Burn (3 page)

“Doesn’t your
sister have a few?”

“She lives in
Detroit. I see them twice a year, tops.” When Colleen quirked an eyebrow at
her, Tate said, “Don’t give me that look.
We Skype every few
weeks.
I love my sister
and
her bratty kids, but I live to serve. I’ll still be paying off student loans
when I’m ninety. The more I work, the sooner I can start saving money for my
burial plot.”

“Christ, Tate.
You need to get a life outside of this hospital. That’s all I’m saying.”
Colleen turned to walk away,
then
tossed over her shoulder,
“Open the card.”

Tate carried the
card around for most of her shift, the weight of it nearly tangible in her
pocket. She didn’t want to open it because she knew it would say something
witty or charming, and it would whittle away at her resolve. Ryan was good at
getting his way when he wanted something.

The flowers
she’d had sent up to one of the elder care floors where they’d make someone
smile instead of frown in confusion. Needless to say she hadn’t slept much last
night. The conversation she’d had with Ryan kept playing on repeat in her head,
pausing on his apology and the statement that he was back for good.

But
where’d you go and why?

And then there’d
been the kiss.
Hard to forget that, too.
Ryan should
have a hurricane named after him, blowing in from out of the wild blue yonder,
upsetting the normal progression of life, leaving devastation in his wake.
A category five for sure.

On her dinner
break, she gathered up enough courage to open the tiny envelope.

“Thanks
for the top-notch care, Dr. Reilly. The kiss made my boo-boo feel all better. I
want to see you again.”
And he’d written his phone number below
the words.

Abruptly she
realized she was smiling, so she wiped the expression off her face and started
to rip the card in half. She didn’t though. For some reason, she just couldn’t
bring herself to destroy it.

Things had always
felt unfinished between them, even after he’d left her high and dry. In the
back of her mind, away from all the anger and hurt, there’d been a persistent
feeling something wasn’t quite right. Not with their relationship, but instead
with Ryan himself.

In the weeks
before he disappeared, he’d grown quiet and less cheerful, as if he had the
weight of the world on his shoulders all of a sudden. He’d assured her over and
over again it wasn’t her or them together, but there’d been no real
explanation. Then he’d vanished like he was never there.

Several times in
the months that followed, someone called her from unknown numbers and she’d
answer, only to hear silence on the other end. Tate had convinced herself it
was him, but perhaps she’d simply seen too many melodramatic movies.

After going on a
few miserable dates, she’d given up in favor of concentrating on medical
school. There’d been some brief flings to ease the dry spells, but nothing ever
turned serious. And in truth no one had ever measured up to the bar Ryan set. Now
she had to wonder if she’d been subconsciously still pining for him all these
years. It sure as hell looked like it. That was a depressing thought. But if
she stayed on her current path, she’d wind up an old maid with forty cats and
no children to eventually find her dead, dried-up corpse. Colleen was right.
She needed a life outside of the one that existed inside the walls of this
hospital.

Question was
could she trust Ryan not to destroy her heart again if given the chance.

****

Ryan checked his
phone incessantly while he went about his duties at the restaurant. As
Executive Sous Chef, he was second in command to Kevin Lattimore. He cooked of
course, but he also oversaw staff, stocked food and supplies, helped plan
menus, and made sure the kitchen was safe and sanitary at all times. In other
words, he worked his ass off, but loved every minute of it. Well, most of it.
Dealing with staff issues wasn’t always a picnic.

Luck had played
a large part in his getting the job at Bite, along with his cooking abilities.

He’d met Kevin
while working as a junior sous chef at a restaurant back in his hometown of Birmingham.
When Kevin was planning to open his own place in Atlanta, he’d toured some of
the best restaurants in the south, and that brought him to where Ryan worked.
After having dinner, Kevin asked to meet the chefs. Ryan’s boss just so
happened to have been off that night, so Ryan got the privilege of being introduced
to Kevin, and hearing firsthand how much he’d enjoyed the food.

The two of them
hit it off instantly and wound up sharing a bottle of wine and conversation
long after the restaurant closed its doors for the night. Ryan told him how
much he’d loved living in Atlanta and that he hoped to eventually return there some
day. Kevin must have been impressed enough with Ryan to remember him because
when Bite became a success, he’d picked up the phone and offered Ryan a job.
The timing was right for him to leave Birmingham behind and make the move back
to Atlanta. He hadn’t regretted the decision once.

He also couldn’t
deny that Tate was never far from his mind the entire time he’d been gone. All
he had to do was catch a flash of red hair in a crowd or think he’d heard her
laugh and his gut would hurt so acutely it would nearly double him over with
regret.

It hadn’t been
his choice to leave her or school, but sometimes life takes your options away.
It reminds you not to get too comfortable where you are because any minute the
rug could be snatched out from under your feet, leaving you flat on your back
and gasping for breath.

The relief he’d
felt when he found out she was back in Atlanta, too, working at a hospital here
and still single, had been immeasurable. Like chance was finally on his side. It
had meant pulling a few strings to get the information, but there were some majorly
important people who were regulars at Bite, one being the Chief of Staff at Atlanta
General. It might not have been the most ethical way of going about it, but
Ryan didn’t really care. What mattered most to him was the end
result.

As far as the
walls she’d erected around her heart, well, he’d find a way to scale those too.
Two things Ryan had in spades were patience and stamina.

Kevin walked up
behind Ryan and put his hand on his shoulder. “How’s the arm?”

“A little tender,
but tolerable.” He’d followed the nurse’s instructions about how to clean and
redress the wound. Chances were good he’d have a scar from it, but he’d hurt
himself worse dropping his motorcycle.

