Heart Conditions (The Breakup Doctor Series Book 3) (18 page)

I laid a hand over hers. “Hey…who’s the barber here?”

It was a lame joke—a reference to an old
Saturday Night Live
sketch that always cracked Stu and Sasha and me up, where Steve Martin played Theodoric of York, medieval barber/physician, whose answer to everything from plague to severed limbs was to give his customers a good bleeding.

“I know you’re a professional,” she conceded. “But—”

“No buts. You’ve got to trust me, honey.” I squeezed her cold fingers in mine. “Hang in there, Sash. Everything’s going to work out just the way it’s supposed to.”

nineteen

After my little freak show in front of Pamela Friday evening, I wasn’t at all certain that Ben and Jake would be at Dog Beach for our Sunday-morning get-together, but when I rounded the corner from the mangroves to where the dog-infested spit of sand stretched out to the gulf, I breathed out a sigh as I caught sight of Jake, standing at the water’s edge as a tiny Jack Russell terrier ran lightning-fast laps around him. Jake was barking intermittently as he kept whirling to try to follow the little blur of a dog, and his confounded expression made me laugh aloud.

“That’s been going on for about ten minutes now,” said an instantly familiar voice to my left, and I turned to see Ben standing in the surf, the gentle incoming waves swirling around his bare ankles.

I couldn’t control the pang that shot into my chest at the sight of him, jeans damp at the cuffs and crusted with sand where he’d rolled them up his calves, a moss green t-shirt with his company logo stretched across a torso I knew from our one memorable marathon evening naked together was hard and muscular. Sand peppered his tanned forearms, and I figured he’d been wrestling with Jake before I arrived. His hair was tousled from the breeze that blew in off the water with the musky, clean scent of the sea that I loved.

“Hey,” I said, and felt the weight of the last week roll off of me.

“Someone’s been eager for you to get here,” Ben said with a smile, and my heart jumped—until he dipped his head toward Jake.

I looked up just in time to brace for a hundred pounds of furry wet dog barreling into my legs, and even so I had to stagger back to keep my balance. “Mmmph! Hey, buddy,” I said, leaning over to pet his damp head. Rubbery ropes of slobber hung from the corners of Jake’s panting mouth, his tongue lolling out in a delirious grin. “You look like you’ve been having fun!”

He shook his big body, sandblasting me as remnants of his roll in the surf centrifuged off his fur, and then tore away back to his playmate.

Leaving me standing awkwardly with Ben, silence thick between us as we watched the army of dogs frolicking on the beach, their owners milling among them, or sunbathing, or—I grimaced—swimming in the fecal-festooned water of dozens of off-leash dogs. Barking filled the sea-scented air, along with distant conversations and the occasional shouted command of the owner of a wayward pup.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” Ben said finally.

“Of course I came,” I said lightly, wondering whether he’d read my mind. “I wouldn’t miss my weekly date with Jake.”

Ben was staring out over the water, not looking at me. “I meant after the other night.”

My face burned, and not from the sun blazing overhead. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Like I said…it was a rough week.”

All the images I’d been trying to avoid pushed their way into my brain—Pamela’s hopeful, guileless smile as she told me about Africa…the romantic dinner she and Ben must have shared somewhere after I left…the bed they’d probably shared after that.

For all I knew he’d left her sheets just an hour earlier, disentangling himself from her to come meet me.

For the first time it occurred to me to wonder what she made of our Sunday-morning ritual.

Had they talked about things after I left? Did they discuss her invitation for him to join her halfway across the world, doing good for those who needed it?

Was he going?

“Not at all,” Ben answered, and it took me a moment to remember what I’d said. “I was…worried about you.”

He was looking over to where Jake was now lying on his back, wrestling with the much smaller white dog, who was literally walking all over him, and I couldn’t read Ben’s eyes.

I took a deep breath, filling my mouth and my lungs with the thick, salty, humid air, and let it out again.

“I’m really sorry about that,” I said finally. “I know I acted like…like a crazy person,” I said lamely, with a dry laugh. I pushed ahead before he felt he had to politely deny it. “I just…I didn’t mean to embarrass you or make things awkward for you…or for Pamela. I really value your friendship, Ben.”

