The You I Never Knew Part 30

"Sam-"

He gestured at the papers. "There's something going on between us."

"Don't believe everything you read," she shot back, her pale cheeks turning red.

He stepped closer to the bed, touched her shoulder. "I didn't have to read it in the paper. But you know, I'm kind of glad it's out in the open."

She s.h.i.+fted away from him. "Do you know how incredibly bad your timing is?"

"What, because I didn't show up at a soccer game when you were feeling lonely?"

"Screw you." She glared at him. "I never thought I'd see you again, Sam. Ever. And now I'm just supposed to make room in my life for you?"

"Why are you so testy?" he asked.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them she appeared more composed. "It's nerves," she admitted. "I've never been much good at dealing with... unforeseen circ.u.mstances. I'm letting Cody stay with you this week. What more do you want? What?"

He paused. Put away his frustration. "It's not just Cody. I want to know you again. I want... what we had Thursday night, and Friday at the hot springs."

"We got carried away. It's not like me to lose my... perspective like that." Her hands twisted into a knot of nerves in her lap. "I have a good job, I'm up for partner, I have a perfectly fine life in Seattle. Shall I chuck all that because you've got those great eyes?"

"I never knew you thought I had great eyes."

"There's a lot you never knew about me. If you knew me, you'd understand that I can't have a fling with you for old time's sake."

"What makes you think it's a fling?" He watched the agitated pulse leaping in her neck, and he traced it with his finger. Soft. So soft, like dry silk.

"We have no business getting involved no matter what our hormones are telling us."

He threaded his fingers up into her satiny hair. The years swept away, and everything he had felt for her, everything he had kept inside him all his life, rose up, seeming to push the air from his lungs. "Mich.e.l.le, I'm not listening to my hormones. I'm listening to my heart."

Her lower lip trembled, and she caught it in her teeth, looking away. "What on earth," she asked with tears in her voice, "makes you think this could work?"

He drew her around to face him. "What makes you think it can't?"

A sharp knock on the door interrupted them.

"Mich.e.l.le," a voice called. "It's me."

"Oh, G.o.d," she whispered. "Brad."

Chapter 30.

Don't get up." Sam walked over to the door, cool and calm, as if he had not just turned Mich.e.l.le's world inside out. He opened the door, and in walked Brad.

He was good-looking in a clean-cut J. Crew way. He had a "yachty" air about him. One of the things that first attracted her to him was that settled refinement. There could be no chaos in the life of such a man.

"Brad." She tried to compose herself. "I wasn't expecting you." She was dying to know why he was here. Earlier they had agreed he wouldn't come unless she asked him to. But he was here. Was it because of the tabloid, or had he decided she needed him?

Her voice deserted her as he and Sam regarded each other like a pair of rival stags about to tangle their antlers. Then he brushed past Sam and came over to the bed, bending to kiss her forehead. Expensive aftershave and a s.h.i.+rt that crackled with starch. Altoid mints. Brad.

"Hi, babe." He stood back, regarding her critically.

She s.h.i.+fted nervously on the bed. Was she blus.h.i.+ng? Could he see where Sam had been touching her cheek, her hair- "So how'd it go? You okay?" Brad asked.

"Great. We're all set for tomorrow. Brad, I want you to meet Sam McPhee. Sam, this is Bradley Lovell."

"You're the guy," Brad said, his voice controlled. "The guy in the paper." He patted the side of his Louis Vuitton flight bag, stuffed with folded newspapers. "Mich.e.l.le told me all about you."

"Yeah?" Sam looked over at her, lifting an eyebrow. "She didn't tell me squat about you." There was nothing-nothing-J. Crew about his looks. It was obvious he hadn't shaved today. He had on time-worn jeans that had custom-tailored themselves to his long, lean body. A gray athletic sweats.h.i.+rt and a baseball cap. And he was asking her with his eyes: What did you tell him, Mich.e.l.le? Did you tell him we made love? Did you tell him you saw stars? Did you tell him you cried yourself to sleep that night?

"Mich.e.l.le said you used to be... what, some sort of hired hand at her dad's place?" Brad spoke nonchalantly, as if it really didn't matter to him. A small muscle tensed in Sam's jaw.

"That was years ago, Brad," she said, breaking in. "Sam's a physician now. I told you that, too."

