Kaleidoscope Hearts (22 page)

“You say that about everybody. ‘I’m pretty sure he’s involved in some weird shit,’” I mimic, rolling my eyes.

He shrugs. “I’m usually right.”

“You’re worse than Dad. You’re never going to approve of anybody I date.”

“That’s not true,” he says, his brows furrowing. He looks up at the sound of the door closing behind me, and before I turn around, his eyes lock with mine. “As long as he’s a good guy, not a player, and isn’t involved in weird shit, I approve.”

“Approve of what?” asks Oliver, whose voice makes me shiver. I stand up and head to the kitchen, glancing back and greeting him with a smile.

“Vic is telling me who I can and can’t date. Don’t worry, so far, you are not on the list of contenders.”

Vic spurts out a laugh and mumbles something about, “That’ll be the day.” While Oliver just stares at me like he can’t believe I just said that, it takes everything in me not to flash him my middle finger. Instead, I turn my attention back to the pantry and sort through the cereal. I don’t know what I’m so mad about, but it seems like every time my heart involves itself in Oliver, everything inside me goes haywire. My already loose screws rattle. My already questionable judgment vanishes. And lastly, the possessive chip I never knew I had, surfaces. The only thing I remember is Bobby mentioning “Grace night,” and that’s enough to make me want to throw something at the man who’s not even mine.

“Mom only has healthy grain cereals in here,” I call out. “What the hell!” I say when the pantry slams shut in front of me, and I find Oliver glaring at me. I frown. “What?”

“Who’s on the list?” he asks, and it takes me a couple of seconds to realize what list he’s referring to. I laugh.

“What does it matter?”

“It matters,” he presses.

I raise an eyebrow. “How was ‘Grace night?’”

Oliver’s eyes widen in shock. “What?”

I open the pantry again, effectively making him move out of my way.

“There is no Grace night,” he whispers loudly. I feel his eyes burning the side of my face as he glares at me over the pantry door. “There is only Mae night, Danny night, Patrick night, Justin night . . . do you want me to continue? Because I spend most of my nights doing rounds in a hospital, unless I get really lucky, and then it’s Estelle night.” His words make my heart quicken, but I refuse to look at him. “Now tell me, who’s on the list of contenders?”

“You really want to know?” I ask in a quiet voice, closing the pantry.

He crosses his arms over his chest. He’s not wearing his scrubs today, but instead, a navy t-shirt that hugs his frame, and jeans that cling to his hips as if they were tailored. His hair is wet and brushed back, and his stubble looks cleaned up. He looks like a goddamn model, and I hate it. Stupid boy. Stupid cute boy.

“I’m asking.”

“Go ask my brother,” I say, nodding in that direction.

“I’m asking you.”

I cross my arms over my chest and stand in front of him. “And I’m telling you to go ask him, because I don’t know who is on the approved list. Is there a reason for you shutting the pantry in my face, or are you just here to annoy, Bean?”

He opens his mouth and closes it, then opens it again. “I want your list. I don’t care about Victor’s list. I know I’ll never make it on his. I want your approved list.”

I can’t come up with a comeback for that, so I’m glad when my dad walks in clearing his throat, and I have to drag my eyes away from the intensity in Oliver’s. Dad’s brown eyes bounce between us, and his brows raise in question.

“Interrupting something?”

“No,” Oliver and I say at the same time.

“I heard this is your last week at the hospital,” my dad says, using his enthusiastic voice, as he rounds the corner and opens his arms to hug Oliver. “Congratulations, my boy. I knew you had it in you, despite those late nights out.”

I groan and fake gag. Can the people in this house not stop talking about this guy’s past? Jesus.

“Thank you,” Oliver says, laughing. “Now it’s time for the real world.”

“Do you know where you’ll be working?” my dad asks as he opens the fridge. Oliver turns his body to face me as he answers.

“I’ve gotten some calls, but I’m holding off for the right one,” he says. I scoff like a bratty schoolgirl and turn around.

“Dad, what’s up with the Lucky Charms?”

“Your mom won’t buy them anymore.”

“What? Why?” I ask, opening the freezer. “You guys have nothing to eat!”

My mom’s laugh rings throughout the house. “We have nothing you like to eat, but we have plenty to eat. Sit down, I’ll make you some eggs.”

“I hate eggs,” I mutter under my breath. As I stand with my back against the counter, Oliver’s fingers brush mine, and I feel a jolt that makes my eyes snap to his.

“You like eggs,” he says.

I shake my head. “I really don’t.”

“With goat cheese?” he asks, his fingers now intertwining with mine.

“I like them a little bit if they have goat cheese,” I whisper, trying to untangle my hand from his, but he makes it an impossible feat. “What are you doing?”

“I want to be on that list,” he says quietly so only I can hear, but my eyes automatically pop around the room, making sure nobody is paying attention.

“Then get on it.”

“Your list or his?” he asks, throwing a nod in the general direction of where Victor is.

“Whichever one matters most to you.”

I reach up to push his hair out of his face, threading my fingers through it so that it stays back. His eyes close at the movement, and my heart spikes at the intimacy of it all. My dad clears his throat again, and I push away from Oliver, giving us enough distance to look like nothing is going on. Because nothing is going on.
At all.

“Do you want coffee, Oliver?” my dad asks.

“Yes, please.”

As I walk past, Dad twists his lips into a smile. “Your brother would kill him. You know that, right?”

I grab on to the edge of the counter. “He has no reason to.”

He laughs. “You sure about that?”

