Flash Burned (18 page)

“Yes. There is.” He grinned the tiniest grin that almost warmed my cold heart.

“You're a total sucker, aren't you?” I asked.

“Well, it's just that … I know how hard things were on you growing up. Because of your mother and me. And then at the end of this summer, suddenly—out of the blue—you were dating Dane, moving in with him, marrying him, and now you're having his child. Not ideally…,” my father added, his logical side getting the best of him. “It's really unfortunate the kid will never know—”

“God, more genetics,” I grumbled miserably. “Dane never knew his parents. They died a month after he was born. His aunt raised him.”

My dad grimaced. “Sometimes, it's difficult to dislike him.”

“You did your best. He's just sort of … infectious.” My eyes squeezed shut and I mumbled, “Was.”

“Ah, sweets.” He rested a hand on my leg, stroked soothingly. “I really am sorry.”

“I know.” I choked on a sob. “And I appreciate that. Just let me adjust on my own time, Dad. Don't expect too much. Don't expect anything.”

“I'd say yes to that, Ari, and let you hide under the covers for the next month, but…” He shifted on the cushion and pinned me with a serious look. “This isn't just about you. It's not even about your grief anymore. It's about that baby you both conceived, which you are now committed to—for its sake, and for yours and Dane's. He might not be here, sweets, but you know you have to be extremely careful, attentive,
healthy,
as though it were the best-case scenario. Just because it's not … Well, that's no reason to—”

“I hear you, Dad.” The tears spilled. “I understand. It's just a little strange right now. I'm not hungry. I'm not … anything.” I rubbed my stomach. It was concave, not exactly a good thing. “I guess the problem is that I don't
feel
anything. I don't feel different. I don't feel pregnant. I feel anesthetized. Which we both know isn't a reality, since the doctor was so concerned about giving me too much by way of pain meds.”

My father grunted. “I wasn't pleased about that.”

“I'm okay,” I was quick to say. Regardless of the stitches, the most poignant pain ripped through my heart.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Just sit here with me and don't push too hard. I have a lot to reconcile. A lot to figure out. Not so easy when I feel so lifeless.”

He did as I asked, not speaking too much. Kyle served meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Nothing too pungent or spicy. Simple and soft, easily digestible. I eyed him curiously over a forkful of fluffy potatoes.

With a noncommittal shrug, he said, “I have a little sister who was
clearly
an accident, because she's nine years younger than me. I dealt with a pregnant mom with a sensitive stomach and a dad who couldn't cook. Well, he's pretty much in denial about that, but I can attest.” He chuckled.

“I haven't met Shelley yet,” I reminded him. “We were all going to meet up at Little America in Flagstaff for the holiday lights covering the wooded property.”

“Yeah.” He gave me a solemn look.

“Yeah,” I agreed, thankful he didn't point out the obvious reason why that idea was now shot to hell. I tried not to think of all that Dane would miss out on with his child, and vice versa. What I'd miss out on.

Damn those tears that wouldn't leave me be.

“We can still get together with Shelley, though,” Kyle offered.

“Sure. Sometime.”

I wasn't in any hurry to make plans—for anything. Luckily, I had eight months before I had to put thought and effort into converting one of the spare bedrooms into a nursery.

I only picked at my meal, taking a few bites to partially satisfy Kyle and my father. Then I claimed I was too exhausted for extensive company and my dad left. Kyle wouldn't budge, of course. I sensed he had found a new duty in taking care of me in Dane's stead. I was too wiped out physically and emotionally to battle Kyle on that front.

Returning to the sofa, I curled up again and was asleep minutes later.

*   *   *

The void inside me vanished the next morning.

Only to be replaced with the very real and finite fact that I was pregnant. My eyes flew open at the crack of dawn. I tossed off the blanket, leapt from the sofa, and raced across the stone floor to the bathroom. Where I promptly heaved the previous evening's dinner. And then some.

As I huddled around the porcelain, afraid to move just yet, Kyle came in, dampened a washcloth, and handed it to me. I pressed it against my mouth for several seconds, finding relief from the chill of the material.

