The Night Before Christian (4 page)

It wasn’t until Emory
spoke that he realized he’d been starting at her. He shook his head. “Nothing.”
Because that’s what it had to be between them. Nothing. “How bad is it? Do I
need stitches?”

“I think you’ll live
without them.” She wrapped his finger in a bandage. “All done.”

Replacing the first-aid
kit, she said, “You should really pay more attention when handling razor-sharp
objects.”

That included her. “I
was distracted.” Before she got the urge to ask by what, he lifted his middle
finger. “Thank you for this.”

“Did you just flip me
off?”

Christian laughed. Just
as he was about to dismiss the accusation, Emory’s cell phone rang.

“Excuse me.”

The way she smiled when
she glanced at her phone screen, Christian assumed it was her lover. But then
he remembered Chauncey telling him she wasn’t dating anyone. Why had he
experienced a sense of relief?

Emory’s expression
changed and worry spread across her face. “Oh, God. I’m on my way.”

“What’s wrong?”

“My mother—” Emory slapped
her hand over her mouth and tears glistened in her eyes. Allowing her hand to
fall, she said, “I have to get to the hospital.”

He captured her
trembling hand, ignoring the intense sensation her touch caused. “Let’s go.”

They wasted no time sprinting from
the building.

Emory hadn’t realized
she was bouncing her leg until Christian rested his hand on her knee. It was
something she did when she was anxious. The phone call she’d received about her
mother had her rattled. Blinking tears away, her eyes settled on his touch.

Christian snatched his
hand away, as if he’d just realized what he’d done. “Sorry.” Clearing his
throat, he said, “We’ll be there shortly. Don’t worry.”

Don’t worry
? How
could she not worry?

A short time later,
they sprinted through the emergency room entrance of Rex Hospital. Emory
hurried toward the help desk. “Anne Chambers,” she said, interrupting the two
chatting women. “What room is she in?”

“Ms. Emory.”

Emory glanced toward
the familiar Nigerian accent to see her mother’s nurse aide. Rushing to the
woman, she said, “Ifede, what happened? Is my mother okay?”

The woman was in tears.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The words knotted
Emory’s stomach as she contemplated the worst. She rested her hands on Ifede’s
shoulders, attempting to maintain a level of calmness. “It’s okay. Just tell me
what happened.”

Ifede glided a
trembling hand across her cheek. “I was fixing her meal. I thought she was
still sleeping. I heard a sound. Then a crash. When I went into the room, Ms.
Anne was on the floor, the Christmas tree laying on top of her.”

“Oh, God,” Emory said,
a queasy feeling overwhelming her. She placed a shaky hand on her stomach. “Where
is she? I need to see her.”

“She is in x-ray now.
The lady said someone will come for you when she’s done. I am so sorry,” Ifede
repeated.

“It’s not your fault.”
Her words were sincere, but she didn’t have the energy to comfort the woman
beyond that. Emory cradled herself in her arms, feeling absolutely helpless. A
beat later, she wandered away from a chatting Ifede and Christian. Standing in
front of a large window, she stared out into the darkness.

Her thoughts raked over
everything she had on her plate: her overextended business, her ailing mother,
the mountain of bills… Christian. She eyed his reflection in the window, then
rolled her eyes away.
Now this
. The weight of it all broke her down, and
she began to sob.

Without prompting,
Christian was at her side, wrapping her shaking body in his arms. She didn’t
fight or deny his embrace. Instead, she clung to him. Being in his warm arms
was the most peace she’d experienced in months, maybe even years. His arms had
always been her serenity, her safe haven. Clearly, that hadn’t changed because
for a brief moment, the voices of defeat silenced.

“It’s okay, Em.” A
reassuring hand glided up and down her back in a slow, deliberate manner. “It’s
okay.”

Why did his soothing
tone still have the ability to calm her frayed nerves? Being in his arms felt
so right, but deep down she knew being there was wrong. Him holding her, him
comforting her… All wrong. Sure, she could say they were friends, and he was
only doing what friends did for one another. But it would be a lie.

They weren’t friends. They
were ex-lovers. Ex-lovers who’d once shared a connection so deep they could
have been one body. Ex-lovers who’d planned a beautiful life together.
Ex-lovers who’d not gotten their happily ever after. Ex-lovers who shouldn’t be
entangled in each other’s arms.

“The doctor’s here,”
Christian said in a tender tone.

Emory pulled away from
Christian’s chest, their gazes locking briefly. What she saw set her soul on
fire. Denying the burn, she forced her gaze away before she was consumed by
Christian’s scorching flame. “How is my mother?”

