Another Younger Man (Tryst Series Book 2) Read online

  Another Younger Man

  Mia Fox

  Evatopia Press

  Copyright © 2020 by Mia Fox

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Mia Fox

  I've looked around the world

  The sky and all the Universe

  For a love that's pure and true

  So I can forget about you

  I've walked a thousand miles

  I've seen a million stars

  And still the ocean breeze

  Remind me of what we used to be

  My heart is wanting me to run right back to you

  My mind is telling me to go find something new

  My body is tired cause I can't move on …

  And nothing compares to your love

  “Your Love” by Yuna

  Chapter One

  — Cole on his first impression of Kat

  “She is the most beguiling and beautiful brunette, but that doesn’t describe her mind, which is even sexier.”

  My senses refuse to work in tandem. My eyes are heavy in spite of my mind wanting to open them. My legs feel pinned to the bed. The faint sound of people chattering is nearby. Why are they in my house? It’s the first of many confused thoughts to strike me, but as one eye and then the other finally cooperates with my mind, I realize this isn’t my home.

  A blood pressure monitor stands guard over me, occasionally sounding a one note warning. It’s the only presence that seems concerned. That is, until I see her. Kat.

  “Welcome back,” a nurse appears suddenly with a greeting that strikes me as odd.

  “Thank you.” My response is automated, and I immediately think of asking where I am, but it sounds so clichè. I’m hoping she’ll offer an explanation, but none follows. She merely lifts my hand and repositions a device over my finger. Immediately, the machine stops balking and numbers indicating my pulse spring to life.

  “Strong,” she mumbles and nods her head, more to herself than me. I watch the nurse busy herself with other buttons, all somehow related to my care, and still I have no recollection of why I feel so exhausted and sore.

  “You decided to take one more long nap on us,” she informs me.

  I look at her blankly, until she explains. “You woke ever so briefly two days ago. It’s to be expected.”

  Finished with me, the nurse adjusts the blanket that has fallen from Kat’s sleeping shoulders as if it is the most natural thing for her to do. She smiles down at her and then to me. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake,” she says beginning to retreat from the room.

  “Excuse me,” I call out, although it sounds more like a croak. “How long has she been here?” I reference Kat.

  “The whole time.” The nurse glances up at a calendar on the wall. I follow her gaze and notice a white board with the words, Your Nurse today is… printed on it and then block letters with the name Josie written below.

  I nod. “So, two days? Thanks, uhh Josie.” I find it strange how stiff my body feels for just being in bed two days. Until I learn the truth.

  “Cole…,” she says my name gently. “You’ve been here for two days…plus one month.”

  And that’s when I remember. I remember everything. The gunman. The searing pain from his bullet. And, my feelings for Kat, although in truth, those were never lost.

  Sleep comes easy to me in my condition. I wake after not even realizing I had fallen asleep. There was so much I wanted to say to Kat, but she’s not here now. The nurse explains that she went home briefly. She flashes a smile and adds, “Probably wanted to get gussied up for you.”

  I attempt a smile and wonder about my own appearance. I drag a hand over my chin and feel soft hair, certainly much longer than my usual stubble of growth. The nurse continues with casual conversation and I learn that I was transferred to a regular ward after spending a month in ICU where doctors, nurses, and various machines kept a constant watch and Kat kept vigil. A wave of guilt hits me.

  I picture her classroom where the incident occurred, and I put the pieces together that Kat must have left her job. More details from the nurse confirm my suspicions. Aside from providing heartfelt details about Kat’s concern over my well-being, the rest of the nurse’s explanations are clinical.

  My brain activity was monitored, and apparently, showed positive indications in spite of my comatose state. Now that I was transferred to a regular ward, I was treated to a light diet of broth, jello, and saltine crackers. Another three days of observation, coupled with the launch of physical therapy, and I would be released. But with one caveat—

  Medical orders required that someone should live with me for at least two weeks to ensure I didn’t relapse or experience any complications. I could go AMA — Against Medical Advice — but even I know that I’m not in any shape to be on my own just yet.

  I’ve never felt particularly alone. If you grow up fast, you learn to take care of yourself. My parents — victims of a drunk driver — left this world too early. A hefty trust fund and plenty of competent and trusted advisors, all appointed when my parents were still alive and always planning for a worst case scenario, ensured I was financially stable.

  That’s actually a mild statement. The advisors include a lawyer, accountant, and financial planner that are sought after by some of the richest people in Los Angeles. I wouldn’t go as far to say they were like family, but they certainly have been there to set me on the right course when my own family was taken away.