"So what are you doing here?" Brad's gaze was blunt and challenging as he glared at Sam.

"Wondering why a guy would let Mich.e.l.le go through this alone."

The testosterone was getting thick, she thought wryly. "I'll tell you what he's not doing. He's not getting into a p.i.s.sing contest with you." She scowled at Sam, then at Brad, daring them to defy her. "In case you've forgotten, this is about my father."

Sam went to the door. She knew he was not retreating. It was clear on his face that he wasn't through with her yet. "I have to get back. I'm on call this afternoon. So I guess... I'll see Cody after school tomorrow." He stared at her for a moment, and she felt strange soft echoes of the way he had touched her when they made love. He adjusted the bill of his baseball cap. "Your transplant team's the best. Everything will be fine."

Mich.e.l.le felt compelled to explain to Brad, "Cody's going to stay with Sam this week."

Brad let out a low whistle. "More power to you. Don't let him pull the wool over your eyes. The kid's bad news."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "My son is the best news I've ever had. See you around, Mich.e.l.le."

Brad turned to her before Sam was even out the door. "Hey, I didn't expect a three-ring circus," he said. His easy grin relaxed her. This was the Brad she knew, the one who charmed her clients at office parties, the one who took her out to dinner every Friday night, the one who attended swing-dancing lessons just because she asked him to.

Even as she welcomed his familiar presence, she felt Sam's absence, a dark and gaping hole in the day. A sense of unfinished business. And the terrible, wonderful words echoing through her: I'm listening to my heart. She should have let him go on, but she hadn't dared.

"G.o.d, what a week it's been." She deposited the papers and magazines on the floor.

One week. In that short span of time, the world had been transformed. Everything she used to believe was being challenged, pushed, reshaped. Everything she thought she had planned out was starting to unravel.

Even the idea of family. When she was growing up, "family" was something she and her mother lacked. When she was bringing up Cody, it was something she insisted they define for themselves. "Family" included Natalie, who was the sort of aunt every kid wanted, the sort of sister every woman should have, related by something much more potent than blood. And it was Brad, who tried to get along with Cody because of her, an effort she knew not many men would make. Cody hadn't been making it easy for him.

Now the circle widened to encompa.s.s her father, and Sam, and even Tammi Lee, who-wonder of wonders-had spent the day with Cody yesterday. She had to fit them into her life now. She needed to.

"So did he spend the night here, or what?" Brad asked bluntly.

For a second, she was too stunned to answer. "I can't believe you asked me that."

"I can't believe I showed up at your hotel room at ten in the morning and found some guy with you."

"He's not some guy. He's Cody's father."

"Then he should be with Cody."

"He was worried about the bulls.h.i.+t story in that tabloid. He wanted to talk to me about it."

"Yeah, he looked real worried to me." Brad took a tin of Altoids out of his s.h.i.+rt pocket and offered her one. She shook her head, and he said, "You didn't answer me, Mich.e.l.le."

"Answer what?"

"Did you sleep with him or not?"

Sleep? She could safely deny that. No sleeping had taken place. "I had a surgical procedure yesterday. I ordered a tuna sandwich from room service and watched HBO last night." She folded her arms defensively in front of her. "Why did you show up without calling first?"

"I wanted to surprise you. Wanted to do something spontaneous."

"You've never done a spontaneous thing in your life."

"Okay, so maybe that tabloid thing made me curious."

As he lowered himself to the bed and put his arms around her, she realized she had a lot of things to explain to Brad. A huge confusion swirled through her. She knew she should confess, but she had no idea how to begin.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" she asked him, chickening out.

"A cold bagel and weak coffee on the early flight."

"We could join Cody and my father downstairs, or maybe call for room service."

"Room service sounds good." He went over to the desk, picked up the hotel guide with the menus in it.

While he was reading off the selections, the divider door to the adjoining room opened. Natalie, who had driven down to be with Mich.e.l.le during yesterday's procedure, waltzed in. Her bright hair was damp from a shower, her skirts and shawl s.h.i.+mmering around her. "Beat you to it, buddy." She crossed the room to give Brad a kiss on the cheek. "I already ordered breakfast." Her smile was full of mischief as she winked at him. "But I'll let you buy it, okay?"

