Surrender to You (11 page)

In all my dreams, I was standing in a park next to my mother and we were feeding bread to the ducks. The wind off the bay brought crisp air, but my mother shielded me from the worst of it. Winter was coming, but I had nothing to fear.

Instead of that fantasy though, I was sitting at my desk, feeling like I was a leaf about to be separated from the tree I clung to.

Yesterday, Carver had said, “If you give me about twenty-four hours, I can use my resources to find out where she is.”

I didn't remember nodding. It didn't matter, though. I would've gone room to room if necessary. Especially now that I was so close to finding her.

As promised, while I was at work, my phone dinged with a new text:
Crestwood Memorial, room 4608. Take things slow. Tell anyone who asks that you're her daughter from out of town & you found out she had surgery. Good luck, Jason.

Carver had done it!

I nearly dropped the phone. I was that overwhelmed.

Somehow, I stumbled to the elevator and hurried up to Tomas's office. He was inside and didn't say anything when I drew his arms around me.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I am now,” I murmured.

When I pulled away, he didn't say anything, only holding on to my hand until I let go of him. I wanted to tell him everything, but now wasn't the time.

“Recharged,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

I couldn't keep doing this to him. I couldn't do this to myself, either.

I tried to escape, but he held on to me.

“You've been keeping things from me. What's wrong?” he finally asked.

I tried to pull back, but he wouldn't budge. I bit my lower lip and my chin quivered.
Not now, Carlie.

I refused to turn around and have him see me like this, but instead of letting me walk away, like a jerk his grip grew stronger. Tomas pulled me into his arms, even when I stiffened.

“What's wrong, Carlie?” he asked again. Much more softly this time.

My teeth gnashed together and all burdens slowly ebbed away. The walls I surrounded myself with crashed down into crumble. I'd told him I didn't need him anymore and here I was, clinging to him as if I was a ship seeking a safe harbor.

Owing you anything is a burden I'm not too good at carrying.

Why had I said that to him?

“I found her.” My voice wasn't mine. I'd been hollowed out too many times.

“Your mom?”

“Yeah.” That was all I could manage to say. As much as I didn't want to rest my head on his chest, I did. This was the place I wanted to be right now. I could give in this one time.

I closed my eyes.

“Did she reject you?” His voice hardened.

I shook my head. “It's not like that. She's…in the hospital. She just had surgery for bowel cancer.”

He cursed against the top of my head. “She gonna be okay?”

“I don't know. I haven't even gone yet.”

He pulled back to cup my face. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a job—I just found out.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. He wiped my tears off my cheeks. After he did that, I wanted to hold him even longer. “Thank you,” I managed.

“How about you take a breather, and then we'll go see her.”

It wasn't a question. He had declared his intention to go with me.

“I can't have you do that. You have buyers coming today.”

“I
did
have buyers coming today.”

The last time I was in a hospital, I was there for the results of my celiac test. Just like in the U.K., hospitals were dry, sterile places you never wanted to visit.

Crestwood Memorial felt that way, but this time I wasn't alone. Tomas walked beside me. The feeling was strange, but I welcomed it. Our hands brushed a few times, but when I tried to move mine away, he took it and squeezed it.

“I-I'm fine,” I stammered.

“I know.”

We didn't say much on the way up to room 4608. Tomas wasn't much for small talk and this time I appreciated it. My hands were sweaty and the sour feeling in my stomach heightened with each floor we passed. The moment was coming and I was scared shitless.

All this time, I'd expected to see a woman standing in the flesh behind a closed door. She was supposed to invite me into her home and we'd catch up over tea. But instead, I was walking down a quiet hallway with open doors and nurses sitting quietly at stations.

Take it slow,
Carver had said.

Instead of hurrying, I crept up to the doorway and took a deep breath. There would be no mishaps this time. Someone was lying in the bed. I walked inside, my chest swelling with pain from my held breath.

“Hello?” I whispered.

There was no reply. I walked farther inside and realized the patient in the bed was sleeping. The woman who was my mother lay still in the bed, her face ashen among her wrinkles and lines. A feeding tube circled her ear and ran into her nose. I could see myself, even in her withered appearance. Cancer had siphoned away the life from her limbs. The only sound in the room was her quiet breathing and the steady beeps of the machinery monitoring her well-being.

Somehow, I willed my feet to take a step closer. The pressure of Tomas's hand on my back faded away. Three more feet. Then two.

By the time I placed my hands on the railing, my legs were numb.

