Let Love Live (The Love Series #5) (41 page)

“Thought you were out for the rest of the week?” Reid makes himself comfortable on the small couch in my office after tossing his suit jacket on the chair.

“I am,” I joke.

Folding his arms behind his head, he lets out a healthy chuckle. “Clearly.” Sarcasm colors his words.

“Conner had to take care of some stuff this morning, so I came here to do the same, and then I’m off.” Reid shoots me a wry look, mocking me and my never-take-a-day-off mentality.

“How is she?” The real concern in his voice is evident. I fill him in on Rachel’s progress and prognosis. The elation and relief can clearly be heard in my words.

I’ve already sorted through a huge stack of papers and filed a dozen more. Clicking through the last of my emails, I realize this morning was supposed to be the last session at Calhoun. “Why didn’t you remind me?” I demand, frustrated for not following through on the case.

The look on his face suggests that he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “Untwist your balls, would you?” He kicks his legs off the couch, but stays seated. “I actually just got back from there.”

“And?” I prompt, perhaps not so calmly.

Reid shakes his head at my fairly worked up attitude. “Seriously, Dylan. You’re going to have a heart attack by the time you’re thirty if you don’t chill the fuck out.” He stands and strolls over to my desk.

Flopping back in my chair, I let out a heavy sigh. “You’re right.” My hand flies through my hair as if doing so will help me get a grip on reality. “The last few weeks have been a lot to take.” A flippant laugh passes my lips. “But, seriously, tell me what went on. You know how involved I was.”

“You remember Dean’s father, right?” Of course I do. He seemed to be the primary reason for Dean lashing out against Carlo. He was riding his son about being the best at everything, about being the star quarterback that he once was, way back in his glory days. Carlo, who did nothing but move into the district and want to try out for the football team, set things in motion for Dean and his father. Weeks of taunting progressed into actual physical fights. When it became too much for school officials to mediate, they called us in. I nod, responding to his question without losing my cool. From the moment both Reid and I heard about Dean’s father, we instantly thought about Reid’s father and the deadly effects he had on our childhood.

“I talked to him and-” Reid’s confession nearly makes me fall out of my chair.

“Wait,” needing clarification, I stop him mid-sentence. “
You
talked to Dean’s father?”

Reid stands from his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I know it breaks protocol. We’re just supposed to be there to help the kids figure it out and all, but Dean told me he tried talking to him, and there was just something there that reminded me so much of Shane that I
had
to talk to his dad.”

A look of understanding passes between us and he carries on. “He was on the side line at one of Dean’s lacrosse games. I introduced myself and to say he was indifferent to talking to me would be an understatement.” Reid chuckles sarcastically. “But, he eventually gave me a few minutes of his time. Probably because it was half time and he wouldn’t miss a second of the action. Anyway, I told him about my dad, about Shane, about everything.” Reid stares silently out the large floor to ceiling window of my office. “When I spoke about how much I missed my brother, how much I wished he was still a part of my life, I think I broke through that first layer of ice. But when I told him that I heard echoes of Shane’s pain in his son’s words, saw bits of Shane’s brokenness in his son’s eyes, he thawed even more.”

His raw and real emotion forces me from my desk and I walk over to him. My hand falls to his shoulder, clasping it gently. “I’m so proud of you.” Reid turns to face me, and unnamable look on his face. Realizing the strange look has more than likely been caused by the fact that he so very rarely hears that someone is proud of him makes me pull him in for a brotherly hug. “Shane would be proud, too.”

“Of you, too, man.” His voice is muffled between our backslap-slash-hug. When he breaks it, I notice his eyes shining, but he turns away before I see too much more – before he sees the same thing in mine.

Casually, and with a lighter step than usual, Reid strolls over to the chair where his suit jacket is draped and swings it over his shoulder. “You’re not allowed back for the rest of the week, now.” He leans up against the doorframe, pointing a stern finger at me.

