Catching Preeya (Paradise South Book 3) (21 page)

CHAPTER 27

T
hey’d managed to
find the waiting room of the ICU where Amy’s
brother-in
-law was being treated, despite the signage,
Solo
Español
.

Preeya had dreaded seeing Amy’s mother and sister, hating the idea of having to pull out her fakest FA smile for the catty women. So she was relieved to find only a young local family in one corner of the room and an older lady in the other. The older woman had to be Elaine. With frazzled gray hair pulled up in a straggling bun, and sad, solemn, vacant eyes, she screamed
fear for her child.
It was the same helpless look that the mother wore on the flight to Houston.

Elaine stared at the wall ahead of her and gently rocked her body back and forth. Those eyes, they were the shape and shade of Darren’s. Unmistakably Darren’s mother. She knew from Amy that the woman was sweet to the core and had a tendency toward deep depression.

“Pardon me,” Preeya spoke quietly so as not to startle the woman, “but are you Darren and Zack’s mother, Elaine James?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Amy’s friend, Preeya. Her college roommate. And this is my…friend, Doctor Ben Trainer.”

Slightly confused, out of sorts for sure, Elaine nodded with a kind smile. “Nice to meet you both.”

“Amy called me an hour ago, from the cruise. We’re here to give you some company, and maybe help decipher what the doctors are saying?”

“Oh, thank you.” Pure relief. “The doctors don’t tell me a lot, that’s true.”

Ben nodded. “It might be that there is nothing to tell just yet. Probably a good sign. But would you like to walk me to the nurses’ station and I can see what more I can find out?” Ben held out his hand to help the woman up.

“While you do that, I’ll go down to the cafeteria and grab you something, Elaine. Like a coffee, a sandwich?” Preeya offered, well rehearsed during her
two-year
stint in the skies—but this time, she’d made the offer from her heart. The poor woman looked withered, like a dried meadow flower in a summer drought.

“Oh no, I’m really fine.”

“Elaine…may I call you Elaine?”

“Of course.”

“Elaine, as a doctor and”—Ben swallowed hard, then cleared his throat and touched the woman’s elbow—“and as a widower who’s just lost his wife to a yearlong fight with cancer, I know firsthand how hard it is to watch your loved one hurt…with all the unknowns.” He looked at Preeya—like he needed a quick shot of strength—then back at Elaine. “So, doctor’s orders—you need to take care of yourself to be able to take care of your son. Keep strong, fueled. That is the best way to help Zack right now.”

The woman nodded her surrender. “Please, an apple, and maybe a turkey sandwich. No coffee. I get too jittery on the stuff. Thank you, dear.” She patted Preeya’s hand, and then gave Ben her arm and showed him to the nurses’ station.

*

Preeya got back a half hour later to find Ben and Elaine in the waiting room chatting.

“Sorry, long line. Late dinners here in Mexico, I guess,” she said, placing the food items on a side table for Elaine.

“Thank you, dear.”

Preeya sat down on the other side of Elaine and patted her hand. “You’re so welcome. And how are we looking inside?”

“Well, I got a full report from Doctor Acharya and will write it all down so you can debrief Amy and Darren. But really, it’s a big waiting game, sorry to say.”

“After seeing him, do you think he’s in pain right now? And when he does wake up, will he be hurting then?” the worried mother asked.

Ben sighed, then visibly clenched his jaw and swallowed hard. Preeya watched as he froze over, his gaze now glued to the floor.

“Ben?” She reached for his hand but he pulled away and stood before she could take it.

“I’m so sorry. If you’ll…just excuse me for a moment. I”—he cleared his throat, treading backwards as if he’d seen a ghost—“I have to…make a phone call…that I forgot about earlier. So sorry.” And he disappeared around the corner to the elevators.

CHAPTER 28

H
e sat with
his face in his hands on a hard wooden bench outside the main entrance.

He couldn’t get Jamie’s pleading eyes out of his head, just staring him in the face. Her big brown eyes, backed by a yellowed veil and strewn with thin red veins, bloodshot from vomiting over and over and over again. “Please. Just do it. Give them to me and let me go,” she’d implored him.