"G.o.d, it is a circus," he said, standing back to look at Natalie. "We've got the tattooed lady and everything."

She touched a spot just above her left breast. "You're not supposed to know about my tattoo."

"You weren't supposed to go topless in my hot tub, either," he reminded her, laughing.

Mich.e.l.le laughed, too, remembering that night last summer. Natalie had come over, weeping because she'd just dumped her current boyfriend, a timpani player named Stan. A few tequila slammers later, they had stripped down and jumped, giggling, into the hot tub on Brad's deck. Mich.e.l.le hadn't realized back then that he'd noticed the tattoo.

Natalie stuck her tongue out at him and came bounding over to the bed, sitting on the end. "Okay, so give me a report."

"I'm fine. Had a great night," Mich.e.l.le told her.

"Really?"

"Really. I'm dying for a shower."

"I thought you weren't supposed to get that incision wet."

Brad rifled around in his bag. "I'm way ahead of you, babe." He brought out a packet of DermaSeal, something from the pharmacy to keep wounds dry during bathing.

"You're a lifesaver." She hiked up the hem of her nightgown. "Have at it."

"This is too kinky for me," Natalie declared, hurrying to the window and looking out.

In the shower, Mich.e.l.le took longer than she should, standing in the steamy tub, feeling the water needle down on her neck, shoulders, back. After a long time and plenty of soap, she got out of the shower and put on leggings and a loose sweater, wrapped a towel around her head. When she walked out to the bedroom, there was Natalie in the lotus position on the floor, her eyes closed and her lips moving soundlessly. It was a bizarre start to a day that promised only to get more bizarre.

Beginning with the breakfast Natalie had ordered-cheese blintzes, fruit compote, scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, and a pot of herb tea. Mich.e.l.le sat on the edge of the bed, nibbling a croissant, and it hit her. Brad had barely mentioned Cody. The kid had just found the father he never knew, and Brad hadn't even asked about what the experience had been like for Cody.

She wondered why. Was it because he felt threatened?

"So I was talking to the concierge, and he gave me a list of recommendations for tonight." Natalie pa.s.sed her a folder with the hotel logo on it.

"What's tonight?" Brad asked.

"The night before the big event, numb-nuts." She sampled a spiced apple from the fruit compote. "I decided we need a party."

"A party? You can't just have a party-"

"Watch me." She rolled her eyes. "G.o.d, Mr. Wet Blanket, can't you for once in your life be spontaneous? I bet you schedule your bowel movements."

"You're a real charmer, Natalie. You really are."

"Just listen, okay? Tomorrow, Mich.e.l.le and her dad are going to make a miracle. Don't you think it would be good karma to mark the occasion in some way?"

Mich.e.l.le expected him to argue, but instead he softened. "A kidney party. It would be a first for me."

"Wait till you see the menu," Mich.e.l.le warned him, giving Natalie a hug.

Monday

Chapter 31.

Mich.e.l.le stared at the glowing red digits of the hotel-room clock: 4:45 A.M. She was supposed to be asleep, resting up for the big event that loomed only hours away.

The truth was, she had barely slept at all. Natalie's party had been as strange and wonderful as Natalie herself. The group, consisting of Gavin, Brad, Cody, Natalie, and Mich.e.l.le, had occupied a corner of the restaurant. Somehow, Natalie had managed to get Dr. Kehr, Donna Roberts, both surgeons, and Dr. Temple to show up. Natalie and Cody hung up balloon people with incisions drawn on them. Some of the balloons bore terse instructions: Please close carefully after opening. Did you leave anything behind? Please check in the overhead compartment for personal belongings. Lave los manos.

The laughter and toasts ranged from silly to sentimental. Her family, Mich.e.l.le had thought, regarding them with a powerful surge of affection. They were not exactly a Norman Rockwell painting, but they were hers, and her love for them burned strong and steady. The doctors, acting officious, broke up the party by eight o'clock, sending Gavin to sterile isolation and advising everyone to get a good night's sleep. Mich.e.l.le wanted to feel grateful for Brad's closeness, for the familiar feel of his arms around her as they lay in the dark of the hotel room. But it felt awkward being with Brad again. In Seattle, she had become accustomed to a predictable schedule, making plans together, letting herself in and out of his house at will, confident of her place in his life. Now she didn't know anything at all.