His face was drawn into stiff lines, and I couldn’t help feeling that I’d disappointed him.

Finally he turned to face me. “I’m having a hard time being friends with you, Brook.”

Hot shame flooded through me at his words, along with a breathless flare of panic. “I know. I’m sorry,” I repeated, as if the words were on an endless loop, but it still didn’t feel like enough.

I was the one who’d finally broken the six long months of radio silence between us. After our terrible breakup I knew I needed time on my own. I’d been so lost, consumed by fear and anger and pain after all I’d been through with Michael and then Kendall, and I needed to find out who I was outside of a relationship…what I really wanted out of my life—and love. Half a year had gone by while I figured that out, and I’d heard nothing from Ben at all.

I hadn’t been entirely surprised. I’d hurt him—badly and, I’d come to realize as the months went on, possibly irrevocably. But I’d begun to accept that not hearing from him was for the best—despite my desire to be on my own, I’d still had strong feelings for Ben. If he had called I was certain I wouldn’t have risked losing him twice—I’d have gone back before I was ready.

So I waited. And finally, when I knew I’d let go of all my old demons, that I was emotionally and psychologically ready to have a healthy, committed relationship, I’d called him.

Only to find out that I’d waited too long.

When we struggled through that first awkward conversation, I’d nervously asked how he’d been, what he’d been doing. And he’d told me shyly, almost embarrassedly, that he’d begun seeing someone recently.

I should have told him then, when things were newer between him and Perfect Pamela, that I still had feelings for him. I should have begged him to give us another chance, not to go another step down that path with anyone else but me.

But I’d been so surprised—so illogically hurt by the news that a genuine, emotionally available guy like Ben would have moved on to someone who was ready to offer what he was looking for—that the words stuck in my throat. Instead I’d told him—probably too enthusiastically—how happy I was for him. How much I’d love to meet her. I’d asked all about her, digging my nails into my palms so hard as he finally caved in to my relentlessly cheery inquisition that I’d had little crescent-shaped scabs there for a week after we hung up.

I’d never told him that I still loved him.

If I told him now…if I kept pushing for something more than what Ben was offering, when he was in a relationship with another woman—one who was everything anyone would wish for someone they cared about—then I hadn’t learned anything at all about honesty and commitment…and love.

I’d spent most of the last year trying to learn who I was and what I wanted, yes. But I’d also been working on what kind of person I wanted to be. And that wasn’t someone who jeopardized another person’s happiness in the blind pursuit of her own. Whether that meant Ben or Pamela. Or both.

“You’ve got every reason to be angry with me,” I said finally.

A shadow flitted across his face. “Brook—”

“I didn’t mean to make things awkward or difficult for you,” I cut him off, afraid to hear what might be next. “And I never…” I stopped, swallowed, started again. “I never wanted to make Pamela feel uncomfortable either.”

He frowned, staring down at the sand. “No. Neither do I.”

I nodded, blinking at the bright rays of the sun making my eyes water. “I’m—”
sorry
, I stopped myself from saying for the fourth time. “I wish things hadn’t gotten so complicated,” I said instead, quietly.

“I do too.”

I glanced over at his low tone. “I care about you…so much, Ben.”

It was all I could risk, and I barely breathed the words, but a pressure I hadn’t known was in my chest seemed to ease. It felt good to be honest with him about my feelings—even if I couldn’t be
totally
honest.

“I don’t ever want to complicate your life,” I went on quickly, before he felt obliged to answer. “Like…this.” My hands drifted upward in a vague gesture I meant to indicate our present awkward reality. “I really want to be your friend.”
And I will be
, I swore. “But if that’s not a great idea for you right now…” My throat suddenly seemed to close up, but I pushed past the constriction. “Well…just tell me, okay? Maybe…” I swallowed again. “Maybe it’s too soon.”

He said nothing, just nodded.

Inexplicably my eyes filled with tears, and I moved my gaze back over the water to mask them, wishing for my sunglasses.

