In the Wake of Wanting (60 page)

“Thank you for giving in to your bad side.”

“I’m not doing it again,” I vow, giving her a big kiss before getting out of bed to freshen up. When I return in my underwear, she’s kicked all the blankets to the end of the bed, and when I lie back down, I understand why. The heater vent blows directly onto her, and we already generated enough heat between us to last awhile. She offers me the pillow and curls up next to me.

“What are we going to do when you come this weekend?” she asks, returning to our conversation.

“That’s kind of personal,” I tease, “but I know I’ll be doing that in my hotel room, for your information.”

“You’re going to get a room?”

“I sure as hell am now.”

“Do you think I can stay with you?” She climbs on top of me, straddling my torso.

“There is an open invitation for you to stay with me. I hope you will. I hope your mom doesn’t mind.”

“She won’t care. She’ll appreciate that you respect her rules,” she says with a wink. I roll my eyes at her as I run my hands down the side of her naked body. When I see her scar, I move my right hand back up and over her breast, moving my thumb along the raised skin.

Immediately, the joy leaves her face, her body. As her shoulders slump, her eyes divert from mine to my chest. “Hey,” I say, putting my finger under her chin, causing her to look back at me. “How are you?”

She shakes her head. “I am happy you’re here, though.”

“I know you are. I’m happy to be here, but I want to talk about you.”

“What about me?”

“Coley, come on… I’m a smart man. I’m pretty intuitive, you know?”

“I know.”

“You can’t keep blaming yourself for Nyall.”

“Who told you I was blaming myself? Did my mom talk to you?”

“No,” I tell her. “I saw the moment you went from the bubbly girl I started dating to this beautiful but despondent person that I would do anything to make happy again. It was when he asked for sand from Palau.”

“I don’t deserve to go there.” Her finger traces the scar above her heart.

“Stop it.” I remove her hand from her chest and hold it in mine.

“He’ll never get to do things like that.”

“You don’t know that, Coley.”

“I do know that!”

“No,” I argue. “He’s in his fourth year of treatment, and I know it seems like forever to you, but it’s early. He’s young. He has his whole life ahead of him, and through medication or therapy, he could get better. I don’t doubt that they have amazing doctors there. You say it’s the best private facility in Virginia. Get my parents involved, and you’ll get the best doctors in the country. Think bigger. New treatment options. Experimental things. They’re not just there to give them more recreational activities, although that’s a big part of this. The experts they’ve talked to say that it will help–keeping the patients engaged, mentally and creatively. Having something they’re passionate about. Giving them things to work toward. Setting goals and achieving things that aren’t just therapy-based.”

She stares at me with her brows furrowed.

“Nothing can change what happened to him, laureate. That’s true. But I firmly believe that the trajectory of his life can still be altered. If he wanted to be a rapper, or a poet like you, I think those are things he’s going to be able to pursue. If he loves swimming so much, maybe he’ll be an instructor or a coach. It’s going to take a little more time and patience and trust, but people are going to give him these things. And you and I and Joel and your parents and
my
parents are all going to stand by him and encourage him through it all: his great days and the ones that are absolute shit. He will have both. We all do. But don’t give up on him.

“So nothing has worked–yet. It doesn’t mean nothing will work. You need to believe that will change. You need to get him on board, too. He has to believe it, as well.”

“You’ve never seen him act out.”

“I haven’t. But I’ve seen children beat cancer. I’ve seen dependent women leave abusive relationships to lead autonomous lives of their own. I’ve seen homeless families move into apartments they were able to afford using money they earned. I’ve seen teenagers with spinal injuries taking their first steps when their doctors told them they’d never walk again. I’ve seen stroke victims recover memories and vocabularies. Success stories happen all the time. Miracles happen daily.”

“You’ve seen women have babies who were told they couldn’t have children.”

“I never saw it. I’m the byproduct of that.”

“And this is why you believe anything could happen?”

“Maybe so. But it’s a hell of a better outlook than thinking nothing will ever change. We’re both making a guess on what will happen, trying to predict the future. Why not predict good things for your brother? They’re making medical advances all the time. I don’t think my hope for him is merely a stab in the dark. I think there’s good reason to believe in a full recovery for him, and I think he’ll still be young enough to live a full and normal life. Maybe get married and have kids if he wants. Definitely travel. Don’t think that he’ll never get to experience a place like Palau. The second he’s cleared, laureate, we’ll take him there or wherever he wants to go.”

She doesn’t respond verbally. She simply sighs and lies down next to me again. I turn to face her, running my fingers through her hair and kissing her softly.

“I love you,” I tell her.

“Even if I don’t believe you?”

“That I love you?” I ask her, shaken by her question.

“No. About Nyall.”

“Oh,” I answer with a sigh, a smile, and a playful tug on her hair. “Yeah, even then.”

She pushes off the bed and kisses my cheek. “You were hungry earlier. Do you still want a salad?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“Help me make it?”

“Of course.” I reach in the pile of sheets and produce her underwear while she opens my luggage and pulls out a pair of her beloved pajama pants and a tank top. While she gets dressed, I go back to the living room and make sure every item of clothing I took off is back on my body before picking up her clothes and placing them on her bed to hopefully remove all the evidence that we were fooling around. Her mom’s a cop, though. She probably has ways to find things out, and as paranoia sets in, I start looking around for cameras in little tchotchkes on the bookshelves.

“You said you’d help me,” Coley calls out to me.

“I’m coming,” I say, giving up my search and accepting that what’s done is done.

