At Any Moment (Gaming The System Book 3) Page 8

  Her brows rose. “You got that stubbornness from somewhere, kid. Don’t even try it.”

  I put my head down and rubbed my forehead. Inexplicably, tears stung my eyes—tears that would never slip down my cheeks. I blinked fiercely… I wouldn’t allow it.

  “What are you afraid of, Mia?”

  I sucked down a breath of air and shook my head, shrugging. “Blowing it again? Because even if we didn’t ruin everything, it’s all hanging by a thread.”

  “You’ve been through a lot in a short amount of time.”

  “It’s all like a blur,” I murmured, blinking my eyes. My vision seemed a metaphor for my life. “It’s like one moment everything was going great. Wonderful. All these pieces were falling into place and then…”

  “And then?”

  “Is he just with me because I’m sick—because of everything that’s happened?”

  My mom patted the bed beside her and I looked up. She nodded reassuringly and I stood up and went to sit next to her. She slipped an arm around my shoulders. “I’m going to tell you the truth. I don’t know. You don’t know. Heath doesn’t know. The only one who knows? You need to ask him those questions.”

  I didn’t say anything for a while, watching the spotted carpet beneath our feet.

  “How about you? Are you just with him because you’re sick? Because of everything?”

  There were those feelings again, the jumbled ball of heaviness at the center of my chest. It was hard to breathe. I didn’t want to talk about this with her. I shook my head. I supposed if I sat down for a few hours and thought about nothing else, unraveled this ball like it was a tangled spool of yarn ends and examined each piece, I might be able to tell her what every nuance and twinge meant—love, hurt, longing, distance, loneliness, distrust, regret, guilt. They were all there and all bunched up in knots. And my heart was tender and vulnerable for it.

  “I’m afraid if I go there, if we live together, that it will ultimately be what makes us fail.”

  “Or, it could be what makes you stronger. Maybe you should believe in yourself more.”

  I put my head in my hands. “Why do I have to deal with this now?”

  “You don’t have to do anything but let the people who love you take care of you. Your job right now is to get better. Okay?”

  “Mom, you have to go back to the ranch.”

  She looked at me. “And what about you?”

  I avoided her eyes. “I’ll talk to Adam.”

  She seemed to relax beside me. “Good.”

  ***

  Later that day, Adam came by after putting in some time at the office. He brought me a box of fresh cinnamon rolls, cinnamon bread and a pack of cinnamon gum. Since getting any sort of appetite back after the first round of chemo, I’d been craving cinnamon to get rid of the rusty, metallic taste in my mouth. I’d mentioned it this morning when he’d called to check up on me and now, here he was, like some sort of Cinnamon Sugar Plum Fairy bearing gifts.

  He’d grabbed a sandwich for himself and we sat at the table in Heath’s kitchen. Heath had gone to pick up some of Connor’s boxes to move in. I nibbled on my cinnamon roll, licking the icing from my fingers. Adam watched me carefully while trying to make it appear that he wasn’t. I got down about one third of the roll before I set the rest aside.

  “Milk?” he said.

  “Can’t. It’s on the ‘no’ list,” I said, referring to my dietary restrictions.

  He nodded and bit into his sandwich thoughtfully. My hands fidgeted on the table in front of me. “Umm,” I finally said.

  He chewed and swallowed, looking at me expectantly.

  “If—if that offer to stay with you is still open… I’d like to accept it.”

  Adam wiped his mouth with a napkin, his eyes brightening. “Sure—yeah. Yeah, of course it is.”

  “I just want to tell you something, though.” I said. I cleared my throat. “Um. I’m a little scared about this. Because of what happened last time.”

  Adam reached a hand across the table and took mine. His warm palm enveloped it. “Last time was different. We both made a lot of shitty mistakes.”

  I nodded. “Okay…”

  “No recriminations, remember? I think we can move past this. Do you?”

  I frowned but nodded slowly. “I hope for it, anyway,” I said.

