Just Fooling Around: Darcy's Dark Day/Reg's Rescue\Cam's Catastrophe/Devon's Dilemma (4 page)

April 2, 12:37 a.m.

C
AM WOKE SLOWLY
, scanning the disaster site that had been his bedroom, but there were no injuries, no blood. He pushed his face into his pillow and smiled.

No pillow.

Jenna.

He pressed a grateful kiss to the inviting skin, and then frowned as the previous night’s events clicked back into place.

The clock was now on, and he realized it was 12:27 a.m. on April 2. Cautiously he flexed his hands—no bruising, no fractures. The rest of him seemed to be fine, too.

Had he slept through the entire day? Nah. It was impossible.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” she murmured, turning on the light.

Jenna.

He lifted his head, unhappy to notice that she was sleeping in his bed with her red dress back on. Not that it had to stay on.

“Did it go away?”

She knew what he was talking about. The Curse. It
with a capital
I.
“You slept the entire day. Welcome to April Two.”

“You’re sure.”

She clicked on the television, and he watched the date and time crawl on the news channel. She was right.

“I have some connections, but not that good.”

“What happened?”

“You grabbed the cold medicine instead of aspirin.”

Groggily he rubbed his head. “I don’t have cold medicine.”

“Apparently you’ve forgotten about it, because it’s here,” she replied.

The words played in his head, new implications, new ideas, new plans. Plans with Jenna. Cam sat up, stretched his arms, feeling amazingly good. “I can’t believe it—April second.”

“Live and in person.”

“And nothing bad happened?”

“You might need a need roof at some point,” she stated, pointing to the wet patch on the ceiling.

“No HazMat scares, no mislaid laundry, no misdelivered packages of live snakes?”

“Sure, there were a few things.”

“Bad?”

“You should have seen me with the IRS auditor. Masterful. He won’t be back.” She smiled at him then, not so cool, not so detached, and a charge of lust shot through to his groin.

“You really stayed all day? Why?”

Her hands plucked at the sheets of his bed, a faint blush on her cheeks. “For the great sex.”

“Like there was any doubt,” he said, because sex was the least of his problems.

She gently laid a hand over his. “And for you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Casually Cam rolled his shoulders, a nonchalant gesture to indicate that it had never mattered whether he was alone or not. Jenna stared at him as if she didn’t believe him. Cam didn’t mind.

“I’m kinda liking having my own personal doc. It’s convenient.”

“And cheap.”

“Are we talking frugal or tawdry?”

This time, she rolled a shoulder, a nonchalant gesture to indicate that it didn’t matter, and he covered her mouth, not so nonchalant, because it mattered.

She mattered.

He pulled her close, held her tight, fiercely tight, feeling the quiver within her. That quiet shudder always gave her away.

“Doc?”

Jenna looked at him, and despite the dim of the room, he saw something warm and good. Something that made him realize he would never be the same. “Yeah?” she asked.

Cam hesitated for a minute then shook off his nerves. “You don’t think less of me?”

“Why should I?”

“Because of the panic attacks,” he answered, not that he didn’t think she needed the answer. She was a doc. She knew. He loved that she understood him and accepted him, but Cam wasn’t sure he accepted himself. “Nobody knows. My family doesn’t even know.”

“You should tell them.”

“I like my other image better.”

She quirked a brow at him, haughty and all-knowing. In fact, if it wasn’t for the sexy little love bite right below her neck, he might have been more offended. “The other image? You mean the stupid guy that takes death-defying risks?”

“That’s not exactly the image I was thinking about.” He liked being the solid rock of the family. Would John Wayne suffer anxiety attacks? Probably not.

“Why don’t you be you? Do what you want to do, not what you think you have to do.”

Her dark eyes were loving when she looked at him, as if she didn’t care who he was. Actually, at the moment, lying next to her, feeling her fingers locked around his, he didn’t mind being who he was. It was nice to be taken care of for once.

“What if I want to dive out of an airplane on April first?”

Jenna put on her bossy doctor’s face, exactly like he’d hoped she would. He liked that face. He’d liked it from the first time he’d met her. “Do the skydiving on April second,” she instructed. “Play golf on April first. Or, alternatively, if you want to lounge in bed on April first, then maybe you should do that.”

His fingers slid along her neck, underneath her dress, and whoops, accidentally exposed one shoulder. She had great shoulders. Soft, capable, sexy. “Lounging in bed is a very tempting idea. You’d be there?”

“Would you like me to be there?” she asked, and he noticed the uncertainty in her eyes. Amazing that with
all the letters after her name, after all the lives she’d saved, she still hadn’t clued in to how he felt.

