All Amity Allows (Fall for You Book 2) Read online

  He looked around the house that he'd moved into just the day before and felt more uncomfortable in the spacious living area than he ever had anywhere else in his life. Everything in the house seemed to taunt him with unfulfilled promises. Even the salmon-pink walls seemed to mock him with their cheer. When he'd first looked through the house, he’d thought his girlfriend—now ex-girlfriend—would adore the uniquely colorful paint. Her possible opinion on all of those things had felt so important to him when he’d found the place. Now that the two letters “E” and “X” had been added between them, all of his choices were meaningless.

  The only reason he’d even leased the house was so he could move away from his father’s place where he’d lived since moving back to Flint, Michigan. Things had been so different just yesterday. He’d been happy then and thought she was too. In the space of just a few short minutes at her house, less than an hour earlier, his worst fear had manifested into reality and he still wasn’t sure how to process that.

  He tried to ignore the sting in his eyes, working hard to convince himself that it wasn’t the burning of tears ready and waiting to fall if he let them. He’d never cried in his adult life and he wasn’t going to start today. Especially not over some woman.

  Admittedly, he was probably the closest to crying he ever had been.

  And she wasn’t just some woman. She was Becca. She was the one.

  He'd been in love with her since the eighth grade. So many of his dreams over the years had been filled with images of her. Her curly black hair and large green eyes. Her soft, pink lips and womanly figure. She’d filled his heart with the promise of love and happy ever after.

  That was nothing more than a fantasy though. The future, which had seemed so bright and full of promise, was behind him now. Shredded into tatters that could never be repaired.

  Even now, each time he closed his eyes, he could hear her laugh and see the sparkle of amusement in her eyes.

  Although circumstances had driven them apart soon after he’d first discovered his feelings for her, he’d thought his return to Flint might have changed that. At least, he'd hoped it would. Maybe she wasn’t the only reason for his return, but he’d only be lying to himself if he tried to deny that she’d been a big part of it.

  In the time he’d been away—almost ten years—he’d half expected Becca to have left the city, married, or at least become deeply involved with someone else, but she hadn’t. He’d only been back home for a few days when he'd learned she was available, and seemed more attracted to him than she ever had been in middle school. For a time, it looked like his risk had paid off.

  It had all been going so well.

  After their perfect reunion, and the wonderful dates that followed, he'd thought that maybe, just maybe, all of his dreams were coming true. It had all seemed like something out of a fairytale or romance novel. Every time he’d closed his eyes when he was with her, he could see their future stretching out in front of him: bright and full of unchecked promise. It was logical that he'd continue to work his ass off at the hospital until he had enough of an upstanding reputation to find a better position somewhere in a better city. In the meantime, he’d save as much as he could until he had plenty of money put aside—at least enough to whisk her off to another town. A bigger one where she could chase every career whim she might ever have and he would continue to progress toward his specialization in cardiothoracic surgery.

  The heart.

  It was ironic then that his desired area of expertise was the very part of him that Becca had shattered without even uttering a word. All it had taken was one look at her smitten face when she looked at photos of another man, for Drew to realize the truth. He’d been lying to himself for too long.

  What a fucking joke, Drew thought as he filled a glass of water.

  He wanted to hate her—wanted it with every fiber of his being. But he just couldn’t.

  He’d spent so many years longing for her—even when apathy and distance had separated them—that he didn’t know how to feel anything else but desire. During the drive from her house—from the madness-inspiring scene in her private darkroom where she had surrounded herself on all angles with her personal collection of photos of that fucker—he’d been half-crazed and he was still trying to figure out the best way to process what he’d seen.

  She’d picked another man and there was no way to win her back. That fucker had screwed everything up, and she hadn’t even been willing to listen to Drew’s warnings about Evan’s true intentions.

  He should have trusted his instincts better. He should have fought harder against the influence of that prick, Evan. That bastard had walked right up and stolen Becca’s heart out of Drew’s tender grasp, all under the guise of friendship.

  Worse still was the fact that in so many ways Evan could have been Drew’s doppelganger. They shared their eye color: hazel, although Drew’s nudged toward blue rather than Evan’s muddy brown. Even their hair had the same chestnut hue. Despite their similarities though, Becca clearly preferred the shorter, less fit version of the two. God only knew why.

  Drew set the untouched water back on the counter as the thought of taking even a sip made his stomach churn. Reaching for the edge of the counter, he steadied himself and took some deep breaths to calm the raging storm that had taken hold of his body.

  That was life, he philosophized, as he tried to loosen his hold on the counter and stop his teeth from grinding together. Things didn’t always go the way people planned, he reasoned with some difficulty.

  His jaw ached from the crushing pressure he exerted on it even as he tried to be rational in his head. When he was finally able to pry his hands away from the countertop, they had formed involuntary fists in a desperate need to move, to react, to inflict some sort of revenge on the one who’d stolen his happiness away. On Evan.

  As if a light had been switched on in his mind, he figured out the best way to get over Becca. He would do what he had always done before. What he did whenever he didn’t know what else to do. He would punish his body in a grueling workout. Then he would study.