While I’m on the train back to Manhattan, I get a call from Coley. I’d hated waking her up to let me out of her house, but she had to lock the door behind me. She was so tired, I wasn’t sure she’d even remember that I’d left.

“Why are you awake, laureate? It’s only five-thirty.”

“I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was afraid that would happen.”

“It’s okay,” she says.

A few seconds go by without her saying anything, and I check to make sure we weren’t disconnected. “You there?”

“I wanted to thank you for last night.”

I laugh and look around to make sure no one’s listening before I continue speaking softly into the phone. “You never have to thank me for sex. Trust me. I’m always the more grateful one.”

“Not for that.” Her voice is serious. “For what you said about Nyall. I’m going to believe that he has a chance to change and have a normal life. You’re right. He deserves it.”

“Oh.” I smile, happy that she’s had a change of heart. “My mom used to tell me I was borne of hope.”

“Don’t get mad if you have to remind me sometimes. I may get discouraged.”

“Just stick with me, laureate. My hope is contagious.”

chapter twenty-seven

“I really appreciate you spending the last weekend of spring break with me.” I reach across the console of my Range Rover and take Coley’s hand in mine. “Do you think Nyall was really okay with it?”

“I do,” she says with an assuring smile. “I think he had so much fun with us over the past week. I know he appreciated how much time you spent with our family. Joel, too. My brothers adore you. We stayed up late after you went back to the hotel last night and talked–my whole family did. Everyone really likes you.”

“Even
Special Agent Fitzsimmons
?” I tease her.

“Dad, too. My parents are so impressed with how you did with Nyall and how well you’re communicating with Joel. And my mom just thinks you’re so sweet to me. I think she got a little swoon-y.”

“Your mom?”

“Yeah.”

“Well. That sucks, because I don’t know if I like your family…” I glance at her briefly out of the corner of my eye, giving her a sour expression as I tease her. “It sucks
snow cones
, actually.”

“My family is awesome,” she says, nodding.

“They are. I like them a lot. I feel like I have two more brothers… and I hope, after this weekend, you feel like you’ve gained a few more, too.”

“Max will be here?” she asks me as I take the turn on the newly paved road to our lakefront property.

“Max, Jon, Livvy, Will, Shea… and some other cousins, aunts and uncles, I’m sure.”

“And why is it okay for us to stay together at the lake house?”

“Because Liv and Jon set a precedent when they were in college, and because this house isn’t a sacred space for my parents. The brownstone is off-limits. It’s the house we grew up in and the house they still live in. But this place? It’s kind of the party house anyway.”

She starts to laugh.

“What’s funny?”

“Your parents having a party house.”

“Blame my mom.” We drive past six parked cars before I take my spot in the garage.

“This place is crazy-town,” she tells me, not waiting for me to open the door for her. She wanders onto the lawn and looks up at the sprawling three-story mansion facing us. “The Hollands pretend to be all modest in Manhattan, but this is where the money is…”

“Well, our older lake house is actually pretty modest. This was a splurge, but as you can see from the cars and amount of guests, they needed a big place to accommodate the family. And it took Dad years to finally commit to spending money on this place.”

“Does he have more homes elsewhere?” she asks. I nod. “Investments, I’m sure…”

“Sure,” I say with a smile. “Believe me, he still gives away far more than he spends on us.”

“I do actually believe you. Are there servants to bring our bags in?”

“
Servants?
We don’t live in Downton Abbey, laureate. And last I checked, we brought two pretty small bags. I’m pretty sure I’m man enough to carry them in.”

“T! Get your ass in this house!”

“Callen?” I turn to the front door and see my friend standing on the porch. “What the hell are you doing here?” I point to the house. “Max is in there.”

“Max invited me.”

“No, he didn’t,” I say, stunned.

“He sure as fuck did.” He walks toward me. “Coalmine, I presume?”

“Dicklick, her name is Coley,” I tell him plainly. “And I can’t believe Max invited you.”

“He did,” he responds, looking at my girlfriend. “Excuse T’s language. It’s nice to meet you, Coley.”

“Callen McNare?” Her eyes are fixated on him.

“Yep,” he says. “Ya heard of me?”

She giggles nervously as I roll my eyes. The McNare name is so prevalent on buildings in Manhattan, it’s a wonder they haven’t changed the name of the borough yet.

“Thank God you’re gay,” I tell him. “I think she’s more infatuated with you than she was with me.”

“That’s not true,” she says, smacking me on the arm. “I just never expected to see Callen McNare here.” She shakes it off. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

“Carry our bags,” I tell him, shoving them in his chest. He holds on to Coley’s pink bag, but lets mine fall to the ground. “Good to see you.” I reach for mine and lead the way into the house, listening to them talk about a news story Coley had seen about his father on the Internet a few days ago. As soon as I get inside, I leave them together and find Max, distractedly waving to my relatives as I pass them on the way.

“Mascot?” I ask him, pulling him into an unoccupied bedroom on the first floor and shutting the door. “What in the hell is Callen doing here?”

He shakes his head and starts to laugh, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “So, Callen had texted me last week to find out when I was flying back for spring break, and we found out we were on the same flight. He asked me to come see his last game before the break on Friday. Told me he’d put me up in a hotel room in LA and take me to the airport the following morning. I was wondering how I was going to work out the whole get-to-my-flight logistical thing on Saturday, so it solved a problem for me. And it’s a UCLA game. They’re on fire this year–hell, he’s on fire. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see a game. So I said yes.