He took her face in his hands, kissing her gently and sincere. “Yes.”

“Then, I’d be there.”

Well satisfied with life at the moment, Cam leaned back against the pillows and pulled her into his arms, accidentally exposing the other shoulder, as well. “I’ll miss the E.R. I sort of liked the fights with Bertie. And I loved when you put your hands on me. Those were some good memories.”

“We can make new memories. Better memories,” she told him, and oops, there went the dress, and they spent the next few hours making new memories. Definitely better memories.

It was a long time later before Cam found the exact right instant, when the morning sun was warm on the bed sheets, when the city was humming outside, sounding so very far away, and when Jenna was curled against him, her hand resting over his heart.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

Cam stayed silent for a minute because he wasn’t good at this. Wasn’t good at talking about things that were inside him. Fears. Emotions. But he felt too good, too much at peace.

“I always handled the First so badly, my heart always got so fried, pumping like mad, and there wasn’t any room for anyone or anything. But I don’t want to do anything next year. I just want to be here. With you. I thought my heart had to stay the other way forever. But it’s different today. It feels good, strong, not so anxious. You fixed that.”

She raised her head, resting her chin on his chest. “You’re the one who fixed it.”

No, he thought, and he noticed that her hand still rested on his heart, soothing it, calming it, fixing it. She had done that, but he knew better that to argue with the doc. So he kissed her instead, showing her how much he cared. Someday she’d figure it out. She was smart that way. She was the doc. His doc.

She’d figure that one out, too, someday, because she was smart that way. Very, very smart.

April Fools’ Day, three years ago

Train arrives Union Station 8:15.
Will bring bagels.

D
ARCY’S FINGERS HOVERED
over the send button, knowing she was being an absolute chickenshit. If she had any sort of backbone whatsoever, she’d dial the phone instead and tell her big brother Cam that she was in town, and she was going to walk boldly through subway stations—even getting close to the edge. She was going to jaywalk in front of speeding taxis, and walk by herself through Central Park. She was going to eat from street vendors without carrying antacids, and she was going to go all the way up to the top of the Empire State Building and look waaaaay down to the ground below.

She was going to do all of that, and she was going to be
fine,
dammit, because the whole idea of a family curse was just silly. Life had order and reason and mathematical certainties. Nature was about symmetry and patterns,
not
about random happenstance and curses, and none of her doom-and-gloom siblings were going to change that.

So why aren’t you dialing the phone? Why are you sending a text?

She scowled at the little voice in her head—a voice that sounded remarkably like herself. And she answered herself firmly.
Because it’s early. He’s probably still asleep.

It’s tricky lying to oneself, the problem being that she knew, even as she was saying it, that it was a lie. Cam was Mr. Early-Riser. Mr. Meet-and-Greet-the-Day. Especially
this
day, one he met in grave defiance annually. And, she had to reluctantly admit, one he usually met with injury.

It was a self-fulfilling prophecy, she told herself firmly, reaching down to hook her purse strap over her arm as the garbled voice over the loudspeaker announced the imminent arrival of the train at the station. Cam’s history of nasty April first E.R. visits was the direct result of her brother being a complete and total idiot about that particular day. If you go out and put yourself in harm’s way, harm would find you. Cam’s spate of bad luck wasn’t the product of a curse so much as the product of poor planning and carelessness. Considering how he always went out of his way to defy fate, it was a statistical certainty that his defiance would terminate with injury. He never saw it that way, though. She’d argued, diagrammed and even scrawled long, complex mathematical formulas, knowing her older brother couldn’t make heads nor tails of the symbols, but still hoping to impress him with the seriousness of her conclusions.
Trust me, I’m a mathematician.

Hadn’t ever worked. Not with Cam or Reg or Devon.

It was, she thought, the reason she’d decided to study
mathematics in the first place—because of the purity of numbers. They didn’t change because it was October 12 or March 16 or April 1. Numbers knew their place; numbers knew the rules. And numbers were the key to the universe—everything in the world could be reduced to simple mathematics. Even humans were the product of a near-infinite division of cells.

Superstitions and curses had no place in such an orderly universe, and because Darcy knew that—even if her siblings didn’t—she’d decided to study what she already knew was true.

Reason and order, those were her mottoes.

