That was an understatement. Whatever adage people offered about "time healing all wounds" was bullshit. The tremors in my hands had mostly stopped, but my fear hadn't. The cold sweat, the racing heart—I felt those things every day in the NICU. I'd practically relegated myself to the position of medical consultant with Kata and Rashawn performing surgeries.
Frost nodded; he got it. I knew he did. He had been a Navy trauma surgeon for the first few years of his career before he'd abruptly taken a residency as a plastic surgeon. He'd been modifying boobs and lifting wrinkles ever since. "You know what I'm going to say, then."
"Change of pace," I sighed. "Yeah, I know." And really, I did know. I had a lease agreement for a building in Park City sitting on my counter at home.
I'd been batting around the idea of opening that after-NICU specialty pediatric clinic, after all. I could do it here in Oregon, but my instincts kept driving me to Park City where Arabella and her ranch were. Annoyingly. And Knox had kept his offer on the table to help with initial financing. It was terribly tempting.
Frost gave me one of his inscrutable looks, the kind that few people got a glimpse of. Frost was all lighthearted joie de vivre until, often without warning, he was deadly serious. "Don't ignore what your instincts are telling you, Spence."
I took another sip of the beer and nodded. "Yeah. Maybe."
"Damn, she really got in your head." Frost shook his head, looking around the room again. "Who should we send you home with? You need a rebound. When was the last time you got laid?"
Eleven months ago. Unbearably, I hadn't been able to look at another woman the same way since sleeping with Arabella. And it was slowly killing me on the inside. My dick was practically mummified. "I can get my own dates, Frost. Are you in the habit of getting your friends laid? That seems like an odd hobby."
Frost smiled faintly, pushing off the counter. He clapped me on the shoulder. "Mingle. See what happens. Thanks for showing up, buddy."
I grunted into my glass before taking another drink. The candy cane girl got really intense with her "fuck me" eyes, so I left the counter and threaded through the crowd, taking in the gorgeous girls sitting on the laps of toned men, the gyrating bodies moving to techno holiday music, and the soft lighting. I thought getting out would help my brooding, but it wasn't doing much, just making me feel more alone.
I finished my drink, caught up with a couple of fellows from med school, avoided flirtatious advances, and then finallyrealized I wasn't myself. This wasn't going to help. I waved to Frost before leaving the party, and he gave me a two-finger salute with two women draped over him. I used to be like that, dammit. Before mywife.
It was one thing for her to be embarrassed or confused about our night together—I could understand the emotions involved in that. It was another thing entirely to put me in hot water by ignoring my phone calls. Sylvia had been low-key threatening me with emails to put on a pretense that we were married. If we didn't lookmarriedenough, she would come after me with her stupid savvy legal team and snatch that ranch right back from my name. And all before I'd had a chance to transfer it to Arabella. I wasn't asking anything from Bee but to take the damn gift I wanted to hand her.
I walked with long strides down the dark sidewalk and back to the parking garage. If she wanted to ignore me, then fine. She could lose her ranch for good. Why was I fighting for her? She didn't want anything to do with me. She didn't return my calls or texts, she patently ignored the threats from her mother, and she apparently assumed that I would hold onto the ranch for her indefinitely.
Well, she was wrong. I wasn't doing it anymore. I had a life to live, too, and I couldn't hang out in Arabella limbo forever. I'd just send her divorce papers, hand the deed back to Sylvia, and….
… never be able to live with myself. Goddammit, Arabella.
I opened my car door with more force than necessary, entered, slammed it shut, and punched the car to life. I could give her a little more time. But if she didn't call me back by the end of the year, then… something. I would do something. I didn't know what, but I sure as hell couldn't keep working longer hours at the hospital, tossing at night, and ghosting through my days like a fucking ghoul.
I tapped the screen on my car to call her again—most likely pointlessly—and to my surprise, it lit up with her caller ID. I had a picture of her with half a donut hanging out of her mouth that I'd taken as an undergrad, and it cracked me up every time it popped up with her number. I answered with a hint of surprise. "Hello?"
"Spence?" Arabella croaked. "Hey."
She sounded horrible. "Well, if it isn't my wife," I said, not bothering to hide my irritation.
"Uh, yeah." She coughed, and even over the phone I could tell it was tight. "Listen, I've got an… issue. I won't bore you with details—" her voice squeaked, so raspy I could barely hear her. "Sorry. It's just… I need the deed to the ranch."
"How long have you been sick?" I frowned.
"S'allergies," she grated out. "Do you have the deed?"
The cajónes on this woman. "You mean, do I haveourdeed I got after ourmarriage?"
"Spencer," she growl-sighed.
I drove through downtown Eugene, heading for my house only five minutes down the road. "I've been calling you for literally a year, trying to transfer the damn thing to your name. And you've ignored me."
I heard the defeat in her voice as she said, "I know. I'm sorry. I've been… busy."
"You've beenrunningas per your norm." I wasn't sure why I was being so salty with her when I'd been desperate to get her on the phone for eleven months. I was going to fuck this up if I wasn't careful.
She coughed, and I winced. That did not sound good. "Do you have it or not?"
"I do," I replied testily. "If you need it transferred to your name, then you need to sign an acknowledgment of transfer. I can't just whiteout my name and stick yours on there."
A pregnant silence was followed by a short, "Oh."
