Reaching Hearts (Hearts Series) Read online

  She regards me, not sure at first how she feels about this, but then she shakes it off with a smile. “I live in Arizona, Brendan. And I’m a free woman. Do you think I want to shackle myself to some twenty five year old?”

  “I’m twenty-seven.”

  “Well, then let’s get married!” She laughs, obviously joking. “Please. Give me more credit.”

  “I’m giving me more credit. I’m pretty sure you’re going to get attached and I’m warning you not to.” There is no smile on my face. I want to be very clear about this.

  She gives me a look like I’m being ridiculous, but I can see it hit her, and she’s covering a little shock. She’s a beautiful woman. I’m sure men are probably falling at her feet now that she’s dropped the ball and chain. I don’t want to turn her away. I just don’t want to get that close. There’s a difference.

  “Do you want me to leave,” she asks, from behind a forced smile.

  “No. I don’t. I just want you to know where I stand so you can live in reality. I like you, that’s why I’m telling you this. I didn’t have to let you spend the night.”

  She whoops loudly, shocked and amazed. “Let me spend the night? Let me? Oh man. You have an ego on you! Were you like this two years ago?”

  I pour the coffee for us, holding the lid on the press and pouring carefully. “No. I was a naïve kid who’d just broken up with his longtime girlfriend. It took me awhile to become a dick. But I’m there now.” I throw her a wink.

  She shakes her head, unable to resist me. Taking the extended cup from my hands, she blows on it, looking at me over it. “Well, I’ve been warned. Now what do you want to do today?”

  “What’s your last name, by the way?”

  “Wells. Why?”

  “I’ve got a thing about knowing names of the women I sleep with.” I take a drink of the coffee, lick my lips. It’s good stuff. “Let’s go to Fisherman’s Warf. I’ll introduce you to a sourdough bread bowl of clam chowder you’ve never dreamed possible.”

  She swings her legs a little again, smiling and looking very sexy as she pulls her hair up into a bun. “Deal.”

  A voice filters in from far away. Feminine, soft and caring. “Hey you. You have a coffee maker?”

  I open my eyes halfway; see a hospital room coming into focus. It’s all I can manage. “Rebecca,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

  “I’m here. You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.”

  I strain to understand what’s happening, where I am, why I hurt so badly. Images start flashing before my eyes. Annie’s face. Her eyes closing. My body collapsing into one of the best orgasms I’ve ever felt. Holding her. Then the gunman. The yelling. The grabbing of our clothes. How he pointed the gun at her while she went to register. How furious I was that I didn’t know how to open it so I could get it myself and keep her safe. How I saw his arm tighten, about to pull the trigger. I remember jumping in front of the bullet. Nothing after that.

  Too tired to move my head, I scan around me to find my body under a plain white blanket, cords leading out to an I.V. drip and a heart monitor. I focus back on Rebecca, the only soft thing in the room.

  She smiles and touches my hand, picking it up and holding it in both of hers. “The hospital called me last night when you came in. I drove here immediately.”

  “You drove all the way from Arizona?”

  “There were no flights until morning. I couldn’t wait. See, I told you it was a good idea to add me as an emergency contact. How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit.” I close my eyes. “Thank you for coming.”

  “What are friends for?” She rubs my hand, knowing we’re more than friends.

  These drugs they’ve given me are hardcore. Where are my clothes? Where do they put your clothes when they put you in these gowns? Am I paralyzed? I wiggle my toes, relaxing with relief when I feel them move.

  “I feel like someone ran over me,” I whisper, frowning at Rebecca and wincing from the pain in my ribs.

  “You were in surgery for over five hours. The bullet scraped your lung but they were able to save it. It’s going to be some time before you’re well again.

  “That’s not possible. I have work…”

  She applies gentle pressure to my hand. “Shhh. Stay calm. You need to rest. Think about all that later.”

  I close my eyes. I feel so strange and foggy. An image drifts in from far away of Annie kissing me and holding my head. Sirens. I remember sirens, too. I must be remembering something from after I got shot. Cracking my eyes open again with effort, I ask, “Where’s Annie?”

