Page 112 of Perfect Distraction
“Well?” he demanded.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, hot blood rushing through her veins. Her thoughts were muddled, and time seemed to slow as she prepared to respond. He was in his own state of shock and was lashing out at her, but that didn’t excuse a question like that.
“Do you remember what I told you about the three categories I put patients in when they die?”
He stared at her with dark eyes, his lashes wet with tears.
“If you died,” she choked out, desperation and anguish building within her as she spoke, “I wouldn’t even have a category, because it would destroy me. It wouldn’t be that I couldn’t talk about you, I wouldn’t be able to speak at all. It wouldn’t be that I couldn’t think about you without crying, I wouldn’t be able to do anything without crying. I try to keep my patients at work and separate them from the rest of me to save my sanity and be able to do this job. But you’ve infiltrated every fucking inch of my life. If you died, I don’t even know how I’d exist.”
Her own cheeks were wet, and she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I can’t even think about that, Andrew. Don’t ever ask me that again.” Her vision blurred with tears and she snatched up her purse. “Ever.”
She walked out, slamming the door behind her. She began crying in earnest as she wobbled down the stairs and got inside her car. She put her head against the steering wheel, gripping the wrapped leather tightly in her hands. The passenger-side door opened, and the familiar scent of cedar and spearmint engulfed her. Andrew folded his large body into the car and sat beside her, his long legs bent at the knees, hands resting on his thighs. He leaned back and laid his head against the headrest, watching her for a moment before looking forward.
Lauren’s tears slowed, and they sat in silence for several minutes. She hadn’t turned the car on, so the only sound was their breathing and the occasional car that drove behind them.
“You said fuck again,” he said.
“I did.”
“I’m starting to think I’m a bad influence on you.”
“Or maybe you’re bringing out the real me.”
He shrugged one shoulder at that, and they fell silent again for a moment.
“I had a date planned,” Andrew said, so quietly she strained to hear. He looked at her with a countenance completely devoid of emotion, but Lauren knew he was suffering inside. “A day date, for Jasmine. I’d set it up with her nurse and spoken to her parents and everything. We were going to take the city bus to one of my law school classes, where they’re having a mock trial—everyone gets pretty riled up and it’s incredibly entertaining. Then we were gonna find one of those cafeteria-style restaurants. You know, where you pick things that are lined up behind that big plexiglass window? Then I was going to take her to a high school soccer team practice, just to watch, and then we’d come back to the hospital and eat pizza and watch TV.”
His head was still leaning back against the seat, and his eyes moved a little to the left. He looked out the window behind Lauren and blinked a few times. “It was the most ridiculous date I’d ever planned. But it was the day she wanted to have. Ride the bus. Sit in class. Eat in the cafeteria, go to soccer after school. Watch TV. Uninteresting and mundane to the rest of us, but in her mind, in her situation, something to be celebrated.”
Andrew swiped at his eyes and put his forearm on the console, opening his palm, faceup, in invitation. Lauren didn’t hesitate to place her hand in his, and their fingers entwined.
“You made her last few weeks on earth so much brighter. You have to know that,” Lauren said softly.
His chin trembled slightly, and he looked away. He took a few deep breaths. The first was shaky, but the last was steady.
“You don’t have to hide from me.” Lauren squeezed his hand. “When mourning someone who has lost their battle with cancer, I’m the last person you should be embarrassed to cry in front of.”
His brown eyes met hers again, and though they were still sad, she found they were warm and gentle. “I know.” He swallowed. “But for once, I’d like to be the strong one.”
Lauren was taken aback. “You’re the strongest man I know.”
“It doesn’t feel that way. I feel weak and pathetic.”
“Showing emotion isn’t weak or pathetic. If anything, it defines your strength of character. You have compassion and empathy, traits not all men have. Or at least, many don’t show them. Knowing those things about you only makes me love you more.” She attempted a small smile. “And I love big, strong men.”
“Men? Plural?”
“I was speaking in general terms.”
“Be more specific. But if the words Will Gearhart come out of your mouth, I’m leaving.”
“You’re definitely stronger than Will. In every sense of the word.”
He appeared slightly mollified. “I’d kick his ass, that’s for sure. And if I ever happen to run into him, that’s exactly what I’ll do. Actually, I’d start with his dick, then go for that ten-million-dollar right shoulder.”
Lauren sighed and shook her head. “Anyway.” She tugged at his hand, intending to get back on track. “Are you going to be okay? I thought it might be best if I told you. And I couldn’t do it over the phone.”
“It sucks, but I’ll be okay.” He dipped his chin a notch lower. “I’m glad you came. Do you want to come back inside?”