With a laugh and a look of mock-submission, I nod and agree. “See you later.”

After work, I make my way to the hospital. With a bunch of flowers in hand, I ask if Rachel is allowed to have visitors. The nurse greets me with a gigantic smile. “Sure thing, sweetie.”

“Even though I’m not immediate family?” That’s been the rule since she was admitted, but I wanted to come straight here figuring that’s where Conner would be.

“Yep, she was moved to a regular room just a few minutes ago.” Her nametag reads Keisha and she’s all bright and bubbly. I can’t help but think there’s good news waiting for me on the other side of Rachel’s door. Keisha fills out a visitors pass for me and directs me to Rachel’s room.

The door is slightly open, and with a gentle knock, it opens even more. “You awake?” I ask, peering my head into the room.

“Yes, come on in.” Her voice is full, alert – alive.

Aside from the strip of hair missing behind her ear, and the remaining bandages on her head, Rachel looks unscathed for the most part. Propped up against the headboard, trying to feed herself her lunch around all the tubes, wires, and IVs, she almost looks laughable. I pull a chair up next to her bed, and place the flowers on the side table. “You look pretty incredible for someone who just had major surgery four days ago.”

Exhaling a deep sigh of gratitude, she puts down her fork as a single tear rolls down her cheek. She swipes it away with her non-wire-covered hand. “I had no idea all those headaches…”

“Hey,” I pull her hand in mine, patting it calmingly, “no one knew. It’s no one’s fault.” Handing her a tissue, I smile compassionately at her.

“How’s Conner holding up?” she asks around the tissue, wiping her nose.

I let go of her hand and lean back in the chair. Memories from just a few hours ago of our time in the shower, of how my feelings for him have taken over my every thought, fill my head, spreading a huge grin across my face. “Ewww, gross. Not like that.” Her finger waggles in my face, laughing as she does so.

“What?” I shoot upright, not realizing what I must have looked like. “Oh, uh, you mean–”

“Yes,” she cuts me off. “I mean how has he been holding up since I’ve been in here, dork.” Both of us a laugh as she extends her arm to the side, showcasing the room Vanna White style.

“He’s been a wreck, actually. It scared the shit out of him, but when you opened your eyes the other night, even though it was only for a minute, I think he held on to that hope that’d you’d pull through.” A deep breath escapes her lungs, as if it’s just cleansed her own concerns over her brother’s well-being.

She returns to her meal, more than frustrated with the food she can barely cut. “Stupid fork.” It clangs against the plate as she tosses it on her table.

Rather than laugh, I simply pick it up for her and cut up her meal. The look on her face is one of appreciation. I nearly choke on my tongue when she asks, “You love him, don’t you?” With a casual, nonchalant attitude, she picks up her fork and returns to her meal, as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb in between us. “What?” she asks, taking stock of the shocked look on my face.

My hands run though my hair, scrub over my face. Elbows land on my thighs, and thumbs twist in nervousness. My head falls forward, cradled in my shaking hands. I close my eyes and sort through the emotions her words just brought to life. In such a short time, Conner has come to mean so much to me. Maybe if I hadn’t also been in therapy, been willing to work through my own problems then this wouldn’t have happened as quickly as it had, but there’s no denying that I do love him.

His honesty and integrity.

His light-hearted playfulness.

His capacity for kindness and love.

Slowly, I lift my head, and look at the girl who’s scared me to death twice in less than a week. Once with the blockage in her brain and once with the blockage in my heart. “I do,” I admit, more to myself than to her.

Her response of a smug, all-knowing smile fills the room with warmth. “Good, now make sure you tell him, too.”

“Tell me what?” Conner’s voice calls from the door, making my heart beat a little quicker in my chest.

“Nothing,” I deflect, standing to greet him as he walks into the room. His look of wry cynicism tells me that he’s on to me, but it doesn’t seem as if he heard what we were talking about.

