Free Fall, page 13
And she also liked that he’d gotten addicted to her show.
She grumbled about having to wait to watch it with him, but she liked they were making these traditions, were intertwining their lives. She liked she was able to make them, to participate, to not worry she was going to do something to make it go wrong.
Her past wasn’t going to fuck this up.
She was determined on that.
So, yeah, while she did complain she couldn’t just watch their trash TV without him, she was also soaking up every moment of living this new chapter of her life.
And…she was soaking up every moment while thinking she really wouldn’t mind a few nights in a busy ER, working until she was exhausted and then crawling into bed next to him, waking him up and—
“Don’t fucking touch me!”
Ice down her spine. Her stomach immediately in knots.
Because…
Raven knew that voice.
She knew that voice.
“Fuck,” she whispered, clicking at her screen, pulling up the list of patients in the department, and…
Fuck. Her. Life.
Sylvia Montergo.
Room three.
Her mother was supposed to be a state away, supposed to be out of her life. For-fucking-ever. Or at least until the next berating phone call from a number she hadn’t blocked yet.
Sylvia Montergo.
In her department.
“Shit,” she murmured, logging out and shoving in the keyboard as her mother’s voice came again. Even louder, piercing through the normal hum and buzz of a day shift.
Piercing through Raven’s happy.
Piercing through the stupid hope she’d clung to, thinking that her past would finally stop influencing her future.
“Don’t you fucking—!”
Raven pushed back her chair.
She wanted to turn around, to walk right the fuck out of the department. To get into her car and start driving.
Keep driving.
Until she could find a place to start over.
It wouldn’t matter.
Her mom would find her.
No matter if she changed her number or her address or blocked calls or refused to disengage.
This would always happen—her past creeping in and fucking up her life.
Fuck. Fuck.
“Sweetheart.”
Her gaze slid up, drifted to Connor’s, and the sympathy in his hazel eyes killed—fucking killed.
She got to her feet, walked past him.
To Room Three.
Several nurses were there—one, Cindy, with a blooming red mark beneath her cheek.
“What happened?” Raven asked, hating the cold in her belly.
“This woman—” her mother started.
Raven didn’t spare the woman who’d contributed half her DNA anything more than a passing glance. “I wasn’t talking to you.” Then she turned back to Cindy and asked again, “What happened?”
Cindy bit her lip then said, “We were chatting, and she asked about you.” Her eyes flicked between Raven and her mom. “I told her I’d go see if you were busy and stepped out to let you know your mom was here. But then I realized I’d forgotten to log out, so I came back in.” Cindy’s hand came up, pressed lightly to the mark. “She was using my login to try and get the meds station open.”
Her mother knew no bounds.
Unfortunately, she was also smart.
Knowing the drugs would be locked up.
Taking advantage of a young, newer nurse.
“Then what happened?” she asked over her mother protesting her innocence.
“I saw her at the station and when I asked her what she was doing, she told me to mind my own business.”
“That’s not—!”
She turned to Connor. “Call security.”
He nodded, but when he turned to step out of the room, he stopped, moved back to her side.
Because her order had Sylvia Montergo going apeshit.
“Not leaving you,” he whispered, squeezing her hand. “Kath,” he said louder. “You call security.” And then he moved forward, grabbed her mother’s arm, and slowly, but inexorably pushed her back onto the gurney. “You,” he ordered, his tone harsher than Raven had ever heard it. “Sit down and shut up.”
Sylvia glared up at him. “And who the fuck do you think you are?”
“The man who will restrain you as necessary.”
Raven’s mom seemed like she was going to listen—at least for a moment. Then she proved that a vein of stubborn ran in their family.
Unfortunately, Sylvia’s was laced with mean.
And more than a dash of stupid.
“You ungrateful bitch!” Sylvia yelled, lunging toward her, fingers curled like talons, long nails coming close enough that Raven jumped back to avoid the sharp claws, the black polish more chipped than smooth. “You ungrateful, dumb little bitch! I gave up—”
The nails didn’t make contact, primarily because Connor was there, his palm landing in the center of her mom’s chest, stopping her forward momentum with an “Oof.”
Then he kept walking, pushing Raven’s mom backward, pushing her until she toppled onto the bed. She flopped and flailed, immediately tried to find her feet, but Cindy was there—young and inexperienced, yes, but intelligent and resourceful and a great addition to the department. Case in point, Cindy snapping the cuffs in place on one side while Connor worked on the other side.
Raven grabbed one foot, set to work on an ankle.
Kath came back from calling security and jumped in, restraining her mother’s remaining leg.
Then it was just yelling. And spitting.
And more mean. She shared the wealth with Cindy—“a stupid, ugly bitch”—and Kath—“a fat, dumb bitch”—and sprinkled it over to Connor—“a small-dicked, stupid asshole.”
Security came in.
The cops were called.
And the need to run away didn’t leave Raven.