  He was moving his hand on mine, idly tracing my palm with his index finger. His touch tingled, burned. My fingers closed around his but I didn’t know whether I was grasping at him to pull him closer or to stop him. It was so confusing.

  “Grab your bag and toothbrush. Let’s go.”

  I looked up, stunned. “Now?”

  His brows drew together. “Sure. Why not?”

  “Um.”

  He stood, boxing up the leftover pastries and stuffing everything back into the bag he’d brought them in. “Come on. I’ll get my assistant over here tomorrow to get the rest of your stuff.”

  “But—”

  He stopped and turned toward me, waiting for me to finish.

  I remembered that night when I’d first told Mom about being sick. When the thing I wanted most was to go home with him, for him to hold me. I had a vague memory of two nights ago, when I’d emerged from my chemo coma and he’d been here—camped out on the couch all weekend. He’d carried me back into my room and I hadn’t wanted to let go of him, hadn’t let go of him until I’d fallen asleep.

  I took a deep breath. Time to stop being so scared. “Yeah—I’ll, uh—I’ll get my T-shirt and some clothes for tomorrow.”

  His mouth turned up in a small smile and he nodded. “I’ll go shove this in the car and come back for your bag. Be right back.”

  With shaking hands, I quickly gathered up my stuff and texted Heath to let him know where I’d be. And then I hopped in the car and we left.

  A half hour later, we stood at the bridge that crossed the small bit of harbor water to take us to Bay Island. Adam insisted we take one of the little army of golf carts waiting at the end of the bridge instead of walking the hundred yards to his house. When I hesitated, he insisted, saying I looked tired.

  I probably just looked like shit since shit was my new look, compliments of the chemotherapy. And I wasn’t even bald yet, though I knew that was coming soon. I could have walked but I didn’t push the issue. Adam wanted to take care of me. He worried. So I’d humor him. After all we’d been through, I realized that arguing over something as simple and as trivial as this was just pointless. There were more important things in life to fixate on.

  We got out and he took my backpack, gripping it as if it and I might both vanish if he didn’t grab on tight. He’d been waiting for me to say yes, to come stay with him. Though he didn’t show it, I could tell he was quite pleased that I’d finally agreed. Why else had he rushed out of Heath’s apartment as if he was afraid I might change my mind if I stayed there one more night?

  It was late afternoon when we walked up to his front door, with our long shadows preceding us. A fresh breeze blew off the harbor and the familiar scent of the Back Bay assailed me. Only in Southern California, during an unusually warm winter, could we boast eighty degrees in January while the rest of the country was locked under a massive sheet of ice.

  Adam unlocked the front door and opened it for me, guiding me in with a light hand pressed to the small of my back. My muscles tightened under his touch, suddenly aware of how long I’d been craving something more than just a hug or a squeeze of the hand. Now that most of the crappiness from the first dose of chemo had mostly faded, I was only mildly feeling like ass rather than weakly wishing for my own quick and painless death.

  I was bouncing back. I’d read about this. With every treatment it would take me slightly longer to bounce back, with fewer and fewer days of feeling good in between. I tried not to think about what lay ahead and instead chose to adopt my new philosophy of living in the now. I vowed not to fret about what might come tomorrow, choosing to accept and appreciate what I had today.
>
  And today I had a very attentive, very hot young man at my beck and call. Tonight we’d be lying in the same bed together and I hadn’t felt his touch in that way in far too long. My heart raced a little with the anticipation. It didn’t matter that I still had that dull headache or that my joints still were a little stiff. I was still alive, goddamn it, and for today, why not enjoy it?

  Adam checked his watch when we hesitated in the entry hall. Before spending the night on New Year’s Eve, I hadn’t been here in almost two months, since just after our trip to Vegas and the god-awful fight we’d had when he’d found the painkiller syringes in my bag. I swallowed a ball of nerves stuck in my throat and glanced around. Everything was still exactly the same. The house looked as unlived in and spotless as ever.