  In that way, he would move on.

  Hadn't his years in college been filled with little more than study, the gym, and the occasional round of meaningless sex?

  It had helped him to focus then, and there was no reason it wouldn’t work any longer. Right now, he needed focus more than he needed anything else. He simply had to force himself to realize that what he’d hoped for with Becca was nothing more than a pipe dream and the pipe had officially burst.

  Who needed love when he had his career? And other more immediate distractions—like working out.

  That’s exactly what I need.

  Moving through his house, he readied himself for a good workout.

  Perhaps he should have stolen one of her precious photos, he mused to himself when he ripped off his suit and pulled on a pair of gym shorts. Not because he wanted to see that prick, Evan’s, face again, but it would have made a great addition to Drew’s punching bag. He could have used the image as inspiration to exact some semblance of revenge and pretend he was beating the shit out of the guy’s smug face and tacky smile. If nothing else, it would have been a little extra motivation to hit harder and faster than he usually did.

  Drew headed for his garage where he'd left the beginnings of his rudimentary gym. With only the bag and a treadmill, it was fundamentally lacking in equipment, but it would do. He had a membership to a more professional establishment in town, but at that moment, he didn’t need fancy equipment. More than anything else, he needed to smash his fists against something until his arms ached and his body protested. He wanted his breath to leave his body for all the right reasons and not just because he found it hard to breathe around the gaping wound in his chest.

  As he yanked on his boxing gloves, he stretched and warmed up. Bouncing from foot to foot, he pictured encountering that fucker in a dark alley.

  With steady, calming breaths, he let his imagination run away
with him until it was easy to believe the punching bag in front of him was a brown-haired, hazel-eyed, girlfriend-stealing bastard.

  Drew’s fist connected with the side of the bag with a sturdy thump. He’d used more strength than he usually did, drawing on the power of his entire side to force energy into his fist. He only wished that inflicting pain on this analogue would make the real Evan feel the same things, like some sort of gym-inspired voodoo doll.

  “We’re just friends,” he growled at the bag as his other fist smashed into the bag with all of the strength he could muster.

  They were words she’d uttered to him whenever he’d expressed concerns about the fact that her friend was far too obsessed with her to be normal.

  “He’s gay,” he said again, shoving his right fist against the bag again.

  I told her he wasn’t, he thought to himself, delivering another blow.

  He paused as a sickening thought entered his head. Had she known that all along?

  Had she just wanted to see how many lies Drew would believe before seeing the truth? For all he knew, Becca and Evan had been an item since before Drew had ever arrived. Was it possible that they’d been having a good old chuckle behind his back after every date?

  He released a primal cry and hurled his fists at the bag in a fast flurry, each hit that landed making his knuckles scream in protest. The agony made him more desperate for a violent outcome, so he ignored the pain and hit harder. Even though part of him was conscious of the fact he would regret it in the morning, he was more than willing to endure aching limbs if it dislodged the agony of losing Becca from his chest.

  “Trust me,” he said in a mocking impression of her singsong voice. “You have nothing to be worried about.”

  That was almost a mantra for Becca, especially in the last few months. Nothing to worry about my ass.

  “Are you in love with him?” he spat at the bag. What sort of a question is that? Why didn’t I demand she explain the photos? Maybe I misunderstood and she actually still wants me, but I left before she could find the words.

  He shook his head.

  You know she doesn’t, he thought, stamping down on the hope before it had the chance to swell into something that would cause him further pain.

  The part of him that clung desperately to the hope like a life preserver in a sea of tears reasoned that she’d never actually answered his question. If he’d waited a little longer, maybe something more would have been revealed.

  She didn’t have to answer the question, Drew thought to silence the voice. Her apology and the look on her face had spoken volumes. She was in love with the friend she’d defended more times than Drew could count. She probably hadn’t even realized it before that moment. Even though Drew didn’t think she’d intended to hurt him, it had been the ultimate outcome.

  Still, he couldn’t hate her.

  But he could hate Evan.

  Did, in fact. He used it, funneling the heat in his blood until it surged through his limbs and pounded into the bag over and over. Drew’s breathing was ragged from exertion as he beat the bag until he was completely drained and the inanimate object had won the round.

  Putting his hands up to stop the swinging movement of the bag, Drew took a moment to catch his breath. Resting his forehead against the leather, he tried to calm his body even as his breath hitched. He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t because exerting all of his energy had done nothing but push him that much closer to losing it entirely.

  By the time he pulled his gloves off, his arms were shaking and his fingers felt like they’d been filled with concrete. His knuckles ached and protested with even the smallest movement. To keep his joints moving, he rolled his wrists in slow circles and winced as they too complained about the effort of even that small action by shooting jolts of pain along his fatigued muscles. Certain he’d be worse in the morning, he hoped he wasn’t required to help on any surgeries. If he was still hurting when it came time to go to the hospital, he’d simply have to tell his father that he wasn’t in any fit mental state to cut people open or stitch them back up again. Although that wouldn’t help the situation of having to face his now-ex.

