Instead of smiling, she looked sad. “I’m sorry I wasn’t so many times before. Years and years, even before we lost Alice. She was all I could see. I neglected you.”
“No, you didn’t.” I hugged her back. “Seriously, Mom. I never wanted you to focus on me and neglect her.” Half a lie, because yeah, there were times before we’d realized just how sick Alice was that I’d wished Mom could turn away from her now and then and see me. But it was all water under the bridge now.
“Well, I’ve resolved to do better. And I want you to know, I am so, so proud of you.” She glanced at the chatting family across the room and leaned my way, lowering her voice, but plunged on. “Not just as an awesome nurse practitioner, but how you jumped in and did everything you could for Alice, how you kept our home going when I couldn’t. And now, forgiving Griffin and taking him back. You’re such a strong man.”
“I didn’t have to forgive, really. It was kind of mutual.” I sighed. “And I think I might need a little therapy too.”
She patted my knee. “Doesn’t make you less strong. Or me less proud.”
I had to sweep her into a tight embrace, my cheek on her hair so she wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes. “Thanks, Mom. That means a lot.”
A tall guy in scrubs coming our way made me sit back and quickly rub my face. They were used to tears around here, nodoubt, but not for a simple polyp removal. I cleared my throat. “Griffin Marsh?”
“Yes,” the nurse said, stopping in front of us. “He’s waking up. One of you can come sit with him till he’s ready for discharge. Sorry, he’s still in recovery so space is limited.”
“Go on,” Mom told me. “I’ll stay here, see if Gina makes it back for a chat. Then I can get a cab home. You take care of your man.”
She sounded fine and relief was a heady drug. “You’re the best.” I got up, tugged my sweatshirt straight, and told the nurse, “Lead me to him.”
Griffin lay in a curtained alcove in surgical recovery. If I wasn’t a nurse, they might’ve waited a bit longer to let me in because he still seemed pretty loopy. He smiled widely at me as I pulled a chair up at his bedside. I put my fingers on his lips before he could speak. “Hush. You just had the polyp on your larynx removed and you’re on no talking for forty-eight hours.”
He blinked up at me, so I wasn’t sure the words had registered, but I was on top of things now. As his eyes drifted shut and his lips softened, I lifted my hand and checked his pulse instead. Nice and even. Color looked good. Breathing was slow and steady. When he stirred a minute later, I repeated the info, my hand over his mouth. That time, he nodded enough for me to remove the pressure. He fixed his gaze on me, his eyes shining bright—it’s the eye lube, you fool. I ran a fingertip under his lower lids.
But really, that sheen wasn’t an artifact of moisturizer. Griffin stared into my face as if I was his whole world while fumbling across the blanket for my hand. I locked my fingers gently around his, and he shaped the words,“I love you.”
“I love you too. Thank you for not dying on me.” He squeezed my fingers at that and I managed to smile. “Now stay quiet and we’ll see about getting you out of here.”
Springing Griffin took a couple of hours, of course. But eventually I got him loaded into my car for the silent drive home. I turned in at his building, dodging a middle-aged man who’d plunged off the sidewalk and rushed our way, and parked in Griffin’s reserved space. “Home sweet home. Let’s get you up and into bed.” I climbed out and hurried around to his side of the car.
Griffin waved me off, hauled himself up out of his seat, then groaned loud enough for me to have to shush him. Although I sympathized when I saw the nondescript pedestrian had a cell phone raised and was charging toward us.
“Griffin Marsh!” the man exclaimed, phone up and no doubt recording. “Our sources say you were receiving treatment for an alcohol-related illness. Do you confirm or deny this?”
“Awhat?” My mind boggled.
Griffin grabbed my arm, shook his head, and turned us toward the building. The phone guy dogged Griffin’s steps, shouting ever more ridiculous questions and accusations at him. Griffin managed to stay blank and stoic all the way into the lobby, and I mimicked him with an effort. The paparazzi grabbed the edge of the door in an effort to keep us from closing him out and I took no small satisfaction in leaning my full weight on it so he had to let go or lose some fingernails. When the lock clicked, I smiled blandly back.
Still stone-faced, Griffin tugged me through the lobby and past the inner door. Once we were out of sight, he heaved a sigh.
“Jesus, what an asshole,” I said. “I really wanted to flip him the bird. Or give him a big, huge grin and stick out my tongue.”
Shaking his head, Griffin pulled out the little notebook he’d been writing in and scribbled,“Not worth it. He’d say he asked about my victim’s family and that was my response.”
“Well, fuck.” I wrapped an arm around Griffin and squeezed his shoulders. “Was hestillblathering on about how your conviction was a drunk-driving coverup? Seriously?”
“Slow news day.”
“Fucking bottom feeder.”
“No doubt. Hounded me whole trial.”
“Well, he’s not going to spoil today.” I pushed the button for the elevator. “At least, no worse than surgery and recovery does. I’m going to get you on the couch with a cold smoothie and we can watch some mindless TV.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Except when I opened the apartment door, a resounding crash was followed by the appearance of Cinder, tail bottle-brush erect until she saw us. Then her fur settled and she paced toward us, purring like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“What have you done, you little monster?” I asked her as Griffin scooped her up and buried his face in her fur. Whatever it was, I’d forgive her for the way Griffin’s stressed frown had smoothed out as he lowered her into his arms. I touched his shoulder. “Take your cat and sit down. I’ll check out the damage and make you a drink.”
