Someday Maybe (20 page)

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my mind and mouth at a loss for more.

“Stop saying you’re sorry.
I’m
not sorry.” Just as fast as he’d grabbed me, he let go and stepped back.

I stared at him, rubbing my hands over where he’d been holding, unable to process what had just happened.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He turned away, his voice low and hoarse. “Or frighten you. I didn’t mean for any of this.”

My mouth was dry, my heart thudding hard and painfully. Part of me wanted to run away again, while another part was too stubborn to move.

“You should go to bed now.” He still wouldn’t face me. “But I told you I’d stay up.” He shot one glance at me. “Go.”

When I inhaled, my body shook with anger and adrenaline, from the memory of his hands on my arms. I marched away, not bothering to say a word. I entered the guest bedroom and stood in the dark. Oliver was banging stuff around in the other room. My temper flared.

Where did he get off? Yelling at me when I was trying to apologize. He was insane!

I kicked the door shut.

I had no idea what time it was. My purse and phone were out in the living room. The Lakers were playing on the East Coast, so the time difference made it probably close to midnight. Sleep was a long shot, but I stripped off my clothes and threw myself on the bed.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I woke up gasping in a familiar cold sweat, my pulse keeping rhythm with the Budweiser Clydesdales. When I remembered where I was, I bit down on the duvet, trying to slow my heart.

It was a dream, Rachel
, I repeated over and over, staring through the dark bedroom toward the window. But it was
that
dream…the one that had brought me to this house in the first place.

I swung my legs off the side of the bed, stood, and shivered. I wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. Mine were in a heap on the floor somewhere. I felt for the closet door, opened it and touched what felt to be a row of dress shirts. I pulled one off a hanger and pushed my hands through the sleeves. It was huge like a mini dress, hitting me mid-thigh.

The hallway was pitch black. I hesitated for a second at my door, but the fear of what might be lurking in the dark shadows out there was nothing compared to the horrors I’d just faced in bed. No more sleep. I padded toward the kitchen. A light was left on over the stove, which guided me forward like a beacon.

I just wanted a snack or a glass of water—I was suddenly so incredibly thirsty and a little sick to my stomach, and my head hurt, too. All-over body ache. Maybe I could find my oils. Where was my purse?

As I was about to cross the threshold into the kitchen, the shutting of a drawer made me squeak. Oliver’s back was to me as he crouched in front of the open cabinet below the sink. Hearing my squeak, his head jerked, looking as startled as I felt.

His gaze slid from my face and moved down my body. “Hoooly damn,” he murmured.

That’s about the time I remembered what I was wearing: one of his button-up shirts, though completely
un
buttoned and hanging wide open in the front. I yelped and pulled it around me like a double-breasted suit.

Oliver looked at my face and blinked. “I…you…
ow
!” He yanked his hand out of the drawer he’d just slammed shut and shook it in pain. With all his weight on the balls of his feet, he lost his balance and fell forward, one foot slipping out from under him. He caught himself by the other hand right before he would have face-planted on the tile. When he went to stand, he banged his head on a low-hanging cabinet door above the sink.

“Dammit,” he muttered, rubbing the top of his head.

I giggled at the comedy of errors, but that shriveled in my throat when I noticed he was sporting a pair of black boxers. And nothing else. I was grateful there wasn’t a cabinet door for me to bang into, because hoooly damn was right. I hadn’t seen a more perfect nearly naked man since, well, him.

“Are you okay?” I approached him with a lifted hand, touching the spot on his head where he was rubbing. “Ouch,” I said in empathy when he flinched. He lowered his hand so only I was touching his head. I stroked it gingerly, feeling the swelling goose egg.

“You used to wear my clothes all the time.”

“Hmm?” Though I’d heard him quite clearly. I withdrew my hand and turned to hastily button up my shirt.

“They always looked better on you than on me.”

It was something about the dimness of the room or the lateness of the hour, but we were relaxed, like the fight had never happened.

