Promise Me Forever (Debbie Macomber Classics) (19 page)

Days took on a regular pattern. She rose early and continued with her running, sometimes going as far as five miles.

Her work offered few challenges. Patients were shuffled in and out of the treatment room every thirty minutes, sometimes longer, depending on the nature of the damage. The clinic specialized in treating sports injuries, usually with little more than ice packs, electric muscle stimulation, and a workout schedule with weights. But there was little personal satisfaction.

Usually Joy didn’t eat until late in the evening. Her appetite was nearly nonexistent. Clara’s good cooking had spoiled her, and when it came to fixing herself something to eat, it was easier to open a can or toss something into the microwave.

Friday night, after a long week, Joy left the front door of the apartment open while she sat, drinking from a glass of iced tea, her leg draped over the side of her chair. Her attention flittered over the glossy pages of a women’s magazine.

When the doorbell buzzed, Joy assumed it was Danielle, who sometimes stopped in unexpectedly. Unlooping her legs, she set the tea aside and sauntered to the door.

The welcome died on her lips. Was she hallucinating? Dreaming? Sloan, standing erect without the aid of a walker, stood before her.

Dressed in tan slacks and a blue knit shirt, he looked compelling and handsome. The vigorous masculine features broke into a ready smile.

“Hello, my Joy.” The lazy, warm voice assured her that her mind wasn’t playing cruel tricks.

“Sloan.” His name slipped from her lips as the magazine fell to the floor. She stooped to retrieve it, conscious of her rolled-up cotton pants and bare feet.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Of course,” she muttered, her voice trembling as her fingers fumbled with the lock on the screen door. “You’re using the cane.” The observation wasn’t one of her most brilliant. But she knew how hard he must have worked in the three weeks since she’d last seen him to be using the cane.

“Yes, but only for a few days.” The limp was barely noticeable as he walked into the room.

“You’re doing great.” It was so good to see him that she had to restrain herself from throwing her arms around him. Her heart was singing a rhapsody.

“Thanks.”

Her hands were clenched self-consciously in front of her. “Would you like something to drink? I made some fresh iced tea earlier. From scratch, the way Clara does.”

“That sounds fine.”

Joy felt like skipping into the kitchen. Her mind whirled at the virile sight of him. He looked magnificent. Oh heavens, why hadn’t she washed her hair tonight? She was a mess.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, and motioned toward the chair she’d vacated. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Joy had opened the refrigerator door and taken out the pitcher of tea before she noticed that Sloan had followed her.

“Aren’t you going to admit it’s good to see me?” His gaze shimmered over her.

“It is,” she said, and beamed him a bright smile. “It really is. You look great.”

“So do you.”

The tea made a swishing sound at the bottom of the glass as she poured it over the ice cubes. Her hand shook as she added a lemon slice to the side of the tall glass. When she held it out for him, Sloan’s hand cupped hers.

“I’ve missed you, my Joy.”

“And I’ve missed you.” She forced a light gaiety into her voice.

Sloan set the tea on the counter without releasing her hand. His eyes held her prisoner as he tugged gently on her arm, bringing her closer to his side.

“I want you to come back.”

“Oh Sloan,” she murmured miserably, and dropped her gaze. “You don’t need me; I can’t come back.”

“I love you, Joy. I’ve loved you from the time you held up your head and walked out of the pool, letting me see your scars. Proud, regal, and so beautiful I nearly drowned just watching you.”

“Don’t, Sloan, please.” She injected a plea into his name.

“I can’t change the way I feel. I love you.”

Backed against the kitchen counter, she was grateful for the support it gave her. “Listen to me, please.”

“No,” he said, and sighed heavily. “I listened to you the last time. Now it’s my turn.”

“All right.” Her hesitation was pronounced. She didn’t want this, but there was little choice. Nothing he could say would change her mind.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m sure you don’t—”

“It isn’t gratitude,” he interrupted her, his voice heavy with building frustration. “We’re a team; we have been almost from the day you arrived. We were even injured in the same kind of accident. I could have fallen off a cliff skiing or broken my back a hundred different ways. But I didn’t. We like the same things, share the same ideals. I am thankful for what you did, I can’t deny that, but it’s so much more.”

“I’m a therapist.” She placed her palm across her breast in an identifying action. “I’ve worked on tons of cases like yours. Patients always fall in love with their therapists. It’s common knowledge that it happens all the time.”

“In other words, I’m one of the scores who have fallen for you.”

She avoided the question. “What you feel isn’t a true emotion, but one prompted by appreciation for what I’ve done.”

Sloan took in a deep, angry breath. “In this case, I think you outdid yourself,” he returned flatly.

“Your parents’ bonus check was very generous.” Her heart was crying with the agony she was causing them both.

His handsome face twisted with something she couldn’t read.

“You’re wrong,” he argued. “I know what I feel. I’m not a young boy suffering from my first case of puppy love.” His voice was low and rough with frustration, almost angry.

“The thing is, we’ve been through a lot together. We’ve worked hard; I’ve seen you at
your best and your worst. You’ve shared a part of yourself with me that probably few others have ever seen. It’s only natural that you would come to think you love me. Believe me when I say sincerely that I’ve never been more honored.”

“Don’t say that. I want to share my life with you. I want you to be the mother of my children and stand by my side in the years ahead. When I wake up at night, I want to feel your softness at my side. Tell me you want this, too.”

