Sweet Talk Boxed Set (Ten NEW Contemporary Romances by Bestselling Authors to Benefit Diabetes Research plus BONUS Novel) (115 page)

“And?” Koti prompted.

“And…” Will laughed a little, ran his hand over his close-cropped hair. “That wasn’t so bad, because actually, he thought it was a bit funny, too. Privately. But then Reka grabbed the phone from him, and…” He blew out a long breath. “If I don’t have any hair left on this side, it would be because she scorched it straight off me. Haven’t had an earbashing like that since I was a kid.”

That one got some genuine laughter from everybody. “You got Reka backed into a corner, defending her man?” Koti said. “That wins some sort of bad-idea prize. Better you than me, cuz. I wouldn’t accept an invite to dinner anytime soon, put it that way. Likely to find her standing behind you with a steak knife, eh.”

Nate smiled, then stood up, bringing the rest of the men with him. “I’d say we’re all done here. It’s over, and time to move on. And if you plan to be directing us around the paddock on the night,” he told Will, “we’d better get on the bus, get out there, and start getting ready. We’ve got a series to win.”

Waiting and Hoping

Faith sat down at the desk and opened her laptop. Seven o’clock Tuesday night, and Will had been gone nearly thirty-six hours. She’d had a text from him the day before saying he’d arrived in Auckland, that he’d had lunch with Mals before flying down to Dunedin.

Talked about his marks. Time to get serious.

Whether that meant Will getting serious with his brother, or telling his brother to get serious about school, she didn’t know, but either way, the thought of him doing it, and telling her he’d done it, too, had warmed her heart. She’d texted him back, had had to erase and re-start a few times to get the tone right.

Good for you. Good luck this week. Looking forward to watching you.

Now he was getting serious in Dunedin, she was sure, which would be why he hadn’t called her. Well, that and that he’d never said he’d call her. He’d never promised her anything.

She didn’t need to think about that now, though. She could set it aside and go to a better place, where the problems were so much bigger, but were under her control. Where there would be a happy ending, because she could make things turn out the way they ought to be instead of the way they actually were. A better world, where true love was real, and men didn’t leave. She opened her document and started to type.

The minutes ticked by, one eternal second after another. Hope sat in an armchair that should have been comfortable, except that nothing could possibly be comfortable now, and waited. Because that was what you did in a waiting room.

Her mind tried to skitter down into panic, and she began to count the petals on the flowers in the huge framed watercolor opposite in a desperate attempt to reverse it, or at least to stop it. That wasn’t going to help. She needed to stay calm. For herself, and for Karen. When Karen opened her eyes again, she was going to see a sister who was smiling, who was telling her that everything was going to be all right, and who could make her believe it. 

Surely it would be true. Surely it would be benign. The doctor had said benign. Probably.

Probably.

She yanked her mind back to the flowers again. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one.

“All right?”

She dragged her gaze to Hemi, and he must have seen what she was trying so hard to hide, because he was closing his laptop and setting it down beside him.

“It’s going to be all right,” he told her gently. One big hand smoothed over her hair, his lips brushed her forehead, and that was almost worse. She was going to cry after all, if he kept doing that. She was going to lose it.

She pushed herself back from him. “I know,” she said. “I know, because Dr. Feingold is the best. I’m all right. Really.” Her hands were cold. Shaking. She pressed them together for warmth, for stability, like a desperate prayer.

Brain tumor.
When she had heard the words, she had nearly fainted.

She hadn’t fainted, of course she hadn’t, because she’d been holding Karen’s hand. The doctor had pushed the box of tissues across the table, and Hope hadn’t taken them. She hadn’t fainted, or cried, or curled into a ball of fear when she’d told Hemi, either.

She’d wanted to, though. He’d showed up, as always, when she had been at her most vulnerable. The evening they’d gotten the news, when he’d appeared with takeout for all three of them. He’d remembered that this was the appointment day, even though Hope had gone back to the office afterwards, had done her best to focus, to work, to maintain, the way she had all along, because she needed her job. When she’d told him the news, though, he’d made sure that Karen had the very best surgeon in New York, and that she was fast-tracked onto the schedule. And today, he was here with her.

