All of You Page 8

“Okay, Dad. I won’t.” My answer is half-hearted. Dad’s been pissed since I applied for residency here after our top choices—his top choices, that is—didn’t work out. He’d blamed me, said I should’ve worked harder. He was pissed I came here, but decided I could make the best of it and still get things back on track. Now, though, he’s probably doubting that.

  “Talk to you later,” he grumbles, and with that, the phone conversation is over.

  I sigh, slamming the phone down on the stand near me.

  It’s nothing new. Dad’s always been a tough-love, stern kind of guy. No I love yous, no affection. Just work and gather achievements. That’s how you got Dad’s stamp of approval.

  Today, though, his words don’t sound like the words of a man I admire. They don’t sound like words that inspire me to work hard.

  They sound asinine. Cold. Empty.

  I squeeze the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, wondering how things got so complicated. Wondering how the hell I ended up in the middle of whatever this is.

  Wondering how I got so lost.

  Then again, Marley’s made me wonder if maybe I was lost before I got here. Maybe the path I so carefully set out—or the path my parents set out for me—wasn’t the path I wanted to follow at all.

  Still, Dad’s words, although aggravating, have some truth to them. I’ve invested years, tons of money, and so much of my effort into this. It would be pointless to give it up now. It seems wasteful to not give it my all. I’ve sacrificed for years for this. Can I really throw in the towel when the finish line is so close?

  Can I afford to be distracted by Marley, even if it feels right?

  Chapter Ten

  Marley

  This must be what it felt like to be Bonnie. You know, from Bonnie and Clyde.

  The anxiety, the butterflies, the sweaty palms. The feeling of doing something a little crazy.

  Or a lot crazy.

  Okay, I’m being melodramatic. Bonnie was out robbing banks and pulling off heists. I’m simply stealing a doctor and forcing him to play hooky. Could we technically call that kidnapping?

  I lean against the wall outside the entrance to the ER, trying not to look like a creepy bomber or like I’m in need of help. I try to act natural—not an easy task.

  My heart flutters when I see Alex rushing toward the door, the sun beating down on us.

  “Stop,” I yell, stretching a hand in front of him. He startles, having to do a double take, clearly in the work zone and not the crazy girl zone.

  “Marley? What’s wrong?”

  I smile. “You’re working too much,” I say, as I grab hold of his shoulders when he gets close enough, spinning him around.

  “Marley, I work today. I’m supposed to be clocking in right now,” he points out, looking confused as hell.

  “Not today you’re not.”

  “I can’t just….” He pauses, trying to stop me from leading him away.

  “Oh yes you can. It’s official. Alex Evans, you’re playing hooky today.”

  I walk in front of him, grabbing his hand and leading him toward my pickup truck in the parking lot. Everything we need for my planned kidnapping is there.

  I meet with resistance when I try to yank him forward.

  “Marley,” he says, pulling me toward him. I spin to face him. “It sounds like fun. But I can’t just up and walk out on work. I’m in residency. I can’t afford to not show up.”

  “Well, doctor boy, lucky for you I have an in.” I wriggle my eyebrow at him in what I’m sure is a creepy move. He scrunches up his face in confusion.

  “You talked to Dr. Conlan?”

  “Of course. Listen, I want you to be wild and free and all that. But I also don’t want you losing your residency. So I cleared our hooky day with Dr. Conlan last night.”

  “Well, then it’s not really playing hooky, is it?” Alex asks, his face finally relaxing.

  “Listen, baby steps with you. Besides. The hooky part isn’t the wild and free part. It’s what we’re doing with our hooky day.”

  I smile at him coyly, yanking him toward the parking lot. The tension in his body eases, and now he practically runs after me. I give myself an internal pat on the back for being so smart and coming up with this idea. The man needed to get away—again. Okay, so maybe I’m a bad influence on work ethic after all.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Come on. You think I’m just going to give it up like that? Not happening. And no looking in the back of my truck.”

  “Where’s your truck?” Alex asks.

  I pretend to zip my lips, not wanting to give it away.