“Sloan.” Tears blurred her eyes as she lifted her gaze. She loved him desperately and at the same time hated him for what he was forcing her to do. Perhaps now he wanted these things. But later that would change. His gratefulness would diminish and he’d realize what a terrible mistake he’d made.

“Say it, Joy. Tell me you want me.” His hands, warm and possessive, cupped her shoulders.

“You’re being unfair.” Her throat felt raw, and it throbbed.

“I’m being more than fair. All I ask is a simple, straightforward answer. I love you; I want to marry you. Yes or no?”

She stood, unable to formulate the word, not when every part of her was crying out for her to go to him. A huge lump had a stranglehold on her voice.

“Joy?” he prompted. “Just say yes.” His voice was a caressing whisper. His fingers pressed lightly into her shoulders, as if that would encourage her.

Tightly, she closed her eyes, unable to bear looking at him. A tear squeezed through her lashes and ran down her cheek.

With infinite tenderness, Sloan kissed the moisture away.

“No.” Somehow the word managed to slip out.

Joy felt his shock.

“I see.” He dropped his hands from her shoulders. She blinked through a curtain of tears.

“I’m sorry, so sorry.” She felt raw and vulnerable.

“Not to worry.” The grim voice was cutting. “I appreciate the honesty.” He turned abruptly and moved out of the kitchen.

Dazed, hurt, dying, Joy watched him leave as the tears slid down her face. He didn’t hesitate.

Mutely, Joy walked to the screen door to catch one last glimpse of Sloan as he strolled out of her life. His limp was more pronounced now, his shoulders hunched. Joy bit viciously into her bottom lip, and the taste of blood filled her mouth. Never had anything been more difficult; never had anything been more right.

Someday the hurt would go away and she would be stronger for it. At least that was what Joy told herself repeatedly in the long, dark days that followed. She had no energy. Listlessly, she lay around the house. Food held no appeal, and she began skipping meals. Her weight began to drop. She wouldn’t allow herself the luxury of tears. The decision had been made; she had done the right thing. It would be useless to cry over it now.

Five days after Sloan’s visit, there was no doubt that summer had arrived in Southern California. Heat and humidity filled the tiny apartment, and Joy turned on a fan in hopes the small appliance would stir the heavy heat.

The thin cotton blouse stuck to her skin, and she unfastened the second button. Perspiration rolled down the hollow between her breasts.

Impatiently, she walked into the kitchen and took a soft drink out of the refrigerator.
Empty calories for an empty life,
she mused, as she ripped the pull tab from the can.

Her cell rang, and she felt like plugging her ears. There wasn’t anyone she wanted to talk to. Not her mother. Not her brother. Not even Danielle. No one. The whole attitude was so unlike her that Joy knew it was important to shed this dark apathy as quickly as possible.

“Hello.” Her voice held little welcome.

“Hi, Joy. This is Paul. How you doing?”

“Paul,” she spoke into the mouthpiece, surprise raising her tone. “I’m fine. How are you?”

“Great. Listen, I know this is sudden and all, but how about dinner? We could meet at Mobey Jake’s.”

“I … I don’t know.” She hesitated. Why torture herself? Paul was sure to mention Sloan.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“No. It’s too hot to eat.”

“Come on,” Paul encouraged. “It’s the least you can do, since I didn’t get so much as a good-bye when you left. That still rankles.” He was playful and teasing.

Joy laughed, and the sound surprised her. It’d been weeks since she’d found anything amusing. “All right,” she agreed, “but give me an hour.”

“Do you want me to pick you up, or can you meet me?”

“I’ll meet you.”

Mobey Jake’s held fond memories. The flashing neon whale, round tables with faded umbrellas, and some of the best fried fish on the California coast. The first barrier she had hurdled in her relationship with Sloan had been the night she had brought him an order of fish from Mobey Jake’s. Even L.J. had liked this fish the best. And who could blame him?

Joy was sitting at a table that overlooked the seashore far below when Paul arrived. He came from the direction of the beach home, which answered Joy’s first uncertainty. Paul was still with Sloan. She had to wonder if Sloan had sent him to talk to her. As soon as the question formed, she knew the answer. Sloan did his own talking.

Paul parked the older-model convertible and waved. Joy returned the gesture. He looked fit, tan, and muscular.

Tucking the car keys into his jeans pocket, he smiled as he strolled toward her. “You look good.” The hesitation was slight enough for her to notice.

“I don’t, either.”

“Lost weight?”

“A few pounds.” Her fingers curled around a tall foam cup. “I’m ready to order.” She changed the subject abruptly, not wanting to be the topic of their conversation.

She waited while Paul stood in line at the window and placed the order for their meal. He
returned a few minutes later with their standard. Joy looked at the large double order of fish, knowing there wasn’t an L.J. to eat the leftovers. The memory of her little friend tightened her stomach.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen L.J.?” She looked up at Paul.

“That darn bird of yours? No, I haven’t.”

“I wonder whatever became of him.”

Paul shrugged and slipped a large piece of fish into his mouth. Avoiding her gaze, he looked out over the scenery. “Don’t you wonder about anyone else?”

Deliberately obtuse, Joy returned, “Of course I do. How’s Clara?”

“Ready to quit.”

“Clara? I don’t believe it. She’s been with the Whittakers for years.”

“Neither one of us can take much more of what’s been going on lately.”