But he didn’t do long-term relationships. Even without Martine’s hints, Hope would have known that. Straight from the source, because he’d told her so more than once, at the beginning. He hadn’t told her since, but it would have been cruel to remind her of it in the midst of all this, and Hemi wasn’t cruel. He could be cold, yes. He could definitely be distant. But cruel…never.

Even if he’d never said a thing, though, a few minutes of research in any business magazine would have told her. It wasn’t that there was gossip about his private life. It was that there wasn’t. There wasn’t any gossip, because he didn’t have personal relationships. He had…arrangements. But he didn’t have an arrangement with her. He didn’t do relationships, and she didn’t do arrangements. They had something that existed in an uneasy space in between, something she didn’t want to examine too closely, didn’t want to touch, because its balance was so precarious, the slightest breath could send it toppling and shattering.

Today, though, none of that mattered. All that mattered was Karen.

“Brain surgery is never routine,” the surgeon had said when she and her sister had been sitting across the big mahogany desk from him the week earlier. “But as brain surgery goes…” He had smiled. “It’s not brain surgery.”

Karen had laughed nervously, and Hope had squeezed her sister’s hand and tried to smile back, although without much success.

“That would be a surgeon joke,” he’d said apologetically. “Not good, huh? Fortunately, my surgical skills are better than my bedside manner.”

Then, he’d handed Hope a couple of handouts.
About Brain Tumors,
she had read, and had had to stop herself from putting a hand over her mouth, from being sick. “And to answer your next question, the one I can tell is on the tip of your tongue—Yes, there are risks, of course. There are always risks. But I’m pretty good.”

“What if it…isn’t?” Hope had managed to ask. “What do we do…then? What’s the…” She hadn’t been able to go on.

“If it’s malignant?” he’d asked. Her mind had recoiled from the word, but it wasn’t going to help Karen for them not to address it. “We cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, we aren’t going there, because I don’t think we’re going to need to, and because even if we do need to, there’s no point thinking about it now. Wait until we know something.”

Now, she reminded herself of the words again, the ones she’d clung to ever since.
I don’t think so.
And
I’m pretty good.
No, he was
very
good. Hemi had seen to that. Hemi, who had to leave tomorrow, because Milan Fashion Week, where he would be unveiling his brand-new line of high-end leisurewear, wasn’t something he could reschedule, and it definitely wasn’t something he could miss. And yet he was here with her today all the same, setting all his last-minute preparation aside to support her. And to support Karen, too.

How could two hours take this long? She looked at her watch. It hadn’t been two hours. It had been three. She battled the panic back once more, picked up a magazine, turned its pages without seeing a word, then set it down and went back to counting petals.

Hemi looked up from his laptop again. “I’ll go get you a cup of coffee,” he said, and Hope nodded. Not that she cared.

That was why he was in the little anteroom, though, when Dr. Feingold came out at last, the green scrubs covering him from cap to toes. Not looking worried, and not smiling, either. Looking perfectly…neutral. But something in his face…

Her legs trembled as she stood up and forced herself to walk to him. And if the minutes she’d waited had been long, this walk was a hundred miles.

“It went reasonably well,” he said, and her legs began shaking so badly, her knees were actually knocking together. Her arms had gone around herself, and even her lips were trembling, her teeth wanting to chatter, the cold fear grabbing at her heart and lungs. She couldn’t get her breath. And still she waited.

“A little more complicated than we originally thought,” he went on, looking around. Looking for Hemi, who was finally there, his arm going around her, holding her up. “The biopsy is on its way to the path lab,” Dr. Feingold said. “No point in talking until there’s something to talk about, except to say that we got it out.”

“Can’t you…” Hope tried to ask. “Couldn’t you tell after all?”

