“Sure. Why don’t you dish the food up while I get the boys washed up?”
“Sounds good.”
It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when she was settling herself at the kitchen table, that she looked up and saw two pieces of cheese hanging on the wall above Jack’s head. When she pointed at them, he and the boys cracked up. And no matter how many times she asked throughout the rest of dinner, none of them would tell her why the hell there was cheese on the wall.
When they had finished eating, and as she watched Jack dart around the kitchen, grabbing his keys, wallet and other assorted things, she couldn’t help admiring the way his hair stuck up in three different sections. That’s when she decided she probably didn’t want to know anyway.
Sometimes boys—and men—deserved their little secrets.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JACK WALKED HIS last patient of the night out of the clinic as Amanda bustled through the front door. “Hey, Stranger,” she called to him.
He waved back, then headed to the small supply closet that now doubled as his office. It was right next to the one Amanda used for hers. He had a few charts he wanted to finish up and then he needed to get out of here. It was his second week on the night shift and though he’d spent much of his career working the 8 p.m. to 6 a.m. shift, this time around his body was having a difficult time getting used to it. Maybe it was because of the injuries or maybe it was because he was getting old. He was thirty-eight and though he’d never given a thought to his age before, since the shooting every day that passed seemed to weigh a little more heavily upon him.
Which was why he needed to get out of here. Some days it was all he could do to breathe in this place. The helpless, overwhelming feeling that he was suffocating slowly began to press in on him. Oh, Lucas and Amanda treated him like he was a contributing member of the staff, but the truth was, he was a long way from being able to pull his own weight and he was well aware of it. The fact that they pretended not to notice, and he pretended not to care, was even worse than the fact that he couldn’t do for his patients all the things he wanted to.
He glanced at the clock. Six-twenty. Twenty minutes past quitting time. He tried to write faster, to finish the charts more quickly so he could go home and sleep, but it wasn’t going to happen. These days, writing was a slow, painstaking, humbling experience if he wanted his penmanship to be even halfway legible.
As he reached for the second to last chart, he congratulated himself—he’d done a pretty good job of keeping up through the night. But still, he wanted to go home and catch a couple hours of sleep before the boys got home from school. It was Wednesday afternoon—which meant no homework—so they wanted to go to the park or maybe to an afternoon movie while Sophie finished up her court case. He was kind of hoping for the park, as the weather was supposed to be gorgeous, but something told him he was going to be outvoted in favor of the latest, outer-space robot movie. Kyle and Noah had talked about it nonstop all day yesterday.
When he’d volunteered to watch the boys until Sophie got a permanent sitter, he’d kind of thought he was doing them both a favor. In Sophie’s case, she needed help and he could provide it, so why wouldn’t he? And in his case, he figured his time with the boys would make his days go faster, which it did. But he’d spent the past couple of weeks trying to trick everyone—including himself—into believing that he was satisfied with this new life, but the fact of the matter was, he was barely interested in his existence let alone satisfied by it.
The time when he wasn’t working or with the boys seemed to drag, and nothing, not even physical therapy for his hand and leg, could make it go faster. He was still missing something, though he wasn’t yet sure what that something was.
Maybe it was For the Children—the pressures that came with running a hospital in war-torn Somalia were very different than the small irritations he faced working at an inner-city clinic in America. But maybe it was something else he wasn’t quite ready to name.
All he knew was that working with Amanda again was both better, and worse, than anything he’d anticipated. Seeing her, touching her, smelling her every day, reminded him of how things used to be, before Gabby had died.
Before he’d watched her turn into a shell of the woman he loved.
Before he’d called Simon and watched as one of his closest friends healed—and then married—the only woman Jack had ever loved.
Was it any wonder he was a mess?
When Lucas had wanted to try dividing shifts up differently, in the name of efficiency, he’d jumped on the chance to take the night shift. Anything to get him away from constant, prolonged daily contact with Amanda and the glittering diamond ring and wedding band she wore on her left ring finger.
Taking over nights also left him free to be the boys’ babysitter. What he hadn’t counted was how much he would begin to enjoy their company. Noah was a whiz, super smart about all things science. He could spend hours regaling Kyle and Jack with little known facts that both amused and astounded them. Kyle, though only in kindergarten, was already a pretty impressive artist. Every day he drew fantastical pictures of a world only he could see, and then invited Jack and Noah and Sophie into it as he explained the pictures and all of the wild, mystical things to be found in them. Every refrigerator magnet he owned was currently being used to hold up Kyle’s masterpieces. It had only been a week and a half but already he had to remember to stop at the store and pick up some new ones. If he couldn’t display the latest pictures, Kyle would be crushed.
