I’m not a big fan of Valentine’s Day, never have been and I doubt I ever will be. Don’t get me wrong, I admire those who do it up big. The flowers, the candy, the sappy cards that display truths unable to be spoken. So when Jace suggests we go out and celebrate on this day, I’m less than thrilled. In fact, I’d much rather stay home and order in, but he seems hell-bent on treating me like his girlfriend even though I tend to believe I’m nothing more to him than a willing bed partner. A frequent one at that.
I’ve reached the conclusion that Jace is either the most patient man in the world or he simply has low expectations of what I can be for him. He’s weathered my crazy, random, and sometimes psychotic emotions over the past month like a champ. He listens when there is nothing to say, holds me whenever he thinks I need it, and generally puts up with a truckload of bullshit from me even though he doesn’t have to.
After the last time I imploded on him and we ended up screwing against the wall, things have changed between us. He no longer pushes me to talk, and I no longer implode—not in front of him anyway. In my quest to try desperately to be the woman he was first attracted to, the one without all the crazy going on inside her head, I spend a lot of time forcing happiness. I also spend a lot of time asking myself why he bothers. The man has everything going for him: looks, intelligence, and such incredible kindness he rivals my sweet mama. Why he bothers with all my issues and hang-ups is beyond me.
Since I have to work today, our Valentine’s celebration won’t begin until later tonight, which gives me time to worry about what to wear amidst the usual bedlam I deal with when on shift.
“Mr. Endicott is back,” Allison states, shaking her head. “Not looking good this time, Bella.”
The breath catches in my throat as I nod and glance down at the charts before me. “Yeah, I figured.” The nurse in me saw how he’d lost some of his fight the last time he was in, but the woman who has developed a friendship with the sweet, old man doesn’t want to admit that his time is up. “I’ll go check on him.”
Looping my stethoscope around my neck, I gather his chart and start down the hall. He’s such a frequent flyer here that we try to always give him a decent room. Presently, he’s in one of the few private rooms that are on the floor, which pleases me. I’d hate to think of him getting stuck with some patient hogging the television or disregarding his need for quiet contemplation.
Softly pushing the door open, I see he’s dozing and that he’s all alone. The change that’s come over him since I last saw him is glaringly obvious. He’s gaunt and pale, a stick figure of the man he used to be. White, wispy hair curls around his forehead and his wrinkled hands are folded gently across his stomach. He’s so very alive, and yet not. My unpredictable heart does a little kick when I consider that he may have been right; he may not be around to celebrate another Christmas.
“There’s my other valentine,” he grumbles, sleepy eyed, and sends me a weak smile. “How are you, Isabella?”
Putting my fingers on his wrist to check his pulse, I give him a bright smile. “I’m good, Mr. Endicott. How are you feeling?”
He sighs, the sound rattling his chest. “I’m tired. So very tired.”
Swallowing down the knot of pain that shoots right up to my throat, I reply, “Well then, let me check you over so you can go back to sleep.”
His hand snakes out and clasps firmly on mine. “You look tired. And sad.”
Placing the stethoscope against his chest, I shrug. “Working a lot.”
“Doesn’t explain the sadness. Did some young whippersnapper hurt you? If he did, I want at him.”
His irritation and anger makes me chuckle. “I appreciate you protecting me, but there’s no whippersnapper.” Sharing the details of what Jace is to me is not something I want to discuss with anyone, especially this sweet man whom I adore.
He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yes, there is. I can tell. You don’t get this old without knowing a few things.”
“Oh yeah? And what is it you know?”
His fingers tighten around mine. “I know that a beautiful girl like you deserves a man who takes care of her heart. You deserve a man to love you the right way.”
The right way? What the heck does that mean? I presume he’s hinting at all the usual stuff people like him and my dad think is important: family, manners, respect. Jace certainly has all that and then some, but I have no hope in the two of us lasting or falling in love. He puts up with all my crazy because I’m available and judging by his reaction, I’d say I’m a pretty decent roll in the hay. Since I put no demands on him, it’s a win-win for us both.
“You know,” Mr. Endicott continues, some color inching into his cheeks, “love isn’t about all that stuff you see in the movies. Love is about longevity and being each other’s best friend.” He pauses long enough to cough a few times. After I help him with a sip of water, he resumes speaking. “If a man loves you the right way, he’ll love you even though you test his patience. He’ll love you when he doesn’t like you very much, and he will always be there to hold out his hand and help you up.” His eyes swim with tears. “Loving the right way is more about what you have in common than the relationship you have in bed.” He winks at me, causing a tear to roll down his face. “Though if it’s good, that’s always a plus.”
I snicker at him. “I suppose you’re right on that account.”
He sobers and reaches out taking my other hand. “I’m right about it all, my dear. And until you find the man that you can say without a doubt loves you the right way, you need to keep looking.” His breath is shaky now, but at least the coughing ceases. “Have you found that man?”
I shrug. “Maybe.” The truth is that Jace could easily be the person he just described. I’m the problem. I’ll never be able to love him the right way because I honestly don’t know how to love. Beyond all the wild up and down emotions I’ve waded through the past weeks, I have reached one realization: I can never be what Jace deserves me to be. The damaged woman I’ve been all my life is the woman I’m destined to remain. And if I ever doubted that, I need only to look back on what’s happened so far to know without a hesitation that I’m the completely wrong person for him.
