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Maria Rachel Hooley
Createspace
Category:
Romance
Publisher: Createspace
ISBN-10: 1448632919
Type: Fiction
Pages: 264
Copyright: June 2009
ISBN-13: 9781448632916
Kaylee Renard has never taken the time for love. Independence and financial security have always been the top priorities. Besides, she believed there will be time for a relationship later, when she can fit it in. In light of a terminal cancer diagnosis, however, her views change, and when Kaylee passes out and falls into a pond, Bastian Connelly, alone and suicidal, goes in after her, hoping that in trying to save Kaylee's life, he will end his own. But life isn't done with Bastian, and neither is love. As Kaylee comes to love him, she wonders what she's missed and seeks to find whatever gifts fate might grant her.
Excerpt
Chapter One
The loaded .38 weighed cold and heavy in Bastian’s grip as he sat in his parked truck. Outside, beyond windows glazing with ice, traffic tooled by. He watched the cars drift past, dimly aware the people in them probably headed home to someone. Beyond the street, a row of dimly lit shops stood a few feet from the curb, their dirty windows reflecting street lamps on the bridge that crossed over a pond.
He looked back at the gun. The frame glinted dully in the failing light, the sleek nose of the barrel seeming to glow of its own innate fire, but it was a fire without heat. The day he’d taken the pistol from his father’s desk drawer, almost fifteen years ago now, had been the same day he’d left. Many times, like today, he’d lifted the barrel to his temple, rammed it in his mouth, shoved it under his chin, and tried every other position he could think of to blow out his brains. Still, he never cared for the smell of gun oil or the feel of metal against his flesh. Disgusted, Bastian laid the gun on the passenger seat. He twisted open the bottle of whiskey at his side and drew a long swallow.
Bastian wiped his chin on his sleeve. He recapped the bottle. The snow fell faster now. Any kind of warmth was a long way from Chicago in November, yet he wouldn't wait until spring to take that revolver and–-
BAM.
“What the hell?” He glared at a woman stumbling past, her steps shaky and uneven. Beneath her long leather coat, she wore an ankle-length black skirt and pumps. The chilly wind picked up, touseling her shoulder-length brown hair, teasing strands over her shoulder, into her face. Bastian buried the gun under his seat.
He rolled down the window, intending to tell her to watch where she was going. When she slumped against the next car, knees threatening to buckle, and wavered, trying to regain her balance, he held his tongue. The woman was either drunk or clumsy. Maybe both.
She brought a trembling hand to her face and resumed walking without looking into the street, stepping off the curb into oncoming traffic. Horns blared. Tires squealed. Cars swerved. Apparently, she heard none of it.
“Get out of the street,” a driver shouted, leaning out his window as he jammed a meaty fist against his horn, waiting for her to move. When she didn’t, he jerked the wheel to one side, shot into the adjoining lane, and sped past.
The snow thickened, falling faster. Bastian threw open the door and bolted from his truck. He trudged after her, each step spraying the drift snow outwards. Weaving deftly through the traffic, he followed as she left the road behind and started across the bridge. “Hey, Lady?” Bastian yelled, “You all right?”
The woman stopped and touched her forehead, her temple. With her next step, her knees finally buckled, throwing her against the railing. There was a sickening splinter of old wood, and the railing gave. She plunged headlong into the water below.
Bastian sprinted to the edge and stopped where she’d fallen. The dark water had swallowed her quickly.
“Sweet Jesus,” he whispered. She’ll surface, Bastian thought.
Fewer ripples broke the water.
She’ll surface, he thought again.
Stillness.
“Damn,” Bastian spat. He could walk away. She wasn’t his problem. He gripped the rail and stared at the water. What if she had kids? What if she drowned and they were left wondering if she had loved them? He had wondered that when his mother had died. What if they turned out to be just as fucked up as him? God help them. I can’t walk away. And it doesn’t even matter if I don’t come out of that pond.
