All Amity Allows (Fall for You Book 2) (3 page)

She didn’t have to answer the question, Drew thought to silence the voice. Her apology and the look on her face had spoken volumes. She was in love with the friend she’d defended more times than Drew could count. She probably hadn’t even realized it before that moment. Even though Drew didn’t think she’d
intended
to hurt him, it had been the ultimate outcome.

Still, he couldn’t hate her.

But he
could
hate Evan.

Did, in fact. He used it, funneling the heat in his blood until it surged through his limbs and pounded into the bag over and over. Drew’s breathing was ragged from exertion as he beat the bag until he was completely drained and the inanimate object had won the round.

Putting his hands up to stop the swinging movement of the bag, Drew took a moment to catch his breath. Resting his forehead against the leather, he tried to calm his body even as his breath hitched. He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t because exerting all of his energy had done nothing but push him that much closer to losing it entirely.

By the time he pulled his gloves off, his arms were shaking and his fingers felt like they’d been filled with concrete. His knuckles ached and protested with even the smallest movement. To keep his joints moving, he rolled his wrists in slow circles and winced as they too complained about the effort of even that small action by shooting jolts of pain along his fatigued muscles. Certain he’d be worse in the morning, he hoped he wasn’t required to help on any surgeries. If he was still hurting when it came time to go to the hospital, he’d simply have to tell his father that he wasn’t in any fit mental state to cut people open or stitch them back up again. Although that wouldn’t help the situation of having to face his now-ex.

As he thought her name, the pain he’d beaten away struck back with unreserved force. His eyes stung as something more than just sweat clouded his vision.

Perhaps there is no escaping the pain, he thought as he tossed his gloves on top of his towel. That didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

He climbed onto the treadmill and set it to the top speed, ready to attempt to outrun the hurt.

Chapter Two

Drew must have
checked the clock on the wall at least twelve times in the last ten minutes. He could have sworn that time had stopped entirely instead of just skipping past the parts he didn’t want to have to face, like he would have preferred. In twenty more minutes, Becca was due to start her shift at the hospital. She was never late, which meant he had less than twenty minutes to prepare himself to see her again. Part of him longed for it; another part hoped she’d take a personal day.

Like I should have
.

For the better part of his shift, he’d hovered between the staff room and her reception desk. Not that it was solely hers, but it was where she would sit when she arrived to torture him for the day.

He’d debated leaving a note on her keyboard begging her for another chance, but he didn’t want to stoop that low, especially when there was a good chance that Becca wouldn’t be the one to find it. Besides, he wasn’t the sort to beg—never had been and didn’t really plan on becoming that person for her.

Only, he didn’t know what else he
could
do. He wanted her back. The dreams, which had haunted his limited sleep all night, were evidence that he was far from over her.

It was just . . . he’d never actually had to win someone’s heart before, let alone win anyone back after he’d lost them. He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t even know where to start.

Once he’d decided that begging was out of the question, he’d considered whether it was possible to keep himself busy and away from her desk for her whole shift. At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with her or any of the messy fallout. It may have been the coward’s way, but it was also the easy way, for both of them. He didn’t doubt she might appreciate that option just as much as he would. If the first time they had to face each other again was in front of a crowd, it would be as awkward for her as it would have been for him.

Giving her some space would certainly be the chivalrous thing to do, he justified as he worked to convince himself that it was the best option. Still . . . he couldn’t decide.

He wished he could know for certain which choice would cause the least humiliation for him. All he knew was that he wanted to see her again, wanted to make her smile and to hear her laugh once more. He wanted to take her on a date again, to escort her to the finest restaurants, and then bring her back to show her his new house. His new bedroom.

He closed his eyes and imagined the feeling of running his fingertips over her soft skin once more. She could sleep in his arms for the first time ever. Drew wouldn’t have to worry about his father’s concerns over any possible lack of propriety if Drew bought her home before they’d at least become engaged. As if Drew was nothing more than a bumbling virgin who’d never shared a bed with any woman before and needed his virtue protected.

At the thought of the things he wanted to do with Becca, to share with her, Drew felt more resolute in his desire to try to straighten things out. At least to return to the friendship they’d once had. Could he do that soon though?

Even as he considered the possibility, it occurred to him that he really didn’t want that. He wanted her once again. All of her.