“You’re delirious. You need ice.” I retreated to the freezer, pulled it open, and let the frigid air cool off my overheated body. “Sit down,” I ordered over my shoulder. After gathering a handful of ice cubes, I grabbed a dish towel and sat in the kitchen chair next to him. “It’s getting hot,” I said, gently placing the ice over the lump on his head.

Oliver closed his eyes and leaned toward me. “Thank you for returning my Radiohead T-shirt.”

I smiled at his closed eyes. “I knew it was your favorite.” I repositioned the ice. “And since we’re sharing stories, it was a horrible realization when I opened my closet and discovered that half the clothes in my possession were yours.”

“You could’ve kept anything you wanted, instead of sending your roommate over with all my stuff crammed in two garbage bags.” He opened one eye, only to narrow it at me.

“Sorry.” I couldn’t hide the smile in my voice.

He chuckled. “I’ll bet.”

“I
am
.” I switched the icepack to my other hand. “I really am.”

Another dry chuckle escaped his lips. “I know you are, Rachel. So am I. For everything.”

The dual apologies hung in the air between us, full of so much subtext—spoken and unspoken, six years of regret, and seven months of longing.

Almost involuntarily, my free hand touched the side of his face, his hard jaw and amazingly sexy stubble. I was touching Oliver Wentworth—really touching him—for the first time in nearly seven years. And nothing felt more natural.

He opened his eyes, looked at me and took the icepack, his hand lingering over mine. I was very aware that neither of us wore what could be considered proper clothing by any stretch of the imagination. I scooted back and stood. “I’ll get you some aspirin. Where do you keep it?”

“Behind the mirror.” He also rose to his feet.

I looked around. There were no mirrors in the kitchen.

“In the bathroom, Rachel.” He was walking toward me. “You have to go through my bedroom first.”

He stood before me while I tried unsuccessfully to not stare at his bare chest, the muscles leading to flat abs that would feel so amazing under my fingers. When I looked up, a slow smile stretched across his face, and I was no longer retreating from him. His hands landed softly on my shoulders, his thumbs skimmed the sides of my neck, making my legs feel like they were made of the rubberiest rubber.

“Want me to show you my room, or do you remember how to”—he paused as his eyes did a lightning-fast sweep down my body—“
get
there?”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Neither have I.”

I closed my eyes, losing myself in the touch of our lips connecting. It was familiar and new and more mind-blowing than that first morning outside my dorm. His arms went behind my back, pulling me in so tightly I lost my breath for a beautiful, exciting moment. I let him hold me, take care of me, weak as a baby in his arms. When he finished with my mouth, he kissed along my jaw, a hot, sizzling trail to my ear.

“Oh, damn, Rach,” he murmured against my skin.

“What?” My fingers dug into his sides.

“You’re wearing that oil.” His lips pressed to my neck, the notch of my throat, the other side of my neck. “Your body’s like a treasure map. I can smell it all over you. Like nothing’s changed.”

“I missed you.” This was so easy to admit while cradling his head in my arms, the familiar scent of his hair, of him, of us.

“You have no idea,” he whispered in my ear. He pressed his mouth over mine again, his hands gliding down the front of my shirt. “You skipped a button.” His fingers slid inside, touching my stomach, my hip bones, skin tingling against skin.

“Better take it off me then.” I needed to get my hands on his skin, too. But my arms felt so heavy and weak that when I tried to wrap them around him, I couldn’t, like they were paralyzed, drugged lifeless by too much desire, or like when you try to run in a dream, but it feels like your limbs are stuck in cement and you can’t move them…you can’t…move.

I sucked in a breath.

“Rach.” His gray eyes were dark with passion. “What’s wrong?”

I stared at the flawless apparition before me, realizing with horror what was really going on, why it felt like I couldn’t move. Why all of this was too perfect to be real.

None of it was happening.

I was asleep!

Oliver wasn’t standing with me half naked, all smoldery-eyed, kissing my neck, inviting me into his bedroom. I’d never woken up. I was still in the stupid guest bedroom, tangled around the stupid sheets, blissfully unaware that my subconscious was wreaking havoc on my hormones.

