But a world without her in it? The ache in my chest tells me I’m not ready for that.
Katherine is studying me with that steady gaze of hers that always seems to see way too much. More than I want her to see.
“What the hell are you doing here, Tom?”
There, that’s better. Keep that up, and I might have a sliver of a chance of making my flight.
Not much of a chance. But my prayers about the delay came true, and if I leave now, maybe . . .
But I can’t seem to stop looking at the IV in the back of her hand. Or hearing the subtly malicious beep of the hospital machines. Or noticing that her barbs seem just a little bit duller than they used to be.
I try a smile. “I don’t suppose you’d believe that I was just in the neighborhood?”
Katherine doesn’t smile back. My usual brand of charm doesn’t work with her. Never has.
I sigh and let the smile drop, a little surprised at what a relief it is to do so. I never had to pretend with Katherine.
“Your office called me,” I explain, setting my briefcase atop my roller suitcase to give my shoulder a break. I cross my arms. “Apparently, I’m still listed as your emergency contact.”
I’m about to ask if the oversight was her way of torturing me, but I can tell by the too-fast flutter of her eyelashes and lack of snarky rejoinder that this revelation catches her off guard.
“You didn’t know?” I ask. “That you’d forgotten to make the change?”
“No, Tom, I didn’t know.” She lifts a hand to her forehead, then winces. “Sorry to bust your little fantasy that I was manufacturing a reason to see you again.”
“Huh.” That Katherine missed something is . . . interesting. A missed birthday? Anniversary? Scheduled date night? Those details I can see Katherine forgetting. I’ve experienced them firsthand.
But when it comes to anything related to her work, there’s no t she won’t cross, no i she doesn’t carefully dot.
Katherine’s face is scrunched in concentration. “Okay. I can maybe see why they called you. What I don’t understand is why you actually came.”
“Believe me,” I mutter. “Been asking myself the same question.”
She lifts her eyebrows and waits for me to elaborate.
I sigh. “Look. It’s just what decent people do when they hear that someone else has been hurt. Not that I’d expect you to understand these sorts of human concepts.”
“I’m decent.” She mutters something unintelligible about the Rockettes, making me wonder if her head injury is more severe than I realized.
But I force myself not to ask what the hell she’s talking about. The less detail I know about her current life, the harder it will be to get sucked into it. I know from experience once I do, it’s nearly impossible to get untangled from this woman once I’ve engaged.
“If it helps,” I add. “I completely regret coming.”
Katherine touches the bandage on her forehead gingerly and gives a tiny smile. “That does help, actually. Thank you.”
I roll my eyes, then steady my gaze back on her. For a moment I’m reminded of back then. Back when I cared about her. And her me.
Back before it all went to hell.
Time has dulled that pain. Hell, up until this moment, I thought that time had banished it from existence entirely.
Seeing her again, though . . . I realize the ache is still there. Duller, but definitely present. A bit like a TV at a sports bar that’s tuned to a channel you wouldn’t have chosen. It’s not showing your team. It’s not even showing your preferred sport. But for some reason, it demands a little bit of your attention anyway.
That’s Katherine right now. Not my team. Not my sport. And yet I can’t seem to look away.
If there was a gun to my head? Sure. I could admit that I think about Katherine in a dim, muted kind of way. But since, odds are, the person holding said gun would be Katherine herself, I’ll never admit any of these complicated emotions to her.
Katherine thinks other people’s feelings are a weapon, and it’s one she’s not afraid to use when she’s feeling wounded. Which, given how banged up she looks, is now.
And yet, the way she’s looking at me, I don’t think she wants to hurt me. It’s almost as though—
Our almost-not-quite-a-moment is interrupted by a new face and the confident stride of a doctor. “Hi there, how are we? I’m Dr. Palmer.”
The doctor looks my way. “Ah, he made it! You must be the husband.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Only in my nightmares.”
“Oh. I apologize.” The doctor looks down at her screen with a frown.
“There was a paperwork mix-up,” Katherine explains. “Tom was just leaving.”
Whatever human feelings she might have been having are apparently gone because she tries to shoo me away, tugging the IV in the process. She winces at the pain but recovers quickly to glare at me. My presence here clearly is aggravating the hell out of her. It’s all the invitation I need.
I give a taunting grin and wheel my suitcase up against the wall out of the way with a flourish. To really sell the “I’m here to stay awhile” effect, I shrug out of my jacket and drape it over the handle of my suitcase.
Katherine’s glare intensifies, and when I meet her eyes, she mouths, I will kill you.
Then she draws a line across her neck.
I can’t help but laugh. She’s so . . .
Katherine.
“So, what are we dealing with here?” I ask, turning all my attention to the doctor and crossing my arms with a worried frown, giving my best “concerned spouse” performance.
If there’s a touch of truth to the performance, I’ll never tell.
“Let me guess,” I continue. “Aneurysm caused by excessive cell phone use?”
“Speaking of my cell phone, I can’t find it,” Katherine interjects. “And the nurse. Blue Jell-O wouldn’t bring it to me, even though I asked very nicely.”
I give her a look, which she ignores.
“Being without your cell phone? Your worst nightmare,” I say under my breath.
“You’re my worst nightmare,” she shoots back. Not under her breath.
“By all means, Katie,” I say, spreading my hands to the side. “Feel free to call your other emergency contact. Oh, wait . . .”
Katherine looks away quickly, and I feel a knot of guilt in my chest at the realization that my barb landed a little more sharply than I intended.
Obviously, her reasons for not updating her emergency contact information have less to do about oversight or some sort of weird revenge agenda, and more to do with the fact that . . .
Katherine doesn’t have anyone else.
I can’t seem to make up my mind how I feel about this.
Katherine’s attention returns to the doctor. “So, what’s the story? When can I go home?”
“Well, we got the results of your CT scan.” The doctor glances my way, clearly reluctant to discuss Katherine’s medical details in front of a nonfamily member.
Katherine picks up on this too because she waves her hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Tom and I used to be . . . lovers.”
“Gross,” I mutter. “Don’t phrase it like that.”