I don’t know what I was hoping for at family dinner that night—probably, knowing me, that Sasha and Stu would giddily announce their pregnancy, along with their engagement, and everything would be magically fixed. But our evening was just as they always were—except that as we kids pitched in getting ready, my dad actually stayed in the kitchen working as Mom’s sous chef, rather than puttering in the garage on some woodworking project.

Lately I’d noticed more secret looks passing between them, the way I used to when we were kids. When I was little I was convinced they could read each other’s minds, because a brief glance between them was enough to yield a mysterious smile I didn’t understand, or to bring them together for a kiss out of nowhere. In those moments a childish panic would grip me momentarily, as if for that second they’d forgotten Stu and I existed, but it had been a long time since I’d felt as if we were merely orbiting their world of two.

Instead of fear, though, now these moments of connection suffused me with warmth.

That quickly dissipated when Mom went around the table for our usual Sunday-night grilling of each of us, and Sasha and Stu reported only unusually dull work events.

It scared me—the longer they didn’t tell anyone about anything, the more I worried it was a very bad sign.

twenty

I woke up antsy on Monday morning. This was the day I had to sit out my radio show, and despite Michael’s assurances, I wasn’t at all sure that I wasn’t going to irrevocably lose ground by skipping it.

I was nervous about seeing Ben too. After our talk on Dog Beach, I wasn’t sure whether, after thinking it over, he’d agree it was too soon for us to be friends. Adelaide was coming home tonight—there was no real reason for him to bring Jake to me this last time.

But he’d texted when I got home from my parents’ last night—just a brief,
How late do you need me to drop Jake after your show?
And the brief words filled me with relief out of proportion to the message. When we’d so recently begun to stitch together a fragile friendship, I couldn’t face the thought of losing him from my life entirely.

And that told me more about my feelings for him than any jolt of attraction ever had.

Not doing the show
, I’d texted back with unsteady hands.
Anytime’s fine.

All morning I was jumpy, thrown by not having to lurch out of bed at four thirty and hustle to the station, and slightly sick to my stomach at hearing Jim Veneer glibly pattering about dating. “You had a great date, but he never called! What’s it mean? Guys, give us a call and weigh in….” Clearly the station was perfectly content to fill the relationship niche without me, and it was all I could do not to call Michael and blast him about his stupid plan backfiring.

By the time the doorbell rang, I felt like no-see-’ums were biting my ankles.

I didn’t greet Ben at the door with coffee in a travel mug this time. I knew that cozy, intimate gestures like that were part of what was complicating matters and making it hard for him to be friends with me.

But as Jake streaked inside as soon as I opened the door, I heard myself inviting him in for a cup. It was a foolish impulse—but I was surprised when he agreed.

Embarrassingly, as we came into the kitchen the show was blaring from my computer’s speakers, where I’d been glued to it all morning. I hustled to click it off.

“Leave it on,” Ben said, settling easily onto a stool at my kitchen island. “I’m curious to hear how inane Veneer gets without you.”

I looked over from reaching another mug down from the cabinet over the coffeemaker. “You still listen?”

He shrugged. “You know my mom’s your biggest fan—I have to stay current on your calls so she can hash them all out with me.”

I determinedly focused on pouring his coffee, bringing the sugar over to him rather than making it the way I knew he liked it. I had to stop looking for encouragement and signs in every comment he made. Ben was a good man. He said nice things. That was all.

Jake came out of where he’d gone into my bedroom on a scouting mission to make sure all was to his approval since he’d last been here, and sat in front of my sliding glass door to the lanai, looking back meaningfully at me. I walked over and slid it open for him, and he barreled out onto the porch, bulling open the screen door and charging into my yard.

Ben watched with a tiny smile I couldn’t read. “He certainly makes himself at home here.”

I gazed fondly after the dog.

“It only really feels like a home when he’s in it,” I said without thinking, then felt my face heat.

Ben let the comment go.

“Do you mind if I ask why you’re sitting today’s show out?” he asked as he stirred a single spoonful of sugar into his cup.

