Chapter 15
Sheridan
I knew it was a dream, a flashback, but the pain in my hips was so real, so intense, it seemed present and real. I choked in the dust of the debris, sweat running down my chest. I struggled against my blankets, but they weighed on me like that beam from ages back. “No!” I screamed against my closed mouth, which finally woke me enough. I sat up, threw off my blankets, and was finally free.
I patted my hips. They were still there. Whole, repaired by surgeons. I turned and dangled my legs off the side of the bed, then I tentatively took a step toward the bathroom. It was fine. I was fine. It would all be fine.
The fireman had rescued me. I was whole and well. Everything was normal.
Except that Luke was coming over to my parents’ house.
If I had to hear one more time how happy Dad was that Luke Hotwell was coming over to help with the yard, my ears might start bleeding.
Then, when I got to their house ready to work, it morphed into something far, far worse.
“Sweetie, we’re just so happy that you’re bringing a man to meet us as your parents.”
“Mom! You’re the one who invited him.” It wasn’t like I was bringing Luke into my life. Not one iota. “Besides, I’m not seeing Luke Hotwell.” Not that much, anyway. Just for long enough to weasel the truth out of him about how he knew my innermost soul. And to make sure he was all right after the attack.
Who had attacked him, anyway? Huh. At least he wasn’t accusing me of that anymore.
“But,” Dad insisted, “he’s a heart surgeon. A good one, from what I’m hearing as I ask around.”
No! Dad could not be asking around. Ugh! “Dad, please don’t—”
“You know, I always wanted to be a heart surgeon.” Everyone knew that. “If I hadn’t lost my three fingers, I would be fixing heart valves right now and not analyzing finances.”
“You would have been a good one, too, honey.” Mom went up on tiptoes and kissed Dad’s cheek. Then she turned a beaming smile on me, hot enough to fry an egg. “Sheridan, we just want you to be happy. We know you had a rough time with Case. It wasn’t the utopia you expected, and—”
“Mom” —I stopped her—“we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.” I paused for a beat, recoiling. “You knew I was unhappy?”
“You wear your emotions like a bad Hawaiian shirt. Impossible not to see.”
All the air suctioned out of my lungs. “Case and I were … not well-suited.” In fact, I had once allowed myself to wonder whether our marriage would have lasted another six months had the tragedy not occurred. Not that I’d ever thought anyone else noticed it.
“But, that emotional Hawaiian shirt is in neon colors these past few days, what with your new boyfriend and all the attention he’s paying you.”
“Luke Hotwell is not my boyfriend.” I stated it with a period, but I wanted to add twenty-five million exclamation points. “He’s more like a stalker.”
Dad burst into a gut laugh. “That’s great!” More laughter, wiping away tears.
Geez, Dad.
Mom put an arm over my shoulders. “We’re just so glad to see a sparkle back in your life.”
Sparkle! Luke Hotwell did not ignite a sparkle in me. Or my life. Or anywhere. He was a well of darkness. He was a source of despair for Roland, and I should remember that!
Fine, there was a sparkle. There were a lot of sparkles. And for the past few days, there’d been no hint of despair. There’d been peonies and oil changes and conversation and “Panama” singing.
But should I trust that he was for real?
The doorbell rang.
“Luke! Come in!” Mom was hugging him, settling him on the sofa, bringing him drinks and home-baked cookies, while Dad was supplicating him for stories about the operating room—all before I could even take a breath.
Or notice how good he looked in jeans and a navy blue t-shirt with the hospital’s logo on the front. Work gloves poked out from his back pocket, and he hadn’t shaved this morning. The stubble! Blast that stubble and the Luke Perry brooding, brown-eyed gaze that weakened my knees!
He pressed a paper bag against the sofa near his feet. What was inside? Not more pink peonies.