I beat at my steering wheel, hurting the palm of my hand in the process, which makes me want to scream. So I do. Then I immediately burst into tears as I cry, “We are officially on hiatus. You hear me? I don’t want to do this anymore!”
I cry for only a moment longer, and then I pull in a deep breath, wipe my cheeks dry, and start my car. Defiantly, I swallow my unfinished sob and stare daggers out of my windshield as I pull out of the hospital parking lot. I know I can’t walk away from them. I can’t give up my volunteer hours. I could never do that to the kids. Not ever. But—dammit—everything else? Asking God for healing, working my butt off so that I can join the medical team on the cutting edge of science to help fight cancer, dreaming of being a surgical pediatrician that could save lives—I’m done. I’m just done with all of that. Today, right now, I’m starting to realize something—
There. Is. No. Point.
People die. It sucks. And there’s nothing to be done about it.
Today, I realize, I’m just Kenzie. I can do nothing. I can save no one.
I choke on my sob when I remember the look on Sheamus’s face an hour ago. Angrily, I brush away a stray tear with the sore palm of my hand, rehearing him tell me that he didn’t want to read to me today because he wasn’t going to get to go back to school after all. He said he didn’t need to practice, and he just wanted to listen to me. I didn’t argue or press for answers, his dad having stepped out to run an errand. Instead, I just sat next to his bedside, holding his hand as I read through the books I had with me. It wasn’t until Lance returned that I heard the news.
The tumor in Sheamus’s head is inoperable, something they didn’t realize until they had opened him up. Now, that little boy is looking at chemo or radiation treatment—anything they can do to help shrink the damn thing in hopes that they can go back in and take it out. This could take weeks—months. He won’t get to go back to school. He won’t even get to leave the hospital. He’s been through this before, and they know what this kind of aggressive treatment does to him. He’ll be too sick to leave. He knows this. He knows this because he’s been here before! And Sheamus’s little heart is broken.
It’s a reality so disgustingly unfair that my heart breaks for him—so much so that I find myself questioning everything. Life. Purpose. God—everything.
I’m not really sure how I make it back to my apartment complex, my thoughts so scattered and disgruntled, but I don’t question it. I put my car in park, grab my purse, and hurry through the cold to my front door. I barely have the thing closed before Brooke breezes by me, headed straight for it.
“Geez, Kenz, cutting it close, aren’t we? I thought you were going to bail on me. Come on, we have to get going. My appointment is in twenty minutes.”
“Wait, what?” I ask, turning to look at her.
She twists away from the door, too impatient to actually see me as she replies, “Generation Ink. My piercing. We’ve got to go, Kenz.”
“Oh. Crap,” I groan, my eyes falling closed as I suddenly remember. “Look, Brooke—”
“No. No way! You promised. Don’t you remember? This morning. Before we left for campus? Kenzie, you can’t renege on—”
“On my promises,” I grumble, completing her sentence.
For a split second, I think back a half an hour. As I was saying goodbye to Sheamus, it was Lance who told his son that he had made a promise that he would read to me during my next visit—a promise he had broken. It was Lance who reminded Sheamus that we fight to keep our promises—a phrase I use with all of my kids. It was Lance who got Sheamus to promise that next time, he wouldn’t break his word.
My promise to Brooke sure does seem a whole lot more trivial than the others I’ve made today, but she’s my best friend. She’s my best friend, and she’s here—alive—healthy—and excited about life. That’s something that shouldn’t be taken for granted. It would be silly of me to think otherwise. So I plaster on a smile and head back for the door.
“You’re driving,” I tell her, stepping back out into the cold. “I have to fix my face.”
“Deal!”
I’ve never been to a tattoo parlor before. My mom took me to get my ears pierced when I was twelve. We went to the mall, in one of those jewelry shops decked out in a plethora of cheap metal that would turn colors when worn against your skin for too long, or earrings that would irritate your lobes if you slept in them. I haven’t had anything pierced since, and the thought of getting a tattoo has never crossed my mind. I have no idea what to expect when we pull up in front of Generation Ink; and I won’t lie and say I’m not nervous when I see a big dude step outside, his tattooed covered arms bare, as if a t-shirt is all he needs to protect him from the bitter cold. He jogs across the lot, and I look to Brooke as she unbuckles her seatbelt.
“You’re sure about this?”
“Absolutely. Now let’s go, or I’ll be late.”