  “Miss Emilia!” Adam’s housekeeper, Cora, cooed as she came out from the kitchen and greeted me with her usual bright smile, a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  Then she put her hands to my cheeks. “You look tired. I made some dinner. Mr. Drake told me you were coming.”

  I raised a brow at Adam. He shrugged. “I texted her when I went out to the car.”

  “Dinner’s in the fridge. You can reheat it whenever you want.”

  She spoke with Adam, telling him the chef would be here in the morning to make breakfast. He said he needed to prepare a shopping list for her with my diet restrictions.

  “Hey, I’m going to run upstairs and freshen up,” I said, interrupting them.

  I turned to move past them when Adam caught my wrist while he finished giving Cora instructions to pass along to Chef.

  I paused, fidgeting beside him. He glanced at me. “Just a minute, okay?”

  Cora brightened. “Mr. Drake has a surprise for you.”

  I turned to look at him. He grimaced at Cora, as if she’d said something she shouldn’t have.

  She threw her hands up at him and shook her head. “I’m going to go. You are okay for everything tomorrow?”

  “Yes, we’re fine. Thank you for everything,” he said, while escorting me toward the stairs.

  I threw him a look. “I used to live here, in case you forgot. I know the way to the bedroom.”

  There was a small smile on his sexy mouth, which he hid almost instantly. “That’s not where we’re going.”

  I puzzled at that, following him up the stairs. I knew better than to ask him what the hell he was talking about. With Adam, all was revealed in due time—his due time. So when we turned left in the upstairs hallway instead of right, which led to the master suite, I mentally scratched my head.

  Holding my hand, Adam led me into the guest suite. “Step into my TARDIS, young lady.”

  “It’s bigger on the inside!” I said almost automatically, staring around me in wide-eyed wonder at the transformation in the room.

  Adam smirked. “That’s what she said…”

  I made a face. “Perv.”

  The entire time that I’d lived here before, for a month before Adam had left on his hike, the month during the hike, and a month after that when we’d been together before I’d decided to move out, I’d only been in this room a handful of times. The suite was nearly as spacious as the master suite that I’d shared with Adam.

  But today it looked completely different. It had been redecorated and, in some cases, renovated. There were different windows—huge ones that went all the way up to the ceiling from a brand new upholstered window seat that lined the entire thing. The room was decorated in two shades of green, my favorite color, and crème—very muted and soft designs with forest green and mint green accents. There was a modern, ergonomic lounge in the corner with a retractable desk, complete with brand new laptop computer. The bathroom, which had been gorgeous before, had been redecorated to match. It had a beautiful shower tiled in jewel tones, but I noticed steam jets had been added and the sunken tub beside it was new. It sat flush against the tile floor and was backed by a new recessed gas-lit fireplace. It was an overflow bathtub, with a lip all the way around it that allowed water to go right to the edge and then drain away any excess.

  “This is amazing!” I said. “You’ve been busy in the past few months.”

  Adam smiled. “The past three weeks, actually. My decorator organized a rush job.”

  I raised my brows. “Expecting some important guests?”

  “Yep,” he said, watching me closely. “You.”

  My heart stuttered a little bit but I wasn’t quite sure whether it was from pleasure or disappointment. He’d done all this—a huge undertaking in a short amount of time, a major modification to part of his home—for me. But it was for me to live in… to stay in. To sleep in. Alone. While he slept down the hall.

  I turned away from him so he wouldn’t see the mixed emotions on my face, walked out of the bathroom and back into the beautiful bedroom. I stared out the huge windows at the view that looked out on part of the Back Bay of Newport Harbor. Sailboats were motoring in after a long day of leisure on the ocean. Small electric boats full of tourists and locals alike were tootling along the calm water while maneuvering around the bigger motorboats.

  “The best part about this room is the windows,” Adam said, coming up behind me.

  “They are nice windows,” I said quietly.

  He picked up what looked like a remote control from the marble-topped nightstand. “But they are not always windows. Sometimes they are a wall.” He pressed a button and suddenly the windows went opaque and turned a flat eggshell color, as if part of the wall. We stood in semi-darkness, the only light coming from the bathroom skylight behind us.