“Rachel?” His expression showed alarm, similar to when he’d found me on the street earlier today. Oh, bloody hell. Was
that
a dream, too? Had I dreamed it all? Was I actually at home alone?

The reoccurring dream of my death had mutated further. Would it now include the scene of Oliver inviting me in? Laughing with me? Forgiving me? Caressing his lips over mine until I couldn’t breathe?

A sob broke from my throat. “I can’t take it.” I buried my face in his chest, finally able to fling my dream arms around him. “I can’t relive this over and over if it’s not true. I can’t.”

“It’s okay.” He rubbed my back. “What’s going on?”

I sucked in another sob then crashed my mouth against his, hungry for him, thirsty and parched like I’d never been before. I gripped the back of his head and sucked his bottom lip, moaning, pressing the whole line of my body against his. What did it matter now if I was dreaming? I needed to peel off my shirt, pin him to the floor, and show him exactly how I felt before it was too late.

But I’d waited so long, and now it
was
too late.

It was a dream, and the further I let it go on, the more agonizing it would be when I had to replay it. I tried to wiggle out of his arms, but he held me against his chest.

“Let me…go,” I whimpered weakly, my mind slipping from reality. “Why did I think I could come here? I’m
alone
.”

“Baby.” He rested a hand on my cheek. It felt so real, I wanted to cry. “I’m here with you. You’re not alone.”

My heart pounded. Panic or dread or regret was burning a hole through my stomach like a torch, eating, bubbling upward. “This is part of it now. The dream, Oliver. Remember the blood?”

“There’s no blood. You’re perfect.”

Past his shoulder, I caught sight of the green numbers on the oven displaying the time. A second jolt of panic made me thrash, pushing Oliver away. The momentum caused me to stumble back into the door jam. My head rattled and stung, white light burst behind my eyes.

“I can’t catch my breath.” I didn’t want to die, but what could I do? For a week, I’d been forewarned. My legs gave out and I slid down the wall, landing bare-assed on the tile. Oliver was above me but I couldn’t make out his words, because something new overpowered my attention.

Pain
.

I grabbed my side and doubled over. The howl that echoed through the house came from me. Oliver was yelling, too. That seemed about right. He cupped the back of my head—a different pain shot through my body. He must’ve found the sore spot where I’d hit the door. But wasn’t that in the dream? Despite my cries of pain, his fingers splayed across the back of my head, forcing it between my knees. He was telling me to take deep breaths, but nothing could stop what was coming…one day early. How unfair.

I felt something cold and flat against the side of my face. I was lying on my side now, dizzying pain making the room spin even though I was unmoving. Through the pounding behind my ears, I heard someone talking, but not to me. When I tried to pry my eyes open, I saw a face, then all went black.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Wind swept off the bay and rushed across the front of my body. It was colder than it should’ve been, and smelled off, not nearly briny enough, or maybe I wasn’t breathing right. Was I breathing at all? And what were those bright lights behind my lids? I didn’t remember that from the dream, but so much of it was new this time.

Gravity changed. I was laying back.

“I don’t know what happened.” The voice above me sounded rushed and anxious. “One second she was fine, we were about to—well, and the next minute, she said she couldn’t breathe, and then—” The voice broke off in a strangle. “She was screaming.”

“What did she take?” Another voice asked. “What is she
on
?”

“Nothing. I was with her all night.”

More lights flashed across my closed lids. Something cold and spongy covered my mouth, forcing stale air down my throat. It felt good, so I sucked in a deep breath.

“Rach, baby.” From the same direction as the voice, a hand touched my arm, squeezing it gently. “What’s wrong with her?”

“We don’t know.”

A wave of white pain hit. The thing over my mouth muffled my scream. Those same hands were on my forehead, combing through my hair. The voice was at my ear, soft but strained. “Baby, it’s okay.”

This part couldn’t be real, because I recognized the voice. Just to be sure, I forced my eyes open. Oliver’s face hovered above me, breaking my already-broken heart. I batted at the breathing tube over my mouth.