That plea. Her
once-vivacious
voice turned into a raspy, desperate beggar’s.

Jamie had been through three rounds of chemo, all against her will, really. Between her oncologist, her parents, and frankly, Ben himself at the time of diagnosis, they had kept the hopeful pressure on. A few of his own young patients had entered his operating room for necessary surgeries resulting from the ravaging disease, and many had gone on to live long and well. But Jamie, by round three, had wasted away to half her weight and more than three quarters of her days were spent in excruciating pain—the other quarter was spent sleeping with the intermittent rotation of fevers then sweats then chills which shocked her awake.

They’d had plans. Dreams. And the loss of the baby, well, that murdered both their hearts. Any question he’d had about his fatherly instinct, or lack thereof, had been doused with kerosene and lit on fire with the news. But it took only minutes for Ben to view the miscarriage as a blessing in disguise, dare he admit it out loud.
Ever
. But God, to have a child by Jamie without Jamie. A piece of her in an animate, sparkling child.

But no. The failed pregnancy was replaced by the diagnosis of a malignant tumor in her left ovary. One year from that point, instead of them nursing a newborn, he was nursing his young wife.

And the catch of all catches: the state of Washington was a
right-to
-
die-state
, if, that was, the diagnosis declared the patient had six months or less to live. Her oncologist had given her nine months. And even though her tumor had metastasized exponentially, the man wouldn’t adjust it—thanks to Ben’s meddling former
in-laws
who doubled as
big-time
donors to the hospital.

Damn them. Ben was her husband, for Christ’s sakes. And an MD himself.

But they just wouldn’t hear their daughter’s wishes. “No quitting. Just hang on,” her father had told Jamie. Even though it was killing her soul to stay alive. Every passing minute pained her. Every breath.
Agony.

So Ben was pushed into a corner. That day, in their home, her frail body nearly too weak to speak, her eyes cried for him to help her end it, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He just couldn’t say no. Not to his love. She prayed for liberation, screeched for it with her silent screams. And he wouldn’t, couldn’t deny her anymore.

He put the pills in her hand, then gave her the glass of water and straw to wash them down. Knowing exactly how the pills would respond with the morphine drip hanging above her head—the morphine, which did nothing—made him, in his heart, a murderer. Whether Stanton disagreed and worked his ass off to convince the review board that Ben’s actions were within the confines of the law and hospital policy, Ben felt what he felt.

And, God, it haunted him.

He remembered the next details like it had happened a minute ago. Because, deep down and always, the scene replayed itself. Over and over and over again.

He had crawled into bed next to her and took her hand to his lips. The soft, silken skin of the top of her hand soothed him. She’d always managed to soothe him, even when she’d been the one anguishing.

To keep his tears at bay, he’d hummed.
Their
song. Her mouth and eyes smiled—so slight but so pure, but she couldn’t hope to halt her tears. She’d been too weak to even try. Still humming—
don’t stop humming
—he placed light kisses, a billion brush strokes, all over her thin, delicate hand. He’d kissed each fingertip, each joint, each knuckle. And he’d kept on humming. He’d turned her hand over to kiss her palm, each deep line and crevice, pressing into her his wholehearted devotion and gratitude and longing for the forever they wouldn’t have. He kissed his undying love into her—each kiss, each sweep, each soft swipe and caress from his quivering lips, he injected himself—his heart and soul, his hopes and dreams. All of him, everything.

A whispered word. From
her
lips. It floated for him, to him, just as her eyelids slid the window of her life shut.

Love.

She’d said
love
and then left him.

His Jamie, his love, was in pain no more—he’d kissed and loved and cherished her to death. Like she’d asked him to.

*

Before leaving Elaine at the hospital to endure the waiting game on her own, Preeya gave Amy’s
mother-in
-law her cell number and Ben’s just in case the kind woman needed anything. She offered one last comforting embrace—though there’d be no true comfort until the woman’s son was in the clear—then she waved goodbye and entered the elevator.

She took a huge breath in, then let it out in measured spurts of relief. But what relief? Another distraught mother, the second in one week. Not to mention the newfound truth about her own mother—her own mother
who’d
left
.

She felt sick.