  “What the hell just happened?” I said, confused.

  “No blackout curtains necessary. Just hit this button at night and the room stays dark until you hit another button in the morning. Or you can even put it on a timer so they go transparent again at a certain time of day. Or if you only want to let a little light in…” He pressed another button and the window was back, only with a frosted, muted effect.

  “Can I project movies and video calls on it like Tony Stark’s windows?”

  He grinned. “Not quite yet. When they invent an Iron Man window, that’s going into my room first.”

  There it was again, that twinge in my chest when he said my room. There was my room and there was his room. There was no “our” room. Did that mean there wasn’t an “us”? I turned away from him again.

  “They’re more than windows and wall, though—they are also lighting.” He hit another button and the windows went opaque again but glowed with a golden light that mimicked indirect lighting. He pressed another button and a bunch of tiny white lights appeared along the seam of the walls where they met the ceiling.

  I wandered over to the low bookcase that stretched the length of the wall perpendicular to the window and its seat. On top, there were a series of framed pictures. One of my horse, Snowball, who was still up at the ranch in Anza. One of me and Heath on a visit to Palm Springs when we were in tenth grade. One of my Mom riding her favorite mare, Rusty. One of Heath’s gorgeous desert sunset shots taken at the Anza-Borrego State Park. And one of Adam and me standing next to Diamond Falls—that spectacular cataract in St. Lucia—the morning after the night we’d first made love. My chest tightened to look at us then, so happy, so in love even though neither of us would admit it to the other—or even ourselves—at that point. I picked up the picture, instantly fascinated that these two people were the same ones standing in this room, getting along swimmingly even though we felt miles apart from one another.

  “So what do you think?”

  I swallowed and set the picture down. I wouldn’t dare let him know about my disappointment. He’d done a magnificent, wonderful thing. Made a very kind gesture. I plastered on a smile and turned back to him.

  “I can’t believe you did all this. You didn’t even know if I was going to come back.”

  He set down the remote and shrugged. “Well, I hoped for it. And I wanted to make sure you’d be comfortable. So I had it done. Just
in case.”

  Just in case. He’d spent thousands and thousands of dollars on a rush remodel “just in case.”

  He moved up to me, peered into my eyes. I was still faking that rapturous smile. He put a hand on my cheek and my eyes fluttered closed. Every touch from him was like magic, like a thousand words, feelings and gestures wrapped up into one split second. His fingertips grazed my cheek. “Like I said, I want to take care of you.”

  He did. He did want to take care of me—from fifty feet away, down the length of a long hallway and separated by two doors.

  He frowned. “You okay? You seem distracted.”

  “I think I need to puke. And you don’t need to see it.” I forced down a wave of nausea that had washed over me like a tsunami of sick.

  I turned, slipping into the bathroom and falling to my knees, into the familiar position of praying to the porcelain gods. Even though the initial wretched days of my first round of chemotherapy were behind me, I still felt sick—at least once a day, sometimes more. Maybe that was the real reason Adam had decided to put me up in my own room—so he wouldn’t have to hear me hurl daily. Hopefully that meant he’d stay in the other room while I took care of this.

  Chapter Twelve

  Adam

  I stood frozen for a moment while Emilia heaved into the toilet. Uncertainty froze me because the first thing I wanted to do was go in there and comfort her, but she’d specifically told me to stay away.

  I went to the closet and grabbed a spare throw and some pillows and took them to her. It was puzzling because she’d hardly eaten a thing at Heath’s. What could she have possibly had in her stomach to throw up?

  She was on her hands and knees, her head down over the toilet bowl and her long hair strewn all around her. I reached down and pulled it back for her.

  “What part of ‘you don’t need to see this’ didn’t you understand?” she choked, but from the tone of her voice, she was more dismayed than annoyed or angry. I didn’t move, just kept her hair back for her while I set down the pillows and blanket beside her.

  “What’s that for?” she asked.

  “For your knees, and the blanket is in case it’s cold down on the floor.”