  17

  Annie

  Florescent light: right above me. Cognizance: straining. My line of vision: filled with doctors.

  ________

  “She’s back,” one says to the other.

  “How’re you feeling?” the other says.

  “Fine. I think I just…”

  “You fainted,” they say over me. I’m not even sure I spoke. I feel weird. Suddenly I sit up, but they push me back down. “Now now.”

  “Where’s Brendan?” I’m in a hospital hallway. People are walking by us, some sick, some working. “Where is he? Is he alive?”

  The one looks to the other and leaves her to it. She checks my pulse, blinking too much.

  “He’s in surgery. His lung was punctured.”

  I drop my head onto the gurney. “Oh no.” I try to get up again. “I’m fine. I wasn’t shot. I have to go see him.” I throw my legs off and am about to stand when she grabs me by the arms.

  “You need to rest.”

  It’s obvious arguing isn’t going to do me any good, so I nod and lay back down.

  “I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.” She looks at me for affirmation.

  “Sure. Okay. I’ll be right here.”

  The second she’s out of sight, I climb off the gurney and head to the information desk. “Where is Brendan Clark’s surgery room?”

  The nurse looks up at me, her eyes flickering to my hands. I look down to see they’re covered with dark, dried blood. I look at her again, unashamed, my eyebrows saying, well? She frowns and looks at her computer. Reading it, she says, “The only thing I can tell you is that he’s not going to be out for awhile and after that he’ll be in the ICU, not able see anyone but family or those listed on his emergency contacts. Are you Mrs. Wells?”

  I blink, not understanding the question. “No, I’m Annie O’Brien. He was at my bar when he was shot. I have to make sure he’s okay. For insurance reasons.”

  She eyes me like she knows that’s not the reason. “Well, you won’t be able to visit him until visiting hours.”

  I interrupt her from saying more. “I’ll wait. Will you please tell the doctors I’m here so they can come and tell me how he is? I want to know as soon as he’s out.”

  As she watches me, I walk to a chair and sit down. I raise my eyebrows at her and she shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

  The next five hours are the longest of my life. Staring at the T.V. set and seeing nothing but moving images and blurred sound, I hear a voice next to me say, “It’s almost 10 a.m. You want a bagel or some coffee?”

  I look over. An older gentleman, maybe sixty, is pointing toward what must be the direction of cafeteria. “At least some coffee? You look like you don’t want to sleep.”

  I blink, and give my eyes a good rub. “Oh, um… that would be great. Thank you.”

  I have no sense of time now. He comes back and it feels like he just left. “Here you go.” I take it and stare at the warm, paper coffee cup. “It needs a second to cool down anyway so take your time.” His voice is kind.

  “Thank you.” My eyes return to him.

  “Who’s hurt?” he asks.

  I raise my eyebrows, surprised. He motions to my hands. “Oh!” I stare at the dark stains and wonder why I’m not disgusted. It occurs to me that women are probably made to handle a lot when we care about someone.

  “Do you want to wash those?” His v
oice is soft and gentle, like he’s talking to a tiny stray dog whose ribs are showing, it’s so fragile.

  “I guess I should.”

  The door opens and we both look over to see a doctor approaching, his focus solely on me. My heart stops. I try to stand and find that my legs won’t hold me, so I slide back down into the chair, not taking my eyes off his face. He smiles. My blood starts rushing again as relief begs me to have hope. But I need to hear him say it.

  “He’s going to be okay.”

  I exhale and sink down deeper, staring at the floor. “He’s going to be okay? Really?”

  The surgeon smiles, happy to have good news to report. “Yes. The bullet missed his vital organs. It grazed his right lung, so we had to repair that, but he’s young. And he’s healthy, so he should recover nicely.”

  “So it wasn’t punctured?” I rise up and hug him. “Thank you!”

  He pats me on the back because I won’t let go. “It’s always good to give good news.”