As soon as we’re out of the car, we hurry inside, a bell chiming to announce our entrance. A woman standing behind the front counter looks up and greets us with a smile, and I immediately feel less nervous. She’s pretty, her dark hair and her light, blue eyes clashing in a beautiful contrast. She totally has that friendly vibe going. She also doesn’t have a single tattoo that I can see—a fact that surprises me while simultaneously reminding me that I shouldn’t judge the people who frequent places like this. Marked and pierced or not.
“Hi, there. Welcome to Generation Ink. How can I help you?”
“I’ve got an appoint—”
Brooke is interrupted by a high pitched scream followed by the sweetest little giggle I’m sure I’ve ever heard. There’s another scream, this one sounding different, the laughter that accompanies it sounding more like a lazy drawl. Then there’s a snarl, the sound decidedly deeper and manlier, which elicits more screams and giggles.
The woman behind the counter laughs, offering us an apologetic smile before she says, “Sorry about that. Nap time has apparently ended. Are you here for Pete? Belly button piercing?” she asks.
“That’s me.”
“Oh, no you don’t, big guy,” I hear someone say with a chuckle. “I’m gonna get you!”
My stomach drops when my brain suddenly recognizes that voice, and I can’t stop myself from walking to the end of the counter in order to look down the hallway leading to the back of the shop. How I keep my jaw from hitting the floor at the sight that awaits me is a complete and utter mystery.
There, on his hands and knees, is Motorcycle Boots.
That, all by itself, makes my heart race. But it’s what he’s doing that causes me to go stock-still, as if I’ve forgotten my motor skills altogether.
There, on his hands and knees, Motorcycle Boots is playing with an adorable, brown haired little girl, and a dark haired little boy—both of which look to be no older than two. They’re grinning wildly, like Motorcycle Boots is their favorite person in the world. Every time they start to inch further down the hallway in an attempt to flee from him, they look back over their shoulders to ensure that he’s still chasing them. When he crawls toward them with a growl, they scream again before moving their little feet as fast as they can. The little boy falls, but he’s not deterred, seemingly more confident in his speed while on all fours.
“Oh, my god, Coder—hey!” cries Brooke.
I whip my head around to see her standing beside me, her gaze trained on Motorcycle Boots, and then I look back down at him. I watch as he looks from Brooke to me, that smirk that makes my stomach clench tugging at his lips when his eyes lock with mine.
He stands to his feet without a word, leaning down to scoop a toddler up in each arm. Neither of them protests when he holds them with their backs against his chest as he closes the distance between us. He’s still tall, and gorgeous, and the practiced way he holds those kids makes my insides go squishy, and I almost forget that Motorcycle Boots is Coder.
Crap!
My Motorcycle Boots is Brooke’s Coder.
I ignore the fact that I just referred to him as mine, too overwhelmed by the fact that now—even in my dreams (of which there have been, admittedly, a few over the last several days—in both my waking and sleeping hours)—he never will be. Not so long as Brooke has her eyes set on him. He’s as good as hers. It’s the Brooke way. He’s the whole reason why we’re here.
“Hey,” he says in greeting, still smirking at me.
“Uh, hey,” I stammer, feeling totally awkward and lame. I sweep my hair behind my ears as I look away from him, anxious as I’ve ever been. The last thing I need is for Brooke to catch on to the fact that Motorcycle Boots—err—Coder makes me nervous.
Then I remind myself that he’s bad news. Even worse news than he was before. Not just because he wears motorcycle boots and he’s gorgeous and girls chase after him, but because Brooke is chasing after him.
“I met you last weekend, right?”
My cheeks heat in a blush as my head shoots up. I could have sworn he recognized me after the way he looked at me. I’m just getting ready to speak when I hear Brooke. That’s when I realize, he wasn’t speaking to me at all.
“Yeah. I’m a friend of Will’s.”
“Right. Brittany, was it?”
“Brooke.”
“Better,” he replies with a nod.
Brooke unleashes her brilliant smile with a low giggle as she says, “You have no idea.”
“Tell me I’m seeing this wrong,” demands a deep voice from behind us. I twist and spot the huge, muscle man covered in tattoos that was just out in the parking lot. He glowers at Coder as he goes on to say, “Tell me you are not using my son as bait.”
Coder laughs, the sound piercing me straight through—like a dagger into my side. Turning my gaze back to him, the amazing sound of his laugher is immediately drowned out by the memory of Brooke’s words.
“Babe, I’ve seen his smile. I don’t need to know his last name.”