“Rach, shhhh.” The look in my eyes must’ve conveyed my confusion. “You’re at the hospital.” His hands were on my cheeks. “Do you remember what happened?”

I tried to speak.

“She’s conscious and she’s breathing just fine now,” he said to someone across from him who I couldn’t see. “Does she have to keep this damn thing on?”

A different pair of hands pulled the breathing tube off my face. I coughed, adjusting to breathing on my own.

“Ms. Daughtry.” A bearded man in blue scrubs appeared to my right. “We’re going to run some tests, but all indications point to—”

“
No
.” I tucked my chin, straining to find him, to see him again, but the new pain was blinding, forcing me back to a laying position. “Oliver, Oliver.” I whimpered the name like a prayer.

I was stunned to see him at my side again. “I’m here. I called Roger, and your parents are on the way.”

“I told you this would happen.” My right side burned like I was being split in half. I screamed and rolled away, squeezing my eyes shut.

“Rach, Rach, Shhh, listen to me. I have to tell you something. Look at me. Look at my face, Rachel.”

I obeyed. Would Oliver’s beautiful, steely eyes be the last thing I would ever see? When I managed to focus on him, he was smiling.

“You’re going to be fine, sweet pea. Okay? Keep looking at me. Good, that’s good.” He ran a hand through my hair. “I’ve been such a jackass and we wasted so much time but when you’re better, I’m taking you away—no more waste. We’ll get married and have ten kids and…” He scrubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes. “I love you, and I’m going to love you every day of your life, Rachel Daughtry. Keep looking at me. Rach?”

I wanted to tell him I loved him, too. I want to scream it. I tried. So hard. Before I could even tell him good-bye, a tall white-coat elbowed him aside. Oliver’s protesting voice faded away as I was wheeled around a corner.

I counted six florescence light panels on the ceiling as I passed under them. Then I closed my eyes and was gone.

…

The smell was a big clue. The annoying, repetitive beeping was the final giveaway. I was in a hospital room, but that was about all I knew. I’d been laying there for a while, wiggling my toes and fingers—ten and ten—counting the heart monitor beeps, and wondering when I would hear something new. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was my mother.

“Honey.” She scooted her chair to the side of my bed. “How do you feel?”

“Okay.” My voice sounded weak and hoarse. “Thirsty.”
Screaming-thirsty, actually.

Mom held a pink plastic cup with a built-in bendy straw up to my mouth. I took a few sips.

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not really.” I concentrated, thinking back to the last thing I could recall. “I was at his house. We made dinner and he…took my knapsack with the rusty cup.”

“What, honey?”

I rubbed my eyes. “It’s hazy.”

“Rachel, honey.” Mom placed a hand over mine. There was a tube attached to it. “Do you know where you are?”

“Disneyland?” Mom looked alarmed. “Hospital, I know.”

“You’re in the
post-anesthesia care unit
.” She glanced at the beeping machine over my head. “Once your vitals stabilize, they’ll move you to a regular post-op room.” She scooted closer and her voice dropped. “You had acute appendicitis, honey. When the appendix becomes inflamed, it has to be removed before it ruptures. A few hours ago, you had an emergency appendectomy.” She was purposely dumbing down the medical-talk in the explanation. She knew I wasn’t stupid; she must’ve been worried. “The surgery went well, but it took you a few extra hours to wake up from the anesthesia. You would start to come around but fade out again.”

“I don’t remember any of that.”

She smiled. “You’d been moved to recovery by the time we arrived. We flew here as quickly as we could.”

“Dad’s here? Where’s Rog?”

“Roger wanted to fly home, too, but we told him not to.”

“When can I go home?”

“Your father is outside talking to the doctor. I’ll let them know you’re awake.” She opened the door to my room. As she was about to step into the hall, she stopped. “Your friend Sarah’s been asking about you.” Mom extended an arm, beckoning, and Sarah appeared in the doorway.