I looked up, startled. Of course he didn’t know. When things had seemed to be going so well with Ben I didn’t want to jeopardize that by telling him about my ex-fiancé’s return—there had seemed no point in giving Ben any reason to believe that I wasn’t totally available.

Now…was there any reason not to tell him? Probably not. And yet I found that stubborn piece of me that wouldn’t completely give up hope made me edit the truth.

“I’m hoping for my own show—trying to convince the station to put their money where my mouth is,” I said. “They’re balking a little, so I figured I’d sit one out to call their bluff.”

The muscles of his forearm and biceps flexed and relaxed as he stirred his coffee. “That’s a good strategy.”

Ironic that he was actually complimenting my ex-fiancé, who’d indirectly caused him so much grief.

“I don’t know. From what I’ve heard this morning,” I said, tipping my head toward the speakers, “they’re getting by just fine without me.”

Jim Veneer was pattering away, soliciting callers and promising “juicy deets” about dating fails after the next commercial break.

Right then a woman’s voice came over the air: “Where’s the Breakup Doctor?”

Ben and I both turned toward the speakers.

“Don’t you worry, caller,” came Jim’s hearty reply. “We’ve still got all your dating questions covered. So…I’m betting you’ve been stiffed by a guy you had a great date with, right? Tell us all about it.”

“I wanted to talk to the Breakup Doctor. Why isn’t she on?”

“We’re still talking love and relationships, caller…Let’s hear your story!”

A long moment of dead air followed, and I pictured Jim—who hated radio silence—squirming.

“I’ll wait ’til the Breakup Doctor’s back,” the woman said finally, and we heard her sever the connection.

Ben turned back to look at me, and this time I could easily read the expression in his eyes—amusement. “They may not be getting by just fine without you after all,” he said, a smile tilting one corner of his mouth.

I just shook my head, almost fearful of cursing it if I agreed, but I couldn’t keep an answering smile from my face as we sat sipping our coffee, listening together to the show.

Contrary to my fears that things between me and Michael would be awkward after our little erectile misfunction in my office last week, if anything the episode seemed to have broken a barrier between us.

We met downtown at the First Street Grill after work on Monday and sat on the front patio so I could bring Jake. Adelaide’s plane would be landing right about now, and Ben was picking her up at the airport on his way home from work. Tomorrow Jake would go back to staying with his grandma during the days.

I squinted at Michael against the glare of the sun just sinking behind the arched white Florida Repertory Theatre building across the street. “So what was the station’s offer?”

We sat at a glass-topped wrought-iron table, cold bottles of Swamp Ape IPA in front of us both.

One corner of his lips turned up. “Step off, Veruca.”

It was an old joke between us—Michael had always called me Veruca Salt, because, as he said, “You want everything
now
!”

I grinned back.

“Some things don’t change. What did they say?”

“No word yet. We have to be patient.”

“What do you mean, no word? Jim
tanked
this morning. Listeners were literally begging for me. What more do they want?”

“These things take some time, Brook. Right now they may still be thinking that Jim will get his wheels under him and gain steam.” He took a long sip of his beer and leaned back. “But don’t worry—what you do isn’t easily replicable, and they’re going to figure that out.”

I folded my arms across my chest, scowling.

“You said play hardball. You said sit out
one
show. How long are we supposed to wait for the station to decide they need me after all?”

He took another sip of beer so maddeningly calmly and leisurely I wanted to lean forward and shove the bottle into his teeth.

“As long as it takes.”

“Dammit, Michael!”

At my raised voice Jake stirred from his comfortable curl under my feet, and I leaned over to soothe him, cutting an apologetic glance to the three other patrons nearby.

“Brook…” Michael put the bottle down and leaned forward to meet my eyes. “Please trust me. And if you can’t do that”—he picked at the damp label of his beer—“at least have faith in
yourself
. You can do this. You’re worth more.”

I leaned back and blew out a long breath. “Fine. I’ll be ‘patient,’” I said, with air quotes. “What’s next on your terrifying bucket list?”

“I want you to ask the newspaper for a raise.”

“What?”