  As he thought her name, the pain he’d beaten away struck back with unreserved force. His eyes stung as something more than just sweat clouded his vision.

  Perhaps there is no escaping the pain, he thought as he tossed his gloves on top of his towel. That didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

  He climbed onto the treadmill and set it to the top speed, ready to attempt to outrun the hurt.

  Chapter Two

  Drew must have checked the clock on the wall at least twelve times in the last ten minutes. He could have sworn that time had stopped entirely instead of just skipping past the parts he didn’t want to have to face, like he would have preferred. In twenty more minutes, Becca was due to start her shift at the hospital. She was never late, which meant he had less than twenty minutes to prepare himself to see her again. Part of him longed for it; another part hoped she’d take a personal day.

  Like I should have.

  For the better part of his shift, he’d hovered between the staff room and her reception desk. Not that it was solely hers, but it was where she would sit when she arrived to torture him for the day.

  He’d debated leaving a note on her keyboard begging her for another chance, but he didn’t want to stoop that low, especially when there was a good chance that Becca wouldn’t be the one to find it. Besides, he wasn’t the sort to beg—never had been and didn’t really plan on becoming that person for her.

  Only, he didn’t know what else he could do. He wanted her back. The dreams, which had haunted his limited sleep all night, were evidence that he was far from over her.

  It was just . . . he’d never actually had to win someone’s heart before, let alone win anyone back after he’d lost them. He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t even know where to start.

  Once he’d decided that begging was out of the question, he’d considered whether it was possible to keep himself busy and away from her desk for her whole shift. At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with her or any of the messy fallout. It may have been the coward’s way, but it was also the easy way, for both of them. He didn’t doubt she might appreciate that option just as much as he would. If the first time they had to face each other again was in front of a crowd, it would be as awkward for her as it would have been for him.

  Giving her some space would certainly be the chivalrous thing to do, he justified as he worked to convince himself that it was the best option. Still . . . he couldn’t decide.

  He wished he could know for certain which choice would cause the least humiliation for him. All he knew was that he wanted to see her again, wanted to make her smile and to hear her laugh once more. He wanted to take her on a date again, to escort her to the finest restaurants, and then bring her back to show her his new house. His new bedroom.

  He closed his eyes and imagined the feeling of running his fingertips over her soft skin once more. She could sleep in his arms for the first time ever. Drew wouldn’t have to worry about his father’s concerns over any possible lack of propriety if Drew bought her home before they’d at least become engaged. As if Drew was nothing more than a bumbling virgin who’d never shared a bed with any woman before and needed his virtue protected.

  At the thought of the things he wanted to do with Becca, to share with her, Drew felt more resolute in his desire to try to straighten things out. At least to return to the friendship they’d once had. Could he do that soon though?

  Even as he considered the possibility, it occurred to him that he really didn’t want that. He wanted her once again. All of her.

  Maybe it didn’t matter that she had feelings for that other prick. After all, he’d heard rumors that Evan had left town anyway. Cathy, Becca’s best friend and a nurse who often worked close by Drew’s side, certainly seemed to think that was the case. She’d mentioned something about that bastard leaving town abru
ptly just after Becca’s birthday party. Of course, Becca had never mentioned it, mostly because even back then, when they’d been together and happy, Drew couldn’t stand hearing that asshole’s name.

  Drew sighed at the memory of what was probably the last night he’d seen her truly happy. Then his mind wandered down unwelcome paths. Had her unhappiness since been the result of Evan leaving town?

  Drew clenched his protesting fists at the thought. It struck him then that he really should have connected those particular dots sooner. Denial was a wondrous, but dangerous mindset.

  It was further evidence of the feelings Becca had harbored toward her friend for so long. Proof that was obvious in hindsight. However, if the fucker was truly gone, then her feelings for him didn’t really have to stand in the way of her romance with Drew, did they? Drew wasn’t entirely sure if he could handle being with someone who was in love with someone else, but if she was willing to give it another try, he would almost be willing to forgive and forget. It would take some pride swallowing, but he knew she was worth it. Given the chance, he’d take her and love her so hard that she could barely remember her own name, let alone that other fucker’s.

  The thought cemented his decision and a plan solidified in his mind. Even though he had a few patients waiting for him, Drew wouldn’t leave the reception area until he’d seen her again, until he’d spoken with her and told her everything he felt. That what he’d seen in her basement darkroom didn’t matter. That he was willing to forgive and forget. That they could still be together, if only she was willing to give it another try. Then, he’d sweep her into his arms and everyone who witnessed the scene would burst into a round of raucous applause at their reunion.

  When the automatic doors slid open to reveal Becca arriving five-minutes before her shift was due to start, he held his breath. The first thing he noticed was that her gaze didn’t sweep the room searching for him. Neither did she look like she’d spent the night anywhere near as sleeplessly as he had. In fact, her eyes were clear, her face fresh, and a small smile played on her lips—the sort of smile that only hinted at the happiness bubbling beneath the surface.