Chapter 16
Wrist-deep in a bowel resection surgery on an Alaskan Husky who’d eaten gravel, Drake checked the vitals monitor. Stable. Excellent. He could close up and get the hell out of work on time.
“You doing okay, hot stuff?”
Drake glanced up at Brent over his surgical mask. “I’m fine, and don’t call me hot stuff. Ever hear of sexual harassment?”
“Yes.” Eye roll. “I’ve been waiting to experience it for five years now. And you’re my boss, not the other way around. Sexual harassment doesn’t apply here.”
Unable to help it, Drake grinned. First time in two days. Two long damn days since Zoe had stormed off during the fireworks. She’d come into the clinic after he’d arrived and had left before he’d gotten out of the OR. He’d thought about texting or dropping by her place, but she seemed to need time. He was giving it to her. Begrudgingly.
Drake frowned at his task. “Suction.”
“That’s what he said.” Brent put the suction hose inside the dog’s cavity.
He laughed. “You’re feistier than usual.”
“Must be my hot new boyfriend.” Brent paused. “You’re laughing and smiling more in the past two weeks than I’ve seen you do in four years.”
“Good for you. Miles seems like a nice guy.”
Miles was a soft-spoken man and Brent didn’t shut up long enough to breathe, but they fit well together, best Drake could tell. He and Zoe were polar opposites as well. Barring this wall she tried to erect around herself with regards to dating, they clicked, too.
Which was interesting. Drake had been hesitant to start something with Zoe because of the friendship, the fact they worked together, and Heather. If he rooted around for deeper issues, he’d also lay insecurity at his own feet. She had mounds more experience than he did with this kind of thing. He’d been with Heather since high school. He never thought he could handle Zoe.
But he’d been wrong. Turned out, she seemed to be the one unable to trust her feelings. He was planning on having a talk with his brothers tonight and then gauging Zoe’s mood at their softball game tomorrow. From there, he’d figure out what to do.
Regardless, something had to be done. He wasn’t sleeping, barely eating, and Brent was starting to become an amusing form of entertainment. Not good.
He finished closing the dog, charted a couple notes, and scrubbed out, leaving post-op care in Brent’s capable hands.
Making his way toward the reception desk, Drake frowned at the raised voices. Zoe’s, to be exact. He rounded the corner and found Avery behind her desk, his aunts and mother near the door, and Zoe pacing in between. The waiting room was empty, indicating Flynn and Cade had finished with patients.
Drake eyed the tense faces. “Is there a problem?”
Zoe whirled on him. “They,” she pointed to the Battleaxes, “have you and I booked at a veterinary conference in Portland next weekend. Did you know anything about this?”
He thought back and vaguely remembered Aunt Rosa mentioning something about it near Christmas last year when she’d still been their office manager. “Rings a bell.”
Avery tapped away at her keyboard. “Yours and Zoe’s schedule is blocked off for Friday through Monday. The log date says December third.” More clicking. “And it’s already paid for. No refunds.”
Zoe rubbed her forehead. “Of course. And all that means is they’ve had this matchmaking scheme in place that long.”
“You give us too much credit. Consider it a vacation.” Aunt Marie shrugged. “Neither of you have taken much time off in I can’t tell you how long.”
“I wouldn’t put the JFK assassination against you three. And this would be a work-related trip, not a vacation. I don’t have time to get away. Mama needs me around. What if there’s an emergency?”
Aunt Rosa glanced up from her phone. “She’s safe at Pine Crest. We all can take shifts stopping by to visit. Besides, Portland is only four hours away.”
Drake eased behind Zoe and set his hands on her tense shoulders. “They have a point.” Lightly, he kneaded her muscles to diffuse the ticking bomb. He’d have to check the convention calendar, but maybe they could blow off a couple things and get out in the city. “You do need some time off. So do I.”
With an expunging sigh, she dropped her chin. “Fine. But if we get there and only one hotel room is booked, you three will have to look over your shoulders the rest of your lives.”