That little stand-off resulted in another fifteen minutes of spirited back-and-forth. But he was like speeded-up time-lapse photography of water wearing away stone, smoothing down every hard edge of my resistance with unexpectedly solid, reasoned arguments that left me no rational option but to agree.

“You are
killing
me, Michael,” I grumbled, but I didn’t mean it.

Lisa Albrecht’s head was going to explode, but I was going in there to stipulate more money for continuing my column.

I couldn’t help a smile; I had to admit that I loved Michael’s view of me and what I did—his confidence in my abilities and their value. And it was so good to be able to talk to him like this, after so much bitterness between us. I reached across the table for his hand where it still worked at shredding the beer label.

“Thanks, Michael,” I said fondly. “I’m really glad you came back.”

He looked up, meeting my eyes, and for a moment the guileless directness in them felt as though we were sitting there naked in front of each other. My heartbeat quickened as neither one of us averted our gaze, and he slowly moved his hand so it engulfed mine, twining our fingers together. Relishing the warmth, the connection, I let him.

“Brook?”

You know how you can be really familiar with someone—your regular checkout person at the grocery store, say—and then when you run into them out of context, in a restaurant or at the beach or a concert, you have the disorienting feeling of knowing you know this person and yet not quite being able to place them right away?

That was what I felt when I heard an instantly recognizable voice calling my name in a place where I had no reason to expect to hear it.

Ben’s mother, Adelaide, and I had gotten close when I’d dated Ben. Laid up with a bum knee while her son was working out of town and I was watching Jake, the vibrant, active woman had been lonely enough that I’d taken to bringing the dog by and visiting with her a few times a week. Her warmth and acceptance filled the hole where I’d always wanted my mom to offer those things, and when I’d broken Ben’s heart, losing her friendship was one of the hardest casualties of war to bear. I hadn’t seen her since, though I always hoped that one day we’d run into each other.

But not here. Not now…while I was sitting at a table with a man who was not her son, in what looked like a cozy little moment of intimacy.

And not when Ben stood beside her on the sidewalk not fifteen feet away, still as a statue as he looked at Michael and me with shadowed eyes I couldn’t read.

But I didn’t have long to try to interpret his reaction—the moment Jake heard Adelaide’s voice, the dog leaped to his feet so fast that his big, broad back shot up against the edge of the table. He lunged toward Adelaide as the table jostled, upsetting our drinks and sending both bottles crashing to the pavement. Chilly liquid splashed my ankles along with a sting like fire ant bites—glass shards, I registered dimly as I vainly tried to control the ecstatic dog yanking against his leash so hard my shoulder practically dislocated.

“Are you all right?” Michael yelped, shooting to his feet as Jake finally pulled me out of my seat and sent me catapulting toward Adelaide, on the other side of the flimsy roped-off patio area.

Strong arms somehow caught me just before I went facedown into the sidewalk, and I looked up to meet Ben’s bewildered eyes as his hands gripped my shoulders to steady me. I’d seen this look in them once before—the morning after we broke up, when he’d surprised me and Chip Santana in partial flagrante on my back porch.

“You’re supposed to be at the airport,” I said nonsensically.

“Mom caught an earlier flight.” The words were clipped.

Jake had dropped his butt to the concrete with a single upraised hand from Adelaide—no one else could control the beast the way she did—and she gently stroked his head as behind me I heard a phalanx of servers flock to the scene to clean up the mess.

In that frozen second I locked gazes with Ben, wanting to explain, yet wondering why I felt I needed to.

“You got hurt,” he said.

I nodded, heat filling my eyes. “Yes. But so did you.”

He frowned and looked down at the hem of his spotless khaki pants. “No—it didn’t get this far.” He let go of my upper arms and pointed to my ankles.

Little pinpoints of blood dotted my skin from the shattered bottles, a few thin rivulets streaking down in places.

“Oh,” I said. “It’s…nothing.”

“You need to make sure to get the glass out, Brook,” I heard Adelaide say, and I turned to her.

“Adelaide. It’s so good to see you. Welcome home.” My smile wobbled. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her ’til I saw her. She looked just the same—maybe tanner from her cruise, a little bit thinner, but so dear and familiar I wanted to lean over and hug her.