The doctor—a tall, thin
man with auburn hair and a face full of freckles—flashed a warm smile. “Just
fine. Luckily, there are no broken bones or internal injuries. She’s a little
battered and bruised, but otherwise okay.”

Emory cupped her hands
under her chin. “Thank God.” Christian stood beside her, giving her a
reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. His touch rippled through her like an
electric current.

“We’ve placed her in a
room. We’re going to keep her overnight,” Dr. Ripley—as his nametag
read—continued, “Just for observation.”

“Of course,” Emory
said. “Can I see her, doctor?”

“Absolutely. Keep in
mind, we’ve given her something to calm her down. She was a bit…
rambunctious
when they tried to do the x-ray. We see that frequently in Alzheimer’s
patients.”

God, she hated that
word. When her mother had been diagnosed with middle-stage Alzheimer’s two
years ago, Emory’s life came to a screeching halt. Her mother became her number
one priority. Which meant everything else took a backseat.

Turning to Christian,
she said, “Thank you for everything.”

“Do you mind if I come
with you?” he asked.

Emory stilled a moment,
the question taking her by surprise. “Ah, sure.” Though she doubted her mother
would recognize him.

When they entered the
room, her mother lay flat on the mattress wringing her hands and staring at the
ceiling. Emory approached the bed cautiously, not wanting to startle her.
“Mom?” she said in a whisper.

Her mother’s face lit
up. “Emory, baby? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me.” She
took her mother’s outreached hand. “How do you feel?”

Her mother frowned. “I’m
so tired.”

“I know. The doctor
said they gave you something that will help you rest. You sleep. I’m right here.”

Ms. Anne’s gaze slid
past her. “Who’s with you?”

“Hello, Ms. Anne,”
Christian said, moving closer.

Ms. Anne’s eyes
brightened. “Christian St. Claire?”

Emory’s head snapped
back in surprise. It’d been so long since she’d seen him. She took it as a good
sign that her mother recognized him.

Christian donned a
confident smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, come here, son,
and give me a hug.”

Christian bent and her
mother wrapped him in her frail arms. Emory loved days like this. When her
mother remembered the small things. When she wasn’t forgetting the address of
the house she’d lived in for forty-five years, or her phone number, or the fact
that her husband had died. Emory loved when there weren’t mood swings or empty
stares out the window. Loved when there was no confusion about what year it
was.

On the days Anne Madell
Chambers—ex-school teacher, ballroom dancing instructor, songbird—surfaced, Emory
rejoiced.

“It’s so good to see
you, son,” Ms. Anne said. “I’m so glad you two are back together. I prayed
about it. God don’t make no mistakes.”

“Mom, we’re—”

“I prayed about it,
too, Ms. Anne,” Christian said.

Emory nearly choked on
her own tongue. When Christian tossed her a glance, she understood why he’d
said what he’d said. He simply wanted her mother to experience some form of happiness.
She swallowed any protest she may have had about the statement. Tomorrow, her
mother wouldn’t even remember the conversation.

Emory eased into one of
the chairs near her mother’s bed. A short time later, Jordyn arrived. Christian
and Jordyn kept Ms. Anne entertained, while Emory vanished into her own
thoughts. It was like old times, the four of them sitting around chatting and
laughing. For a moment, things actually felt normal in her life.

When Emory checked her
watch, it was close the nine o’clock. Where had the time gone? “Mom, we have to
go now, but I’ll be back first thing in the morning. You’ll get to go home.” The
fact that Jordyn had volunteered to stay the night with their mother eased Emory’s
reservations about leaving.

Ms. Anne laughed.
“Sweetie, what are you talking about? I am home.” She searched the room.
“I…think.” Her brow furrowed. “Where am I?”

And just like that, her
mother had been snatched away again.

“You’re in the
hospital, Mommy,” Jordyn said. “I’m going to stay the night with you.”

Her mother smiled
brightly. “Okay. You girls are so good to me.”

Emory bent and kissed
her mother’s forehead. “I love you, songbird,” she said.

“I love you, too, sweetie.”

Christian squeezed Ms.
Anne’s hand. “I’ll see you soon, Ms. Anne,”

Ms. Anne took
Christian’s hand into hers, a somber expression spreading over her face. “Please
forgive me.”

Jordyn tossed Emory a
questioning glance and Emory shrugged. For all Emory knew, her mother could
have thought Christian was a priest to whom she could confess her sins. Emory
feared what would come out of her mouth.

Christian smiled down
at Ms. Anne. “Forgive you for what?”

“For being the reason my
daughter broke your heart.” She snuggled under the covers and closed her eyes.

Christian and Jordyn tossed
questioning glances in her directions. If she had to guess, they both wondered
the same thing: whether or not the statement was true. Emory shrugged,
suggesting she had no idea what her mother was talking about and hoped to end
it there. Unfortunately, by the look in Christian’s eyes, she knew it wouldn’t
be that simple.