Maybe it didn’t matter that she had feelings for that other prick. After all, he’d heard rumors that Evan had left town anyway. Cathy, Becca’s best friend and a nurse who often worked close by Drew’s side, certainly seemed to think that was the case. She’d mentioned something about that bastard leaving town abruptly just after Becca’s birthday party. Of course, Becca had never mentioned it, mostly because even back then, when they’d been together and happy, Drew couldn’t stand hearing that asshole’s name.

Drew sighed at the memory of what was probably the last night he’d seen her truly happy. Then his mind wandered down unwelcome paths. Had her unhappiness since been the result of Evan leaving town?

Drew clenched his protesting fists at the thought. It struck him then that he really should have connected those particular dots sooner. Denial was a wondrous, but dangerous mindset.

It was further evidence of the feelings Becca had harbored toward her friend for so long. Proof that was obvious in hindsight. However, if the fucker was truly gone, then her feelings for him didn’t really have to stand in the way of her romance with Drew, did they? Drew wasn’t entirely sure if he could handle being with someone who was in love with someone else, but if she was willing to give it another try, he would almost be willing to forgive and forget. It would take some pride swallowing, but he knew she was worth it. Given the chance, he’d take her and love her so hard that she could barely remember her own name, let alone that other fucker’s.

The thought cemented his decision and a plan solidified in his mind. Even though he had a few patients waiting for him, Drew wouldn’t leave the reception area until he’d seen her again, until he’d spoken with her and told her everything he felt. That what he’d seen in her basement darkroom didn’t matter. That he was willing to forgive and forget. That they could still be together, if only she was willing to give it another try. Then, he’d sweep her into his arms and everyone who witnessed the scene would burst into a round of raucous applause at their reunion.

When the automatic doors slid open to reveal Becca arriving five-minutes before her shift was due to start, he held his breath. The first thing he noticed was that her gaze didn’t sweep the room searching for him. Neither did she look like she’d spent the night anywhere near as sleeplessly as he had. In fact, her eyes were clear, her face fresh, and a small smile played on her lips—the sort of smile that only hinted at the happiness bubbling beneath the surface.

He frowned at her obvious joy and worried about the implications of that expression. It wasn't that he wanted her to be sad as such, he’d just needed to see some sort of evidence that she'd been affected in some small way by the events of the previous night. That she’d spent
some
time mourning the loss of their relationship. That she cared that they were no longer together.

The sight of the tiny smirk on her lips made his heart beat faster in his chest, until he felt the urge to strike something. Her smile shouldn’t have made him so irrational, but it did. Maybe it was because he'd expected her to come to work with blood-shot eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and a heavy countenance. Perhaps
hoped
was a better word. Regardless, it was a disappointment to see her so content. So . . . happy. It made him yearn for another session with his punching bag despite the way his knuckles already protested against the weight of a simple pen.

Was it really too much to ask for her to have had a day of sorrow, mourning over what they'd shared? Maybe two. That really wasn’t much, was it? Something to prove that it hadn’t all been a waste of his time—that she had actually cared for him at least a little. That some tiny part of her felt bad for the shit she’d put him through with her feelings for Evan and her constant denial of them. For stringing Drew along when he deserved so much more.

He wanted
something
to justify the aching burn in his chest. The agony of something like a simple heartbeat couldn’t have been any more painful, not even if he’d been forced to undergo open heart surgery without anesthetic. And yet, there Becca was,
smiling
.

When their gazes met, she had the decency to at least look a little sadder than when she’d first entered the hospital. Almost as soon as she’d glanced his way though, her eyes darted away again. The fleeting eye contact confirmed everything that Drew had feared. She’d already moved on. At least, in her own head. Whether she’d physically moved on as well was too much for him to even consider without spiking his desire to punch the closest wall.

Regardless, the action was a big black line drawn underneath the ledger of their relationship. A marker dividing all the blissful days they’d shared so far from all the dark ones still to come for him. Drew might have spent years pining for someone who he'd thought he had no possible chance with, but he wasn’t stupid enough to continue obsessing when the evidence was clear that she no longer wanted him.

In the wake of her apathy, he felt every part the gawky, pimple-faced teen she’d unknowingly rejected years ago once more. As that sensation cut into him, he curled his agonized fingers into a fist, turned, and walked away from her without a word or backwards glance.