“What happened?” A woman appeared beside him, holding her cell phone.
“Call 911.” Bastian stripped off his coat.
As the woman thumbed buttons on the phone, Bastian leaped. Cold air rushed past, and, when he hit, the iciness stole his breath and seized his chest. Water surged up his nose, and he tasted dirt. He forced himself to move, trying to ignore the pain and seconds later, the growing numbness as he fumbled in the dark, searching, clawing through water, groping blindly.
Bastian’s chest burned. He needed to breathe. His fingers cramped and wanted to splay apart, but he forced them together and clutched at the water. The numbness spread, stole over him, threatening to still his joints. Air bubbles rose in furious spurts. One last sweep, and–wait–there she was, brushing past, motionless on the way to the bottom. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. With one last burst of strength, he thrust toward the surface. Finally, their heads safely above water, Bastian turned the woman over and held her against his chest.
“You picked one helluva night to go for a swim, lady.”
His arms and legs felt distant, detatched, nerveless. All but spent, he swam toward the water’s edge until he could feel the bottom.
Bastian scooped her into his arms and stumbled up the bank. A few steps more and he fell to his knees and leaned over her. His cheek hovered over her nose, waiting for the stir of breath. “Damn.”
Bastian tilted her head upright and ran his fingers down the center of her chest, felt the line of her ribs and set the palm of his hand in place. He began chest compressions, counting loudly, as if doing so might drive away his demons. He counted five and leaned over again, pinched her nostrils closed, and covered her mouth with his. He filled her with his breath. Her chest rose and fell. Stillness. Her face was pale, waxy, and pallid in the glow of the street lamps. Beads of water shimmered on her face. She had to be freezing.
“Come on, lady.” Bastian repeated the compressions. “Don’t do this to me.” After the fifth, he breathed for her again. Her chest rose and fell. He searched for the warmth of her breath. None. In the distance, the ambulance screamed toward them.
He pressed his palms into place, preparing for another set, when she coughed violently. Relieved, Bastian jerked her to one side. Her long hair splayed over his arm, and she clutched at him, coughing up water. Soon her strength faltered and she crumpled into Bastian’s arms. He ginglerly laid her back down.
“Geez, lady. You scared the hell out of me.”
Shaking, she half opened her eyes and looked at him. “It’sss freezzing.”
“I know.” Bastian drew closer, trying to warm her. The whirling lights of the ambulance appeared at the corner, and a moment later, the vehicle halted behind Bastian’s truck. The lights bathed the park in a harsh red and blue glow. Bastian heard the doors open. He knew the EMTs would take over and do a better job than he, but he couldn’t stop looking into the woman’s blue eyes. “It’s going to be all right now,” he whispered, squeezing her hand reassuringly. Droplets of water spilled down his face like tears. He shivered uncontrollably.
“Are you an angel?” She squeezed back and stared at him.
“Lady, God would know better than to make an angel out of me.” Bastian snorted.
“I should–“ Kaylee brushed her hand across her face and started to sit up.
“Lie back down.” Bastian ordered, tightening his grip on her. From the bridge above came a tumult of voices. Apparently a small crowd had gathered. On the pond, the ducks darted placidly to and fro, oblivious. Lucky them, Bastian thought.
A male EMT hustled to Bastian’s side. “Is she breathing?”
“Yeah. I pulled her out and gave her CPR until she coughed up a lungful of water. She’s cold-but awake.” Bastian nodded
The EMT turned to his partner, “Hey, Jessie-bring a heated blanket.” He eyed Bastian then called back, “Better make it two.”
“Got it, Steve,” she yelled.
“What’s your name, Miss?” Steve bent over the woman and checked her vitals.
“Kaylee. Kaylee Renard.” She blinked.
“Anything broken that you know of?” Jessie walked to them with one blanket held open and another draped over her shoulder. She peered at Bastian.
“No. That’s where she fell from.” Bastian shook his head. He pointed to the railing.
