Change of Heart (Fostering Love 2)

Then I drove across town to the little house Ani had bought six months ago. It was a fixer-upper, built in the 1930s, but what it lacked in looks and function, it more than made up with charm. It was actually kind of perfect for her since she had four men in her life that were good with their hands and willing to pitch in. The first thing she’d done was paint the outside, which didn’t make any sense whatsoever but she’d said she wanted to come home to a pretty house, even though the floors inside had been covered in olive shag carpeting and she’d had no appliances in the kitchen.

I pounded hard on the door, and the minute it opened, I started railing.

“You don’t show up for work all fucking week and then you bail on family dinner? What? Are you avoiding me now? Let’s just be adults—” My words faded out as what I was seeing finally sunk in. “What the fuck is wrong?” I asked, immediately taking a deep breath when it came out sharper than I’d intended.

Her hair was wet like she’d just gotten out of the shower, but her face was pale as a ghost except for dark circles under her sleepy eyes, and she was hunched over a little like an old lady. She looked like shit, and she was wearing flannel pajamas at seven o’clock at night.

“Hey, I’m not feeling well,” she said, giving me a crooked smile. “Can we talk about this in a few days?”

“No,” I replied stubbornly, stepping forward so she was forced to move farther into the house. “What’s wrong with you?”

She sighed and winced, motioning for me to close the door, then turned and started hobbling toward her bedroom.

“Hey.” I reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her halfway down the hallway. “What the hell is going on?”

“I had to have surgery—not a big deal, okay?” she said, pulling her arm out of my grip. “I’ll be back at work next week, but right now I feel like shit. So could you just go?”

I followed her as she shuffled into her room, and watched as she sat gingerly down on her bed.

She looked up in surprise when I shut the door behind me, then her lips twisted in a wry grin. “If you’re back for a repeat, I’m not really up for it,” she said sarcastically, smoothing her hand down the wispy dark hair that was beginning to dry.

“What kind of surgery?” I asked roughly.

Why hadn’t anyone told me she’d been in the hospital? I was so fucking confused that my mind was racing. Was she really so pissed at me after we’d fucked that she told them not to tell me? We were family, our lives were entwined, hell we even worked together, and no one had thought it was important to let me know what the fuck was going on?

“None of your business, Abraham,” Ani answered flatly.

“That’s bullshit.” I looked her over trying to find where the hell she’d been cut open—I grew nauseous at the thought of that—but I couldn’t see anything except the pajamas that she was practically swimming in. “You had surgery, and no one fucking told me?”

“Because it’s none of your business.”

“Fine,” I snapped, pulling my phone out of my pocket.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling Katie. Maybe she’ll tell me what the fuck is going on.” I had just pulled up my contacts list when my phone was slapped out of my hand.

“She doesn’t know, and she doesn’t need to know,” Ani hissed, glaring at me as she leaned forward, her hand braced gently against her belly. “Just go the fuck home, Bram!”

I lost it. Before she could step away, I was unbuttoning the first button on her pajamas and moving quickly to the next. “I have to find it? Fine.” My hands were shaking so bad I could barely unfasten the second button.

“Bram,” Ani finally said gently when I’d reached the fourth button. “Bram, stop.”

I paused, clutching the sides of her top in my hands, and glanced up at her, my heart racing. What the fuck? What the fuck was wrong with her? Did she have cancer? Did they have to take something out of her? Her appendix? That wasn’t a huge deal. Or was it something worse?

“Just tell me,” I ordered, working hard to keep my voice steady.

She stared at me for a long moment, then finally spoke.

“Oh, you know, routine hysterectomy.” She tried to say it jokingly, but on the last word, her voice broke, and she started to cry.

My stomach rolled. “Aw, baby. Don’t,” I murmured, the words coming without any thought. I leaned down and slowly lifted her into my arms as she sniffled, trying to get herself under control.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured as I laid her down on her bed. “It’s not a big deal. At all. I don’t know why I’m crying.” Even as she said the words, her voice hitched and more tears ran down her face. “I just took a pain pill—Vicodin makes me weepy.”