But no matter how hard she tried to explain to her siblings that the curse was nothing more than a statistical anomaly skewed because of familial expectations, her brothers and sister still only saw a curse. At first, Darcy thought they blew her off because she was the youngest, in the way that big sisters and brothers do. But she was twenty-six now, and had been living on her own in Massachusetts attending MIT for the last seven years, through undergrad and now into her doctorate program. Even her siblings could no longer look at her as a kid.

Well, that wasn’t true. She was still a kid to them, and always would be. But they trusted her intellect. They trusted what she knew about numbers and reason.

But they didn’t trust her about the curse, even though she knew she was right. She
had
to be right, because if a curse could exist in a world organized by numbers and reason, then that meant that there was no order or reason. And where did that leave her? Where did that leave every other scientist and mathematician, for that matter?

She tried to explain all of that to her siblings, to ab
solutely no avail. They saw only what they wanted, and because of that, they fell victim, blaming every bad thing that happened to them on April first on some mythical curse thrust upon the family in days gone by.

Honestly.

A lanky guy in desperate need of deodorant flopped into the seat beside her, then grinned, his teeth a bilious yellow. She forced herself not to crinkle her nose, then focused hard on her phone. It still showed two bars of signal, and she pressed Send before she could talk herself out of it. Less than a minute later, the phone started to ring. She waited, and the signal bars faded. Voice mail had picked up.

She told herself it wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to her brother—it was just that she didn’t want to talk to him about the Franklin Curse. Or, at least, she didn’t want to talk to him about it without the fortification of bagels and coffee.

For that matter, maybe she should rethink the whole bagel thing. If she went by his apartment, would he let her out again?

The truth was, she’d come into New York City today in one more attempt to prove her point: that April Fools’ Day was perfectly safe. And so she had to see him. Because otherwise, why come, other than to see her best friend and go shopping and then to a show? But those were all the incidental perks. The real point of being here today was to walk through the city, physically proving her ultimate theorem that there was no curse.

She’d already proved that to herself, though.

Which meant she had to call Cam. He had to stand witness to her lack of bad fortune.

Now that she was here, though, she had to admit that maybe this hadn’t been the best plan. After all, Cam truly believed, and he truly loved her. Which meant he’d go to any lengths to see her safe.

She had a sudden vision of the inside of a broom closet, and frowned. Surely, he wouldn’t really…

In the past, she wouldn’t have worried. It was just Cam back then. But now he had Jenna, and as much as Darcy loved her new sister-in-law, she also knew that Jenna was now a believer, and would undoubtedly assist Cam in locking Darcy in a padded room until after midnight. Just to keep her safe.

“You’re not careful enough,” Cam had told her only two weeks ago. Darcy had snorted loudly. He was one to talk, Mr. I-Think-I’ll-Build-a-Rocket-to-Mars-and-Defy-Fate.

But she had to admit that he’d always believed in the curse—he’d just always faced it down.

Not Darcy. She knew bullshit when she saw it. If there was really some horrible curse affecting all four of the Franklin kids, then shouldn’t one of her elder siblings be dead by now? A morbid thought, maybe, but true. A theorem required proof, not coincidences masquerading as proof.

No, the only reason her siblings were constantly getting April Fool injuries lay with the name of the day: they were fools. Fools who believed they’d have bad luck, and so, poof, they did.

The
clackety-clack
of the train took on a slower rhythm, and she rose, realizing as she did that her purse felt significantly lighter. She glanced at it, then realized there was no
it
to see. All she had was a strap, now hanging loosely over her shoulder, the ends neatly
sliced, as if by a razor. The purse itself was gone, and so was the stinky guy with yellow teeth.

A small niggle of something familiar started to whisper in the back of her head. A voice that once again sounded like her.

A voice that was saying,
“I told you so.”

Well, hell.

T
HE RINGING PHONE TAUNTED
Evan from across the room. Usually, he left it by his bedside, and he could easily roll over and answer it. Last night—at the tail end of his fit of productivity—he’d left the thing sitting on his desk, which happened to be located exactly eleven feet from his bed. He knew, because he’d meticulously measured the seven hundred and fifteen square-foot condo six years ago before he’d decided to open a vein and bleed money into the Manhattan real-estate market.

The phone rang again. Eleven feet, zero inches. Not an overwhelming distance, but one that would require him to get out of bed.

He really didn’t want to get out of bed.

Another ring.

Shit.

With a groan, he rolled to face the offending instrument, wishing Ma Bell—or whoever was in charge these days—came with valet service. A Jeeves to walk the phone to him on a silver platter and announce that Mr. So-and-So was calling. Or, better, to tell him that a telemarketer was on the line, and that Evan shouldn’t trouble himself and to please, sir, go back to sleep.