The numbness I felt because of losing Dane abated. I pulled away the cloth and stared up at Kyle. “Okay,
now
I feel pregnant.”

That sentiment triggered some sort of defense mechanism that made me even more powerfully aware of what it was I needed to protect—my child, who was also a part of Dane's legacy.

I told Kyle, “I have to eat again.”

“I agree. It's going to be hard to keep it down, though.”

“Then I just keep eating.” I'd need to go online and learn all about morning sickness.

In the meantime, I felt a curious survival instinct kick in. As much as I wanted to disappear into thin air because Dane was no longer with me, he was still a
part
of me—a living, breathing one. I owed it to the three of us to pull myself together. To find some strength to go on without Dane. To take care of his child no matter how devastated I was.

“How about scrambled eggs?” I suggested to Kyle. “No seasoning, superbland.”

“And more tea.”

“Yes, that might help.” Dr. Lindsey had told me that I'd have to find an OB-GYN soon and start on pre-natal vitamins and such. It was time I jumped on that.

The upside of my mental breakthrough was getting past that dazed and shredded state so I could focus on what I'd gained, rather than what I'd lost. The downside was that I was violently sick three days in a row. Queasy in the afternoons and well into the evenings.

“You're really pale,” Kyle finally commented with notable concern. “Like this is getting worse, not better.”

“And I feel as though I'm marathon eating.”

“I think it's time we seek professional help.”

“I called three OB-GYNs. I can't get in to see any of them until the middle of next week.”

His teeth ground together as tension gripped him. “There's not going to be anything left of you next week, Ari.”

He exaggerated, of course, but I was equally concerned that the scale had moved in the wrong direction. The weight I'd gained from the Thanksgiving and pre-launch festivities at the Lux had melted right off, along with several additional pounds.

“Maybe I should try someone in Phoenix?” I wondered aloud.

“Actually, I have a better idea.” He polished off his portion of the steel-cut oatmeal he'd made for us and then said, “My aunt's an M.D. She used to work at the hospital, but left to open a private practice, of sorts.”

My brow rose as I glanced at him across the table in the kitchen.
“Of sorts?”

He scowled. “Don't look at me like that. It's legitimate. She really considers it more of an inpatient rehabilitation retreat. Four bedrooms—all with private bathrooms—so it's quiet and conducive to individual care. She has nurses on-staff twenty-four-seven and contracts with physical and occupational therapists. Those are mostly the types of patients she deals with, though she takes on others. And has specialists to treat them. Currently, she only has three patients who live on-property. If she hasn't filled it, that leaves one bedroom available.”

“You mean … I'd move in?”

“Yeah. It's a fully accredited, certified facility. Although that word doesn't do it justice—sounds too clinical. It's really a beautiful place,” he insisted. “About as big as this house, but bright. Cheery. Less … Gotham.”

My gaze narrowed.

“Just sayin',” he muttered.

“I don't want to leave here.”

“What's the big deal?” he demanded with a serious expression. “You won't go toward the back of the house. You won't go into your dressing room or bedroom or even your bathroom. You sleep on the sofa, and to tell you the truth, I'm getting all kinds of bent out of shape and kinked up from crashing in a chair in there.”

“No one said you had to stay with me,” I reminded him. “You know where the door is.”

His scowl deepened. My gut clenched. I didn't want him to leave, honestly. I didn't want to be alone. My dad had gone back to work after taking the week off to be at the hospital. He still came by at night for dinner, but Kyle had packed a bag and designated himself my new shadow.

I was grateful. Deeply comforted, even. But I didn't like him criticizing the fact that I preferred he leave most of the lights off. And I forbade his cleaning the glass in the living room. He'd swept the shards into small piles but resisted the urge I knew he had to remove them.

“Why don't you just drive out with me?” he suggested. “Give it a chance before you shoot it down. It's peaceful, surrounded by red-rock canyons. You'd have people around you who know what the hell they're doing and can help you through this.”