Not even as another doctor did their due diligence and checked out her mother’s “chest pain.” Not when she got Cindy a bag of ice to put on her cheek, and apologized to those on staff, to the other patients. Not when she talked with security and the administrators and then the cops.
A restraining order was filed.
But it was an emergency department.
They couldn’t turn patients away, couldn’t refuse care.
So, her mom could come back.
So that need to run, to drive, to leave forever didn’t go away.
Even when everyone told her to stop apologizing, that it wasn’t her fault, that this wasn’t on her—not one single part of it.
Except, that didn’t change the fact that her mom wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for Raven.
The bruise on Cindy’s cheek wouldn’t be blossoming into something ghoulishly purple and green.
Connor wouldn’t have scratch marks on his arms.
She wouldn’t have to look her coworkers in the eyes and see their pity.
Run. Run.
God. She needed to just get the fuck out.
She pushed in the keyboard, started to walk to the double doors that led to the exit. Push through. Leave. Get to her car. Turn it on and go.
Not stopping. Not until she could put this all behind her.
“You need to stop being stupid and think, honey.”
Aunt Pat’s advice floated through her brain, as brusque and loud as she normally was in real life.
Raven froze.
Because...it was exactly what she needed as her palms hit the metal bar, fingers flexing to depress the metal panel, legs tensed to run. It was the smack across the face she needed to stop, to not push, to not leave.
Instead, she paused, dropped her chin to her chest, and sighed.
A hand on the back of her neck she knew instantly belonged to Connor. Warm fingers lightly massaging the taut muscles there. “You can go if you want,” he murmured, stepping closer, his big body surrounding hers, his voice gentle in that way of his. “No one would blame you if you needed some air.”
Stop and think.
Accept that this man saw her, warts and all, and still wanted her.
Stop and think.
She did.
His body surrounding hers. His gentle touch. His soft words. Their time on the couch together. The beach. Dinner. Waking next to him. Making brownies together.
Building something important and lasting and—
She wanted that.
Not just now.
Forever.
“If I go,” she admitted. “I’d never stop running.”
Twenty-Six
Connor
“I’d never stop running.”
He froze.
Resisted the urge to wrap his arm around her, to drag her against him, to hold him so she couldn’t escape, couldn’t run.
Instead, he held perfectly still.
For so long that panic began to eat away at his insides.
“I’m tired,” she whispered.
His throat seized.
“So fucking tired.”
A breath, trying to stay calm, to let her talk.
She was here. She wasn’t running—
Except her fucking hands were on the door. Her body was stiff, ready to push out. To do that running. To never stop. To leave his life with a giant hole that would never be filled.
Her head thunked against the door.
She sighed.
“But I don’t want to lose us.”
Pulse immediately picking up, he tugged her back. Away from the door—and the exit from his life—and back into his hold. “Good,” he whispered when she spun in his arms, wrapping her own around his waist, holding him as held her. “Good, sweetheart.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“And so fucking embarrassed.” Her head hit his chest.
“I know.”
“And I don’t know how I’m going to look anyone in the eye again.”
“I know, baby.”
“And—” She broke off, forehead lifting off his chest. “Crap.”
“What?”
She shook her head slightly. “Aunt Pat is talking to me.”
That wasn’t what he’d expected her to say, and he probably shouldn’t be smiling at a time like this, not after everything that had gone down. “What’s she saying?”
Her lips turned up. “To stop being stupid.”
He chuckled. “That good, huh?”
“She’s not one to beat around the bush.”
Connor had gotten a glimpse of her brusqueness at the party. That one took absolutely no shit. “I’m getting that.”
“And…” She nibbled at her bottom lip, eyes sliding away then back to his. “They’re not going to care, are they?”
They, he knew, meant their coworkers.
The ones who’d had her back today, who would continue doing that.
Because Raven was a good doctor and a good coworker and…a good human.
They’d seen enough to understand exactly what shit her mother had been trying to pull, and they’d seen enough manipulative addicts to know it was the drugs talking, the need tearing them apart, and yeah, Sylvia Montergo had enough inner bitch to eliminate any sympathy they might have normally had.
Because they’d seen enough people to know when it was a good person ravaged by a disease…just like they could deduce a shit person with a rotten soul.
He didn’t need to see the cigarette burns on Raven’s legs to know her mother was evil.
It was obviously displayed in her cold, calculating eyes.
“No one in this department—patient or employee—would dare to think this was your fault.”
She exhaled.
Fingers weaving into her hair, tilting her head up, making it so that her eyes were on his. “No one thinks this is on you.”
“Cindy got hurt,” she whispered.
“That’s not your fault.”
“Jake died.”
Her ex. The one who’d passed of that undiagnosed heart condition she’d somehow twisted into thinking was her fault because they’d been young and fighting and the baggage she carried was heavy. “That wasn’t your fault, either.”
