Love Emerged (14 page)

“Well, swimming used to be,” he says. A warm smile absorbs his face.

He was the one who got me into swimming. Hired instructors for me and paid my monthly dues to a top-notch pool when I lived with my grandmother. He’s always been good at paying.

“I still remember when you won that meet at, what age? Eight?” His eyes float up to the ceiling, as though me getting the ribbon is replaying for him.

I was actually ten, but it was the last day I ever saw my parents in the same room, other than moments ago here. They sat in those stands, and for a brief moment, I thought they might reconcile. That was, until I stood to claim my medal, and my mom stood, too—to scream at my dad for dating teenagers.

I notice my dad’s goo-goo face, and I know he’s not remembering that specific part, only the good of that day.

“Yeah, I think that’s what spurred my drive toward swimming.” I tuck my legs back up under me on the couch. I’ll say one thing. My dad’s got some dope furniture. Comfy and practical. So much better than my mom’s.

The conversation quiets, and my dad’s eyes focus outside to the streets of Chicago.

“Dad?” I ask.

He turns his attention away from the windows back to me.

“Why can’t you get a transplant? I did some research, and I don’t understand why you aren’t fighting it. There was this one case—”

The teacup shakes down to the table, and he holds his hand up to stop me. “Sweetie, I could probably fight for one, but I’ve made my peace.”

“Dad, you’re still so young, and I think you’ve learned what drinking can cause. If you promise to quit, I’m positive they would approve you.”

He shakes his head, a wry smile on his face. “They never denied me.”

My brows furrow as I stare over at him.

“I never asked for one.”

“Dad, how has your doctor not asked? Does June know?”

June is my grandmother. I’ve never been asked to call her anything else even though my uncle’s kids call her Nana.

“She does. She told me she wouldn’t watch me die.”

I’ve never had such a frank conversation with my father, and there’s a small pea-size amount of hope that it won’t be our last.

“Let’s go see your doctor. I have a few questions of my own.” I set my teacup down.

“No, sweetie. I’ve chosen my path, and this is it. I did this to myself, and I’m not going to take a liver away from a deserving person just for me to ruin another one.” He picks his teacup back up.

My eyes veer to the window. I’m unable to swallow the thought that he won’t be here much longer. In my mind, I thought we had forever to mend our relationship, not weeks or maybe months.

“I have to say, I agree with June. It’s not fair to your loved ones to watch you die when you could easily be cured.”

I stand and look down at his frail body glowing a yellowish tint. He’s not the man I’ll remember.

“Sit down, Beatrice,” he says with an authoritative voice.

With one tone, my butt is back down on the couch, like I’m four years old again.

“Dad,” I plea.

“No, Bea. This is my choice. I have no control over my drinking. Last night, I still drank a fifth of scotch, and if this”—his hands move down his body—“doesn’t stop me, nothing will.”

I stand, but this time, I go to the window. As I look out to Lake Michigan, my nose tickles, and I’m certain that tears are about to follow. But I don’t cry over anything and damn sure not in front of others.

“I wish you’d reconsider,” I talk to the window.

“I’m not going to.”

“Money can buy anything, Dad, and it sure can buy you a new liver,” I argue the points he’s already considered.

He’s made his choice though, and I’m not sure I can accept his death wish.

His hand lands on my shoulder, and I inhale a deep breath to push that gnawing emotion of sadness away. When his hand moves to my back, rubbing up and down, I lose my battle, and I step into his arms.

In the moment, he’s not the run-down man he’s become. In my mind, he’s my dad, the man who can hold the weight of the world on his shoulders. We’ve had our differences, and he hasn’t been the best father figure, but he’s the only one I’ve got. And, now, he’s practically committing suicide by not allowing modern medicine to do its job.

“Shh,” he whispers, soothing the sobs racking my body.

“No!” I step back.

His arms fall back to his sides. He instantly grabs the back of a chair to hold himself up.

“I won’t let you do this.” My eyes lock with his to show him how serious I am.

“Bea . . . sweetie.”

“No, Dad. June might be okay with ignoring the fact that you’re killing yourself, but I’m not. You are going to fight this, and if you won’t do it, I will.” I walk over to the couch, grabbing my boots. I put them on and grab my purse.

Once I have everything on and I’m ready to go, I see that he’s sat down in a nearby chair. He’s incapable of standing, which only means that I need to move fast on my endeavor.

“I’ll be back with help.” I spin around on my heels and start to exit his condo.

He says nothing. Not even a call out of good-bye, which is fine by me because he isn’t going to say good-bye to me. Not now, not ever.

Dylan

I WAKE UP FROM MY
impromptu nap and look over at the clock.

Fuck
. Two damn hours. What was I thinking? The other side of me argues that I drove half of the day today, and I am now in a different time zone. Not to mention, the constant fight within myself not to step over that line with Bea is emotionally tolling.

Shuffling through the paperwork spread out on the table, I realize it’s no use. I’ve never been good at working alone. I’m better with partners when it comes to brainstorming. That’s when my pure genius shines. Pushing my doubt of myself aside, I pull out my workout clothes from my neatly packed suitcase.

I fiddle with my iPhone on the way to the workout center of the hotel. A sigh of relief leaves me when I notice it’s empty. The worst is sharing a small room with a stranger, especially if they want to talk. I head to the treadmill first and plug my earbuds into my phone.
Time for inspiration to hit.

If only I could focus, but instead, my head is everywhere but on the Nike campaign. Mostly, it’s on Bea and then flicks to Ava and the thought that I’m screwing up my life more. I mean, do I need someone on the account with me? I could have easily picked Kevin or John. Wish I could say Yasmin, but her diet food ruled her out.