Her hands were so small, but her fingers were long—just like mine.

I waited, glancing at the doorway to make sure no one was coming. How could I steal this moment?

Tomas stood by the far wall, his face encouraging.

I reached for her hand, expecting the skin to be cold, but her hand was quite warm.

“Hello,” I somehow whispered.

I wasn't sure how long I stood there, but I started when someone spoke to me. “Can I help you?”

The nurse looked at me with concern.

My mouth flapped a bit before I spoke. “I'm her daughter.”

The concern on the nurse's face flared before she peered at me closer. “She's not accepting visitors right now post-surgery.”

“I-I'm sorry.” I probably sounded like a babbling fool.

Tomas stepped forward. “Ms. Jason just heard about her mother's procedure, so she came here to check on her well-being.”

“I see. So far Patty hasn't had any visitors.”

“My mom and I are estranged.” That was putting it lightly.

Tomas placed his hand on my shoulder. “We came to check on her. Is she receiving all the care she needs?”

“I can't share too much with you until I get permission from Patty, but she is resting comfortably.”

I nodded, a bit reassured.

“Thanks.” Tomas asked a few questions. All of them simple and nonintrusive. With that stolen minute, I continued to take in her face. Every single feature I locked away in my mind. I'd found her. I'd finally found her.

I wiped away my tears and turned away.

“How soon can she come back to check on her mother?” Tomas asked.

“In a day or two, she should be up. After the procedure, we want to make sure there are no concerns.”

He nodded.

Reluctantly, I left the room with Tomas, but I'd be back soon enough.

Watching Carlie look at her mother for the first time was an experience I'd never forget. Seeing her tremble with fear made me want to protect her and make that moment perfect.

I stood in front of the window at my penthouse, looking over the Boston skyline. So far all the lights had yet to give me any answers.

This was all supposed to be so simple. That had been my thought when I hired someone to retrieve the address for Frank and Patricia Hall, but apparently the place was abandoned. So far Carlie had done a fine job of searching on her own. She'd refused to tell me how she learned her father was dead and how she found her mom, though.

It didn't matter, though. Her mother had cancer and had had surgery to remove part of her bowel. Helping Mrs. Hall was all that mattered.

Using my resources—even if Carlie didn't want my help—a colleague of mine at the hospital gave me some additional details. I hesitated twice before I called her up. She'd want to know—even if she didn't want my help. The phone was merely a communication tool for booty calls.

“Is this a bad time?” I asked.

She drew in a deep breath and the groaning sounds of springs in a couch drifted through the phone. “No, it isn't. What's up?”

“I got some info from a friend of mine at the hospital.”

“What did you learn?”

Not the best news.
“Patty Hall is a patient of the state, and so far she's been moving in the slow-cranking system we call public healthcare.”

I almost felt her grimace before she spoke. “Ugh.
Fuck.
She probably had to wait for surgery.”

I sat down in my seat. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit tired.”

Tired from seeing her mom, or maybe she was tired from having celiac disease. I'd learned a lot the night of Carlie's birthday. Before paying for their meal at the restaurant, I'd caught news I hadn't ever expected to hear. After a bit of digging, I'd learned a lot about Carlie's condition. The need to confront her about keeping secrets circled my tongue, but she'd been through enough today. At least a few boundaries had been broken between us.

“Have you eaten?” I finally asked.

“I will when I get hungry. I kinda let my fridge end up on E.”

I was up immediately and heading to my laptop on my desk. In seconds, I had her address. Next, I shot off a text to Butts. Knowing him, he'd have what I needed in record time. “You shouldn't skip meals.”

She laughed a bit. “I never skipped meals when I was with you, did I?”

I was already out the door by the time she finished her question. She continued chatting as I descended in the elevator.

“Do you remember the time we ate pizza on the curb before I went back to boarding school in Europe?” I asked.

Her voice softened. “Yeah, I do.”

“I still go back to Tony's every once in a while for a slice of cheese with anchovies and pepperoni.”

She made a rude noise, but her voice was relaxed as I reached the garage where my private car was waiting.

“You hated every bite of that pizza.”

“But I still ate it anyway. I liked the company and not the food.” I still remembered seeing her take bites of that cardboard-like pizza, a joyous look on her face. I smiled at the thought. It was me and her that day. Not anyone else. Just another day when our lives would diverge.

“True,” she whispered.

My phone shook with a new text:
desired order ready. go to charles and revere st.

I glanced at my watch. Roland Butts was a ninja.