Even more unexpected than this pleasure was how much he enjoyed hanging out with Sophie for that hour after she got home from work. For the past few days, they’d sat outside, watching the boys play, swinging on the porch and talking about their days. Sophie was a good listener and so easy to be with that he found himself thinking about her more and more. Not in a romantic way—with a busted hand, a messed up leg, a career—and life—that was going nowhere, he so wasn’t prime relationship material right now. But she was rapidly becoming a good friend. Someone he enjoyed hanging out and talking to about nothing more serious than the best way to garden in Atlanta’s rocky soil or who was the biggest super villain of all time (though he did admit that that conversation had been heavily influenced by both Noah and Kyle).
“Knock, knock,” Amanda said from the door. He beckoned her in as he continued to work on a chart. “I’m not sure I like this night shift thing for you,” she said.
“Why not?” He glanced up, into her gleaming silver eyes, then forced himself to look away rapidly.
“I miss you on day shift. I was getting used to working with you again and then suddenly you were gone.”
“Yes, well, there’s only so much of me to go around,” he teased.
“I’ve heard that,” she answered, settling herself against the corner of his desk. “Lucky me that I finally caught up with you.”
As she sat, she crossed her long legs out in front of her in the way she’d been doing since he first met her in the first year of med school. It was her thinking pose and seeing it now made him instantly wary. Combined with the contemplative expression on her lovely face, he knew without a doubt that she brought trouble waiting to happen.
“So, how are you doing?” she finally asked, holding a hand out to him.
“Fine, thanks.” He eyed her hand curiously, but made no move to take it. He’d never been a masochist, except—of course—when he’d chosen to take this job. But that didn’t mean he had to keep paying for the same decision over and over again. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Obviously. I want to see your hand. How’s it doing? Is it still healing well?”
“It’s healing fine,” he told her, impatient that so many of their conversations these days seemed to revolve around his injuries. Yes, he’d been wounded. Yes, it had sucked. But the fact of the matter was he’d survive
d. He didn’t need her hovering over him every second like she was his mother. That had never been what he’d wanted from her.
She ignored the exasperation in his tone. “Well, then, let me see.”
When he made no move to follow her orders, she rolled her eyes like he was a recalcitrant child she was having trouble dealing with, then grabbed his wrist. Her fingers were gentle as they caressed the scars on both the front and back of his hand. “Make a fist,” she told him and he obeyed, simply because he figured giving in would get her away from him that much faster. He could smell her perfume and it was making him ache down deep inside where Amanda, thankfully, couldn’t see.
“Good,” she said, though he had yet to be able to do much more than lightly curl his fingers toward his palm. “How’s that feel?”
“Like I got shot three months ago,” he finally snapped. “How’s it supposed to feel?” He took an anxious sip of coffee.
She let his wrist fall to his side and smirked at him. “I was thinking more along the lines of ‘like it’s been run over by a semi—twice,’ but whatever cranks your tractor, I suppose.”
He choked. “Cranks my tractor?”
She pulled away, stuck her nose snootily in the air, and said “It’s a Southernism.”
“I guess so, because I guarantee you didn’t pick that up in Boston…or Africa.”
“Definitely not Africa,” Amanda said with a laugh. But it was followed pretty quickly by a sigh as she grew more serious than he had seen her in quite some time. “Do you ever miss it?”
“Miss what? Somalia?”
She nodded.
No, he didn’t. Which was weird—he was the first to admit that. He kept expecting to, kept telling himself that he should miss everything that he’d been doing there, but the sad truth was he didn’t. Not really. Whether that was because of post-traumatic stress disorder or simply because he was worn out, he wasn’t sure.
Either way, he wasn’t in any kind of shape to tell the truth. So he lied, and refused to feel bad about it. “Yeah, of course. Don’t you?” The last thing he wanted was Amanda’s sympathy.
“I don’t know. I dream about it sometimes, and the dreams are so vivid, so real, that sometimes I feel like I can reach out and touch them. Sometimes I wake up crying because I know I’ll never be there again. Never have that same experience. It makes me sad even as I sometimes feel an overwhelming relief. Is that weird?”
He didn’t think so, not when her description so completely summed up his own feelings. A beautiful dream followed by a nightmare of epic proportions, one that he was incredibly relieved to no longer be a part of.
Before he could say as much to Amanda, her eyes widened and she made a mad dash for the door. Alarmed, he followed behind her as she ran toward the restroom, barely making it inside before losing what sounded like the entire contents of her stomach.
He waited until she was finished, until he’d heard the toilet flush and the water running before going inside. “You okay?” he asked, wetting a paper towel and pressing it to her forehead as she clutched shakily at the sink.
“I don’t know. That’s the third time I’ve done that this week.” Their eyes met in the mirror above the sink.
His heart broke a little at how scared she looked, how vulnerable, and yet how hopeful all at the same time. And that’s when it hit him what a crappy friend he’d been lately. So wrapped up in his own feelings, his own misery, that he’d failed to see the abject fear lurking underneath Amanda’s newly sunny exterior.
Had it all been an act? he wondered briefly. All that cheerful happiness as she worked to forge a new life out of the ashes of her old one? Had it all been as big an act as the one he was currently putting on?