Then, to come with Bea this weekend.
What the hell was I thinking?
I’ve shut a handful of fireworks in a jar, hoping the explosions don’t blow the top off. Sooner or later, they’ll have no other choice but to bust out. I’ve done the same with the tension rising between Bea and me.

My body responds to her, and I can lie to myself, pretending that I maneuvered the schedule to allow her to go to Chicago for the benefit of the Nike campaign, but in truth, my heart pulled when I heard her pleas to Tim. She wanted to be here, and I wanted to work it out for her.

With Nike completely off my mind, I up the speed on the treadmill, figuring the harder I have to work, the more my mind will concentrate on anything but her. Just as I’m about to say screw it and go back upstairs to demand that my creativity reveal itself, Bea walks through the doors to the pool.

My eyes watch her from the window of the workout facility that overlooks the pool. She saunters over to the glass table, placing her towel and key card down. My eyes veer down her toned legs as she slides her shorts off, as if I’m watching her strip. She raises her shirt over her chest, and I’m disappointed that a one-piece swimsuit covers the length of her torso. I was hoping for a glimpse of that flat stomach I licked salt off of that night at Breaker’s.

She’s ignorant to my voyeur eyes, and it turns me on. My feet move like I’m running to her. She positions her goggles over her short blonde hair and slinks into the water, never testing the temperature first.

My arms pump at my sides, demanding my body to keep the momentum, even with my breathing constricting the more I watch her. Immediately, she pushes off the wall into a freestyle form.

Growing up with an Olympic hopeful, I can spot a good swimmer, and Bea is one. Contrary to my brother’s rougher form, her swimming is similar to a dolphin skimming the surface. Bea has edges, sharp ones to keep people at a distance, but in the pool, I can feel the serenity washing off of her.

Without fully thinking of the repercussions, I press end on my treadmill and grab a towel from the rack. Wiping down my face and neck, I leave the workout facility and walk into the pool area. Bea’s blind to my approach, steady in her own groove. I wish I had the willpower not to interrupt her. She’s obviously working something out within herself.

I strip off my shirt, toe out of my shoes, and take my socks off. Leaving my phone and key card by hers on the glass table, I wait until she’s ahead of the ladder, and then I slither into the water, careful not to cause a wake.

The water is heated and feels unbelievably incredible on my tense leg muscles. Leaning back on my arms, I push my legs out in front of me, waiting for her to notice.

I spot her hesitation for a second once she spots that someone’s in the pool, but she continues to propel forward until she hits the edge of the pool. She stops, leans over the edge, and pushes her goggles up to her head. All the while, I sit there with a smirk on my face, waiting.

Finally, she glances over, and she drags her hand across the water, splashing me—well, if it could reach me.

“What the hell?” She takes off her goggles, tossing them on the edge of the pool.

“I was on the treadmill. Thought I’d join you.”

“You swim?” she asks the same question most do after finding out that Tanner McCain’s my brother.

“No. I mean, I took lessons when I was younger, but I never competed.”

Her lips dip down for a second.

“Is that a knock against me?” I joke because I couldn’t care less.

She looks up, rapidly shaking her head. “No, not at all. I just thought we could race.” She shrugs.

“We could, but you’d win.”

I swim toward her, and she slowly backs away, as though I’m scaring her.

“I don’t know about that. I think I sprained my ankle.” She lifts her knee, and her hand massages her ankle. “On the way back from my dad’s, I walked off a corner, and it twisted.”

I inch closer, swimming to the other side of her body to have a look. “Lift it up onto the edge,” I instruct.

She shoos me with her hand.

“Bea.”

She releases a long sigh, but rests her limber leg on the ledge as she floats on her back.

I touch it a few times, as though I took a few medical classes at NYU. She flinches at first, and I glance back at her. My breath hitches in my throat as I watch her lying across the surface of the water with her eyes closed. She looks as peaceful as an angel. So unlike her usual self.

I pat her ankle, alerting her to let her leg back down.

“So?” she asks.

“Just stay off it for the night.” I give advice I’m not even sure is correct, but I’m not going to sound like I don’t know what I’m talking about.

“Thank you.” She swims close to me, leaving us chest-to-chest. “Anything else, doctor?” Her voice is sugary sweet with flirtation.

“Bea.” I cock my head.

She laughs. “Learn to joke and play around a little.” She swims away, slowly doing the backstroke to the opposite wall.

My eyes fixate on her movements, her breasts popping up and down in the water. I’d love to be her doctor for the night. Strip that swimsuit off her body, and show her how wet I can make her. But we have to work to relieve the boulder that sits in my stomach. If I allow my hormones to get the best of me, I’ll lose my career in the mix.

She returns to me, and I’m about to climb out of the water when her hand lands on mine.

“Stay. I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.” She exaggerates the distance between us.

“You okay?” I ask, my body dipping back down in the warm water.

Her eyes dart to the left. “I’m fine. I have a few things to do tomorrow with my dad, so can we meet in the evening?”

“Yeah, I work better at night anyway.” I want her body closer to mine, but I grip the cement wall before I venture too far.

Our legs and arms move through the water, an uncomfortable silence filling the humid room. It’s never been like this between Bea and me. Then again, I’ve really only spent time with her a handful of days. Even if my body feels like it knows her, she makes sure I truly don’t.

“How come you don’t swim?” She breaks the quiet atmosphere, taking my thoughts far away from where they were spiraling.

The loaded question that most feel responsible to ask me.

“I just don’t. Never took to it.” I turn around, leaving my arms on the edge of the pool. “Not for me, I guess.”

I went through all the swimming lessons, and when it was time for me to compete, I hated it. Luckily, my parents were so invested in Tanner that they let me slide.

“I just figured, with Tanner, it must be a family thing,” she mimics my movements, and both our legs are stretched along the surface of the water now.