Christian tried to force
Ms. Anne’s words out of his head. But they lingered—torturing and teasing him.
What did she mean by being the reason Emory had broken his heart? Could that
truly have been the reason Emory ended their relationship?
Nah
.

The idea was
ridiculous, right? Emory had known him better than that. Had to have known he
would have stood by her side. He tossed a quick glance at his passenger. If he
asked her, would she tell him the truth? Did he want to know the truth? Could
he handle the truth?

No way was her mother’s
condition the reason she’d walked away. Again, he attempted to force the
thought away. Had to force it away, before it drove him insane.

Emory’s stomach
growled. They’d been at the hospital for hours. The only thing either of them
had consumed was a cup of lukewarm coffee. “Are you hungry?” As if he really
needed to ask.

“No.” Her stomach
protested the answer. “Maybe a little.”

“So am I. Let’s get
something to eat.”

“I… I don’t think
that’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

Emory shifted toward
him. “What would your
fiancée
say about you having dinner with
your…florist?”

“I’m not having dinner
with a florist. I’m having dinner with an old friend.”

“
Old friend
?”

“Yes,” he said,
cautiously. Though, by the emphasis she’d placed on the word, he had a feeling
he’d regret using the label.

“Does your fiancée know
you and your
old friend
used to be lovers?”

Yep, he’d walked right
into that one. No, he hadn’t told Yasmin about their history because, at the
time, he hadn’t seen the need. And truthfully, he didn’t see one now. What
would it accomplish? Other than making it an even more awkward situation than
it already was. Plus, he was pretty sure Yasmin would fire Emory on the spot.
He wouldn’t allow that to happen. Emory needed the business.

Christian redirected
his attention in front of him without answering her.

Emory chuckled. “I
didn’t think so.”

She straightened in her
seat and returned her focus outside the window, fingering the pendant dangling
from her necklace.

Approaching a red
light, Christian said, “You still wear it.”

“What?” Emory asked,
clearly lost in her own thoughts.

“The angel wings. You
still wear them.”

She dipped her head and
eyed the diamond encrusted piece he’d given her. Tucking it beneath the sweater
she wore, she said, “Got to stay protected, right?”

“Is that the only
reason?”
Damn
. Where had that come from? And how’d he allow the reckless
words to escape?

“What other reason would
there be?”

He could think of a
few, but none of them really mattered. They eyed each other for a long moment
that bordered uncomfortable. For the first time since he could recall,
something terrified him. That something… the feelings reconnecting with Emory
brought to the surface and his inability to deny them.

“The light is green,”
she said.

“What?”

Before she could repeat
herself, a car horn blared behind them.

She tossed a glance
over her shoulder. “You better go before there’s a case of road rage. You know
how grumpy people get at Christmas.”

He pulled off. “Everyone
except you. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who loves Christmas as much as
you do.”

“Yeah. I used to. The
last few years…” She sighed heavily. “Christmas just doesn’t feel the same. I can’t
seem to get into the holiday spirit.”

With everything she had
going on, how could she possibly be in a festive mood? But he asked anyway, “Any
particular reason?”

She eyed her fidgeting
fingers. “There’s just a lot going on in my life. I don’t really want to go
into detail.”

He nodded, respecting
her decision, but wished she’d talk to him like old times. Then it hit him.
These weren’t old times. These were new times. And in these new times, he was
no longer the shelter she ran to when she needed refuge from the storm.

A short time later,
they pulled in front of Emory’s ranch-style home. Something inside of him hated
their time together had come to an end. The same something that told him he
knew he had to see her again. Another something reminded him of the fact that
he was weeks from getting married, which meant whatever this was drawing him to
Emory had to be contained. This had to be the last time he saw her. He had no
other choice.

“Thank you so much,
Christian, for altering your day for me. You didn’t have to, but I’m grateful you
did.”

“What are friends for?”

Unfastening her
seatbelt, she said, “Yeah, what are friends for?”

Why had her words
sounded so condescending? Did she believe he was trying to be patronizing? “I’ll
walk you to the door,” he said.

“That’s not necessary.
Besides, it’s freezing out. You hate cold weather. Or, at least, you used to.”

He still did, but he
wasn’t sure even the forty degree temperature outside could penetrate the heat
raging inside of him. The kind of heat he should feel for the woman he was
about to marry, but never had. The kind of heat that reminded him when you play
with fire, you get burned.

“Have a good night,
Christian.” She smiled and closed the door.

He watched as she
strolled toward the house, growing more and more anxious with each step she
took away from him.
Don’t do it, Christian
.
Don’t do it
, his
inner voice warned. Lowering the window, he called out. “What time should I
pick you up in the A.M.?”

