The idea of having a clean slate blossomed in her chest like a lotus flower, but the thought of having lost her chance to make Cade ever care for her quickly weighed her back down. She swallowed hard. “When … can I go home?”
“You’ll be able to go home in a couple of hours, as soon as the anesthesia wears off. I’ll need to see you in two weeks to check your incisions. The stitches are both internal and external and they should fall off once the medical glue does … and I’d like to prescribe an antibiotic to prevent infection just for a couple of days.”
She nodded. “Can I call someone to come get me?”
The nurse—for there was always a nurse hovering behind a doctor—spoke up. “The man is still outside. The one who was here earlier in the morning, Miss Summers.”
Something kicked in her stomach and it wasn’t a baby. Her heart began to drum. “Cade’s here?”
The nurse nodded, but didn’t return Ivy’s smile. “I don’t know his name. But he doesn’t look too good. He’s sitting all by himself at the far end of the waiting room.”
If she could’ve moved, Ivy would’ve jumped off the bed and run to him, that was what hearing that he’d waited outside did to her. She remembered all those times she’d seen him, his big shoulders hunched, his face in his hands, while his wife was dying, and Ivy wanted to weep in both gratitude and apology that he was going through it with her. “Dr. Sabella, can you please tell him I’ll be all right?”
The doctor cocked his head with a happy sparkle in his eye. “I’m glad you realized you shouldn’t go through this alone, Miss Summers. People need support during something like this.”
“I planned to be alone.” Ivy closed her eyes, again, feeling tears. “Apparently he didn’t agree with me.”
When the anesthesia wore off and the doctor left, Ivy begged the nurse to help her get dressed. She’d brought a silk top with three large, easy-to-manage buttons, a slip-on skirt with an elastic waistband, and a wig she’d purchased that matched the color of her hair. She couldn’t afford one made of natural hair, but it would have to do in the meantime.
She slid the wig on her head and tried attaching it with the net, feeling strange and even oddly younger, since the wig had bangs and short hair that curved under her ears.
She honest to God hoped Cade didn’t freak out when he saw her.
Heart pounding a mile a minute as she was transferred to the requisite wheelchair, her pulse quieted the moment she was pushed down the hall and she spotted him.
He reclined on a wall near the checkout booth. Arms crossed, his head was bent back and his eyes were closed, but the pose didn’t fool her; his jaw was tightly clenched and she could feel his vigilant energy swirling around him.
She stared at his profile and wondered what he was thinking.
The nurse called his name.
His eyes opened, and he raked a quick, hungry look over Ivy. Not a sexual hunger, but another kind. A soul hunger. A take-no-prisoners black-hole hunger inside his chest.
He didn’t speak to her; he merely began walking as the nurse pushed her chair behind him.
He brought his Bentley to the door and the nurse settled her in the back seat.
He drove her in silence, vibrating and restless. He was shaking violently, like adrenaline was pumping through him with nowhere to go.
She wanted him to hold her so she could turn herself into his neck and fold herself as tiny and small as she could go, until he engulfed her totally.
But his hands rubbed his thighs, clenched the steering wheel, and never once reached out for her. Just like he hadn’t wanted to touch his wife, she would become an object to pity, to admire from afar, no more sexual to him than a piece of paper.
He’d drawn into himself. Even his eyes did not seem to see her when he turned to her, his gaze quickly flicking away, like he couldn’t bear to see her.
Ivy adjusted her wig.
“Thank you for the ride,” she said in a craggy voice.
“I’ll take you to my place. Your place is … I destroyed some things when I heard one of your messages.”
Her stomach clenched, and she played with her wig again. His place. She didn’t want to make anything of it. He should, in all rights, be angry with her, so she just thought this was a Good Samaritan act on his part.
When they arrived, Genghis came out barking.
“Sit the hell down!” His words were brusque and angry. He grabbed Genghis and held him back by the collar, and her skin ached, wanting to be that dog.
Cade hadn’t touched her, not even by accident, not even to help her out of his car, even though he’d held the door open for her. She’d never felt so starved for anyone’s affection.
“Well,” he said. Time stopped when some unmentionable determination settled on his face, and he motioned her to the bed. He paused a hairsbreadth away, and she held her breath, hoping he would close the distance.
She plopped up a pillow gently, because moving her arms hurt her boobs, and then sat back on the side she had used when she’d slept with him.
Because he was ignoring her, she tried to make herself as quiet as possible, sending out some texts that it had all gone well.
She lifted her head when he brought her a tray with water bottles and fruit, his dark head bent, avoiding her gaze as he set them on the nightstand closest to her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
He didn’t reply. He probably didn’t want to hurt her and had nothing good to say. She trembled to be close to him. And he was trembling, too, his hands in fists at his sides.
“I’m going out for a while,” he said gruffly. Her heart sank with dread. She wanted to talk to him, but could see that he was in his man-cave and she’d be talking to a blank wall.
“Okay.” She nodded and stared blankly down at her phone. “Thank you, Cade.”
Her heart almost wilted when he closed the door behind him, and quietly, she stayed there, setting her phone aside and staring up at his ceiling, the ceiling she had stared blindly up at a dozen times as he thrust his powerful body inside of hers.
She felt as unseen and blank as that ceiling to him.
“Come here, Genghis,” she said softly, and he was instantly hopping up on the bed. She curled her fingers into the dog’s hair, and fell asleep on Cade’s pillow, thinking she belonged here.
* * *