She was telling the truth. His smirk makes my stomach clench, but his smile melts it, making me all squishy inside.
“Get real, Harvey,” says Coder as the muscle man walks around us to take his son into his arms. “Axel is not bait. If anything, he’s a fucking cock block—stealing my thunder with that goofy smile.”
Harvey’s scowl dissolves as he chuckles, rubbing his big hand over Axel’s hair. “That’s my boy.”
“All right, Brooke—I just have a few things for you to sign before Pete sees you,” calls out the woman from the front.
“One of you getting pierced?” asks Harvey, looking between Brooke and me.
“That’d be me!” she sings.
“You’re in good hands,” he tells her before he starts to head further down the hallway. Just before he disappears into a room, he yells, “Yo, Trev—Coder’s using Caroline as chick bait!”
Coder yells back to defend himself as Harvey chuckles, winking at Brooke and me before he’s gone. Just as Brooke turns to head back to the front counter to sign paperwork, a woman, who looks vaguely familiar, comes strolling from the farthest end of the shop. As she draws closer, I notice that she’s sporting a little baby bump, one she runs her hand over before she reaches Coder’s side. She looks up at him, then over at me, then back up at him.
“Well,” she starts to say, reaching for Caroline, who goes willingly into her arms, “she’s pretty. I’ll give you that.”
My eyes grow wide as I look from the woman to Coder, who folds his now empty arms across his chest and winks at me.
Oh, crap.
I drop my gaze back down to the woman, but she’s already making her way toward the other end of the hall, murmuring sweetly to Caroline as she goes.
“So, Mack—getting any work done today? Or are you just along for moral support?”
“Um,” I mutter, meeting his eyes once more, my heartrate picking up speed when I register that he just called me Mack again. “Support. I’m, uh, the hand holder, I guess.”
He smiles, nodding as he tells me, “She’ll be all right. My brother knows his shit.”
“Your—your—”
“Hey, Grace, is my three o’clock here?”
I turn my attention to the man who fills the doorway beside me. There’s no mistaking him—he’s definitely Coder’s brother. He’s bulkier and older, but they look so much alike, it’s almost eerie.
“Whoa. Okay. So—all that hotness is genetic, I see,” says Brooke as she approaches. She grins, flicking her eyes toward Coder before focusing them back on Pete. “I’m you’re three o’clock,” she tells him.
He chuckles, glancing at his brother before he tells Brooke, “I’m Pete. Come on in.”
Only Brooke could pull off cute while whimpering in pain, squeezing the life out of my hand as she looks away from Pete’s fingers while they work at her belly. I know Coder is standing behind me, witnessing the whole thing, his shoulder pressed up against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest. I know this because that’s where he planted himself after Brooke and I entered the room; and between the encouraging phrases that Pete murmurs to Brooke, the two brothers are having a conversation.
“Rigs back this weekend?” asks Pete, screwing on the bottom piece of the hook that now exists in my best friend’s stomach flesh.
“Yeah. You coming over?”
“Uh,” he mutters, sitting up as he pulls off his black, disposable gloves. “Maybe. Maybe not. I have to see what Willow’s up to.”
Coder laughs subtly before he replies, “I’m going to go ahead and count you out.”
Pete smiles, looking over at his brother, and I can’t deny that his expression is almost as handsome as Coder’s. Though, it doesn’t exactly have the same affect on my insides.
“I didn’t think she’d get so into this wedding thing.”
“I didn’t think you’d get so into this wedding thing.”
“Can’t help it,” he says with a shrug. “My fiancée is kind of the shit, and this wedding is going to be the best party you’ve ever been to in your life.”
“Yeah, well, it’s still months away. Our party is on Saturday, so, if you change your mind…” He trails off, his open invitation implied, and Brooke—being Brooke—jumps right in.
“Did you say party? I love parties.”
“Kind of got that impression last weekend,” he muses.
Brooke drops my hand, pushing herself up on her elbows as she says, “You know, it’s not nice to tease two college girls with talk of a party if you aren’t going to let us join the fun.”
I stifle a groan, wishing she hadn’t included me in any of this, and then I listen as Coder’s boots carry him further into the room.
“This isn’t some frat party, you know?”
“Even better.”
He comes to a stop just beside me, but I don’t look at him, hoping to go unnoticed as this conversation progresses. My hopes are dashed when he nudges me with his elbow, making my heart skip a beat before he whispers, “Eyes up, Mack.”
