THAT MAN 5 (The Wedding Story-Part 2) Read online

  THAT MAN 5

  NELLE L’AMOUR

  That Man 5

  Copyright © 2014 by Nelle L’Amour

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved worldwide.

  First Edition: December 2014

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is purely coincidental.

  No part of this ebook may be reproduced, uploaded to the Internet, or copied without permission from the author. The author respectfully asks that you please support artistic expression and help promote anti-piracy efforts by purchasing a copy of this ebook at the authorized online outlets.

  Nelle L’Amour thanks you for your understanding and support. To join my mailing list for new releases, please sign up here:

  http://eepurl.com/N3AXb

  Cover by Arijana Karcic, Cover It! Designs

  Proofreading by Karen Lawson

  Formatting by BB eBooks

  To THAT MAN…Blake Burns

  I will miss you.

  And to all of you who fell in love with him.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  A Letter from Blake

  Acknowledgments

  Grandma’s Famous Matzo Ball Soup

  About the Author

  Books by Nelle L’Amour

  Chapter 1

  Blake

  Speeding back to my office, my pulse was in overdrive. My unexpected encounter with Kat at Saks had unhinged me. The fucking bitch!

  My nerves were buzzing. I couldn’t trust her. Not one bit. I hadn’t yet told Jennifer a thing. The timing sucked. Fatigued and frazzled by her heavy period, the pressures of work, and all the wedding craziness, she just didn’t need to hear something that might send her over the edge. In retrospect, I should have told her a long time ago. What had happened wasn’t really my fault, but it was something I wasn’t proud of. I wanted to forget. Keep the memory buried.

  Should I tell her now? Fuck. I had to. Before she heard it from that sick bitch, who I knew would twist the story and make me look like a total shit.

  At the first red light on Wilshire Boulevard, I reached into my pants pocket for my cell phone. Balls. It wasn’t there. It must have fallen out in the dressing room at Saks. I made a sharp U-turn and headed straight back to the store. My heart was racing. I’d given Kat plenty of lead time.

  Foregoing the slow elevator, I bounded up the emergency stairs to the third floor, taking two steps at a time. Working out weekly at the steep Santa Monica Stairs had its benefits.

  “Looking for this?” my personal dresser Daniel asked as I exited the stairwell. My phone was in his hand.

  I was breathing hard, not because I was winded, but because I was stressing.

  I huffed a loud breath of relief as he handed me the phone. “Thanks, man,” I said and then hurried to the elevator. Before I could speed-dial Jen’s number, the phone rang. I glanced down at the caller ID screen and hit answer. It was Mrs. Cho.

  “Mr. Burns, Jennifer call me. She say to tell you she going home.”

  “What do you mean?” My heart was hammering.

  “She cry on phone. She say something bad happen.”

  God fucking damn it. I was too late. Kat had gotten to her.

  I repeatedly pounded the down button but with no results. Fucking worthless piece of shit. Impatient, I flew back down the emergency stairs.

  Fifteen minutes later, I pulled up to my condo building, relieved I hadn’t gotten a speeding ticket. Leaving my car with the valet, I raced up to my apartment.

  Silence.

  “Jen! Jen? Are you here?” Frantically, I dashed from room to room, calling out her name. Fuck. Where was she?

  I phoned her again. Her cell went straight to voicemail. I left her an urgent message, telling her to call me back right away. A chill skittered down my spine. Maybe, she’d never want to talk to or see me again. Once again, I’d deceived her.

  Impulsively, I called my sister at her office. Perhaps, she knew something.

  “Hi, Blake. What’s up?” Her voice sounded unusually warm and friendly.

  “Marcy, while she was there, did Jennifer get a call or text that upset her?”

  “No. We had a lovely lunch, and then I believe she was heading back to her office. What’s going on?”

  Rushing my words, I told her what I believed had happened. My sister was one of the few people who knew what had gone down between Kat and me. Kat’s file was sealed in her office.