  He eyes me, then the parking lot, and takes off sprinting toward, to my chagrin, my vehicle.

  “Hey, no fair! Stop right now, Alex Evans!” I shriek, running after him, holding my hat on my head with one hand.

  I catch up to him, my long legs and my desire not to ruin the surprise carrying me fast. When I reach him, I slam up against his body, shoving him against the passenger door, not letting him get to the back of the truck.

  Standing in the beaming sun, the black pavement of Rosewood Hospital’s parking lot radiating heat beneath my flip-flops, I realize I’m standing way too close to Alex, arms pinning him back. His cologne wafts up toward me, and his firm biceps beneath my fingernails make me involuntarily shudder. I’m close enough to see every detail of his face, the crystal blue of his eyes. My heart pounds in my chest, not just from the impromptu sprint across the parking lot, but from the feeling in my gut.

  “No peeking,” I gasp breathily, looking up into his face, admiring every line.

  “Tell me where we’re going,” he demands, not even fighting me.

  “Not a chance. Get in and you’ll find out.”

  He shakes his head, and I finally step back, letting him open the door. I walk around the truck to the driver side, never taking my eyes off him, giving him a warning point to keep him in line. When I get in and buckle my seat belt, I turn to Alex before starting the truck. Alex settles in, flicking the fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror.

  “Those happen to be my lucky dice,” I say.

  “Really?”

  “No. But it sounds good,” I admit as I start the truck. I pull out of Rosewood Hospital and head toward our destination.

  “I can’t believe you kidnapped me from work,” Alex remarks as we head through town.

  “It wasn’t very hard, you know. It’s not like I had to take you at knifepoint.”

  “Well, what kind of moron would turn down a day with a wild and fun tour guide like you?”

  “The workaholic kind,” I reply, grinning.

  “Hey, look, I’m trying to break away.”

  “And I’m trying to help.”

  “And you won’t quit until you’ve succeeded?” he asks, grinning.

  I just glance over at him. “You betcha,” I say, before cranking the music up again.

  ***

  “Isn’t it just beautiful?” I ask after stabilizing myself, rowing carefully out past Alex. There’s a gentle breeze that lifts the ends of my hair. It’s a warm day, but the perfect kind of warm, not stifling.

  Alex sails over the water behind me, looking perfectly at home in his kayak as we ease ourselves down the river.

  “It is. It’s peaceful.”

  “Better than being at work?” I turn over my shoulder, still slightly ahead of him, rowing down the water. I can feel the sun beating down on my back, and the tightness of my skin tells me I didn’t put on enough sunscreen. I can’t bring myself to care right now, though, with the gentle waters lapping against my kayak rhythmically, lulling me into a serene state. A few ducks flap in the water nearby, and I gesture toward them as we talk.

  “Way better. Thanks for stealing me.”

  He paddles up next to me so we are in line, drifting down the river.

  “So how are we getting back once we get out of the river? How are we getting back to your truck?” Alex asks.

&nb
sp; I shake my head. “Always such a planner, huh? Relax. I got it covered. Dane agreed to drive my truck out to West Bend, which is a few miles down. His mom will pick him up. We’ll get out there and be able to drive back.”

  “You thought of everything,” he says, smiling.

  “Of course. I might be spontaneous and outdoorsy, but I’m not an idiot.”

  “Never said you were. I think you’re amazing.”

  “Why thanks. I’m glad you noticed,” I tease, lifting my oar to splash him.

  “Don’t start a fight you can’t win,” he jokes, splashing me back. For a long moment, we are two children engaged in a water battle in the middle of the river. I shriek and try to paddle away, but he’s fast, catching on to the whole kayak scene way too quickly—this is his first time, he’s informed me.

  Before I can speed away or retaliate, though, the inevitable happens.

  My kayak flips.

  I hurriedly right myself, but not before getting a mouthful of dirty river water. When I emerge, gasping for air, my hair is matted to my face. I part it to get oriented.

  “Marley, are you okay?” Alex asks, paddling toward me. I look at him, exhaling loudly.

