Читать книгу Second Chance With The Surgeon - Robin Gianna - Страница 12

JILL’S HEART BUMPED hard against her ribs, then seemed to stop for a moment before revving up again. Stay at Conor’s place? Be close to him for hours on end, reminded of all the good and bad parts of their marriage and why it had fallen apart?

“No.” A feeling of panic filled her chest. “I’m not doing that. Period.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense. I live just a couple blocks from HOAC. Tomorrow morning you’ll get your cast off and have a splint made, then you’ll be able to easily go back to my apartment and get some rest.”

“No. There’s no way—”

“Listen to me.”

He pulled the other chair close to her and leaned forward. His expression was earnest and determined, and she’d learned from the past that trying to fight him when he’d made up his mind would be like beating her head against a brick wall, bringing another bruise. But that kind of bruise wouldn’t hurt nearly as badly as the one on her heart.

“I get that you want to limit how much time we spend together—I do, too, to be honest. But remember my work hours that you hated so much? I’ll hardly be around—just enough to make sure you’re okay overnight. To walk with you to your appointment tomorrow morning. I’ll find someone who wants to make some extra cash by checking on you when I’m not there and walking the dogs. It’ll work out until your sister gets here. By then you’ll be off the pain meds and able to stay alone.”

She absorbed his words. The logic behind them. Her apartment was a good half-hour trek away from the center on the subway. When the numbness wore off and her cast was replaced by a splint she’d be in pain and still a little drugged up. Plus, she knew from talking with her patients that the challenge of trying to function with one hand wasn’t going to be easy—especially with no one around to help.

Time for her to act like the mature and reasonable woman she was trying to be. The one who was fighting her insecurities and who didn’t want or need a relationship until she’d dealt with all the baggage her marriage to Conor had proved she still carried around.

And maybe it wouldn’t be too awful. He worked so much she’d probably hardly see him. Finding someone else to help her and take care of the dogs, with him basically an overnight watchdog for the next few days, was the logical solution.

Rock versus hard place. That described the situation to a T. She couldn’t deny that trying to stay here alone, with her arm still in the nerve block, and then somehow making her way to the orthopedic center all by herself in the morning wouldn’t be easy, even if she took a taxi.

“All right.” She heaved out a resigned sigh, shoving down the dread that came along with it. “I know you’re right. I shouldn’t be alone right now. Just for a day or two, though. Then I’ll come back here, and you can keep the dogs until Briana comes.”

“Thank you.” He stood and looked down at her, his expression hard to read. “I’ll clean up the dishes while you rest.”

Hating this whole scene, she reached for her spoon but managed to knock it off the table instead. Apparently clumsiness was part of this whole experience, and she sighed as she leaned over to pick it up off the floor. As she did so, her stupid dead arm swung out.

Yorkie had been standing there, waiting to see if some treat might be offered, and her arm in its heavy cast hit the poor pup right on his little nose, knocking him sideways to the floor as he yelped.

“Oh, dear! I’m so sorry! Aw, come here, Yorkie.” She reached out her good hand and was glad he came over to let her pet him, clearly not holding a grudge.

“Damn. That thing is a lethal weapon,” Conor said as he stepped away from the sink. He reached for her numb arm, currently held in a sling, and placed it back against her stomach. “Poor dog. And poor you.”

He gathered up Yorkie, tucked him under his arm and scratched behind his ears, with an indulgent smile on his face which sent another stab to her chest.

This was the sweetness she’d fallen head over heels in love with. The thoughtful and considerate man who had treated her like a princess during that brief month they’d dated before they’d impulsively, excitingly, got married. The man who hadn’t even particularly wanted the dogs, never having had a pet, but who’d wanted her to be happy. And then had seemed to so enjoy playing with them for the few hours a week he’d been free.

A thick lock of blond hair tumbled onto his forehead as he talked to Yorkie, and remembering how they’d felt about each other not too long ago made her heart pinch. How in the world were they going to handle spending time together again?

A deep fatigue crept through her bones and she found herself folding her good arm onto the table and leaning her head on it. Tonight and the next few days couldn’t go by fast enough.

A large hand rested softly on her temple, its fingers caressing the top of her head. “You’ve had a big day. Let’s get your overnight things packed up. The sooner you can get to bed, the better.”

“All right. But you don’t need to help. I can do it.”

“Three hands are better than one.” He sent her a lopsided grin. “Show me where your suitcase is and we’ll get it done.”

It seemed to take longer than it should to pack a few clothes and toiletries, but of course there were the dogs’ things to get, too. Their beds, with Hudson’s being a big armful, their food and bowls, their leashes... Finally Conor had everything stowed in the car and had come back to help her to the curb.

“You want me to water your plants before we go?”

“Water my plants?” She stared, astonished he would have thought of that. “You never even liked all the plants I brought to...to our apartment before.”

“Just wasn’t used to having living things around that needed attention.” His smile disappeared. “And that was a poor choice of words, wasn’t it?”