“Okay, you mind helping lift her so I can get this blanket around her?”
“Ready whenever you are.”
“Okay, Kaylee. We’re going to lift you so we can wrap a heated blanket around you,” Jessie said.
Bastian lifted Kaylee’s torso so he could slide one arm around her waist. The EMT lifted her knees, and Bastian slipped his other arm beneath them, then drew her body to his and lifted so that the EMTs could place the blanket beneath. As he held her, she stared at him with an otherworldly gaze. Her head wobbled against his chest. Even soaking wet she seemed unbelievably light as her body curled toward his, trying to glean warmth. She tucked her head beneath his chin, and as her body shuddered with the cold, he held her even more tightly and closed his eyes.
“Sir?”
“Yeah?” Bastian opened his eyes and found both EMTs frowning.
“You can put her down now.” Jessie pointed at Kaylee.
“Oh.” Bastian hurriedly laid her down and backed away as Steve bundled her in the blanket.
“Here,” she said. “You’re as wet as she is.” Jessie held out another to Bastian.
Nobody had to tell him twice to drape it around his frame as he watched Steve carry her up the steps to the ambulance. From a short distance, he saw them quiz Kaylee. Their breath rose in three small wisps toward the black heavens. Of the three, Kaylee’s was the faintest, and despite the ratty clumpiness of her dark, sodden hair, Bastian saw beauty. There was no denying it. High, aristocratic cheekbones, pouty lips, sloe eyes, and a slightly retrousse nose. He took a look at her clothes: a long leather coat, leather shoes, silk shirt. She wasn’t only beautiful but damned rich, which meant she was out of Bastian’s league, and if he were a wise man, he’d forget her. Otherwise he’d end up sorry he’d ever taken that leap instead of just pulling the trigger as he’d planned.
Bastian saw them place Kaylee on a gurney. Jessie climbed in and helped Steve heft it inside. “We’re taking her to Chicago Memorial,” she yelled. “You want to ride along?”
Bastian shook his head. “I’ll drive.”
“Suit yourself,” Steve said, slamming the rear doors and climbing into the driver’s seat. The ambulance growled to life and then, flashers whirling, siren screaming, it lurched from the crowed, heading into the thickening snow, leaving Bastian in the freezing air with a truck that held a bottle of whiskey and his gun. Behind him, back up on the bridge, he heard the murmur of voices subside as onlookers scattered.
For a moment, he stood in the growing stillness, knowing better than to follow. A woman that wealthy and beautiful didn’t need somebody like him to look after her. She came from money and he came with nothing, and all the nothing in the world couldn’t amount to anything. Hell, she was probably married. His jaw tightened as he wondered if she did have kids and if they would ever know just how close they came to losing her.
Bastian retrieved his coat, thankful for the added warmth. He sauntered back to the truck and opened the door that wouldn’t lock. He climbed inside and slammed the door. Reaching under the seat, he found the barrel of the gun and drew it out. Alone again in the harsh moonlight, he flicked off the safety and brought it to his mouth.
An image of his mother jumped into his head. She lay on her back, her hands at her side, one palm still clutching the empty vial of pills, and he remembered himself running into the room, jabbering as he’d carried a Lego spaceship he’d made. He’d thought she was sleeping. Until he couldn’t wake her. Bastian shuddered, remembering how he shook her, screamed her name. Tears pricked his eyes. “Mommy, please wake up,” he’d screamed. He’d shaken her over and over. “Mommy, I love you. Wake up.” Stillness. Bastian yanked the gun from his mouth.
He smacked his head against the steering wheel as he spent the tears and shivered from a chill that a Chicago winter had nothing to do with. God help him, how could he live like this? He brushed his hand across his face, clicked the safety on, and thrust the gun in the glove compartment. He shoved the keys into the ignition. On the third growl, the truck caught. He thought about his dark motel room where all the lightbulbs had burned out. The stench of rotting meat and mildewed fabric filled the room, echoing the smell of a dumpster beneath the window. The hospital or his hotel room. Such options.