  “Just peachy,” I tease. I try to wring out my hair without moving too much, trying not to tip the kayak. I touch the top of my head and realize my hat’s gone. “Shit,” I say.

  Wordlessly, Alex scans the water, then paddles forward and scoops up my floating hat with his oar. “Saved the day,” he says, handing me my hat.

  “Hardly,” I joke.

  I settle myself back into the kayak, readjusting my now sopping-wet self. “You’re going to pay for that.”

  “What, are you challenging me to another round?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and his oar.

  “Don’t push me. You’ll regret it.”

  He stares at me wordlessly as we drift down the river, both paddling to keep the kayaks somewhat together.

  “I don’t think I could regret anything with you, Marley Jade.” His voice is serious now, all the boyish playfulness gone. Despite my soaking wet hair and the overpowering smell of river water, I sober, too.

  I stare at the man in the kayak beside me, the man I kidnapped today on a whim. I stare at the man who makes me feel like writing poetry, who makes me feel like kayaking on a Wednesday. I stare at the man who makes me feel like Rosewood might not be a dead end after all.

  Looking up the river, I smile even more. “Look at that. We’re almost at the exact point where you rescued me,” I say, hardly believing it’s only been three weeks. It feels like a lifetime ago. I feel like a different Marley.

  He looks forward, eyeing the bridge. I wait for him to make a snarky, joking comment, but he doesn’t. Instead, he paddles closer to me, holding on to the side of my kayak when I’m within reach. I stare, not sure what’s happening.

  “That was the scariest, craziest night of my life when you fell off that bridge. I thought I’d imagined you. But Marley, as weird as it sounds, it was also one of the best nights. Because if you hadn’t fallen, I would’ve maybe never known you.”

  My heart flutters as we float underneath the bridge that changed it all, twice in my life.

  Alex leans in slightly, and I lean to meet him in the middle. Life’s about to change again, I think to myself. And it’s at the same bridge.

  Imagine….

  And then it happens again.

  ***

  There’s a clinking of kayaks, a flailing of body parts, a hitting of my head on something. This time when I’m submerged, it’s not an easy flip maneuver that rights me, because with Alex and his kayak so close, I’m bumping into too many obstructions.

  When I kick free of my kayak and surface, I’m gasping again, clinging to the floating kayak and trying to get my bearings. I’ll never get used to being dunked in the water.

  Alex comes up from the water sputtering and coughing, also clinging to his overturned kayak. “What the hell happened?” he asks, out of breath.

  “I don’t know. I think maybe I leaned too far?”

  Realizing we’re both safe, we calm down, still clinging to the kayaks, smiles now painting themselves on our faces. “Of all places,” Alex says. “I almost had to save you again.”

  My mouth opens. “Me? You were the one who wasn’t coming up for air. I thought I was going to have to save you.”

  “Please. I was a lifeguard. I’m a pro,” he teases.

  I raise an eyebrow. “Well, the almost kiss that didn’t happen says otherwise.”

  “You’re the one who flipped us.”

  “I think it was your fault. Who the hell tries to pull off a kiss in kayaks?”

  Alex shrugs, making his way around his kayak toward me, both of us still bobbing in the river. He gets close enough to pull me to him, our kayaks awkwardly clinking at the ends. His free arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me close. We’re nose to nose, and I almost gasp, not from a lack of oxygen this time, but from the feeling of being this close.

  “A man who finally is breaking free,” he answers. It’s an odd statement, but what’s odder is that I get it. Looking into his eyes, I don’t see the same Alex from a few weeks ago or, hell, from a few days ago. I see a freer Alex, a passionate Alex.

  I see a kissing-on-the-kayaks Alex.

  Before I can analyze too much, his lips are on mine, and suddenly the gross river water disappears. I drown in his lips, in the feel of his tongue swirling effortlessly on mine. I feel a glow within that seems to burst outward, my head drowsy with a feeling I hadn’t anticipated.

