Lisa Jordan - Lakeside Reunion

Ty cried every time they visited. The beeping monitors scared him. He complained about the smell. His childhood needed to be filled with baseball games, skinned knees, climbing trees—not death.

Bethany’s face swept into his head. Her final days, lying in the bed, struggling for her next breath as the melanoma ravaged her frail body. Skin stretched across bone, she had become a shell of the woman he cared about. Her strawberry blond hair had been destroyed by chemo and radiation. Even her freckles appeared as washed-out as the hospital bedsheets. Not even thirty when she died, but she appeared closer to sixty.

Stephen brushed the curls off Tyler’s forehead. The kid needed a haircut. Bethany had been so good with all that. Even when she felt like crud from the chemo, she made sure Ty was well cared for. He could barely remember to check Ty’s homework, let alone make hair appointments. But he’d do better. He had to. Ty depended on him. He wasn’t going to let his son down.

He counted the ceiling tiles for the second time and made it to twenty-eight when someone knocked on the door before pushing it open. Dr. Warren entered the room. Over her shoulder, Stephen caught sight of a woman with honey-blond hair and wearing the same yellow sweater as Lindsey.

Oh, right. Grace Porter’s fall.

Ty’s injury had pushed aside this morning’s events, but seeing that hair brought everything back in a rush.

Should he go after her? Check and see how her mom was doing?

No, he couldn’t leave Ty. Plus, it could have been someone else. And then, he’d look like an idiot.

“Officer Chase.”

Stephen looked at Dr. Warren and realized the middle-aged physician had been talking to him. And he hadn’t heard a word she said.

“I’m sorry. My brain was in left field. Mind repeating that?”

She gave him that pitying “I know you’re a single dad now, so I’ll treat you with kid gloves” look he’d seen so often in the past year. “Good news. Tyler’s wrist is not broken. He does have a grade two sprain, though. Because he’s such an active kid, I’d like to splint it and keep it in a sling for about a week. It will help with the pain and minimize further damage.”

She explained to Tyler what was going to happen and gave him time to ask questions. Stephen appreciated the way she included his son in the conversation.

Thirty minutes later, Stephen hugged a now-smiling Tyler goodbye, being careful not to jostle his splinted arm. “You’re going to hang out with Papa until I get home. Take it easy with that arm.”

“I will. Love you.”

“I love you, too, buddy.”

Giving his dad a one-armed hug, Stephen said, “Thanks for keeping him. I’ll grab him after work.”

“No rush. You should have called sooner. We’re here for you, son. This rain kept me in the house instead of at the construction site, so I’m glad I could help. I’ll keep the little guy entertained.”

They headed out the door. If he paid a nickel every time his parents bailed him out, he’d be a poor man. Thank God for them. Otherwise neither he nor Ty would have made it this far.

He returned to the nurses’ station and scrawled his signature at the bottom of the discharge form his cousin, the E.R. nurse on duty, put in front of him. He slid it across the counter to her. “There you go, Roxanne. Thanks.”

She scanned the form and then smiled. “Looks like you’re good to go, Stephen. I hope Ty feels better soon.”

“Thanks. Me, too.”

Fishing the keys to the cruiser out of his pocket, he headed for the emergency-entrance parking lot. He rounded the corner and about knocked over a woman coming from the opposite direction. His chin grazed the top of her head. He gripped her upper arms, dropping his keys in the process. “Whoa, easy there.”

The woman’s purse sailed out of her hands and landed upside down on the floor. Loose change clattered against the tile. A metallic tube rolled under the water fountain.

“Sorry.” The woman looked up and stared at him with stormy green eyes.

Lindsey.

Judging by the thinness of her lips and clenched jaw, she wasn’t happy to see him. She glanced at him, then down at his hands. Her focus seemed to be centered on his left hand. On his wedding band. His heart took a nosedive.

Stephen released his hold, wanting to hide his hands in his uniform pockets. “You okay?”

She nodded. Without a word, she bent down to clean up her stuff. She tried to hide her fingers, but he noticed a slight tremble. So, he wasn’t the only one affected by their collision.

Stephen retrieved the tube under the water fountain and realized it was her lipstick. He scooped up two dimes, a quarter and a few scattered pennies and jingled the loose change before handing it back to her.

She didn’t want to take it—didn’t want to touch him. He could tell by the way she hesitated before opening her hand and allowed him to drop the coins into her palm.

The tips of his calloused fingers caressed her skin. Baby soft. An electric charge pulsed through his hand.

Lindsey tossed the change in her purse. Pushing her hair behind her ear, she stood, shielding her purse over her heart. “Sorry for bumping into you. I wasn’t watching where I was going. If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on Mom.” She tried to brush past him.

“Hey, Linds, hold on a second.” Stephen cupped her elbow. “Sorry for barreling into you like that. How’s she doing?”

She closed her eyes and backed out of his reach, bumping into the wall behind her. “I really need to go.”

“Lindsey.” He spoke in a soft, patient tone that warned she wasn’t going to win this one.

“Stephen, why are you here? Why do you even care? We’re history. Remember?” Her voice cracked on the last syllable. She cleared her throat and looked at him.

Stephen rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a half smile that his grandma used to claim could charm the gruff off a goat. “I’m not stalking you. My son fell and hurt his arm. And what happened between us doesn’t mean I don’t care … about your mom.”

“I’m sorry about your son. I hope he’s okay.”

“Thanks. He’s a tough kid.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Let me know if I can help. With anything.”

Lindsey shrugged off his hand. Eyes blazing, she glared at him as if he was something disgusting she found on the bottom of her shoe. “You can help by not touching me! You have no right. You lost it the day you chose her over me. I’m sorry she d-died. No one should have to deal with that. But still … you have no right.”

Her words ping-ponged off the walls in the corridor and hovered over them like dust-covered cobwebs. Heat scorched his cheeks as if she had physically slapped him. He was only trying to help. Problem was, she didn’t want his help. He needed to get that through his thick head.

Lindsey clapped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, but not before he saw the welling tears. She sagged against the wall.

Stephen shoved his hands in his pockets to prevent himself from reaching out for her again. Her vulnerability sucker punched him in the gut. Seeing her was an answer to many whispered prayers, but he had hoped for different circumstances. Grinding his teeth, he prayed for strength. For years, he fought to keep her memory from crippling him. Now he was going to be tested?

He forced himself to breathe. He had to fix this. Make it right. Rubbing a thumb and forefinger over his eyelids, he dropped his voice to a whisper. “You’re right. I’m … sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No, I shouldn’t have said that. It was mean and hurtful.” A tear squeezed between her lashes and drifted down her cheek.

“Don’t worry about it.” He lifted his hand, then hesitated, not sure if she’d slap his hand away again or not, but she looked as if she needed a friend. He thumbed away her tear and let his finger linger a second longer than it should have.