Bastian drove through the snow. Perhaps if he’d figured out somewhere else to go, he would have ended up there. Instead, he found himself parking near the rear of a crowed hospital lot. He ungathered the blanket from around him, and bunched it into a manageable bulk.
Bastian slammed the door and stepped through the emergency room entrance. A throng of people bustled about the room, all with some story Bastian was sure, but all somehow vague, faceless. They moved like phantoms, their footfalls noiseless, suppressed somehow by the weight of this place. Death dwelt here, Bastian mused, and they all knew it.
All the chairs were full, and people leaned against the walls, skulked in corners, drifting aimlessly, but Bastian tried not wonder what had brought them here. One middle-aged woman holding a baby on her lap looked at him briefly then turned away. An elderly man leaned forward, staring into space. Another man and woman in their late forties stared expectantly at the closed doors. Many others waited, all of whom had much better reasons for being here than he did.
Bastian’s steps faltered. He could still leave and pretend tonight had never happened. He finally shoved his restless hands into his jean pockets, ignoring the cold wet. Without fully realizing he’d made up his mind, he stepped to the triage desk.
“Can I help you?” A brunette woman with a nametag labeled “Beth Turrow” looked up at him.
“A woman was just brought in–“ Bastian began.
“Five women were brought in during the last thirty minutes. You wanna be more specific–or do I get to guess?” Turrow stared at her computer screen.
Bastian gritted his teeth. “I was trying to be more specific. Her name is Kaylee Renard,” he finished and shoved the blanket at her. “This belongs to the ambulance that brought her here.”
Turrow stared indignantly as she had no choice but to take the blanket. She dropped it to the floor then peered back at his worn clothing, his unshaven face, and his wild wet hair.
“Well?” he finally asked. “Surely you only have one near-drowning named Kaylee Renard.” Bastian folded his arms across his chest as she looked coldly at him.
“The doctor is still with her. He’ll be out when he’s finished.” Turrow grabbed a file from the counter. Then her fingers hammered at the computer keys.
Bastian headed toward the only empty space he could see–a place in back wedged between a woman holding a toddler and a tall man with an ice pack on his knee. Once seated, he leaned against the glass. Rolling his shoulders, he tried to work out the tension gripping his muscles but there was no way to loosen the knots. Bastian raked his fingers through his still-damp hair, wondering how long it would be before he could finish what he had come to do and when he could actually go without wondering about Kaylee. He closed his eyes and thought about that roach-infested motel he called home then thought better of this gauze-white hell. The antiseptic smell would fade from memory eventually. The images of roaches skittering across the floor remained. Then again, at least they were alive, simple and with no seeming purpose. They had nothing to prove and nothing to live down. As he leaned against the glass, Bastian felt the winter outside and thought dimly about the distant spring.
The door leading to the emergency room opened and a doctor stepped through, carrying a clipboard. He was older–in his late fifties maybe, and gaunt with sad tired eyes. The stoop of his shoulders said a lot.
“Renard? he called. “The family of Kaylee Renard?”
Bastian strode forward. The doctor saw him coming and gestured for Bastian to follow. The pair stepped just beyond the door where the doctor halted.
“I’m Dr. Barsley,” he said, offering his hand. Bastian shook it. “Are you Kaylee’s husband?”
“Not even close.” Bastian held up his palms and took a step backward.
“A family member?” Barsley frowned.
“Wrong again.” Bastian crossed his arms over his chest.
“Then why are you here?” The doctor stared blankly at him before glancing cursorily at Kaylee’s chart.
“I saw her take a nose dive into a pond, and I dove in after her. When I pulled her out, she wasn’t breathing so I helped out. I went through a helluva lot to make sure she was all right, and I just want to know how she’s doing. Do you have a problem with this?” Bastian said, his tone on the verge of a growl. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“No, not at all,” Dr. Barsley replied with a tense smile. “I didn’t see the connection, that’s all. Do you know how to reach any of her family members?” He tapped the clipboard absently against his open palm.