“Sure you don’t
need to take the night off?”

It was nice that
Kevin worried about his welfare, but unnecessary in this instance.

“It doesn’t
hurt, Kev. Seriously, as long as I keep it away from direct heat for a few
days, it’ll be fine.”

“I’m just glad
it wasn’t worse.”

Ryan shrugged.
“Accidents are going to happen. And that’s all it was—a freak accident. Seth
swung around with a pot at the same time I reached for a bowl. It’s a
commercial kitchen. It’s expected. You know that. How many times have you burned
your hand or sliced a finger open?”

Kevin winced.
“More times than I care to count.”

“Yeah, me, too,
and I can tell you, stitches are a much bigger pain in the ass than this burn
on my arm, so let it go.”

“Okay, it’s
forgotten. But if it starts to hurt or you need a break, take it.”

“I will.”

“So, did you see
Tate?”

If something
good could come out of being injured, it was that it forced him to swallow his
anxiety about seeing her again and drag his procrastinating ass into her ER for
treatment. Her reaction had been in line with what he’d expected, perhaps
slightly better considering she didn’t kick him in the nuts.

Ryan nodded at
Kevin’s question. “It wasn’t exactly a Hallmark moment.”

“I hope that’s
not what you were expecting.”

“No, but I still
had some ridiculous expectation that there might’ve been at least a few smiles
on her part, maybe a rational conversation beyond the awkward hellos and doctor
speak.”

Kevin frowned. “She
didn’t tell you to fuck off entirely, did she?”

Ryan sucked in a
deep breath, blew it out slow through his nose. “Well, maybe. It’s hard to be
sure with Tate. She talks a big game, but that’s her protective mechanism for
keeping people at a distance.”

“I’ve got one of
those at home now,” Kevin said wryly.

“Holy shit, Elle
moved in?”

“Last
weekend.
It’s been an adjustment to say the least. My
apartment looks like a bomb went off inside it.
Except for
the kitchen of course.
She steers
way
clear of my kitchen. If I wasn’t so crazy about the woman, I would’ve strangled
her by now.”

A pang of
jealousy hit Ryan. He was ready for that also—commitment and domesticity.
Arguing over who drank the last of the orange juice and stuck the empty
container back in the fridge, or who left wet towels on the bathroom floor.
Fighting for the remote or sections of the newspaper over coffee in
the mornings.
Waking up with a warm, soft body curled next to him, a
spill of glorious red hair across the neighboring pillow. God yes, he wanted it
all.
Bliss
and
belligerence.
He knew where he’d find it, too. Now he just had to do a
damn good job of convincing the other party.

“I hurt Tate
pretty bad,” he said.

“Did you tell
her what happened with your family?”

“Not yet. I need
to feel things out between us first, see if there’s even a flicker of hope left.
I’m trying to remind her of the good parts of our relationship before I go and toss
my family’s dirty laundry into the mix.”

Even after all
this time, bitterness still rose in Ryan’s throat when he thought about what his
father did.
 
How it had torn apart lives
and families.

He owed Tate the
truth, but first he wanted to know if she could care deeply for him again
before he told her everything. He didn’t want pity to taint her feelings. If he
stood any chance whatsoever of getting her back, Ryan wanted the emotions to be
genuine.

“So what’s your
next move?” Kevin asked.

“I’m going to
annoy the hell out of her until she gives in.”

Chapter
Three

Ryan was going
to annoy the hell out of Tate.

It was clear now
that was his ploy—exasperate her to the point of giving in and agreeing to see
him. First, it had been the flowers; now it was food.

Precisely at
six-thirty the next evening, and the exact time she took her dinner break,
three men dressed in black pants, black vests, and crisp white shirts, delivered
enough food to feed the entire ER staff.
But not just any
food.
No, he’d honored her heritage by preparing Soda Bread, Irish
Stew
, and some kind of extravagant apple cake for dessert. Even
she wasn’t
that
knowledgeable about
traditional Irish dishes.

Tate couldn’t
figure out how she could be simultaneously flattered by the lavish gesture and
mortified by the subsequent razzing from her co-workers. Word had spread rather
quickly about her handsome suitor, thanks to the hospital’s rabid gossip vine.

“You’re Irish?”
one of the other doctors asked, his plate heaped over with food.

Tate stared at
him dumbfounded, fighting against the compulsion to ask him how he ever became
a doctor. But then again, some folks lived in their own little worlds,
oblivious to what went on around them outside the scope of their job. Still,
all you had to do was take one look at her—the hair, the eyes, the fair
skin—and suspect there was at least some Irish blood in her veins. The last
name pretty much sewed it up with a nice little bow.

She pointed at
her head then her badge with her fork before shoveling a bite of the stew into
her mouth. And wouldn’t you know it was incredible—rich, tender, and perfectly
seasoned. Maybe even better than her grandfather Reilly used to make, and that
was saying a lot considering his recipes had been handed down through
generations of Irish cooks.

As soon as she
finished eating she pulled on a sweater and stepped outside with her phone. She
still had the card from the flowers with Ryan’s number on it.

It rang several
times before it dawned on her how dumb it was to call him at this hour. He was
probably busy and didn’t even have his—

“Am I wearing
you down?” he asked, humor lacing his voice. There was a lot of noise in the
background at first, but then she heard a door close and it faded away to
nothing.

“I’m not
admitting to anything just yet. Except that you’ve mastered your trade and you’re
making a lot of overworked people’s stomachs very happy at the moment.”

“I can keep
going, Tate. Or you could give in and agree to see me outside of the hospital.
Drinks, dinner, a boxing match. You pick.”