“I—” Teeth pressed into pink again, so hard he was afraid she’d hurt herself, that she’d cut her lip, that’d she’d make herself bleed. Then she released her bottom lip and blew out another breath. “It’s not my fault.”
“No, sweetheart.”
“Not my fault.”
“No.”
Another breath. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
Her shoulders straightened, chin coming up, and he watched with wonder as it became okay, as her eyes focused and her manner became resolved. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Okay.” A sharp shake of her head, a quick exhale. “Now,” she said, voice growing stronger, determination in her tone, strength in every inch of this beautiful, capable woman. “You’re treating me to lunch.” She nodded briskly, all business, all focus. He supposed she needed to keep her gaze pointed forward because if it shifted behind her, that urge to run might rear its ugly head again.
And God, but he loved this woman.
Loved her.
“What do you say?” she asked, tone slightly tremulous, the strength she’d gathered fragile.
He took her hand, turned it over, and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Yeah, baby,” he said. “I’m treating you to lunch.” A beat. “And a double order of sweet potato fries.”
Raven smiled up at him. “And soup?”
“Greedy,” he teased.
“With you?” That smile widened. “Always.”
“Damn right you are.” A kiss to the tip of her nose before he leaned close, whispered in her ear. “And yes. Soup.”
She turned her head, nose brushing along his jaw, dragging through his beard. “Will you spring for a bowl?”
“If you make the brownies tonight.”
Her eyes went glassy, but she blew out a breath, kept marching forward. “Peanut butter?”
“Puffed rice and raspberry.”
She sniffed, fingers tightening in his. “Deal.”
“Deal,” he whispered, completing the pact. Then he shoved through the doors, but instead of hanging a right to head for the parking lot, heading for that escape route she’d been considering, he drew her to the left, tucking her close to his side as they wove their way through the corridors.
But just before they moved into the cafeteria, she tugged lightly on his hand, drawing him to a halt.
Because the hospital gossip tree was vast—and fast.
No doubt word of Sylvia Montergo’s bullshit had already traveled far and wide.
Raven just stood there, staring at him.
“If you want to hang in the break room,” he suggested gently, knowing that there was no reason for her to feel the need to do that, but knowing that he’d give her that play without an argument. The scene had been intense and was wrapped up in her past and she might be working to accept that her life wasn’t defined by her mother’s bullshit, but that didn’t mean it was easy. “I can grab the food and bring it back.”
More standing.
More staring.
Then she turned her body, leaned in so they were pressed together from toes to chest. The hand that wasn’t held by his lifted, cupped the side of his neck. “I missed out a lot because I was too scared to try again, too scared to live when this shit”—a tilt of her head back in the direction of the department—“could pop back up like a fucked-up game of Whack-a-Mole.”
“I get that, sweetheart,” he told her gently.
“And”—teeth in her lip for a heartbeat before releasing—“I’m tired.”
“I get that too, sweetheart.”
“But…” A deep breath. “I’m going to channel Auntie Pat.”
His pulse began to pick up, his body growing taut, seeing her expression change, her eyes alter, feeling the shift in her body. This was…well, it felt like they were standing on the edge of a platform, a bungee cord strapped to their backs, waiting to jump.
Ready for free fall.
“Sweetheart,” he whispered.
“I love you,” she whispered back, those fingers flexing on his neck. “And I’m not going to waste another second without you knowing it.”
Another of those brisk nods.
Then the woman—his beautiful, wonderful woman—pulled away, tried to walk into the cafeteria. “I think it’s potato soup today—ah!”
He snagged her wrist, drew her back, and kissed her.
Right there in the open doors.
Right there where anyone could see.
Right there where the gossip would flow at light speed.
And when he was done kissing her, he cupped her cheek, tilted her head up so their eyes connected. “I love you, too.”
Warm.
Sweet.
His.
Then he took her hand and drew her forward again. “Now,” he said. “I think that big of a declaration means we can get sweet potato fries and onion rings.”
Twenty-Seven
Raven
“Can someone pass me the pasta salad?” Misty asked, pointing at one of the many bowls in the center of the table.
“Umm…” Raven said, eyeing her choices, all of which seemed to hold some sort of pasta concoction.
Soph grinned from one side of the long table that took up a good portion of their deck. “It’s the purple and green one.”
A nudge from Maggie’s elbow. “Yeah, the one with pasta in it.”
“Just saying”—she leaned forward and hefted the purple and green bowl (with pasta in it) and shot Maggie a glare—“that there are about ten different types of pasta on this table and not one of them resembles salad.”
“My chickpea salad is more salad than that stuff,” Frankie chimed in from a few seats away, waving a hand at the bowls.
“This stuff,” Misty said, leaning over Maggie and snagging the bowl, “is the best thing on the table.”
“Which is why you eat a vat of it every time Martha makes it, squirt,” Rob said, bending and kissing the top of his sister’s head—and then mussing her hair, just for good measure.