  “Jeez, Blake. Why didn’t you tell Jen?”

  “I don’t know. I should have. But I didn’t.” Stupid me.

  “Blake, it wasn’t all your fault.” Marcy’s voice was softer and compassionate.

  “I know. But I’m sure crazy Kat twisted things. With all her trust issues, Jen probably believed her. She didn’t go back to the office.”

  “Shit. Blake, you’ve got to find her and explain what happened before everything blows up again.”

  Pacing my bedroom, I blew out a heavy breath of air. “My secretary said she was going home, but she’s not here.” My heart beat into a frenzy. Maybe the news had upset her so much she got into a car accident. She was after all Calamity Jen. But then I calmed down. For sure, I’d know that by now. “Marcy, what should I do?”

  “Try calling her again, and then try one of her friends. Maybe they know something.”

  Marcy was always the smart one. Made sense. After trying Jen one more time, I’d try Libby.

  I thanked my sister and told her not to say anything to our parents… at least not yet.

  She assured me she wouldn’t. “Good luck, Blake. And call me the minute you hear from her.” She paused. “Love you, lil’ bro.”

  Her unexpected affectionate words touched me, and I thanked her again. I quickly ended the call and speed-dialed Jen one more time. Shit. Nada. Wasting no time, I scrolled through my contacts and hit Libby’s name. Fortunately, Jennifer had given me her number in case of an emergency. This was an emergency. Jen was leaving me.

  Libby’s phone, like Jen’s, went straight to voicemail. Damn it. She was probably in a focus group or traveling. In a state of panic, I redialed Mrs. Cho. Perhaps she knew more. And had heard from Jen.

  “Mrs. Cho, you said Jennifer went home, but she’s not at my condo.”

  “No, no, Mr. Burns. She go home to her mother. She say big emergency.”

  Jesus. It was worse than I thought. Yup. A big emergency. I’d broken her heart.

  “Cancel all my meetings and get Travel to book me on the next available flight to Boise.”

  Quickly, I changed from my suit into a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and my leather bomber jacket. I retrieved my overnight bag from my closet and ha
stily threw in a hodgepodge of cool-weather clothes and bare necessities.

  One hour later, I was on Delta Flight 4820, heading non-stop to Boise. I was comfortably seated in first class. But my heart was painfully seated in my throat.

  Chapter 2

  Jennifer

  I immediately spotted my mother sitting in the waiting room of St. Luke’s and sprinted up to her. The minute I’d heard the news, I’d headed straight to LAX, running a red light and narrowly missing a head-on collision. I didn’t even go home to pack a bag. I needed to get to Boise as fast as possible and could always borrow some of my mom’s clothes. My heart hadn’t stopped galloping.

  “Mom!”

  My mother sprung from her chair at the sound of my voice. Her eyes were swollen red, and tears were swimming down her face. We exchanged a hug.

  “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here,” she sniffed.

  “How’s Dad?”

  She dabbed at her tears with the dainty lace-trimmed hankie she was holding. Her lips quivered. “I don’t know yet. He’s still in surgery.”

  A horrific, freak thing had happened. While he was taking an afternoon stroll through our neighborhood, a car had hit him. The driver’s brakes had given out, and he’d lost control. The car had swerved off the road, pinning my father against a telephone pole.

  “The driver feels so bad. He wanted to stay until Dad got out of surgery, but I told him to go home to his family.”

  I squeezed my mom’s free hand. That was so like her. To be forgiving, no matter what the circumstances. Deep inside, I hoped this virtue had been passed on to me. I encouraged her to sit down and took the vacant seat next to hers.

  “Honey, does Blake know what’s going on?”

  “I tried to call him, but haven’t been able to reach him.” As much as he depended on it, Blake was forever forgetting, misplacing, or losing his cell phone. Retrieving my phone from my shoulder bag, I tried him one more time. No answer. Straight to voicemail. Instead of leaving a message, I hung up and texted him.