My head jerks, my neck twisting in response to his call, and it dawns on me, as I look into his dark, soulful eyes, that he still doesn’t know my name.
“Kenzie,” I murmur.
He pauses for a moment, staring at me, and my muddled brain is at war—battling between looking away from him, like the coward that I am, or staring right back, knowing that moments like these will soon cease to exist. When he belongs to Brooke, he’ll forget that I’m even in the room. She has that effect on guys, being the beautiful, golden fairy in heels that she is. But right now—I’m not invisible. And for just this one stolen moment in time, I feel stupid enough to take what he’s giving me.
Then he smiles, the skin around his eyes crinkling as his lips curl, and a blush fills my cheeks—not because I’m embarrassingly shy (or, rather, not just because I’m embarrassingly shy)—but because he’s so incredibly gorgeous that I can’t stop my body from responding to him.
“You coming, too?” he asks, nudging me with his elbow again.
“Of course she’ll come.” Brooke speaks before my brain can conjure up a response, and I tear my gaze away from Coder’s as I turn to glare at her. I start to protest, but she beats me to the punch again as she slides her phone out of her pocket, sitting up as she unlocks the screen before she hands it to Coder. “Save yourself to my contacts and shoot yourself a text. You can send me the address later.”
My shoulders slump, absolutely positive that I don’t want to go to this party in order to watch Brooke chase after Coder. When he reaches for her phone, doing as she has instructed, Pete offers up instructions of his own, schooling Brooke on how to take care of her piercing as it heals. I tune it all out, my thoughts too busy trying to think up an excuse as to why I fully intend on bailing Saturday night. When I remember that I have that night off, I decide homework is my only option. Then, I’m yanked back into the room when Coder nudges me with his elbow—again.
I look up at him and notice that he’s holding out his hand. I furrow my brow in confusion, looking from his open palm to his face in question.
“Phone, Mack.”
“What?” I squeak out.
“You’ll need my number.”
My jaw falls open in surprise, and he chuckles, nudging me yet again.
“Hand it over,” he coaxes.
His insistence is undeniable, and for reasons I can’t exactly explain, I reach into my purse, grab my phone, unlock the screen, and hand him the device. When he’s done with it, he doesn’t even bother handing it back to me. Instead, he slips it into my bag before he starts backing out of the room.
“I’ve got a three-thirty to prep for, so I’m out—but I’ll see you two Saturday.”
“See you!” Brooke calls out excitedly.
I only stare, my stomach tightening and my mind whirling as he winks at me before turning his back and exiting the room. I stand frozen as I replay the last ten minutes, wondering if I’ve imagined it or if perhaps my brain has somehow twisted my reality into the unbelievable—because what I think just happened couldn’t have possibly happened.
Sure that I can prove that I’m making the whole thing up, I thrust my hand into my purse, reaching for my phone. I unlock the screen and open my text messages, spotting the one at the top sent to Coder. When I tap on it, I see that all he wrote was, This is Mack. I breathe a sigh of relief, now sure that what just happened wasn’t flirting. But then, just as I’m about to black out the screen, a new message comes through, causing my heart to skip a beat.
Those eyes were a nice surprise, Mack. Drop by any time.
I press the phone against my chest, holding it as I look at Brooke, who is standing to her feet and gingerly straightening out her clothing. What she is not doing is checking her phone for new messages. When Pete mentions payment, he starts heading for the front, and she follows, her phone still unchecked.
I pause for a minute, watching them go, suddenly feeling too nervous to walk out into the hallway—afraid that Coder might spot me. I pinch my eyes closed tight, ignoring the way my entire body feels as if it’s buzzing with the anticipation of hanging out with him on Saturday. I’m in awe of the fact that he wants me at his party. Yes, Brooke all but invited us herself—but he made sure I was coming, too.
Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, I bite down hard, furrowing my brow as I seal my eyes closed even tighter—fighting harder to combat my growing excitement. Excitement is the last thing I should feel. Guys like him—they’re bad news. He’d squash me like a bug. I’m not like Brooke. I’m not bold or brave, and he would take advantage. I’ve seen it before, and I know me. I know I can’t handle the likes of him. Not to mention the fact that he’s forbidden. Brooke considers him boyfriend material, which means I don’t have a chance anyway.
I repeat that truth over and over until my heartrate slows and I feel calm and unaffected. Then I open my eyes, take a deep breath, drop my phone into my purse, and leave the room to join my best friend.