She knew he was referring to her. To her neediness and insecurities during their marriage. Something she wasn’t proud of. “Accurate choice. And I’m working on all that.”

“Nothing you ever needed to work on. I told you that. It was all me.”

Not true, and she knew it, but it was ancient history. “Anyway... I just watered the plants a few days ago, so they’ll be fine until I get back.”

“Let’s go, then.”

He helped her down the narrow stairwell of her apartment, then eased her into the plush front seat of his car. “It’s going to be a tight squeeze to get both dogs in the back seat, but they’ll be okay, don’t you think?”

“They haven’t been in a car since...you know. When you brought them here.” Lord, this was feeling more awkward by the moment. “But I think they’ll be fine.”

In minutes he’d returned with the dogs, who bounded into the back seat with excitement. Jillian had to laugh at how comical it was to see Hudson pretzeled in there, but his doggie grin showed he didn’t mind a bit.

“This reminds me of a clown car,” she said, glad to have the dogs to talk about. “How many Hudsons can you fit in a luxury sedan?”

“I believe the answer is one.” Conor grinned as he slid into the driver’s seat. The purr of the powerful engine competed with the sounds of the city as they drove through streets now brightly lit through the dark night sky.

Jillian wanted to ask where his new apartment was, but decided to stay silent, since she’d be finding out soon enough. Besides, he’d said it was close to HOAC, and that was only one block away from Central Park.

The car came to a stop in front of an old stone apartment building and Jillian’s throat closed. Yes, the man had upgraded all right. As though his last apartment hadn’t been prestigious enough...

“Your new apartment is off Fifth Avenue? Wow.”

“It’s a good location for work and a good investment.”

He slid out of the car as a valet came from the building. She could see him talking to the man, who nodded and opened the back door to get the dogs as Conor helped her from her seat.

“Alfred will bring your suitcase and the dogs’ stuff up, then get the car parked.”

“You’ve really been slumming it, having to juggle with illegal parking in front of my place and walking up and down a bunch of crooked steps, haven’t you?” she said, trying to bring some levity into this distinctly uncomfortable situation.

“I slummed it for plenty years of my life,” he said quietly. “And you’re the one who wouldn’t accept any money from me after our divorce. Which still upsets me. I wanted you to live in a better and bigger place, but you hated me too much to take even a cent.”

“I never hated you. I just felt there was no reason for you to give me anything. Our marriage was a mistake for both of us and I just wanted to move on, like it didn’t happen.”

“But it did happen.” He held her hand and looked down at her. “And I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know that I made you so unhappy.”

If felt as if her heart was shaking inside her chest. They’d both contributed to their mutual miseries, hadn’t they? Definitely not all his fault. Something she’d come to see even more clearly over the past ten months.

“Conor, listen. I—”

The dogs leaped from the car, with Alfred holding their leashes, and Conor stepped over to take them. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d been going to say, but was glad the dogs had interrupted. Everything had been said that needed to be said—or at least most of it. Hashing over it again would make both of them sad or mad or critical or defensive—just like before. None of those emotions would accomplish a thing—especially considering she had to stay at his apartment for a night or two.

Cool and calm was the way to go. Starting now.

Conor led the way to the elevator, which opened on to a floor with only two doors in the hallway. Obviously his new place was way bigger than even his other apartment. He unlocked one of the doors and gestured for her to go inside.

“I’ll keep the dogs out here for a second, so they don’t knock you over on the way in.”

“They’re not that bad. Though it’s true that they seem pretty excited to be checking out a new place.”

It was like stepping into something from a magazine. He’d clearly decided to start over completely, since not a single thing in the entire space looked familiar. Modern furniture in neutral tones sat near floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the twinkling lights of the city, and beyond the curve of the windows was a huge kitchen with an island and bar stools. It was surprisingly as comfortable-looking as it was breathtaking, and she wondered how his designer had accomplished that feat.

A familiar hollow feeling weighed down her stomach. The same weight she’d carried to every highbrow event they’d attended, knowing she’d never fit in to Conor McCarthy’s life.

“It’s...beautiful. Really gorgeous. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I like it.” He unleashed the dogs, who instantly ran around, sniffing the room, then grasped her elbow. “How about sitting down until Alfred brings your things? Then you should take your pain meds and get to bed.”

“Okay. I admit I feel pretty tired.”

“I’d offer you a glass of the wine you like, but it’s not a good idea to mix it with drugs,” he said, a slight smile curving his mouth.

“Are you sure? Because a glass of wine sounds pretty good.”

She was kidding, though at that moment she thought maybe mixing alcohol and painkillers would be a good way for her to completely pass out and not have to deal with how strange this felt.

He shook his head, probably knowing exactly how she was feeling since he doubtless felt the same way. Soon Alfred brought everything up, and Conor placed the dog beds at one end of the room, then filled their water bowls and placed them on the stone-tiled kitchen floor. Enthusiastic slurping by Hudson left puddles all around it.

“Being the neatnik you are, I guess you’re glad to not to have to deal with doggie messes anymore.”