  The kiss is slow and lingering, and even though we’re still bobbing in murky water, it’s not awkward or uncomfortable. It’s like his lips were made for mine, or vice versa. It’s like I’ve finally found the lips to complete me or undo me. Or maybe both.

  Under the bridge where I fell not long ago, I fall yet again. But this time, I don’t crash into the water, and I don’t almost sink to the bottom.

  This time, I float on the surface, crashing into a heart I’m only just beginning to uncover.

  This time, it’s not really Alex who saves me. I think this time, our lips still locked, our hearts beating wildly, we save each other.

  ***

  By the time we finally get to our exit point from the river, we’re both exhausted from the exertion—the physical exertion of kayaking and righting them after our fall, and the mental exhaustion of the revelations that happened here.

  When we get out of the river, we’re both sopping wet but smiling like fools. I guess that’s how you know you did your first kiss right.

  Alex loads both kayaks in the back as I start the truck. Dane’s left a note on my seat.

  Saw the picnic basket in the back. Ate a sandwich and stole the bottle of wine. Figured you at least owed me that.

  “Dammit, Dane,” I say aloud as Alex circles around to get into the truck.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, we did have a picnic lunch. But now, apparently, we only have one sandwich left and no wine. What an asshole.” I slam my hands on the steering wheel, mad that our perfect date is no longer so perfect.

  Alex grins. “Well, at least he got the truck here. I can’t imagine making my legs walk back the whole way carrying the kayak. Anyway, it’s not a big deal. Why don’t we just get some takeout or something?”

  “Sounds good,” I agree, realizing nothing can get me down. Not even an asshole friend-slash-boss who stole my expensive bottle of wine.

  Okay, by expensive, I mean it cost more than my usual eight-dollar bottle. But still.

  “Your place or mine?” he asks.

  I think about Mom and how she’s probably home. I’m not ready to face that meeting yet. I’m not ready for this afternoon to be tainted by whatever mood she’s in.

  “Yours okay?”

  “Sure. But I’ll warn you, it’s a bachelor pad to the extreme.”

  “Okay. Fair warning. We can call in some food when we get there. Sound good?”

/>   “Perfect,” he says, and I head off in the direction of his apartment, thinking maybe the whole destroyed picnic lunch won’t be so bad after all.

  ***

  Sitting on his sofa in a pair of Alex’s sweatpants and a T-shirt, I scarf down my lo mein as he eats his sesame chicken. We went with Chinese for today, and I’m glad. Screw Dane. He can have the nasty sandwich I made. This is one hundred times better.

  I try not to think about how easily these sweatpants would come off, though, or how I’m not wearing a bra underneath this thick cotton shirt—it was soaking wet, and I didn’t want to go home to grab clothes. I readjust myself on the tan couch, the only piece of furniture in the living room other than the television. Bachelor pad doesn’t really describe it. It’s more like extreme minimalism.

  “So,” Alex says between bites. “This is pretty good Chinese food. For a small town and all.”

  “I’m sure you have a million great restaurants where you’re from.”

  “At least. We’ve got quite a few Chinese restaurants to pick from.”

  “I bet it’s so fun living in California.” I twirl some lo mein on my chopstick. It’s the only way to eat Chinese food, after all.

  “It’s definitely different. But it’s the same, too.” Alex takes a bite of chicken off his fork. He disagrees with my chopstick theory.

  I shrug. “I’d love to see it someday.”

  “California?”

  “Yep. And then some. I just wish I could see more. I feel like I’m missing so much, you know? I love it here, I do. But I just feel like there’s a big world out there.”

  “So go see it. Promise yourself you’ll do it.” He stares right at me, his blue eyes piercing into me. He makes me want to say yes. He makes it sound possible.

  But then I sigh, reality kicking in. “It’s not easy.”

  “You keep saying that, Marley. But life isn’t easy. Still, if you put off stuff because it isn’t easy, then what the hell are you doing anyway?”

  “I don’t really know. That’s the thing.”

  “Well, you’ve got time to figure it out. What about your writing? Have you been working on more poems?”

  I grin. “Yeah. Seems like I have myself a new muse.”