  “When can I see him?”

  “As soon as he’s out of the I.C.U. That won’t be for a few hours. Until then, Mrs. Wells, he can’t have visitors.”

  I was nodding until he called me that. “I’m not Mrs. Wells.” Kicking myself for speaking so soon, I add, half-joking, “Unless it’ll get me in there.”

  The surgeon looks from me to the gentleman who brought me coffee. “Oh. I just assumed. Mrs. Wells is listed as Mr. Clark’s emergency contact in our records.”

  “It must be his mother, then. I’m his…” I stop, realizing I’m not really anything to him in terms of a title. “I own the bar where he was shot. I guess I’m his friend.”

  The surgeon considers my hesitation. We’re both awkwardly standing here wondering what to say.

  The older gentleman chimes in to help. “Friends are sometimes better than girlfriends, am I right?”

  This brings a relieved smile to both our faces and the surgeon excuses himself after saying, “That’s true. Well, I’ll let you know when you can see him, Ms…”

  “O’Brien. Thank you.” I wait to sit back down until after he disappears through the door. I put my head in my hands and start to cry, all the suspense I’d been holding in rushing out of me. “Oh thank God. I was so scared he would die.”

  The older gentleman pats my back. “Now that he’s okay, why don’t you get cleaned up? Maybe go home and take a nap.”

  “You’re probably right. If he saw his own blood all over my hands...”

  “Right. That might be stressful. Not good to take the chance.”

  I stare ahead, sleep deprived and moving slow. “Right. Okay. I should go.” Looking around me, I realize I don’t have my purse. Tracing my steps in my head, I exhale and slink down in my chair. “I left everything in the bar. I have no way of getting home. It’s okay. I’ll stay here and wash my hands in the bathroom sink or something. It’s okay.”

  “You live in the city?”

  I nod.

  “Here.” He reaches into his pocket and takes out a twenty and a ten. “Take this. It’ll get you home.”

  “I can’t take your money! That’s very generous of you, but I can’t!”

  “Please. Accept the help. It will make me happy. I need to feel like… I’ve helped someone today.” He reaches for my hand and presses the bills into my palm.

  I stare at him, suddenly aware that he’s here for someone, too. “Your wife?”

  He nods. “She had a stroke.”

  I say on a gasp, “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

  He struggles to reply, looks away, and pats my hand, curling my fingers closed over the gift. “Yeah. Me too.”

  I look around and see there are others here, in varying states of need. We all wish we were somewhere else, and we’re all hurting. I hate hospitals. But what would we do without them?

  “Thank you. Really, you’re a good person.” I stand up and bend to hug him. He receives the hug and pats my back like the doctor did. “I’m Annie.”

  The weight of what he’s shared is heavily on him as he introduces himself. “Doug.”

  “She’s lucky to have you, Doug.”

  He smiles faintly. “I’m the lucky one.” This breaks my heart and I don’t know what to say. He looks at my hands again. “You’ll have to wash those before you catch a cab.”

  “They probably wouldn’t stop for this, would they?”

  “Probably not.”

  I head off to clean up. When I get back, he motions for me to come over. “I called you one. It should be outside any minute.”

  “You are so amazing. Thank you!”

  He humbly shrugs. “If you don’t help someone who needs it, what good are you? And it was just a phone call. You would do the same.”

  I take that in, thanking him again, and walk out of the waiting room, tired and hungry. Shower, you’ve got your work cut out for you…

  18

  Brendan

  Waiting for an answer.

  ________

  Rebecca’s eyes flicker. “The owner of the bar?”

  “Yes, Annie. Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine. She looked fine. She was here an hour ago and I sent her home. I assured her I would take care of you.”

  I blink, anxiety sparked, but it’s so hard to speak. “You did what? What’d she say?”

  She pauses, barely moving, surprised. She stutters when she answers, “She said ‘okay.’ And she left.” Rebecca stares at me as I close my eyes shut tight. “I asked how she knew you and she said you just met, so I thought she wasn’t important, Brendan! I’m sorry, I…”

  The look in my eyes stops her from saying more.