“I got used to the messes. The dogs were always fun to be around.”

But she hadn’t been so fun to be around, which was why he’d been gone all the time.

The words came into her head but she fiercely banished them. This was the baggage she had to unload. These damned insecurities that flew into her head with the least provocation. Making a simple statement about the dogs, making small talk, didn’t mean she should take it personally, the way she had before. That had to stop.

“I...um...guess I’ll go to bed now.”

“Good idea. I’ll show you your room. Mine’s at the end of the hall. If you need me for anything in the middle of the night, just yell.”

“I’ll be okay.” And even if she wasn’t she wouldn’t call for him unless it was a dire emergency.

He carried her small suitcase as he led her down a hallway covered with lush carpeting, then went through the door of yet another beautiful room with a different view of the city. Two chairs and a table formed a small sitting area in one corner, with a large bed in the center, and another door that doubtless led to a bathroom.

He set her suitcase on a folding thing obviously designed for that purpose. “Okay if I get your things out? I want you to take the pain pills right now, so they’re working when the plexus block starts to wear off. Then I’ll help you undress.”

Her eyes lifted to his. They held only a cool detachment. No sign of what the words had made her feel, which was her belly jumping, her breath catching and her heart beating a little harder.

“I’m sure I can get ready by myself.”

“Yeah? With that thing on your arm and it held in a sling? No way.”

“Then I’ll just sleep in what I’m wearing,” she said. “I won’t be the first patient to arrive at the clinic wearing the same clothes they wore for surgery.”

“Suit yourself. But you’re going to be overly warm and uncomfortable in that sweatshirt. And you’ll need something with no sleeve to wear over the cast tomorrow when they take it off.” He shrugged, seeming to not care one way or the other.

She knew he was right—damn it. “Fine. Can you pull the sleeve off over my cast?”

He did as she asked, carefully removing the sling, then pulling the sleeve off her arm before reaching for the bottom of her sweatshirt. He gently slipped it up and over her head, exposing the camisole she wore beneath. He seemed to be concentrating on the sweatshirt, but when his eyes met hers for a long, suspended moment his expression made it hard to breathe, and she was beyond glad when he turned to grab her toiletries bag from her suitcase.

“I’ll get you some water for the pain meds.”

The speed with which he strode from the room told her she hadn’t imagined it. This crazy situation was reminding both of them of things better left forgotten.

He returned with a glass of water and wordlessly handed it to her. “Take a drink, then I’ll hold the glass and you can pop the pills.”

Even taking pills with only one hand required either help or juggling, and she hoped and prayed her hand would be usable sooner than some of her patients experienced.

“Thanks.”

“Think you’ll need help to go to the bathroom?”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. Goodnight.”

Her face burned all over again, and she could feel his eyes on her as she went into the chic bathroom and closed the door, leaning back against it. She stared at her toothbrush and toothpaste, sitting on the counter, and wondered how she was going to manage to put paste on the brush with only one hand, or wash her face.

Lord. How had her world gotten so messed up in one split second? No doubt about it—the next few days, and longer, were going to be misery in more ways than one.

And being close to Conor again was definitely at the very top of the misery list.

Thank heavens Conor had insisted she take the pain medicine. At about two a.m., when the nerve-block began to wear off, the intense tingling pins and needles sensation accompanied by pain surging through her whole arm was way worse than she’d expected—even though she’d had plenty of patients complain about it.

Another dose of medicine to get her through the night left her feeling a little woozy in the morning and, as uncomfortable as she was being in his apartment, she had to acknowledge—again—that Conor had been right. If she’d tried to take the subway in to HAOC all by her lonesome to get the cast taken off, or even taken a cab, it would have been hard going, possibly even unsafe.

Except there was one significant problem she had to deal with right now. When Conor had simply and without expression stripped off her oversized sweatshirt so she could sleep comfortably in the camisole and sweats she’d worn yesterday it had been in a fairly low light, and quick enough that she hadn’t had to endure feeling embarrassed, or whatever it was exactly that she’d been feeling, for very long.

This morning. Though... After struggling for a few minutes trying to get a loose short-sleeved shirt on over the giant cast, she huffed out a frustrated breath. Clearly not going to happen. What was it going to be like, trying to get dressed and undressed after the cast was off and a splint had been put on instead? Regardless, she was absolutely not going to ask Conor for help—even if it meant wearing the same clothes for days until her sister came.

Not going to cross that bridge until she came to it. But this bridge had to be crossed right now—because she couldn’t exactly show up at her former workplace with only her thin camisole covering her torso.

“Um... Conor?”

She heard the rattle of cups and walked into the kitchen, ridiculously holding the shirt over her front even though he was facing the sink. As though the man hadn’t seen her half naked last night and totally naked a hundred times in the past.

But they weren’t together anymore, and she just couldn’t feel comfortable walking around with her breasts visible through the thin fabric as if it was no big deal.

“Can you slip this over my head? Can’t quite manage it.”