“No, I don’t. How is she?” Bastian shook his head. His gaze wandered down the hall, wondering which room they’d put her in.
“Well, I’m not supposed to say, as you’re not really a family member, but under the circumstances, I see no harm.” He glanced back at the chart in his hand. "Truth be told she’s exhausted. She still has a nasty headache.” He continued tapping the clipboard.
“May I see her?” Bastian balled his fingers into fists to keep from yanking away Kaylee’s chart.
“She’s really tired. She needs rest.” The doctor tucked the clipboard under his arm.
“It won’t take long,” Bastian insisted.
“Very well. Right now she’s in room three, but she’s going to be admitted for observation.” The doctor started out the door to the nurses’ triage desk. He proceeded down the hall to Kaylee’s room.
Bastian stopped and stared into the semi-darkness to find Kaylee tucked under thick covers, lying flat on her back with her long hair flowing upon the pillow and sheets like strands of silk. She seemed frail and childlike in a bed made for an adult. But then, that was mostly illusion, Bastian thought, a trick of the light. He quietly entered the room. As she slept, Bastian wondered what might have happened had he not found her. He closed his eyes and thought of the cold dark water that had closed in around them. He’d clutched at the water, searching. His lungs had hurt and yet he’d forced himself to go even deeper, his fingers groping. Where was she. Oh God, what if he couldn’t find her?
Moments stretched as Bastian stood there, wondering if he should leave but feeling unable to step from the bed. Time slipped away. A different nurse came in and checked Kaylee’s IV then looked at Bastian and secured a new packet of fluid on the pole.
“I’m getting ready to take her to room 324. You can follow me up there if you’d like.” Bastian nodded and moved toward the door, interpreting her words as his exit line.
“Thanks.” Bastian turned to see her moving the bed and IV post toward the door. As the nurse pushed it into the hallway, she turned right instead of left, toward a huge staff elevator. Once the doors opened, she wheeled the bed inside and waited for Bastian to follow before selecting the third floor.
Once the doors opened, they walked the maze of hallways, and Bastian quickly became disoriented, wondering if he would find his way out of this place once he’d finished his business. The nurse stopped abruptly in front of a room labeled “324” and wheeled Kaylee into it.
Bastian sat in the chair and watched the nurse plug in the IV post and reset the machine, illiciting a few responding beeps. She then proceeded to check Kaylee’s vitals. Dimming the lamps, the nurse glanced at Bastian.
“Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” He shook his head.
“Push the call button if you need anything.” The nurse scribbled something on Kaylee’s chart. She exited the room and Bastian heard her slide Kaylee’s chart into the plastic holder outside the door.
Once alone with Kaylee, he stepped toward her, trying to muffle the clap of his boots on the linoleum, but there was no way to quiet the sound. Kaylee’s eyes fluttered opened and she peered at him questioningly.
“Who are you?”
“Bastian Connelly. I’m the guy who interrupted your swim a while ago. How are you feeling?” His voice sounded so odd, somehow nervous. Why the hell should he be nervous?
“Head hurts.” Kaylee blinked as though trying to focus. She lifted it from the pillow and started to rise.
“Easy, Kiddo. You sure you should be moving around like that?” Bastian frowned at her. He folded his arms across his chest to keep from hovering over her.
“I’m all right. I want to go home.” Kaylee lifted a hand and massaged her left temple.
“I don’t think it’s in the plan. Not tonight, anyway. The doctor said you need to stay for observation.” Bastian sat in the chair across from the bed.
Kaylee sat up straight and slipped her legs over the side of the bed, starting to stand. “The doctor can shove it up his--” Kaylee’s knees suddenly buckled, and she gasped as her body pitched forward.