Seeing her so carefree when he was filled to the brim with sorrow was like having a huge stick shoved into the turmoil bubbling inside him and spun rapidly to stir up all the sediment. It took everything in him to control his outward appearance. His fingers clenched and twitched as he formed and unformed tight fists, but that was it. He managed to suppress all other outward signs of his anger. To everyone else, he would have appeared a paradigm of control.

Drawing in a deep breath as he headed back to meet his next patient, he resolved to push Becca from his mind.

“Huh.” Amity
sat back in a slight daze as she considered everything her brother had just shared with her. Her car still whipped between the lanes of the interstate at speeds which far exceeded legal limits, but she kept the engine well under the red line while she was otherwise distracted, processing Michael’s words.

The story he had told her was one of loss and of love. Of heartbreak and sorrow, and of love triumphing even as it destroyed. There was something about it, which she needed to clarify though, because surely she’d heard one part wrong.

“So let me get this straight,” she said, glancing over at her brother to watch for any telltale signs that he was hiding something or that she’d hit a raw nerve. “You made this guy, this Evan, a cupid, used his soul for years as penance for his crimes, claim you’ve been happy with the results he’s achieved, and now you’re going to reward him by making him human again?”

She curled her nose up in disgust. She couldn’t think of anything worse. A cupid wasn’t quite as unlimited as an angel in their ability to conjure the things they needed, but humans had to work for
everything
they wanted. They had to deal with messy emotions and other messy things like toilets and showers. Hot and cold. Eating for sustenance rather than pleasure. As much as she preferred the company on Earth to the far too pristine vistas of Heaven, she couldn’t think of a worse punishment than to be forced to be human for a limited span before moving on—either up or down, depending on one’s life choices.

Michael’s mouth twitched with frustration. He’d never intentionally let it show—there were rules against letting his emotions control him after all—but she could see it nonetheless. After spending a number of millennia with her family, she’d picked up the ability to read most of their tells. Of course, her natural ability to detect bullshit helped with that too.

“You know we had no say in the reward. It was determined at the moment of—” He cut himself off when she started to move her hand in a mimicry of his words. He frowned at her, the first definite sign that she’d broken through his impenetrable virtue.

Her mouth twitched as she enjoyed the moment a little too much. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It was pre-ordained when he was judged. What I mean is why would anyone willingly choose to be so . . . limited?”

“Not everyone craves the material things over emotional fulfillment.”

The judgment in his tone was impossible to miss, but she was long used to it. It was like each of her brothers spent their time trying to be more virtuous than any of the others. Almost as if it was their idea of fun. She wasn’t willing to buy into that crap though. She could think of other much more enjoyable things: shoes, cars,
companionship
. Not that she thought any of her brothers had ever felt the touch of a woman. Even if they had, she certainly didn’t want to know about it.

The memory of holding someone—of
touching
another—made Amity feel a little sad. It had been so long since she’d felt any sort of real intimacy—too long. She missed it. Craved it. For centuries, the reign of the chastity brigade had taken over the natural order of things. After all, it wasn’t as though the Heavenly host had never been able to spread the love. In years past, angels were known for their affection and attractiveness more than their pious attitudes. They had inspired statues and stories, murals and reliefs. People had worshiped them for the joy they could bring to the world and not just the miracles they could produce.

Then modesty and the shifting notion of sin had arisen, and the good times had ended. The good book was penned—the word of man masquerading as the word of God. In the millennia since, intimacy between humans and angels had become strictly frowned upon, which left Amity bereft of the attention she’d once been lavished with. That had been just one adjustment she’d had to make in a long line of them since that time.

Despite her protests, she felt vindicated by one thing—she wasn’t the only one on Earth who thought her brothers took their devout attitude a little too far at times. She’d seen that truth repeated in many a mind throughout her service.

“So, Amity”—Michael said her name like it tasted foul in his mouth, even though phonetically it was only marginally different from her true, angelic, name—“the cupid’s mistakes need to be rectified. Rebecca’s human lover”—he closed his eyes, no doubt calling the name to his mind—“Andrew must be healed. He cannot do it himself, not after cupid’s touch inspired emotions within him. Are you going to help us or not?”