A panic attack?

No.
No tightness in her chest. Though she was all alone in the elevator and wondered—then stopped wondering—why she didn’t feel panicked.

Anyway, this
sick
was
head-rush
-
meets-eruptive
-gut
sick
.

Oh God, and it was threatening.

Sliding down the cold metal wall of the hydraulic elevator car, she swallowed and swallowed again to try to control her queasiness. She sank down until her ass met the tile, then she pulled from her purse the water bottle Ben had gotten her at the beach.

Clear liquid, clear mind. Now
breathe.

Yes, breathe. Breathe and count and
focus.

She took another sip of water, then focused on each floor’s digital number, decreasing with the car’s slow, sleek descent. She matched her breaths in and out with the gleaming red digits and started to feel relief.

*

Ten floors came and went, and by the time the elevator arrived at the main level, her stomach and head and everything in between had somehow settled. Settled and calmed—she’d handled it. She’d handled it on her own.

The elevator doors slid open, delivering her to the lobby.
Find Ben.
She was sure Ben had escaped down there to make his sudden and strangely timed phone call, or, as she suspected, to take a
much-needed
breather. He probably’d had enough of hospitals in his recent past, doctor or not.

She turned the corner to find Ben trying to buy a water from the extremely
well-lit
vending machine.

“Damn it.”

She took a deep breath, still shocked at how that bout of nausea had vanished, then she squinted from the glare of the machine as she approached. “Just give it a little kick,” she said, coming up beside him and demonstrating in
real-time
. “And voilà.” The machine spat out a small and very overpriced bottle of
ice-cold
spring water. Huh, in Mexico?
But Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.

He grabbed it and gave her a faint smile.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I am. Well, now I am,” he said, reaching for her, pulling her into his arms. He squeezed her tight, like he didn’t intend to let her go. “I’m okay now,” he whispered in her ear.

She moved her hand up to his neck, then to his head. “So soft. Velvety now. Are you growing your hair back, because, although I like this,” she said, rubbing his peach fuzz while still wrapped in his embrace, “I like the distinguished and sexy
near-bald
thing you had going on, too.”

“I’m not sure what I’m doing,” he whispered, still holding her tight. “Let’s go back to your room. To rest…”

“Yes, that sounds good.”

CHAPTER 29

F
ive days had
passed in what he considered to be heaven.
In-her
-
hotel-at
-
the-bay
,
Preeya-heaven
.

Ben had postponed his departure for one week. He used a few different excuses—Preeya’s fainting episode, Elaine needing added support, and Stacy’s worries—in hopes he could convince Preeya to change her mind about joining him, however
dream-like
it would be working together, making a difference together—hell, anything
together
with Preeya was a dream.

The DWB excursions were rough, but nothing Preeya couldn’t handle. She was amazing—resilient, hungry for new things, new people, new adventures, brilliant under pressure. But beyond Stacy’s safety concerns about the vaccine mission, he had his own—apprehensions that neither Preeya nor Stacy knew the half of. Yeah, Central Mexico, the cartel activity, the reports direct from the NGO, were pretty detailed. And he couldn’t, wouldn’t risk Preeya’s
well-being
. Especially now that he’d found her, his second chance at love this life. Completely unforeseen. Unfathomable, really.

He felt her foot slide up his leg, over his shin as she shifted in her sleep. He tittered, his
Preeya-inflicted
bruise hardly tender anymore. Practically healed. As was his heart muscle—seemingly healed, or getting there. She’d done that. She’d effected that change in him.

And she’d changed too. She’d played the
free-spirit
card hot and heavy since he’d met her in the taxi line, but there’d been a thick underlying angst behind it. Now with him, throughout their time in paradise, she’d surrendered a bit…to the
real
Preeya.

And he was falling for her. Falling fast, falling hard.

Maybe so was she? Falling for him?

He wouldn’t dare jinx it—he shoved the question down deep. For now, he took it as a great sign that she’d taken more time off from the airline to be with him, and she was so impassioned about this expedition, like she
needed
to go. Since that phone call the night of their pretend honeymoon. He still hadn’t asked and she hadn’t told him what that had been about, but he knew when she was ready, she’d bring it up.