“I’m still thinking we’re probably all right,” he said. “But I’m sorry, Hope. It’s not quite as clear-cut as I could have wished. We’ll have to wait for the results.”

“How long?” Hemi asked.

“Tomorrow,” the doctor said. “If it’s fast.” He exchanged a look with Hemi, and Hope knew what that look meant. That Hemi would manage, somehow, for it to be fast. So she would know. So she could cope, and help Karen cope, too.

But for now, all they could do was—

An electronic warble broke the thought, and she jerked her hands from the keyboard, sat back, and tried to gather herself.

Phone. Ringing. Where?

She scrabbled under the papers on the desk, then finally realized that it was hiding behind the screen of her laptop. By the time she pressed the button, it had gone to voicemail.

Another
ding
as she held it, and as she watched, a text came up from Will.

u srsly need 2 call faith

What? Another second, and a second text was appearing below it.

Here I am doing it. Call me back.

She was smiling as she pushed the button, and the phone rang only once on the other end before he was picking up.

“Right,” he said, and she melted a little, just hearing that voice. She had it so bad, no matter what she told herself. “I know I want to call Faith,” he said, “but why do I need to? Specially seriously. Oh, pardon. Srsly.”

She laughed, wishing she didn’t sound quite so breathless. “Was that Talia? Why?”

“Dunno. Waiting to hear, aren’t I. Sorry I didn’t ring you sooner. Finally got a chance, once my roomie left to go find a quiet spot himself to have a chat with his partner. Hard to talk dirty to your woman with your big ugly skipper sitting on the next bed, if you know what I mean.”

“Um…skipper?”
Your woman.

Stop it,
she scolded herself.
Stop it now.

“Yeh. Hugh Latimer. My skipper on the Blues. Captain. My roomie. Never mind. Srsly? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Especially not srsly. Talia took me for that walk on the forest track after school, like you wanted to do, and it was fine. She seemed pretty good, to me.”

“Hang on. I’m getting another one from her.” She waited a moment, and he quoted, “
She’s pining 4 you I think. So quiet.”

“I am not pining. I do not pine.” Well, maybe, but she wasn’t telling him that. “She’s being romantic, that’s all. And all right, maybe I was thinking about some work stuff.”

“Not going well?”

“No, it’s going fine.” She couldn’t really explain about the story that, since he’d left, had filled her head and insisted that it be told, right now. About how impatiently she’d scribbled down her Roundup copy over the couple days since Will had left, had emailed back and forth with the webmaster on Calvin’s site. She’d handled all those details she didn’t care a bit about anymore, nearly having to hold herself in the chair to do it, aching to get back to the real thing. She’d wanted to go out with Talia, of course she had. But her mind had kept drifting back to her story during every quiet moment.

“How’s that whole thing going?” he asked. “I’ve never asked you, I realize. Never wanted to look. The website and all. Must be doing all right, I guess, or I wouldn’t have been found out.”

“You don’t really want to know that. It’s got to be the last thing you want to hear about.”

“Matters to you, though, doesn’t it. I get that. And it’s not your fault that I did a stupid thing in signing on for it.”

“That’s really…” She cleared her throat. “Really generous of you.”

“Nah. Just realistic. And fair, maybe, I hope.”

“Well, then, let’s just say that Calvin’s got a new shoot planned, and that he’s ready to do it all again, because that’s how well it’s going. The subscription revenue is…wow. Beyond all our projections, which makes taking pictures for craft books, of little girls wearing the cute homemade barrettes they made, look a whole lot less lucrative. And you’d better tell your teammates to steer clear of Vegas, because I hate to tell you, but this time there are
two
guys. And a girl, of course.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. Variety is the spice of life, I guess. And sharing is special. Going to be auditioning them next week, as soon as I get back.” Which wasn’t the best thing to remind herself of, even as it was exactly what she needed to remind herself of.

There was a little silence on the other end of the line, and then he said, “Yeh. You need to get back.”

“Three jobs,” she said, trying her best for brisk. “And only one of them with my mother. Career path and all that.”