And with that, I scurry over to the table and sit in front of my brother, as usual. Oliver sits beside me, as usual, and my mom and dad sit in their seats as she places the food in the middle of the table—scrambled eggs, sunny side up eggs, poached eggs, toast, jelly, and butter. I go for the toast. Oliver takes it upon himself to serve me some scrambled eggs, because they have goat cheese and bacon. I thank him and eat with one hand while I fidget with the napkin on my lap with the other. My dad is looking at us like we’re about to announce my pregnancy, and the entire breakfast feels awkward.

“I like that dress on you,” Oliver whispers, and my face flames.

“Oliver, Tom says you’ll be finished with your residency soon. Will you stick to pediatrics?” my mom asks.

“Definitely. I love working with kids, so I’m trying to find a small practice to join.”

“You must see so much in the hospital though,” my mom says sadly.

“It’s not easy,” Oliver says, his hand reaching for mine under the table. “It really makes you realize what you have and how lucky we are to be healthy.”

“I bet. I’m sure it sheds a different light on your life,” my dad comments.

“It does,” Oliver responds, squeezing my hand. I feel like he’s squeezing my heart. “It’s made me see a lot of things clearly.”

“I think this year has opened our eyes to a lot of things,” my mom starts, until Victor interrupts.

“Did I miss the memo about this being a Thanksgiving breakfast?”

I bite my lip, trying not to laugh, and glance up at Oliver, who’s apparently doing the same. Our hands squeeze tighter together.

“It doesn’t have to be Thanksgiving for you to be grateful,” my mom says.

“Vic is just upset because that girl he’s been seeing hasn’t come around in a couple of days,” I say, sticking my tongue out at him when he makes a face.

“Whatever. At least my mom doesn’t have to play matchmaker for me.”

“She doesn’t have to for me either!” I say, shooting a glare at my mom.

“Prove it,” Vic says. “Prove it. Go out tonight and get yourself a date the old fashioned way.”

I laugh. “By go out, I’m assuming you mean to a club, and that is the last place I want to get a date. Besides, since when do you want me to date?”

“Since you started pointing out my dating life when you have none.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m happily single, thank you very much.”

“I’m just saying—I have no issues finding women who want to date me.”

“I have no issues finding guys who want to date me either.”

He raises an eyebrow, but makes no further comment.

“I’m serious, Victor.”

He raises his hands up. “I’m dropping it, Elle. Are we still going out to celebrate me closing this case?”

“I guess we are, right?” I say with a shrug.

“Maybe you’ll find a date there.”

“You are so infuriating.”

“You never know. Maybe you’ll find love in a hopeless place,” he says and laughs.

“Mom, you’re not going to say anything to your idiot son?”

“Estelle!”

“Estelle, what? He’s being a moron!”

“I think your brother just wants you to move on with your life,” my dad chimes in. “He just has a weird way of showing his feelings. Besides, who’s to say she isn’t moving on with someone right under our noses?”

Victor scoffs. “One, we would have noticed. Two, we don’t know anybody she would date.”

“This is not happening,” I say, muffled into my hands, while Oliver laughs beside me.

Victor calls Jenson, who seems to be in town every weekend, to join us. His invitees end up being: Mia, Jenson, Victor, Oliver, Bobby and me. Oh, and whoever Oliver and Jenson decide to bring along, because God knows they don’t travel without a date unless they’re going to find one there.

“Why the hell would he want to go to a club?” Mia asks, as we sort through her closet.

“Because obviously Victor has no life outside of his workplace, which, may I remind you, consists of divorcees trying to screw each other over.”

“Ugh. Why is Jenson even here again? It’s getting annoying. I like it better when he stays on the east coast,” she says, and suddenly stops looking through clothes, to sit on her bed. I face her and take in the sad look that invades her face any time Jenson is mentioned.

“You don’t have to go,” I say. “Just sit this one out.”

Mia brings her gaze to me. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll have three body guards, and I can’t blame you for not wanting to see Jenson.”

She sighs. “I’m just not ready.”

I take a seat beside her and hold her hands in mine. “I know.” I don’t mention how Jenson seems upset every time Mia’s name is brought up, because there’s no point. “I hate that he makes you so sad.”

Mia smiles. “Me too, but that’s life.”

The conversation shifts to my outfit and hair as I start getting ready, and for a while, we both let go of the ghosts of our pasts.

WHEN I GET to the club, I’m escorted to the VIP area, where Victor, Bobby, Jenson and Oliver are talking to some women at the table beside them. I watch for a couple of beats, but the loud house music and dim lights make it impossible for me to understand what they’re saying. The fact that none of them feel my eyes on them enough to look up is telling though—they’re all completely lost in conversation. Oliver throws his head back in laughter, and I swear I can feel it rumble from his chest to mine. Or maybe it’s the speaker I’m leaning against. Either way, it’s enough for me to finally shuffle my feet in the opposite direction and head to the bar. I’ll go back over there after I’ve supplied my body with the liquid courage it needs to sit next to them . . . next to
him.

As soon as my ass touches the stool, I ask for a drink and start looking around, watching the bodies move and the women strut across the dance floor in search of their next victim. Two drinks later, I get up and walk back to the VIP area, giving a wave to the girl who walked me in before. She smiles and escorts me back to where Vic is, and I stand directly in front of them so they’ll hear me over the music.

“Hey.”

Victor looks away from the woman practically sitting on his lap, but then, it seems like all of the women are sitting on the men’s laps right now. I try to avoid getting in a twist by not letting my eyes drift to Oliver.