For now, she was just
laser-focused
on going with him on this trip, while just over a week ago, her life had been a blank slate, pure limbo. Maybe this humanitarian route was her decided path? Relentless and excited, she pressured him every other minute to agree to her coming, and to help her collect the necessary camping gear she’d need. Yeah, she seemed ready to commit to something, to a set future. And although her zeal made it
near-impossible
to dissuade her from going and therefore, hard as hell to protect her—he now admitted to waiting for fate to help him out and play a card here—he was definitely glad to see her find a passion. A shared passion. He saw that she had so much to offer—too much…to be doing what she had been doing, which in his opinion, was just letting time fly by.

In the meantime, being with her each day and night in Vallarta had been pure bliss. They’d stayed in bed all day one day, then had gone dancing all night. Ben, dancing. Stacy couldn’t believe it. Then out to the best of the best in seafood markets with Stacy and the kids, and
zip-lining
in the jungle. Beach time, spa time,
them
time. It had been surreal, really, when just a week ago he’d been in his dismal hell.

The sun leaking through the curtains nudged his eyes open, and when he caught sight of her lying next to him, the sheet across her brilliant breasts, the rest of her free for his absorption, he was too happy for words or thoughts.

They’d been naked in each other’s tangled limbs and parts all night—kissing, caressing, talking about nothing and everything.

And that was all.

And that was perfect. He didn’t even need the release last night, although she’d eyed his arousal, played and stroked and teased him during the hours before they were both too tired to keep awake.

He reached out his arm to touch her flowing black hair. Black as a starless, moonless night—a cool, calming night, though. One with a cleansing breeze. A night where fear, and worry of the unknown had no place. Because she was there with him, and he’d begun to know that with her, a bright next day would come.

He stretched the sleep out of his limbs, both feet on the hotel room floor. He went to the curtains to open them.

Yes, a new day is
here.

*

He’d called for room service. The surprise breakfast in bed made her giggle.

“I’ve never had anything like this before.” Her cheeks burned, chest swelled.

“Stick with me, kid…”

“I think I will.” She smiled, and could definitely picture it, more and more every day. “Here, take a bite of this.” She placed a strawberry at his lips—and he snapped his teeth shut, scaring her three inches off the
pillow-top
mattress. She laughed and laughed, almost spilling the entire tray of food.

He kissed her hand and got up from the bed—naked and delicious—and strode to grab the newspaper that had just been slipped under the door.

She heard him grunt then scoff as he made his way back to her. “So, Preeya Patel, you really wanna come with me on this thing. This trip through the dangerous jungles of Mexico?”

“You know I do.” She’d go damn it. She’d wear him down once and for all, in the last day she had to do so.

He sat down beside her with the newspaper. And placed it at her side. “Seriously, Preeya, it’s risky. Really risky.” His finger pointed to the top half of the paper. The headline read, Cartel Crosses State Lines, then a photo of Mexican State Patrol clashing with masked gunmen.

Sudden angst lodged in her throat, a shock after so many days of total peace, ease, ecstasy. She swallowed hard, but the stubborn fear stood its ground.

“Puerto Vallarta is a safe haven. Cancun and Cabo, too. They’re off limits to these kinds of things…government alliances.” He placed his hand on her thigh and squeezed. “But I need you to
triple-think
this.”

Her pulse filled her ears. “Shit, Ben. Maybe you need to
triple-think
this. Helping people is one thing, but dying in the crossfire isn’t gonna help anyone. I don’t think
you
should do this.” Her brows furrowed, breathing shallowed. “Let’s maybe…find something else, Ben.”

*

Relief flooded his lungs. Thank God she didn’t need him to argue her into reason. Crazy to think about, but until meeting Preeya, he’d welcomed the danger. The stoic sacrifice. What if he did die in the field? Who would care, beside Stace and the kids? But at least the pain would be over. Like Jamie’s pain was over.

But now this woman, Preeya Patel, had
crash-landed
into his life and took his breath away in the process. “If you don’t want me to go, then I won’t.
We
won’t go.”

The relief in her eyes was confirmation enough of her feelings. For him. For
them
.