Riiiiinnnnng.

He closed his eyes and waited while the closest thing
he had to his fantasy Jeeves picked up the line.
“Hi, you’ve reached Evan Olsen with Midtown Magazine. I’m unavailable right now, but please leave a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

“Yo, Evan. You there? It’s Cam. Pick up. I’ve got a crisis.”

His buddy’s voice filled the room, and Evan crossed those eleven feet without even thinking about it. “Hey. I’m here. Shit, it’s April first. You battered and broken?”

Cam cleared his throat, and Evan knew that his friend had in fact suffered his annual injury. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—it was those injuries that had brought Cam and Jenna together—but Evan couldn’t help but shake his head. The Franklin Family Curse. Evan was a believer, and he wasn’t even a member of the family, just a longtime friend.

No, it was more than that. He was a friend, yes, but he was also wrapped up in the curse. Cam had joked that Evan got the yin while the Franklins got the yang, but Evan knew better. He’d gotten the short end of the stick, too. He just couldn’t tell anyone.

What had happened was that he’d stood up for Cam one April first against the wrath of Cam’s mother, and somehow Evan had walked away a hero, with all the perks that came with it—those particular perks for a fifteen-year-old being much attention from girls. Good on the surface, maybe, but not underneath.

Before that, he’d been just another guy. Noticed, because he played football and was Cam Franklin’s friend, but nothing special. After, though, he was The Man.

He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he’d enjoyed the
role, but after a while, he wanted to simply be himself. But the mythology was there, and there’d been nowhere to hide.

That’s what happens when you play hero in a small town. When you follow your best friend to the river during a storm on April Fools’ day.

When your cursed best friend decides to swim the width of the river, despite everyone in town knowing how dangerous that river was when the water rose.

And when you haul him back to shore, and then lie to his mother and say that Cam wasn’t trying to defy the curse by swimming across the damn river. That he’d fallen off the bridge—the curse, sure, but not him defying it—and you’d jumped in to rescue him.

Selfless, they’d all said.

Heroic, they’d all cheered.

But he knew the truth. He should never have let Cam try to swim across in the first place. Should never have let his best friend put himself in the position of needing to be rescued.

Evan hadn’t been a hero, he’d been a damned accomplice. But he couldn’t tell anyone that without getting Cam in hip-deep trouble with his parents.

So he’d taken his licks, and let the town fete him. And what should have been a great thing ended up being a miserable burden.

In fact, that’s part of the reason why he’d become a reporter. Not simply to look at the surface of things, but to dig until he could see how different it really was down below. Because who better than him to know that there was always another story going on beneath the surface?

He pulled himself out of his reverie and concentrated
on his friend. “So what did you do?” he asked. “SCUBA dive without a regulator? Sky dive without a parachute?”

“I’m reformed, haven’t you heard? All I did was trip over the damn cat. Twisted my ankle and threw my back out just after midnight. I’ve been on the couch all night.”

“You need me to come over?”

“Yeah,” Cam said. “But not for me. For Darcy.”

Evan’s knees suddenly weren’t quite strong enough to support him, and he sank down on the edge of the bed, the phone still clutched to his ear. “Darcy? She’s okay, right?”

Darcy was Cam’s little sister, the youngest of the four Franklin kids. And although Evan had been Cameron Franklin’s best friend throughout high school and college, it had always been Darcy who’d got his pulse rate going. Darcy who had been his fantasy. Darcy, whom he could never approach. Because how could he go after his best friend’s little sister?

“Right now she’s fine,” Cam was saying. “But the day is young, and it’s not a great day to be a Franklin in New York.”

“She’s here?” He hadn’t seen her in years. He could still remember the first time he’d met her—he’d been a senior and she’d been by herself, alone at a table in the cafeteria. He’d come in with Cam, the two of them surrounded as usual by laughing friends—cheerleaders and jocks and a few kids from band. Cam had noticed her across the room and called her name. She’d slowly put her finger in the book to mark her page, then looked up, her eyes wide and unblinking and so bright they seemed to cut right through Evan. “Wanna sit with us?” Cam had asked. She’d smiled, then shook her head and returned casually to her book. The shock of
the rejection had reverberated through the cafeteria. No one—
no one
—turned down an offer to dine with Cam and his friends.

No one except Darcy.

She’d gained a bit of respect from the rest of the school that day, and also a bit of a reputation as a freak. The fact that she was young for a freshman—having skipped a year of junior high—didn’t help, and for the most part, Darcy Franklin had become a school loner, even with one of the most popular guys in school as a brother.