  Struggling against the drugs, it dawns on me that I have no way to get in touch with her. I could call the bar, I guess. Will it still be open? Will it be closed after the burglary? Is she okay? I have no way of knowing.

  “Did you get her phone number?”

  “I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

  I close my eyes again. “I want to make sure she’s okay.”

  Holding my hand, caressing it like a mother would, Rebecca says, “She’s okay. She didn’t get hurt.”

  I pull my hand away and lay it on my ribcage, a mistake. I yell out from the agony, moving it lower until I find someplace tolerable. “Where’s my phone?”

  Rebecca stands and goes to the drawer where my clothes are. I hear cloth moving and figure she must be searching pockets. “There’s only your jeans here and your socks. They must have your shoes. Your shirt was probably torn up, right?”

  I refrain from telling her I wasn’t wearing one, and she won’t find my shoes unless she goes back to the bar. Suddenly I remember. “Oh no.”

  “What?” She turns around fast.

  “I left my jacket at the bar. My phone was in it. I can’t call Mark. Fuck.”

  She walks closer, standing above me. “I can call him. What’s the number?”

  I stare at her and we both realize it at the same time. “Who knows phone numbers anymore? You just hit the button and dial.”

  She bites her lips and shakes her head. “Right. Of course. A modern problem, isn’t it?”

  “Who did you tell her you were?”

  “What?”

  I shoot her a look. “Annie. C’mon. I know you had to tell her something.”

  Struggling to admit it, she straightens. “She asked if my last name was Wells. I told her yes. Then she asked if I was your mother.”

  I stare at her, knowing the answer before I ask the question. “What did you say to that?”

  She sighs. “I told her no, that I was your girlfriend.”

  I turn my head away. “Fuck.”

  “I’m sorry. I thought you just met her and she insulted me by thinking I could be your…”

  “I understand what happened. It’s just pretty much the worst thing you could have said.” I close my eyes.

  Getting all huffy, she takes a step toward the door. “You know what Brendan? Why don’t you get some sleep. I’ll com
e back later when you’re not so ungrateful.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” I hear the sound of her heels as she walks out, and the door closes behind her. I’ve got an image of Annie’s stricken face when Rebecca told her that. How she would have put it together that I made her promise she wasn’t lying to me about breaking up with her boyfriend. How I told her I hate cheating. And now here Rebecca goes and plants it in her skull that she’s my girlfriend. I know Annie’s no dummy. I bet when she suggested Rebecca might be my mother it was because she was hoping she was, because she knew there was no way she could be.

  Rebecca’s a woman of beauty, presence and grace. And while Annie’s beautiful, too, I know she doesn’t know it. It’s all over her face with how humble and easily surprised she is. How grateful for a compliment. There’s a freshness to her that I really, really like. But Rebecca? She can intimidate most people just by walking into a room. I’m sure Annie saw her and was knocked over. Especially when she wouldn’t have expected anyone to be here.

  Dammit. I push the button for the nurse. Within seconds one arrives, the benefits of being a gunshot victim and nearly dying. They keep extra close tabs on you, I would imagine.

  “Did you need something?”

  “Yeah. But instead I’ll have more drugs.”

  She pauses, unsure. “Are you hurting?”

  I close my eyes. “More than you can imagine.”

  “I’ll check your chart and be right back.”

  “Thank you.” I think again of what Annie’s face must have looked like when she left, how stunned she must have been. And how I have no way of telling her I’m not the shittiest guy on the planet. Turning my head toward the window, with my eyes still shut tight against the pain, I mutter, “Unbelievable.”

  The End of Part 2

  If you’d like to discover what happened that weekend in Mendocino (to find out more who Rebecca is and why she’s not evil) it’s available in the multi-author box-set “It’s In His Kiss” – only $.99 on Amazon. The story is titled “The Fall” – taking place right after Brendan left college, Sara left Brendan, and Rebecca left her husband.