Once the car arrived at the address Butts gave me, a man wearing a white apron ran to my window and passed me a sack. Damn, the contents smelled good. I had yet to eat myself.

Carlie continued, unaware of my actions. “Anybody can eat Subway. They are just another sandwich shop.”

I rolled my eyes. Not too far for me to go to reach her. “Says the woman who put down a foot-long like nobody's business.”

“I have taste, though,” she replied. “Subway sandwiches are good and all, but if you want a real sandwich, you go to a deli that specializes in meats.”

“You're a New Yorker through and through.”

She giggled a bit. I loved hearing that noise.

“You can't take the New York out of me.”

“You even used to have an accent.”

“I still have one.”

“Not really. I can't tell.”

She sounded insulted. And a bit more tired. I needed to hurry. By the time my car pulled up to her business suites hotel, she was yawning into the phone.

“You still have your accent,” she said softly.

“That I do, Gingerbread.”

“Why do you still call me that?”

“Because I like to hear your reaction.” I was through the glass doorway into the lobby. A few more footsteps and I'd be at her doorway.

“Where are you? Heading home?” she asked.

“Yeah. I had paperwork to do. I'm thinking I should have some hot leftovers and get some sleep.”

She snorted. “Tomas Goodfellow eats leftovers?”

I was walking down her hallway now. The lightness in my feet increased with each step.

“Every now and then, yes. My housekeeper and cook do take days off.”

“And that's when you should order room service. I sure as hell would.”

I knocked hard on her door.

“Who the
fuck
would bother me at a time like this?” she muttered.

I tried not to laugh.
Why ruin the moment?

“Do your neighbors usually bother you?” I asked.

“Just a minute. Somebody is probably complaining about my alarm clocks again.”

When she opened the door and saw me, her mouth dropped open. She looked from her cellphone to the door.
“Wah?”

“Hey, Gingerbread.” Pleased with my successful arrival, I slid around her and came inside. The place was small, just like all business suites these days. All she had was a small kitchenette table for two, so I put the sack on there.

“What are you…?” A smile broke out on her face, revealing her dimple. She was wearing the same clothes I'd seen her in earlier today. Her usually straight blond hair hung in messy waves past her shoulders. She was absolutely beautiful.

“Surprise?” I added.

She glanced around her place and quickly threw discarded clothing into a pile. As she placed papers and such into piles, I realized something: I'd never seen her home before. Even when we were younger back in NYC, we always met in public to hang out, or she followed me around. Not once, even when we were intimate in the past, had I visited her.

You don't want to see my dump,
she used to say.
Shit, I don't even want to see it.
Back then, she shrugged it off, but I knew she was ashamed of what she had compared to me so I never pushed the issue.

“You said you hadn't eaten so I brought you some food,” I said.

“Thanks, but you didn't have to…” She glanced at the bag longingly. She probably smelled what I did: fresh bread.

As tempted as I'd been to buy gluten-free bread, that would have revealed that I knew about her little secret. I ignored her frozen expression and headed to the kitchenette. She didn't say anything when I checked the cupboards and pulled out a few dishes and silverware.

“Looks like you've never used these,” I remarked.

“I was never much of a cook.”

“I remember that.”

“What did you bring?” she asked me.

“You'll see.”

I arranged our meal, retrieving her salad first. “A cranberry mango millet salad for you. Full of all sorts of vitamins and minerals to get you ready for work tomorrow. And to show I'm not an ogre, I added a Greek yogurt parfait for dessert.”

Her grin was adorable.

I continued. “For me, a pastrami sandwich on rye filled with stuff I shouldn't be eating without a warning label.”

I added two small servings of loaded baked potato soup. She finally sprung into action when I poured two glasses of water for us.

“This looks delicious.” She sat down, not quickly, but slowly as she assessed everything.

“You look dumbfounded.”

“I wasn't expecting any of this.” She took a bite of her salad and paused to moan. “This is divine.” She looked at the bag. “Where did you get this?”

“From one of the chefs at the hotel. He hooks me up every once in a while when I work a long night.”

She ran her spoon through the soup a few times, as if she was looking for something. Maybe some ingredients that might hint there was gluten inside. I was ready for that, though.

I spoke up. “I promise there aren't any bugs in there. I didn't have much time since I had you on the phone. The chef happened to have a canceled order from a customer who had dietary restrictions, so he gave me a part of their order and threw together a sandwich for me.” I made a face to show I was sorry. “I would've done McDonald's, but the drive-through would have given me away.” I changed my voice to sound like it came through a drive-through speaker. “Welcome to McDonald's. Can I take your order?”