If so, then he was a bigger jerk than he’d given himself credit for.
He ran a soothing hand down her back and asked softly, “Does Simon know?”
“I don’t even know.” Her laugh was shaky. “I’ve been too chicken to take the test.”
“Because you want it to be true or because you don’t?”
“A little of both, maybe?”
He nodded, understanding what she meant perfectly. Losing his career and trying to rebuild it had nearly killed him. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose a child as she had and then find out, two and a half years later, that you were expecting another one.
“You ready to find out for sure?”
“I don’t know.” The hand she pressed to her mouth was trembling as intensely as the rest of her.
He didn’t answer, didn’t move. Just waited for her to make the decision. When she took a deep breath and nodded, he excused himself, went to the cupboard where they kept the HCG strips and returned with one, along with a small container. He handed both to her and then stepped outside and closed the door to give her some privacy.
“Is Dr. Jacobs coming soon?” Lisa, one of the nurses, asked him. “The patients are stacking up.”
“Which room is first?” he asked. “I can take a couple more patients before I head out.”
He took care of a baby with Roseola and an older woman with pneumonia before the bathroom door finally opened. One look at Amanda’s face told him everything he needed to know.
“When was your last period?” he asked, pulling her into an open exam room and reaching for the little chart that determined due dates.
She told him and he eyed her with surprise. It had been over two months. “I know. I wasn’t ready to know.”
He understood exactly what she meant. “It looks like you’re going to be a mom again on or around June second.”
Her eyes filled with tears and she nodded, right before she wrapped her arms around her middle and started to rock. He couldn’t hold out against her obvious distress, and crouching down next to her, pulled her into his arms for a hug.
“I’m not replacing Gabby,” she told him in a harsh whisper.
“Of course you aren’t, sweetheart.”
“I still miss her so much.”
He nodded, then simply listened as she talked it out for the next few minutes. “I do want this baby,” she told him eventually. “More than I ever thought I would.”
“That’s a good thing,” he said, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.
“It really is.” Finally, her face lit up with all the possibilities in front of her. “I need to tell Simon.”
“Of course you do.” He stood up, stepped back. “Why don’t you go now? I can cover for you for a couple hours.”
“But you’ve already worked a full shift!” Despite her protests, he could tell she was tempted.
“So? I’m not so old and decrepit I can’t work a few extra hours on occasion. Go, do what you need to do and then come back.”
“Thank you, Jack!” she squealed, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly.
“Hey, what are friends for?”
* * *
WHEN SOPHIE picked her boys up from Jack’s house after work, she could tell something was wrong. The shell-shocked look was back in his eyes. The one she hadn’t seen since that first night when he’d come to her house for dinner.
“Everything okay?” she asked, in between her boys’ loud disagreement about the coolness level of the different robots in the movie Jack had taken them to that afternoon.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.”
“You sure?” she asked as she hustled her kids out onto his porch. Maybe he simply needed some child-free time.
“Yeah. Hey, I know you have babysitting issues, but is there any way you can find someone to watch the boys Saturday night?”
Was he asking her out on a date? she wondered frantically. Out of nowhere? And if he was, what was she supposed to say? The last time she’d had a date it had been with her husband and she hadn’t been in a
ny hurry to jump back into the dating scene. Obviously. Jeff had been gone four years and she’d never found a man who interested her enough to consider going on a date.
And she still hadn’t, she told herself firmly. Jack was turning into a great friend, but that didn’t mean she wanted to muck that up by trying to turn their relationship into something it wasn’t meant to be. Something she didn’t want it to be, and something she sensed he didn’t want it to be, either.
“Saturday night?” she asked cautiously, trying to get a feel for his weird mood—and the purpose of his inquiry. It was possible she was reading too much into the invitation.
“I’m supposed to have dinner with a colleague and her husband—we’re celebrating her pregnancy. I thought, maybe, if you had a back-up sitter, you’d come with me. You know, as a friend? As a favor to me?”
“Oh, right. Of course.” She felt her cheeks burning and hoped he didn’t notice. She felt like an idiot for assuming, even for a second, that Jack was interested in her. “Well, let me call Elizabeth. She’s a high schooler who lives down the street and sometimes sits for me. If she’s available on Saturday, I would be more than happy to come with you.”
“Great. Thanks.” Was she imaging relief in the corners of his smile?
“No problem. And thanks for taking the boys to the movies. I was going to do it this weekend, but you saved me two hours of destructive, robot-on-robot fighting action. I appreciate it.”
“I enjoyed it. So, anytime you want to escape from another boy flick, let me know. I’ll be happy to take them again.”
“Oh, you don’t want to tell me that. I might be tempted to use you shamelessly.”
As soon as she said the words, Sophie wanted desperately to recall them—and the totally unintended double entendre that came with them.
Jack’s whiskey-colored eyes darkened a little in surprise and suddenly the air between them crackled with the beginnings of a sensual tension that she had never let herself recognize between them before.