“If that’s your answer, then you need to look elsewhere.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. I disengage my hands from his and make notes in his chart, ignoring the pain that settles over my heart. Meeting Jace was one of those flukes that tends to happen in life. Rare. Brief. Precious. Temporary. I may have every intention of enjoying him completely until he gets fed up with my shit and walks away, but I have no doubt that we will eventually part ways.
The thought of never seeing him again does weird, strange things to my heart and sends my stomach flipping upside down with fear. The notion of asking him to endure all these outrageous emotions I can’t seem to get a handle on is the most unfair thing I could ever expect from someone as sweet and kind as Jace.
“Buzz me if you need anything.”
He nods. “Will do. Claire should be here soon.”
Forcing a smile, I reply, “That’s good. Please say hello for me. I’ll stop back in later on.”
“Isabella?” he calls as I reach for the door. “I pray you find your right love.”
Keeping my back to him, I blink back tears and nod. “Get some rest. I’ll be back in a little while.”
Chart in hand, I stroll back down the hall to the nurse’s station and plunk down in the chair furthest from the counter. I’m all alone and while I know it will only be brief, I welcome the short reprieve from the usual chitchat with my coworkers.
Mr. Endicott is right about one thing. I am tired. Exhausted. Totally and completely worn out from the random thoughts that pull me from sleep each night, the fear that supersedes every other emotion I have. I can’t get a handle on it and every time I close my eyes, I see my college self. I was naïve, eager to please, and far too trusting for my own good. Even now, surrounded by beeping machines, ringing phones and the constant flurry of people, the fear knots in my belly and in my heart.
I live in fear of seeing him again, although I’m still not one hundred percent certain that the waiter I saw was the same guy I remember from college. The logical part of me knows that even if I did run into him again, I’m not that weak young girl I once was. I’m physically strong and tough on the outside even if I’m wailing on the inside. I can protect myself. I know this without a doubt.
But the shattered girl who has remained locked inside of me all these years lives in fear of her own shadow. She’s terrified by those who push for answers and make demands. While I know there’s got to be a happy medium somewhere out there, I’ll be damned if I can find it. Frankly, I’m worn out from trying.
I check on Mr. Endicott every hour until my shift ends, and he remains resting peacefully. I instruct Allison to call me if he should worsen and then head for home to attempt to get my head in the game about my night ahead. I have a good idea what I’m going to wear, but my nerves about everything else have me wide eyed and looking like I’m strung out on something. I wish, I think as I wait for the elevator to let me off on my floor. A good high would surely take away all this uncertainty. Too bad I’ve never been one to indulge in anything harder than a good, stiff drink or two.
It doesn’t take me long to shower and get myself ready and by the time I’m pulling on the only dress I own, excitement has settled over me. I might be plagued with worry and doubt and unwanted fear, but I do enjoy spending time with Jace. He’s easy to talk to, has a wicked sense of humor, and never makes me feel like I’m an idiot even though most times I’m with him I’m behaving like one.
When I pull the front door open to greet him, I’m met with a huge bouquet of flowers that he hands over to me. No roses for this guy. He’s said to hell with tradition and found himself the wildest mixture of tropical flowers I’ve ever seen.
The sweet scent teases my nose, and I smile broadly at his heartwarming gesture. “These are beautiful Jace. Thank you.”
He grins and steps inside just enough to press a light kiss on my lips. “You’re the beautiful one, Bella.” His eyes skim over me. “Wow. You look …”
Snickering, I busy myself with finding a vase, retorting, “What’s this? The English teacher is without words. Shocking!”
He laughs and pulls me into his arms. “Watch yourself, missy. That sarcasm will get you nowhere.” He winks and nuzzles my neck. “Damn, you smell good.”
Happiness fills me as I weave my hands around his neck and take in his handsome face. The glasses are missing and he’s left his hair down. The wavy mess doing a whole host of wild things inside of me. Not just any man can wear long hair. I’m not usually one to appreciate a man who can, but clearly Jace wears it well. His hair, among other things, gives him a wild, untamed look. He’s his own version of Superman, hiding behind glasses and neat hair like Clark Kent by day and intense and sexy as hell by night.
At least that’s how Superman always looks in my fantasies.
“So do you,” I reply softly, running my hands down his sides to grasp his waist.
“Will you be my valentine?” he whispers against my lips.
“Only if you’ll be mine.”
The words are barely out before he’s kissing me. Lips and tongue devour me so quickly I go from a slow simmer to a full boil in mere seconds. And once again, I’m stunned by my physical reaction to this man. The crazy, out-of-control need I have for him sometimes terrifies me. It’s like I can’t get enough, can’t pull him in close enough. Can’t take him in deep enough. It’s a nagging craving I have, worse than thirst or hunger, more powerful than any emotion I’ve ever felt before.
He lifts his head, separating our mouths, much to my irritation. I’d have gladly stripped right here and let him take me against the kitchen counter. Good guy that he is, he pulls away and takes a deep breath. “Dinner and romance first. Then we’ll do that.”
I shrug and drag my thumb under my bottom lip wiping away the smeared gloss. “I don’t need to be romanced.”
His fingers grasp my chin and he tugs it upward. “Maybe not. But you deserve to be.”
Memories of my conversation with Mr. Endicott surface once again and shoving them aside this time is much more difficult, especially when the only man who could ever love me the right way is standing in front of me. “If you say so.”