“Hey, you. Can I come in?”

“Sure.” My attempt to wave her forward made me nauseous. “I would sit up, but I think it might kill me.”

Sarah’s smile turned into an empathetic cringe as she tiptoed toward the chair Mom vacated. “How do you feel? I mean, I know you’ve been cut in half, but are you okay?”

“She’s so badass, Rach. She totally yelled at the nurses.”

“Why?”

She scooted her chair closer. “Before your parents got here, Ollie wanted to see you, but he’s not family so they wouldn’t let him in, but he kept going on and on about it, so they threatened to kick him out of the hospital.”

While speaking, she’d been applying lip balm. The strong strawberry scent made me queasier. I swallowed, both parched and liquefied at the same time. As I reached for the cup of water, my side felt like it had a chunk bit out of it.

“That’s when your parents showed up and yelled at everyone. The nurses were pissed, but at least they didn’t kick him out.”

After a few sips of water, I gingerly laid back down. “Who got kicked out?”

“No, no, I said Ollie
didn’t
get kicked out. He hasn’t left since he brought you in. He’s being a royal pain and ticking everyone off. Rachel? Are you all right?”

I hadn’t meant to make that weird noise, but when my head started feeling fuzzy and the lights were too bright, I slammed my eyes shut, massaging the bridge of my nose with a knuckle. “Sarah,” I murmured. “Was I at his house?”

“Yeah. He was with you when you got sick.” She squeezed my tube-free arm. “I got all your voicemails yesterday. I was in a four-hour lab. I’m sorry. I called when class got out, but you didn’t answer, so I called my brother. He said you were with him but he wouldn’t let me talk to you. Said you were under security lock-down.”

When I chuckled, the pain in my side returned. “Wait, I’ve been here all day and all night? It’s Sunday?” Sarah nodded. “So it
didn’t
happen.”

“What didn’t happen, sweetie? Want me to get a doctor?”

There was a tap on the door. I expected to see a surgeon to check my vitals or inspect my stitches, but it was Oliver.

“The nurses are letting you in here?” Sarah asked.

“If it’s okay.” He nodded at someone down the hall I couldn’t see. “But since I was…disruptive, they’re only giving me one minute.” He looked at Sarah. “Leave us?”

“I’ll go get a Coke.” She disappeared without another word.

Oliver leaned against the closed door, about a mile away from me. “How do you feel?”

I groaned.

“What?” He rushed to the side of my bed. “Pain?”

“No. I’ve been awake for ten minutes, and I’m already sick of that question.”

He smiled and sat down. He was unshaven and his hair was mussed. The long sleeved black T-shirt he wore was wrinkled and untucked. He looked better than a dream. Then I
did
feel pain.

“S-sorry about this.” I tried to sit up but collapsed again. “Sorry you got dragged into it.”

“You could’ve died, you…” He exhaled slowly, pushing up his sleeves one at a time. “If you’d been home alone—it came on so fast—you could’ve passed out. We were lucky.”

“Lucky,” I repeated dryly. So I actually had been at his house. That part wasn’t a dream. But had we gone for a hike? I remembered that, too. Had I worn his shirt? Had he kissed me blind?

“It’s all a blur,” I said aloud, not meaning to.

“You don’t remember?”

Only glimpses of memories were coming back. Dreams and truth were tangled—like the swirls of Sarah’s painting. I couldn’t trust myself to distinguish what was real and what wasn’t.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. When I looked at Oliver, at his bent expression, he was the one who looked in pain. He stood and walked to the door. “You’re going?”

“Nurse Ratchett will ban me if I break her rules. But I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll leave you now.” With one hand on the knob, he looked at me in a way that reminded me of something else, another crumb of a memory: I saw his face, heard his voice; he called me sweet pea, said he loved me. If that had been real, why was he leaving? I bit my lip, my insides trembling and aching, reaching out for him.

Oliver pulled open the door, but then looked back at me. “Unless. Rach…”

Just then, a white coat entered and my father came rushing in after. Oliver was gone.