Drake grinned. All her attitude had drained and she relaxed under his ministrations. He worked his thumbs up her neck and wished the clinic would vacate. He’d love nothing more than to keep loosening her up until she grew pliant enough to reason with. Alas, there were witnesses so, with a final squeeze, he let go.
Zoe snatched her purse off the counter. “I need tequila. Lots of tequila.” She strode out the door.
Avery tapped a pencil on the desk. “Cade and Flynn said they’d meet you at your house. I’ll close up.”
Nodding, Drake grabbed his keys from his office and exited the back way to avoid any more people. He’d asked his brothers earlier if they wanted to have pizza tonight, and he was beginning to regret even that much.
Cade and Flynn were waiting on his porch when Drake pulled in the driveway. All the dogs were playing in the yard. Cade held a pizza box from Le Italy and Flynn had a six pack.
Drake climbed out of his truck. “You read my mind.” He unlocked the front door and followed them inside. The dogs scampered in all directions. Since both brothers stopped dead and glanced around, Drake shrugged. “Did a little redecorating.” He cleared his throat. “Zoe helped.”
Flynn nodded and passed the beer to Drake so he could sign. “It looks nice. Zoe and Gabby helped with my house. Cade’s, too.”
“I know. I was there.” His gaze shifted between the two of them, standing around looking like lost idiots. “Should we eat on the back deck?”
“Yeah. Sounds good.”
“Works for me.”
Shaking his head, Drake trailed after them. They shot the shit about football and work stuff while they took on the whole pizza, then settled back in their seats in uncomfortable silence.
Cade and Flynn exchanged several looks that Drake interpreted as you-do-it, no-you-do-it before Cade eventually rubbed his neck. “So, uh. You and Zoe.”
Lacing his fingers, Drake stacked them on his head and laughed until his side ached. “You two are chickenshits. Yes, me and Zoe.”
Cade frowned. “Well, excuse the hell out of us. This is kinda new territory. You dating. And…Zoe. Didn’t see that coming.”
“Hit me like a freight train, too.”
Flynn stared at him so long Drake grew uncomfortable. “At the risk of sounding like a sap, you look really happy. I missed you. So much. Missed seeing you like this.”
Hell. Drake swallowed hard.
“Are things all right between you? She took off rather fast during the fireworks, yeah?”
He shook his head, dropping his hands to his lap. “She keeps spouting stupid crap about ruining my reputation by being with me and how she’s just a good time. It’s pissing me off and makes no sense.”
Cade set his beer aside. “Her and I were a lot alike, at least before her mom got sick and Avery came along. We both got labeled with monikers—her as the party girl and me the playboy. She was never promiscuous, though.”
“I know that.” He did. But she had other defensive blocks in place besides what he’d mentioned.
“No doubt, she’s concerned about the town thinking she’s a rebound, and a bad choice, too.”
Drake clenched his fists. She would never be a bad decision, and if people knew her half as well as he did, it would be a nonissue. He’d managed to get out of bed the first year after Heather died because he had Zoe. Breathed. Ate. Etcetera. And if one more person threw the word rebound at him, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.
Taking a cleansing breath of humid mountain air, he glanced at the horizon. The riverbed. The forest. The shadows of the Klamath. The darkening skyline. He wished he was looking at Zoe instead.
“It’s not surprising she’d want to protect you. She cares about you. Always has.”
He didn’t need anyone telling him. “Yet she won’t date me.”
Cade frowned. “Why? Because of Heather?”
“I thought so at first, but I don’t think that’s it. Or all of it.”
Flynn took a swig of beer and set it down. “Have you tried talking to her?”
“Having a conversation about this topic with her is like pulling teeth from an un-anesthetized rabid dog.” Nine times out of ten, Drake would take the canine. Pulling his hair out might be more productive. “The only thing I could get out of her was guilt about baggage regarding her mom. Said I’d already watched Heather get sick.”
