Elle Wright - Wherever You Are

That last question had almost made him turn around in his tracks and abort the mission. Yet he’d kept going, using the nice weather as an excuse to propel himself forward. When he’d arrived—late—Avery was at the end of her speech. She’d obviously done a fabulous job as the standing-room-only auditorium was full of people laughing and crying and clapping.

When she’d faltered on stage, he’d known immediately that his entrance hadn’t been as subtle as he’d hoped. How she’d seen him in the sea of faces was beyond him, but he’d figured it was just the way it had always been. Like moths to a flame, when one of them was near the other, there was no way to stop the pull.

What he hadn’t planned on was his need to confront her. Well, confront was the wrong word. He needed to see for himself if she was still as beautiful as he’d remembered, if she still smelled like jasmine and orchids. Up close and personal, she was as breathtaking as a sunset over white beach sand with her topaz eyes, smooth mocha skin and pouty lips. Her signature flowing mane had been trimmed into a chin-length bob, but it was still the color of molasses. If he’d dared to step closer, he knew she’d fit right in the nook of his arms, snugly under his chin.

El knew that if he closed his eyes right then, he’d see her, hear her soft voice and feel her lips against his. It was his most vivid fantasy, almost as if she’d set up permanent residence in his thoughts and dreams. It didn’t matter who he was with—and he’d made it a full-time job to get over her—she was the woman he longed for.

Thoughts like those often gave him pause when he thought of Avery. She was goal-oriented, driven to the point of madness at times. But then she could be sweet, docile even. It had been those times—when she was only his, when there was no pressure from the world she’d created in her head or the demands of her career—that made him love her even more.

The knock on his office door jolted El out of his head, for which he was grateful. Enough of the Avery haze.

His administrative assistant, Sophie, poked her head into his office. “Dr. Jackson, you have a visitor.”

Elwood nodded. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Unc,” Drake said, pushing past Sophie. “I’ve been trying to call you all day. Let’s grab dinner.”

Ignoring his nephew, El smiled at Sophie. “Thanks, Sophie. You can leave for the day. Thanks for staying late.”

Sophie gave him a quick summary of his early morning schedule the next day, reminded him that she had a doctor’s appointment in the morning and would be late, then excused herself.

“I need a Sophie for my office,” Drake admitted, taking a seat on the couch intended for El’s patients. “What are you thinking for dinner?”

El leaned back in his chair and stared at his not-that-much-younger nephew. He hated when Drake called him Unc . At age thirty-five, El was only a few years older than Drake. They were more like brothers, than uncle and nephew.

“Do you always think about food?” El asked. “The only reason you’re here is because Love is out of town.” Drake’s wife, Dr. Lovely Grace Washington-Jackson, had been gone for a week and El had been forced to entertain his nephew every night. Even if he’d had a woman waiting in the wings, his nephew had made player hating his modus operandi for the week. “Maybe you need to take a cooking class so that you can make your own dinner when your wife is not available.”

“Hey, you need some laughter in your life,” Drake countered. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be sitting here at the hospital every night, charting and listening to yourself talk into that damn recorder.”

Drake had been insisting that El go out with Love’s cousin Lana. The sneaky matchmaking couple had blatantly set up numerous dinners under the guise of fake celebrations, like Love almost being pregnant or Drake successfully operating on a patient. Not that he didn’t hope Love would realize her dream of being a mother or that he wasn’t proud of his nephew’s impressive surgical record. But every single thing that happened didn’t need to be celebrated with dinner and drinks at a high-brow restaurant downtown.

“You don’t know my life, Drake. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t act like you did.”

Drake shrugged. “I’m just sayin’. If I don’t tell you the truth, who will?”

“How about you concentrate on your life with your beautiful wife. Leave my business to me.”

It was no use telling Drake to mind his own business. He’d learned early on that he had no private business growing up in a house with the younger Jacksons.

Drake was the eldest son of El’s brother, the incomparable plastic surgeon Dr. Lawrence Jackson. Behind Drake were the twins, Ian and Myles. His sweet niece, Melanie, came later.

When El was five years old, Lawrence took him in and raised him along with his own children. Lawrence was twenty-one years older, and El was the “oopsie” baby, an unplanned inconvenience to his parents, who’d preferred to hire nannies than spend quality time with him.

Before his brother rescued him, El’s childhood had been cold, a web of loneliness and despair. His mother and father had barely spared him a glance, and when they did it was to tell him that he was a mistake they didn’t want.

Once El left his parents’ home, he’d never looked back or even communicated with them again. He couldn’t even bring himself to attend their funerals. As far as he was concerned, they didn’t deserve to be anyone’s parents.

Most often, his brother wasn’t known for his kindness, but that one decision had changed El’s life for the better. And despite Lawrence’s many flaws, inherited from their parents, El would always be grateful to his brother for stepping in.

El met Drake’s intent gaze. “What?” he asked.

Drake assessed him, a frown deepening on his brow. “You went to the Power Center, didn’t you?”

El stood up. “Are you ready to go? Thai?”

Drake stood, but made no move toward the door. “You did. You went to see Avery at the Black Celebratory.”

El closed his laptop and shoved it into his bag. As if Drake wasn’t standing there watching his every move, he continued to pack up his belongings. He’d finish working at home.

“How did she look?” Drake asked.

When he met his nephew’s gaze, he couldn’t ignore the gleam in Drake’s eyes. “Damn good,” he admitted finally. “She was still Avery.”

Drake barked out a laugh. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. I always told you that you let her go too easily, but you’re too damn stubborn to admit it.”

“I thought I was the psychiatrist in the family. You stick to cardiothoracic surgery, and stop trying to figure me out.”

“Did you talk to her?”

El zipped up his messenger bag. “I did.”

“Well?” Drake asked after a few seconds.

“Well, nothing. She is still Avery, busy and about her business.”

The sarcasm in his words wasn’t lost on his nephew, who folded his arms across his chest and planted himself on the arm of a chair.

“Drake, I don’t want to talk about her,” El persisted. “I went to see her. We had words. I left. Nothing more, nothing less. Let’s go.”

Except, El knew there was more to that visit than he’d let on to Drake.

“How long will she be here?” Drake stood up and walked toward the door. “I want to see her.”

“I have no idea.” They left his office and headed toward the elevators. “I had to use the emergency room valet when I came back.” El had been called back to the hospital earlier when one of his patients attempted suicide, and had never gotten a chance to move his car.