God, he was so deep into her.

And now he was ready to tell her. Tell her everything. Unleash his secrets. Let go of his
guilt-ridden
past. He slid his hand up her cheek then outlined her jawline.

“I want to tell you so much, Preeya.” He swallowed, then forced his gaze deep into hers. “I literally put myself at risk, you know, on these expeditions, because…well, in the back of my mind, after Jamie, I was okay to go. I mean, well, I wanted…to die. I had no reason to live. I mean, I wanted to help people, but I didn’t mind if I died doing it. These trips had become more of a hope for death…until now. Until you.”

She leaned back against the bed and studied him. As if to weigh the magnitude of his words, his declaration, with what was possible. Like no one had ever wanted to live for her? For the amazing spark of light that he knew her to be.

“There’s more, Preeya. I have to tell you more. And I don’t want you to think differently of me. That’s my biggest fear right now.”

“I don’t think there’s anything you could tell me that would change my opinion of you.” She placed her hand on his chest. “Tell me. Anything…” She kissed him, a slow feather of a kiss, then leaned away.

He sighed and brushed his thumb down her arm. Stalling.

“Ben, it’s okay.” Her head notched, eyes sweet, patient.

“My guilt, Preeya. I’ve been running away from it, trying to escape it in the far corners of the third world. But it keeps following me. Because the problem is
me
. But I won’t let it drag me down anymore.”

He moved the food tray off the bed, then took both her hands in his and studied their interwoven fingers while preparing words. The right words. “Preeya, I couldn’t take it anymore, her pain—Jamie’s—watching it devour her. Watching my wife fade into oblivion. In such agony. After the fifty billionth time she’d asked me to help her…end it, I…I just couldn’t say no again. I helped Jamie die, Preeya. I helped my first love leave this earth.” He shook his head hard and slammed his eyes shut to reset himself. “That’s the guilt, the burden, I carry.” He moved his gaze from their interlocked hands to her radiant face, her eyes—now sharp, otherworldly daggers against white fire.

She pulled her hands away and tucked her knees to her chest. And froze there. “How?” She spat the word, a demanding whisper.

He swallowed, not expecting the recoil, her sudden fear. But he’d begun, so he had to finish it. “I gave her the combination of pills. I handed her the water to wash them down. I held her while she fell away.”

Nostrils flaring, she angled her head. “No.” She shifted, her eyes shifted, her breath quick and ramping. “How could you? End a life? Jesus Christ, Ben. Because
you
couldn’t take the pain?” Her expression showed pure disgust. “You’re not a doctor with a god complex, Ben…you’re a coward. A weak, goddamn coward!” She rolled away from him, out of the bed from the other side, the bedsheet now clutched to her chest, like a barrier to her heart. The heart that was so open to him only seconds before.

He was in shock. Her response sliced him open. His guilt more real now than it ever had been. But more permanent, like concrete. And it weighed as much. He felt the hardening cement in his veins.

“I loved her, Preeya. I did it
for
her. To see so much suffering in someone you love, someone you cherish?” He moved toward her, but she threatened him with an even harder glare.

“Cherish? In sickness and in health, Ben. Those are the usual vows, right? And you used your medical knowledge to make your life easier…better. That’s what the guilt’s about. You’re a smart guy, Ben, and you damn well knew all along why your guilt was so thick. And then you use me as a damn confessional?”

“Jesus, Preeya. Would you just put yourself in my shoes for a minute?”

“Never! My goddamn mother took that road, the easy fucking road—” But she cut off there. “You’re not worth the words. Just go. Just get the hell out of here.”

“Wait a minute, Preeya…what if your sister met a threshold of pain so horrendous, so—”

“Would I end her life?” She shook her head, contempt oozing from her. “You need to go now, damn it. I mean it, Ben,” she said, reaching for the desk phone.

“Fine. I’ll go, Preeya. I’m leaving. In fact, I’m leaving early, like tomorrow. For the excursion. What the hell was I thinking, choosing…choosing good…sex over good works, over helping people!”

A hard decorative hotel pillow came whizzing past his head. “Fucking asshole!”

He ducked out of the room, crashing the door shut behind him.