  My money was wisely invested. Advise was just a phone call away. They taught me about budgets and bill paying, the dangers of overspending, the virtues of living below my means, and the importance of hard work and education. My father launched one of the biggest CPA firms in the world and I wasn’t about to let his legacy be tarnished by turning into another one of those spoiled, rich kids who snorts away their money.

  Yet, in spite of knowing how to take care of myself, I was now in the unforeseen situation of not being able to do so physically. While Hollywood portrays a bullet wound as a clean entry, those little metal devils cause a heap of harm. Beyond the obvious hole, there's a lot of damage that occurred inside of my chest.

  Since the shooting and my subsequent surgery, I’ve learned that a 9 millimeter bullet can travel at a speed of nearly 700 mph. The momentum causes your body to expand and create a large cavity. Even if one is lucky enough for the bullet to miss major organs, as I was, serious damage to the organs and surrounding tissues still occurs. I never knew it was possib
le for a bullet to bounce, ricochet, and change direction once it’s inside you. And that’s what placed me on the critical list, in need of some serious blood replenishment, which I learned Kat readily donated.

  So now that I’m asked who will stay with me, I’m at a loss. It’s complicated. My thoughts automatically go to Kat and not because she’s been here by my bedside or given her blood without hesitation. Rather, I can’t imagine asking anyone else. She’s the only one who wouldn’t drive me crazy as a roommate, but let’s face it, that isn’t the only reason. I want to be around her, but she’s already done so much and it’s selfish to take any more from her.

  I scroll through my phone scanning the names and imagining which one of my buddies would actually be responsible enough to be of help to me. Most of them would end up turning my place into a frat house.

  I come to her name again. The nurse told me that she only left long enough to go home to shower and change before returning to talk to my sleeping body. Not even the need for sleep would dissuade her from being with me. Josie pointed to the corner of the room where two chairs faced each other, and explained that Kat would sleep in this makeshift bed.

  I may have not spoken much, but seeing her made my heart leap. Hers was the last face I remember after the attack that nearly took my life and the first one I saw upon waking. If the nurse hadn’t told her to go home and get some proper sleep, I would have insisted she leave to have some time to herself. It was obvious, even in my groggy state, that while she was making sure I got the best care possible, she wasn’t taking care of herself. Beautiful as always, but thinner than I remember. I noticed a hollowness to her eyes that I’m not entirely sure was caused from lack of food and sleep. I fear it may be partly from our break up.

  Memories of what occurred before the attack come back to me. All of them revolved around one fact: Kat said she loved me and I couldn’t say it back. At the time, I felt love wasn’t enough to hold our relationship together. I didn't want to mislead her, and my hesitancy was all that was needed to provoke a trigger happy gunman.

  He had broken into the classroom where Kat was teaching and I was her student, resulting in my being shot. At least I got to escape my broken heart by being in a coma. Kat had to endure the heartache I previously caused coupled with worry over my health situation.

  I grimaced as I reached for my phone again, the pain in my chest and abdomen still apparent. My finger was poised over the dial button on her contact page, still I hesitated. I kept considering reasons not to call. I was likely to stumble over my words and say the wrong thing. She might misinterpret my request for something bigger than it was… a sign of a relationship or where we stood. It was a lofty enough request that probably merited a phone call, but I couldn’t bring myself to have that conversation. I changed my mind about calling and instead opened the text app and began to type. It was safer. It would give each of us time to consider our answers.

  It will only be two weeks, I explained. I hit send and then decided to send one more text:

  Doctors’ idea… not mine.

  Maybe I sounded like an ass, but at least she would know what to expect. Then, I thought I sounded like too much of an ass, even for me, and sent one more text: I’ll understand if you don’t want to. I’m sorry, Kat. About everything.

  Within a moment came her response.

  Of course I’ll help you.

  Chapter Two

  — Kat on her memories of Cole

  Experiences are fleeting. Sometimes, we have no way of knowing if one experience is the first of many or if it will never occur again. It’s probably a fair assessment that climbing Mount Kilimanjaro is an experience of a lifetime that will be a one-time deal. But common occurrences like eating scrambled eggs on the weekends, taking a run and feeling the adrenaline of your heart beating… those are the things we tend to take for granted, never realizing that there will be a last time. This is especially true with matters of the heart.

  The last embrace, last touch, even the last kiss — those are last times that we don’t recognize until they are in the past, when it’s nearly always too late to reclaim them. If you’ve ever experienced a “last time,” it gives new meaning to “living in the moment” when we try to commit experiences to memory in an attempt to never let them fade.