  In Boise. Desperately need to talk to u.

  In my anxious state, I inadvertently hit send before adding my customary “xo.” And then my cell phone died. Without my charger, I now wouldn’t know if he received my text or was trying to reach me.

  I held my mom’s hand as we waited patiently for news. My stomach was in knots. The minutes crawled by like hours, and from time to time, I could hear her soft sobs.

  “Oh, honey, I’m so scared. What if—”

  I cut her off. “Mom, he’s going to be okay. I know it.” I squeezed her icy hand, trying hard to believe my own words.

  At close to six, a doctor met us in the waiting room. He introduced himself—Dr. Kumar. His accented voice was soft and melodic and suggested he was likely from India. He was wearing scrubs and a surgical mask atop his head. With his boyish good looks, the handsome physician looked too young to be an accomplished surgeon, but I reminded myself that St. Luke’s was the best hospital in Boise and was, in fact, one of the top surgical hospitals in the country. I’d been here once when I’d gotten my tonsils out as a child.

  My mom jumped to her feet and met his gaze. “Is my husband all right?” Her voice was small and shaky, and her eyes were still watering.

  The brown-skinned doctor pressed his lips thin and swiped sweat off his forehead. “He’s in critical condition.”

  “What does that mean, doctor?” I asked before my trembling mother could say a word.

  “He sustained a head injury. We did an MRI and there’s brain swelling. We won’t know until tomorrow if he has sustained permanent damage.”

  His words were like a knife to my heart. The thought of my dad the professor not having his faculties was unbearable. Like my mother, I was an alarmist, but I had to be brave for her.

  “Oh dear Lord,” she muttered. Her hand flew to her mouth, and a new torrent of tears poured down her cheeks. All air left my lungs as tears rushed to my eyes too. Afraid my mother might faint, I wrapped my arm around her frail shoulders as the doctor continued.

  “He also sustained multiple fractures to his right leg. We did a bone graft and set it with pins.”

  Words were trapped in my weeping mom’s throat. Holding it together as I best as I could, I asked the doctor if we could see him. The only good news, if you could call it that, was we could.

  *

  They had transported my dad from recovery to a small room in the intensive care unit. Still unconscious, he was hooked up to a myriad of bleeping monitors and IV bags, and an oxygen mask covered his face. His breathing was labored. A wide bandage swathed his head, and beneath the fabric of his blanket, I could see the outline of a thick toe-to-thigh cast.

  “Oh, Daddy!” I cried silently. Tears stung the back of my eyes, and a painful lump filled my throat. I wasn’t prepared for seeing him like this. So lifeless and vulnerable. All my life, my handsome, brilliant dad had always been strong and there for me. He almost never got sick. And now this. There were no Scrabble words in the world to describe the tangle of emotions that ate away at my heart. Sobs clogged my throat, but I held them back to be a pillar of strength for my mom.

  “Oh Harold, darling,” she choked, gently running her fingertips along his slack jaw. “Can you hear me? I love you so much. So very much.”

  My father stirred just a bit as if he’d heard her. At that moment, I was overwhelmed by the love my parents shared. A love so pure, so deep, so everlasting. A love for richer and poorer. In sickness and in health. I thought about Blake. And wondered—would this be us?

  A sweet voice intercepted my thoughts. A nurse. She told us visiting hours were over.

  My mother dabbed her tears with her soaked hanky and searched the nurse’s kind, dark eyes. “Please can I stay? I want to be here for him when he wakes up.”

  If he wakes up.

  A warm smile flickered on the nurse’s face. “I don’t see why not. I’ll order a cot.”

  “Mom, I want to stay too.”

  The nurse responded. “I’m afraid, dear, we can allow only one person to stay in the room. Hospital regulations.”

  Disappointed, I cupped my mother’s shoulders. “Are you going to be okay, Mom?”

  She nodded. “I’ll call you, honey, if there’s any change.”