My stomach took the opportunity to clench tightly—a now-familiar sign of what was to come next. I shoved back my chair and hurried into the bathroom, giving up my oatmeal before I'd digested it.

After brushing my teeth, I returned to the kitchen. Kyle was doing the dishes. I'd given Rosa an extra two weeks of paid vacation while I adjusted to my more delicate condition and still assessed who I could tell about the baby. I hadn't even mentioned it to Mr. Conaway, and he was one of the people Dane had assured me I could trust. After the bombing of the Lux, I had the very distinct and terrifying view that
anyone
was capable of
anything,
if properly motivated.

So mum was currently the word.

“I guess it wouldn't hurt to check it out,” I said of Kyle's aunt's medical retreat. “Especially if she can help me with the morning sickness or get me an appointment with an OB-GYN a bit faster.”

“My immediate concern is how ghostly you look.”

I couldn't combat that without lying. And the torment in his eyes broke my heart further. So I forced myself to finally go into the dressing room, thinking I might as well pack a suitcase in the event Kyle's aunt still had space available to take me on and I opted to stay.

When I was finished, I stood outside the door of mine and Dane's bedroom, not overwhelmingly compelled to enter, but I wanted one last peek before I left indefinitely. Just to keep the memory of it in my mind and to soak up a little of his essence that permeated the space most reflective of him.

From an end table I collected the last book he'd been reading, Dickens's
Great Expectations
. Pressing it to my chest, I felt a razor-sharp pain slice through me. Dane's voice filled my head as I thought of us stretched out on the sofa in front of the fireplace while he read his favorite novels to me.

Fat drops pooled in my eyes and my knees felt a bit wobbly. I sank onto the edge of the bed and pulled in deep breaths. I ran a hand over the soft, bronze duvet, the ecru sheets.

I frowned. Took a closer look.

Flannel.

My brow furrowed.

I'd told Dane I liked them in the winter. But these were not the sheets we'd slept in the night before the media event at 10,000 Lux.

He must have changed them that morning while I was in the shower. Or maybe he'd had Rosa switch out the sateen ones.

I shook my head. Maybe, at the moment—in the beginning stages of my mourning—I really shouldn't be surrounded by all of these memories and enveloped in a life that no longer existed. Maybe clinging to yesterday wasn't the healthiest thing to do while I tried to move forward—toward tomorrow, with a baby.

Losing Dane was all too new, too fresh, too raw, to think about, anyway. And I feared I just might snuggle under these warm sheets and cry myself to sleep … stay here for the next several months.

An appealing, alluring notion. One so strong and palpable, I actually considered it quite seriously. I was exhausted after all. Wrecked.

But I had an obligation to Dane. To our baby.

So I hauled myself up and closed one door behind me while Kyle opened another.

 

chapter 9

The rehabilitation retreat was set back in a secluded canyon and surrounded by full trees and vibrant flowers, spanning several acres. A detached garage sat outside the elegantly walled property and there was a security gate just off the stone pathway that led from the red-dirt drive. There were a couple other houses in the area, about a half mile or so away in all directions.

Kyle plugged in the code at the gate but still had to wait for verification before the lock released. He gestured me through the opening and I took in the gorgeous grounds, with a few private courtyards, a stream, small fountains that trickled water in a soothing way. Wind chimes hung in the trees and added a soft trill as a gentle breeze wafted through them.

We wound our way to the front double doors. Benches and chairs were scattered all over the patio, a welcoming respite, silently inviting guests to sit and relax. Chill out. Hang and heal.

I liked the atmosphere immediately. Perhaps I had been a little too wrapped up in my bleak world, not turning on lights while I hid from reality.

I inhaled deeply, the fragrant flowers filling my senses. I felt a little calmer. Though my stomach was still a tight pretzel and the nausea lingered on the fringes.

We were greeted by a lanky man in his forties, wearing tan Dockers and a hunter-green polo shirt with a shield embroidered on his left chest, below the name Parker.