  After Cole and I broke up, I went to the men’s cologne department at Macy’s, found his cologne and sprayed it on one of those pieces of white card stock. The sales associate handed me the bowl of coffee beans, suggesting I clear my sense of smell to let me experience another scent without bias. That was the last thing I wanted.

  The smell of him, something I thought I could never forget, was already leaving my memory, long ago washed from my sheets. I placed that white stick under my nose and inhaled deeply, wanting so desperately to commit it to memory.

  I thought it would feel good to come home and spend the night at my own house after so many weeks of sleeping on chairs, but the silence was overwhelming. I had grown used to the noises of the hospital with the nurses coming and going in the middle of the night. It’s funny how adaptable I had become. Most of us hate change, but if forced into a new situation, one either adapts or perishes. It’s the law of survival. Survival… how I begged for Cole’s survival.

  I left my job at the community college immediately after the incident. Memories of the shooting didn’t sit well with me, and I also wanted to be by Cole’s bedside. There was nothing to do, but hope and pray. I couldn’t focus on the television or even read. There were no English lessons to prepare and I wrote for the blog that I freelanced for only monthly now. The last year changed my circumstances at the blog. A monthly column was enough to maintain the audience I had cultivated. With my new found popularity came an increase in pay — an actual salary. I saved enough to help my son, Jack, with school expenses, but he covered most of it himself. The rest I put away. And now, I’d rather tap into that savings so that I could be by Cole’s side.

  As Cole has no family, there haven’t been regular visitors. Once in awhile, one of his teammates would stop in, but eventually they returned to their lives. For me, I felt like I didn’t have a life without him.

  So with nobody to talk to and nothing to do, I learned to pray. At first I felt like a hypocrite for even talking to God. After all, I never reached out during good times. Why should I receive help during the bad? But I prayed nonetheless. I got more comfortable with the silence and my thoughts. Eventually, I prayed out loud and hoped that my voice would be heard. I prayed that if He just let Cole live, I promised to be satisfied. I wanted nothing, but his life. And, at the time, I believe that I meant it.

  But that vow is becoming diluted as I admit that I never stopped loving him. Simply holding onto memories of our past wasn’t enough for me. Maybe I’m stronger than I think. I never imagined that I would choose to leave his bedside once he pulled through the accident, the surgery, his recovery. But here I am, aimlessly walking throughout my house and trying to stay busy. I didn’t need to do anything in the hospital. It was understandable that I just existed. In time, I learned all of the nurses’ names, and they knew mine.

  I pick up a dust rag and spray a bit of almond scented wood polisher that smells comforting and not at all like a cleaning product. I just need to do something useful. So, I clean. I certainly don’t want to cook for one. My appetite diminished with the constant worry, not to mention hospitals aren’t known to offer Michelin rated cuisine, although Westwood Hospital did have a pretty decent New England style clam chowder. Probably from a can or one of those mass market food suppliers, but with their sour dough bread bowl, it became a decent meal. The cafeteria staff came to know me as well. One of my new companions was a kindly, elderly man who told me he had worked in the cafeteria for twenty years. He had taken to sneaking into the back kitchen to retrieve me a bread loaf warm from the oven. I relegated myself so fully to the hospital life that I had inadvertently cut myself off from everything else.

  Now, I miss the exchanges
I had with the staff as they had become my family of sorts. Jack had visited the most regularly, but even he didn’t understand why I was spending countless days and hours by Cole’s bedside, and I couldn’t tell him. Eventually, he stopped visiting and asked me to do the same, but I couldn’t… wouldn’t.

  I promised myself that I would call Jack soon, meaning within the hour, but for now I just wanted some time to process that I wouldn’t see Cole every day. I prayed for this day the entire time he was in the hospital, but I never gave any thought to the fact that when it arrived, he would be out of my life once again. I couldn’t be more relieved and thankful that he pulled through, but oddly I now dealt with feelings of loss again.

  I guess it’s only natural that in the midst of chaos and danger, I would proclaim my love again. And then, he admitted the same. Although his declaration of love came after being shot, after he had previously left our relationship behind because it “would be too difficult for us.” There were a few truths I had to come to terms with. The obvious: I never stopped loving him. The subtle: He never stopped loving me. The reality: Our age difference, and thus, our circumstances hadn’t changed.

  If this were a math equation, it would add up to two people who care deeply about each other, but can’t be together. I needed time to remember this before I could tell Jack that Cole was going to be fine. He would wonder why I was still sad and I needed to get past my grief because I should be elated that Cole had woken up.