  For the better, I prayed silently. I hugged her good night. Then, lightly, I kissed my father on his cheek.

  “I love you, Dad.” My voice was a soft whisper, but I knew he heard me.

  Chapter 3

  Blake

  Where the fuck was she? I’d landed in Boise over two hours ago and taken a cab straight to Jen’s house. The lights were on, but the house was vacant.

  Sitting on the front step next to a large carved pumpkin left over from Halloween, I tried her cell for the umpteenth time. No answer. And then I texted. Again no response. It was going on eight o’clock. The temperature had dropped significantly, and the damp Midwest autumn air sent a chill to my bones. My stomach rumbled with hunger as I hugged myself to keep warm.

  Finally, a car pulled into the driveway. The headlights glared in my eyes; it was for sure Jen’s dad’s station wagon. Squinting, I jumped up as a familiar slim figure slid out of the driver’s side door.

  “Jen!” I sprinted up to her.

  “Blake! Oh my God. What are you doing here?”

  I searched her face. I could tell she’d been crying. Her green eyes were glazed and her thick layers of lashes were soaked. I took her in my arms and drew her close.

  “I’m so, so sorry.” Stroking her hair, I could only imagine what garbage Kat had told her.

  Shivering, she leaned into me, resting her head against my leather jacket, her arms wrapped around me. “Oh, my love. Thank you for being here. It means so much to me.” She began to sob softly.

  I fluttered my eyes in confusion as I held and caressed her. “Tiger, why are you crying?”

  “My Dad. He was hit by a car.”

  Holy. Fuck. Shit. I mentally hit the
reset button. I had it all wrong. This was no time for me to tell her about Kat. And I wasn’t even sure if Kat had contacted her.

  “Jeez, Jen. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you call me or respond to my texts?”

  “My cell phone died. And I don’t have my charger. I’m sorry, baby.”

  Her snivels were gutting me. “No apologies necessary. How’s your father?”

  “Oh, Blake. It’s not good. He may have sustained brain damage, and his leg is in bad shape. My mom’s spending the night at the hospital.”

  “Fuck,” I mumbled, bowing my head until my lips skimmed her scalp. Mr. McCoy had championed me when I was courting Jen, and I plain and simple adored him like a second father. I held her tighter.

  A clap of thunder sounded. And a sudden downpour fell upon us. The pitter of the heavy rain striking my leather jacket reverberated in my ear. I lifted up Jen’s chin with my thumb. And crushed my lips against hers. Her hot tears mixed with the cold raindrops. Another burst of thunder exploded while my heart thundered too.

  Believe it or not, I’d never kissed a girl in the rain before. Yet another first with my tiger. As the angry sky showered us with nature’s tears, our lips melded together, our tongues entwined in a slow, sad dance.

  Chapter 4

  Jennifer

  Blake filled me in how he’d found out from Mrs. Cho that I’d flown to Boise. He’d been waiting on the front steps for me for more than two hours. After a long passionate kiss, I unlocked the front door and headed to the kitchen to whip up a quick dinner. We both hadn’t eaten for hours and were famished. A beef casserole was in the refrigerator—probably the dinner my mother had prepared for my father. His last supper? While Blake washed up and changed into some dry clothes, I heated up the dish in the oven and choked back tears.

  Blake met me in the dining room. “What’s all this?” he asked as I padded in with some plates and silverware.

  I eyed the dining room table where Blake and I had shared our first memorable Christmas Eve dinner almost a year ago. That magical snowy night he’d shown up at my doorstep to tell me he loved me. My heart was bursting with emotion. Lined up on the polished tabletop were hundreds of three inch square hand-painted frames encrusted with seashells and dusted with glitter. I set the china and silver on the credenza and made my way to the table. I picked up one of the charming frames. Inside it was an ivory place card with Ms. Libby Clearfield’s name elegantly scrolled in gold ink and printed below it: Table 1.