Emory stopped but
didn’t readily face him. When she finally did, he swore moonlight glistened off
of her cheeks. Had she been crying?

“You don’t have to do
that, Christian. Jordyn can pick me up.”

“Jordyn has class in
the morning.” When she flashed him a questioning expression, he added, “She
told me when you stepped out of the room.”

He couldn’t decipher
whether or not she bought his fib. But if she called to verify it with Jordyn,
he would be in a pickle.

“I can get Lucas to
pick me up.”

Who the hell was Lucas?
Then he remembered the man with the Australian accent that’d showed him into
the conference room. Dismissing her option, he said, “What time, Emory?”

She folded her arms
across her chest. “Don’t you have a job you should be reporting to?”

“Not for another month
or so. Six o’clock… Seven o’clock?”

She nestled her coat
tighter, glanced up and down the street as if she were trying to ascertain whether
or not anyone was watching, then sighed heavily. “Nine.”

“Nine o’clock it is.”

“
Goodnight
,
Christian.” She turned, jogged to the house and disappeared inside.

“Goodnight, Emory,” he mumbled
to himself.

He’d masked his motives
behind a thick cloak of “just being a friend,” but this was far more than being
there for a friend in need. This was dangerous. Yet, he continuously chose to
ignore the risks.

Had he forgotten that
this was the woman who’d shattered his hearts? Damn. He really needed to get
his head straight.

Need
.

Was that it? Did he
need
to be near her? He tossed a glance at the closed door. The question troubled
him. Mainly because he knew with Emory was the last place he
needed
to
be.

***

The following morning,
Christian arrived at Emory’s place a half hour early. He refused to admit—even
to himself—that the reason he’d been so punctual was because he couldn’t wait
to see her again. Instead, he contributed it to the fact that, like Emory, he
favored punctuality.

As he stepped onto the
porch, Charles Brown’s “Please Come Home for Christmas,” greeted his ears. He
rang the bell and waited. The music lowered and light footsteps grew closer and
closer. When Emory eased the door open, she was still in her night clothes—a pair
of hot pink flannel pajama pants imprinted with tiny snowflakes, and a white
tank top that appeared a size too small. Despite her tousled hair and weary
expression, she was still gorgeous.

“Good morning,” he said,
focusing on her eyes and not her nipples—that beaded from the rush of cold air.
At least, that’s what he assumed it was from. What else could it have been?

“You’re early.”

“Am I?” He flipped his
wrist to glance at his watch. “Huh. I guess I am.” Pointing over his shoulder,
he said, “I can wait in the vehicle.” For a moment, he thought she’d agree with
him.

“Don’t be ridiculous.
It’s like two degrees out there.”

He shivered for effect.
“Yeah, it is pretty cold out
here
.” He hoped his emphasis on
here
would prompt her to invite him inside.

She stepped aside. “Come
in.”

When he ambled through
the threshold, the first thing to hit him was the scent of cinnamon. He
searched for the rustic broom he knew was the culprit. It lay on the marble in
front of a crackling fireplace.

The room had changed.
The red leather sectional had been replaced with two brown sofas that reclined
on either end. Abstract art graced the walls. Noting the initials in the bottom
right-hand corner, he said. “Did you—”

Emory’s taut nipples appeared
more pronounced, causing him to lose his train of thought. Fighting his way out
of the stupor and finding her eyes again, he said, “Ahm... Did you paint these?”

Emory claimed a sweater
draped over the arm of a chair and slid into it. He felt like an asshole—more
like a pervert—for ogling her breasts.
So much for being a gentleman
.
Luckily, she didn’t call him out on the action.

“Yes, I painted them.”

“Wow. Nice.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re just full of
all kind of creative surprises.”

“Flowers and painting
are outlets for me.”

He nodded with
understanding.

She pointed over her
shoulder. “It’ll only take me a minute to shower and dress.”

“Take your time,” he
said, scrutinizing every inch of the room.

“There’s hot chocolate
on the stove. Help yourself. There are marshmallows, too.” She flashed a
knowing smile.

“Homemade hot
chocolate? I see you still know how to please me.” He stilled.
Damn
. He hadn’t
meant it like it’d come out. “I wasn’t suggesting you made it just for me or
anything. What I meant—”

Emory lifted her hand.
“Actually, I did make it just for you. My way of saying thank you. Again.”

Before he could
respond, his cell phone sounded.

Emory backed away. “I’ll
let you take that. I’ll be out shortly.”

He nodded and fished his cell phone from
his pocket as Emory disappeared down the hall. His grandmother’s name flashed
across the screen.
This should be interesting
.