The color drained from Cade’s face and he went deadly still. His gaze wandered off, his forehead wrinkling.
“What?”
Cade closed his eyes and rubbed his neck. After a moment, his concerned gaze trained on Drake. “Early onset dementia can be hereditary, yeah? I don’t know if you can test for it, nor do I know the odds.”
Drake’s heart relocated ribs with a pounding, erratic beat. His lungs all but collapsed.
Flynn, pale also, pulled his phone out of his pocket, his thumbs going to work rapidly over the screen.
Her behavior made total sense now. The walls. The determination to do everything herself. Her trying to keep him an arm’s length away. Leaning forward, he dropped his elbows on his thighs and pressed his palms to his eye sockets. Christ Jesus, he wanted to weep. Or scream.
Shit. Just…shit.
“She wouldn’t want you to go through that again.” Cade’s quiet voice drifted across the gentle breeze, and the careful control in his tone indicated his fear was as amped as Drake’s. “Knowing her, she’d die before putting you through the pain of losing someone like you did with Heather. And if she does get what her mom has, it would be much worse. Not months of hospice with an end in sight, but years of her mind whittling away before her body gives out.”
Unable to sit, Drake rose, clutching his stomach. He paced the length of the deck and back again. Not her. Damn it, not her. That quick wit and fiery temper and beautiful heart and insane talent and… His throat closed. Not her.
Flynn groaned. “According to this, she’s got a fifty-fifty shot at getting it if she inherited the mutation gene.”
Drake had to listen extra close due to Flynn’s odd speaking dialect. And that news didn’t sound good at all no matter who said it. The pizza he’d eaten threatened to come back up.
“Early onset tends to be familial and only makes up five percent of cases.” Flynn glanced up from the phone. “Has she been tested?”
Drake cursed a wicked streak and fisted his hair. “I don’t know.” But he was going to find out. He swiped his keys off the table. “Let my dogs out and lock up.”
The drive to her house took twenty years instead of minutes. Her car was in the garage and her living room lights were on, but she didn’t answer the doorbell or his frantic pounding. Using his key, he let himself in and locked the door behind him.
He called her name, but she didn’t respond. After checking the entire house and not finding her, he fought to breathe through the onslaught of panic and stopped in the middle of her tiny kitchen. There was a half-eaten sandwich on the table and… The basement door was ajar.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he rounded the corner and halted in his tracks.
With her back to him and wearing nothing but a white tank top that fell to her knees, she stood in front of an easel. Her purple hair was up in a messy knot. There was a paintbrush in her mouth and one in her hand, which was gliding over the canvas in smooth, deft strokes.
The air punched from his lungs and he deflated. All the tension, all the frenetic worry, disappeared. She was painting again. Under blinding fluorescent lights, in a wood-paneled basement, surrounded by decades old furniture and art supplies, Zoe was painting again.
A rocky shoreline took up the right side of the canvas with foaming waves rolling in on the left. On a small section of beach at the bottom were two crabs. Sword fighting. A grin split his face and he leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
Seemingly unaware of his presence, she moved with fluid grace, her head slightly tilted. Her feet were bare on the green shag carpet, and he followed the path up her long, toned legs to her tiny waist, regal neck, and stopped on her partial profile. Such beautiful olive skin. She had a light dusting of freckles on her shoulders and, though he couldn’t see them just now, on her nose, too.
Emotion tightened his airway and he knew he was already half in love with her. It wasn’t a big leap by his estimation. He’d loved her for years, so the shift seemed natural. Try as he might to fight it, or her attempting ten times harder to do the same, it wouldn’t matter. He had a feeling they’d wind up right here. With him utterly, desperately sunk.