“Now I know you shouldn’t be doing that. And if you stay, I won’t tell your doctor what you just said.” Bastian lurched out of the chair and caught her as she fell. He slipped his arm under the bend of her knees, lifted her back to the bed.
Kaylee didn’t respond. Instead, she lay back, trying to relax. Lines of pain and exhaustion etched themselves deep across her forehead.
“What happened earlier this evening? I mean, one minute you almost get broadsided by a Taurus, and the next you’re going for a swim.” Bastian leaned forward and resisted the urge to touch Kaylee’s face by lacing his fingers together. Her wan skin appeared smooth, supple over the swell of her cheekbones.
“I have a migraine. I get them a lot, and sometimes it’s really tough to focus on what’s going on around me.” Kaylee’s eyelids fluttered open and she stared at Bastian.
“Migraine, eh? Maybe you should see about getting a prescription. That stunt could have killed you.” A tremor undercut the usual calm of his tone.
“They don’t have any drugs that help.”
“There has to be something they can give you.” Bastian sat up straight, trying to stretch out.
Kaylee clenched her jaw. “There’s nothing,” she snapped. “Besides, it’s my headache.”
Bastian arched one eyebrow. “Fair enough,” he agreed. “It is your headache. But who’s to say I’ll be handy the next time you fall in?” He tapped his fingers on the arm rest.
“Sorry you had to dive in after me. There won’t be a next time,” Kaylee responded, snuggling deeper into her pillow, resigning herself to a night of disinfectant hell.
“I’m not. I always wanted to be a member of the Polar Bear Club. If this doesn’t count for my initiation, I don’t know what will,” Bastian grinned.
“The water was really cold. So cold,” Kaylee whispered and a shiver ran through her. Her voice softened as fatigue dusted it.
“Yeah, it was really cold. You look wiped. I should let you get some rest before a nurse throws me out.” Bastian had to lean forward to hear. Without realizing it, his hands began to tuck the blanket around her body more tightly. He started to stand. He was almost out of her reach, but Kaylee found his hand.
“Don’t leave.” Her voice slurred, merging the words. “Please. I don’t want to be alone. I hate hospitals.” She clutched his hand.
Bastian squeezed reassuringly and tried to let go, but her fingers gripped more tightly. “You need your rest. Besides, I’m quite sure the good doctor has called your family.” It’s just a little white lie, Bastian thought.
“No, he didn’t call them. They’re out of town and can’t be reached.” Kaylee closed her eyes and nestled closer to the warmth settling through her. Her voice faded into silence. Still, she kept her grip even as she hedged toward unconsciousness.
Bastian sat down. Maybe I can slip away after she falls asleep, he thought. He stared at her as she lay on her back and the soft glow from the hallway illuminated the gentle unbroken line of her nose, the swell of her lips and the subtle curve of her chin as it gave way to her long graceful neck. A single strand of her hair slipped into her face and she stirred slightly, trying to move it away. It stubbornly remained.
Bastian brushed it aside where it would no longer bother her. A moment later, Kaylee’s body stilled, and her slumber deepened. Bastian could tell not only by the regular peaceful way her chest rose and fell but also by the way her grip slowly relaxed until she barely held on. Her skin pressed softly against his palm as he stared at the demure build of her hands compared to his own. Long graceful fingers with medium-length nails painted a soft brown.
Bastian released a sigh of relief, gingerly picked up her hand and placed it across her chest. As he leaned over her, he was struck by how closely she resembled one of the women Dante Gabriel Rossetti had depicted in his Raphaelite paintings. But that was art, and this was a woman. No real person should have been this beautiful, he thought.
But she was.
“Damn it to Hell,” Bastian muttered as he stood. He walked to the door and hovered there, waiting to make a decision he didn’t realize he’d already made. His hand fell from the knob.
“This is one night, lady, and only one night.” He sat down and slouched deep in the chair, waiting for sleep.
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