to open, so I focused on listening.

  "Once she wakes up, I'll have a better idea of when she can be discharged. I want to monitor her temperature for at least a couple hours when she's awake, and make sure she can hold down water and solid food."

  Food.

  I hadn't eaten anything yesterday, I remembered now. My teeth had been chattering and my stomach queasy, so they'd put some stuff in my IV to make sure I didn't get dehydrated.

  Food sounded good. I wasn't so sure about hospital food, but I'd take anything I could get right now. When I got home, I'd have Everett get me all of my favorites. For once, I wouldn't argue with him taking care of me.

  "And you really can't tell me why she had surgery?"

  That wasn't Everett's voice, but I knew it. Why did I know it?

  "You're lucky I gave you th
at much. Mr. Blount may have said you were going to take care of things today, but Miss Birch is my patient, and until she says it's okay, I won't give you any additional private information. No matter who your father was."

  That should have been a clue, but my brain was still trying to muddle through the last of the drugs I'd been given. So much so that it took me a minute to realize that if I opened my eyes, I'd be able to see who it was rather than trying to puzzle it out.

  I heard the steady beeping of my heart increase as I gathered my strength and forced my eyes open. As the room slowly came into focus, so did the man standing near the doorway. Pale hair. Broad shoulders. Athletic build.

  "Jace?"

  My voice was raspy, his name little more than a whisper, but he turned as soon as I said it. His eyes widened, and then he crossed the distance between us in just a few long strides.

  "Savannah." He went to his knees next to the bed, wrapping his hands around mine. "I'm so glad you're okay."

  I stared at him, wondering for a moment if I was seeing things because he surely couldn't be here. Not after the horrible things he said. But I could feel the heat from his hands around mine. Could see the dark smudges under blood-shot eyes. So he was real.

  "You look like shit." As soon as the words came out, I winced. Not because of what I said but because they made my throat hurt. Before I could ask for something to drink though, Jace was on his feet and getting me a glass of water.

  I drank it slowly, hoping the cool liquid would help my mind clear. When I finished, Jace took the cup and put it back on the tray, then took a seat in the chair next to the bed. He leaned close but didn't take my hand again.