She swirled the brushes in a glass of thinner and wiped her hands with a paint-speckled towel. With a glance over her shoulder, her brows lifted. “Checking off another item on the list you dragged out of me? Watching me paint? You already held my hand in public. You should’ve stopped there.” Her voice was oddly flat, her features relaxed by comparison. It figured she’d known he’d been here all along.
“I used to watch you all the time from that couch.” He jerked his chin at the ugly plaid sofa. If memory served, it was uncomfortable as hell, but he’d sat for hours, completely enraptured.
“That was a long time ago.” She walked closer and flipped off the light, leaving only the staircase illuminated behind him. She went to move past him, but he wrapped his arm around her waist and held her in front of him.
“And there is no stopping when it comes to you. Not the list or anything else.”
Closing her eyes, she let out an inaudible exhale. “I need to clean up. I smell like paint and thinner.”
“You smell like lavender and it invades my sleep.”
Her gaze lifted to his. A little confused and a lot hopeful. Huge hazel eyes framed by thick lashes. They plagued him while he was asleep or awake. He used his free hand to cup her jaw, run his thumb across her lip. A pouty little mouth he wanted to kiss all the time.
So he did. Lowering his head, he brushed her lips with his. Gentle. Coaxing. Her breath fanned his cheek a split second before she plundered. He wanted to draw out the kiss, take his time, but she didn’t allow it. She never allowed it. With determination and gusto, she went at him. Heat caused sparks which morphed into white hot flames.
Too soon, she lifted her head, her gaze studying him, her breaths uneven. Then she kissed him again. Or killed him. Same difference.
Just as he was about to up the ante and pin her to the closest hard surface, she suddenly pulled away. His arms slapped to his sides with the abrupt momentum change. She walked around him and climbed the stairs as if nothing had happened. Not one word.
Taking a second to collect himself, he sighed and followed. Since she was scrubbing her hands and forearms at the kitchen sink, he sank into a chair and waited. And waited. She was silently putting her walls back up, and he was reminded of why he’d come over.
“Have you been tested?”
She paused, then rinsed the suds with stiff movements.
“Answer me. The genetic mutation gene. Have you been tested?”
Shutting off the faucet, she reached for a towel and slowly dried her hands. Her profile offered no insight, nor did she deign to speak to him.
He cleared his throat. “That’s why you won’t date me or talk about the future or so much as even try.” So help him, he was going to lose it if she didn’t say something. It was an asshole thing to do, but he played upon her weakness. Him. “Don’t do this to me. I’m freaking out, Zoe. I need you to talk to me. I need—”
“No.” She placed her hands on the counter and leaned into them, closing her eyes. “No, I haven’t taken the test. I was too scared or maybe I just didn’t want to know for sure.” She rubbed her forehead. “When we got Mama’s diagnosis, I put my affairs in order, too. There’s an updated will and Brent’s set up as my power of attorney for healthcare.”
Relief mixed with confusion and irritation. “Why Brent?” Not that he wasn’t one of Zoe’s closest friends and a stand-up guy. But why not Gabby or one of Drake’s brothers? They’d known her all her life. Hell, why not…? He clenched his jaw. “Why not me?”
She whirled on him, anguish and anger shining in her eyes. “I will not put you in that position. Not again. If it comes down to it and I show symptoms, Brent will make sound decisions for me based on facts first and emotion second. You…” Her breath hitched. “You wouldn’t do that. You’re incapable. You’d play the white knight, the martyr, because that’s who you are, Drake. And no one, especially you, is sacrificing anything for me.”
Leveled, he stared at her. And he knew, just knew, he’d been blind. This wasn’t merely about shielding their family and friends from one possible terrible outcome. It wasn’t simply about their history or what future lay in wait. All along, this entire past five years had been about her protecting him in particular.
He thought back to what he’d witnessed on his brother’s wedding video. Months ago. Before he’d kissed her or had known he was ready to move past the grief, she’d had...longing in her eyes.
Zoe straightened from the counter, her head down. “Please lock up on your way out.” And with that, she left the room like it was the end.