Rachel fills Conner in on the updates from the doctor. Essentially, she’s a medical miracle. Luckily, she didn’t suffer a stroke from the blockage. In the grand scheme of things, it was fairly small. Though it didn’t feel fortunate at the time, the fact that the blockage was pressing up against a nerve and causing severe migraines was something that ultimately saved her life. Watching the two of them talk with one another, well, I’d call it heartwarming, but my heart needed a hell of a lot more than warming. It needed a heat wave and that’s exactly what it got when Conner made me a part of his life.

“I’ll let you two have some time together,” I announce, excusing myself from the room. Conner moves to protest as Rachel winks at me without him seeing it.

“You don’t have to leave,” he insists, standing from the chair. I push him back down, rubbing his shoulder as I do.

“I have some things I need to take care of. Besides, I need to get everything in order for the game tonight.” It’s the last game of the season, and the order for the trophies I plan to give to the boys, whether they win or lose, came in the other day and I haven’t had a chance to pick it up.

“Shit, I forgot all about it.” Conner rakes a hand through his hair, clearly torn between staying with Rachel and going to the game.

“It’s fine,” I try to calm him down. “The boys will understand. I’ll be sure to explain it to them.”

Rachel grabs his hand and her eyes crinkle with warmth as she looks at him. “Go, Con,” she assures him. “I’ll be more than okay here. As long as you promise to break me out as soon as you can,” she adds with a playful smile and wink.

“You sure?”

“Yes, now stop.” She shoots him a pointed look and the conversation is closed.

Since Conner rode his motorcycle here, we make plans to meet at the field before the game. He walks me to the door, hiding us behind the privacy curtain.

“I’ll see you later, then.” He laces our hands together, nodding at one of Rachel’s nurses passing in the hallway.

“Warm-ups start at five fifteen.” With a quick kiss and a warm look, I leave him to spend the afternoon with Rachel.

“Let’s go, Tigers!” A mass of hands fly into the air before the boys sprint out to the field, careful not to step on the freshly drawn base lines – some superstitions transcend all ages.

The early evening sky, set ablaze in hot oranges and bright yellows by the low-lying sun, is the perfect backdrop for a championship little league game. “Kieran is on fire tonight,” Conner marks yet another K in the book for his tenth strikeout of the night. After the bottom of the eighth inning, the other team leads in a close game of 2-1.

Before they take the field to start the final inning, I call the boys in for a final pep-talk. They all huddle around Conner and me. “You guys have played an awesome game. No matter what happens out there, you will always be winners to us.”

Brett rolls his eyes, and puts his hands in the middle of the circle. “You tell us that all the time, Coach. But we’re here to actually win!” His voice grows louder, spurring on cheers from his teammates. “Let’s do this! Gooooo Tigers!” he calls out and they fling their arms in the air.

The top of the ninth is a nail-biter to say the least. With one out and two men on base, one on first and one on third, the other team has the opportunity to blow the game wide open right now. “Let’s go, Kieran. You can do this,” I cheer, looking him right in the eyes, hoping to instill as much confidence in him as possible.

He nods and stands calmly on the mound, reading the signs from the catcher. He winds up and delivers a slider that the batter lifts easily into right field. The third base coach immediately calls the runner on third back to the bag, waiting to tag up and run home.

Out in right field, Frankie, a scrawny, unsure boy, who barely says more than two words on a good day, turns his body and with clean and utterly perfect skills, he plucks the ball out of the sky and launches it to home plate in one smooth, skillful motion.

Every single eye at the game tracks the ball as it races to beat the base runner. The umpire throws his arm over his shoulder. With a loud yell, he screams, “You’re out!” and the team jumps up and down in their positions, cheering and clapping, forgetting that they still need to earn two runs to win the game.

Frankie jogs in from right field, seemingly unaware of the fact that his double play singlehandedly just saved the game. His teammates swarm him, nearly raising him in the air as they charge the dugout.