She laughed. “I'd pay money to see you take that Maserati through a drive-through.”

I chuckled. “I happen to love Popeyes chicken, just like everyone else.”

“You're one of the richest guys in the world, and you don't send a lackey to buy you a bucket of chicken?”

“Not when my arms and legs work just fine.” Now that we were past that hump, I sat and watched her eat. Seeing her relaxed and happy was always something I enjoyed. Carlie never took the little things for granted. She always tried everything, even food she didn't recognize, but this time, just knowing she felt uneasy about food bothered me. Didn't she know what she could and couldn't eat?

She tentatively took a sip of the potato soup. “This is so creamy. Your chef friend is talented.”

“That he is.”

Carlie made short work of her food. Before she could try to clear our dishes, I took them away and scraped off plates. While I was in the kitchen, I opened the fridge and confirmed my suspicions. Not a single healthy box of food in there. Matter of fact, I'd call what I saw an experiment in figuring out a new diet through
processed
foods.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Just putting the extra potato soup away. Fresh food is good for the soul. Especially after a long day.”

She stood in what could be called her living room and office, her arms wrapped around her shoulders. Was she waiting for me to leave again? Like I always did?

“Aren't you tired?” I finally asked, shoving my hands into my pockets.

“Yeah.” She still didn't move.

“So why don't you go to bed?”

“I feel pretty gross, but I haven't found the energy to take care of that.”

She remained where she was until I took her hand and led her toward the bedroom. “Tomas…” she began, but stopped when we ended up in the connected bathroom.

I leaned over the tub and started running a hot bath.

“I can do it myself,” she said.

“Yes, you could, but not tonight.”

In minutes, the hot bath was ready. Steam and the smell of peachy soap filled the air. At my side, she'd crossed her arms, but I uncrossed them. “Behave, Gingerbread.”

“I'm starting to hate that nickname.”

I touched her hairline where a hint of stark red hair grew. “It's fitting. It will be soon anyway.”

She let me discard her blouse. I took things slow, my movements unhurried or driven by pleasure. Not that I didn't enjoy unsnapping her bra or exposing her beautiful breasts to my eyes only, but I wanted her to feel safe and relaxed tonight.

She didn't say a word, only taking in the brown-tiled floor while I took off her skirt and removed her panties. Once she was naked before me, I offered a hand to help her into the tub.

“Thank you.” She sank into the water and I had to hold myself in check to keep myself from drinking in the delicious curve of her back. The freckles were there as I remembered, this time no longer covered with makeup.

I wanted to draw my lips along her shoulder blades. Instead I waited for her to dip into the water. She hissed and murmured, “This feels wonderful.”

I took a seat on the nearby toilet. “Seems like you never take baths.”

“Oh, I do. Whenever I get the chance.” She leaned back and steam rose from the water. Her breasts emerged from the surface, the pretty nipples with golden rings damp and enticing. I focused on her face.

She continued, her voice content. “Before I started working at your hotel, I used to take a bath every day. I had this massive jet tub with all the bells and whistles.” She stretched her arms out to show how wide. “But that huge tub was nothing compared to this tiny one with you sitting here with me,” she admitted.

I leaned toward her and drew a strand of hair out of her face. She looked at me, and what little resolve I had to not touch her chipped away.

“You're so fucking gorgeous,” I breathed.

I ran my hand down the curve of her neck, waiting for her to say something, but she didn't. Her rosy cheeks actually blushed when the tips of my fingers brushed against her collarbone. That blush deepened when I circled the sensitive circle of skin around her pert nipples. The water was warm and I wanted to join her—even if there wasn't enough room for us to bathe together.

Her head tilted to the side and sank into the tub a bit more as I caressed her skin. My strokes were slow at first, lazy and calm, but soon enough her chest rose to meet my hand. Her lips parted and her tongue snuck out to lick that lower lip. Damn, she was sexy.

Her knees rose out of the water and her legs parted. “Tomas…”

Her eyes looked tired, but when I withdrew a bit she snatched my hand. With a lazy smile, she pulled my hand southward into the water. Down her smooth stomach until I reached the silky heat of her channel. She called my name again when I drew my hand upward along her heated flesh. She wouldn't let my arm go, urging me to stroke faster and faster. Deftly with her right hand she held me, while she guided my right hand with her left.