After Care Read online

  Table of Contents

  Other Books by L.B. Dunbar

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Connect with L.B. Dunbar

  Hidden Gems

  More Works by L.B. Dunbar

  About the Author

  After Care

  Copyright © 2018 Laura Dunbar

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

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

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  Cover Design: Shannon Passmore/Shanoff Formats

  Cover Image: iStock

  Edits: Kiezha Smith Ferrell/Librum Artis Editorial Services

  Table of Contents

  Other Books by L.B. Dunbar

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Connect with L.B. Dunbar

  Hidden Gems

  More Works by L.B. Dunbar

  About the Author

  Other Books by L.B. Dunbar

  The Sensations Collection

  Sound Advice

  Taste Test

  Fragrance Free

  Touch Screen

  Sight Words

  The Legendary Rock Star Series

  The Legend of Arturo King

  The Story of Lansing Lotte

  The Quest of Perkins Vale

  The Truth of Tristan Lyons

  Paradise Stories

  Paradise Tempted: The Beginning

  Paradise Fought: Abel

  Paradise Found: Cain

  Stand Alones

  The Sex Education of M.E.

  The History in Us

  The Island Duet

  Redemption Island

  Return to the Island

  Modern Descendants – writing as elda lore

  Hades

  Solis

  Heph

  Dedication

  #cancersucks

  For those taken.

  Grandma

  Aunt Joan

  For those who survived – twice.

  Mom

  And for those who hopefully will never get it.

  MD, MK, and A

  1

  The Introduction

  “Is that your daughter?” A pretty blonde sat next to me on the edge of the pool. I fidgeted with the scarf wrapped around my head and smiled.

  “Yes.” The beautiful brunette was mine, and even though she was eighteen, she was child-like in spirit, laughing as two little girls splashed her. Watching the younger two frolic in the water reminded me of my own children at that age. Life was much different then.

  “Both yours?” I asked, shifting only my eyes to the twenty-something woman, adjusting the scarf once again on my head, waiting for her to notice it. There wasn’t a way to miss it. The thin material made no sense in the heat of the Hawaiian sun, but the traditional paisley patterned bandana in bright yellow made sense to someone like me. I was a breast cancer survivor. If you didn’t know, the head wrap gave it away.

  She nodded in response to me and we remained silent a moment.

  My eyes closed as I faced the brilliant blue sky, soaking up the sunshine, a welcome reprieve from the frigid temps we left behind in Chicago. I desperately needed this vacation. Party of three, please. I looked forward to the family time with my grown children. We had much to celebrate, the doctors told me. I smiled despite myself as I looked back at the two babes dousing my daughter.

  “She’s good with kids,” the young woman remarked, and I stared off at my own child on the verge of womanhood. She’d make a great mother one day. Tears prickled my eyes. I didn’t want to think dark thoughts, but they often crept in. Silently, I hoped I’d get to see the day she mothered a child of her own.

  “Cannonball.” A loud male screech erupted from my other baby—more a child than a man at the age of twenty-two. He catapulted into the huge, oddly shaped pool, covering his sister in a tidal wave of water, and drowning the two little girls.

  “Caleb,” I shouted but the mother next to me laughed. A man with dark, chin length hair caught one of her daughters under the arms, hoisting her upward from the vigorous aftershock of my son’s jump. Masie held the other. Tiny arms wrapped around my daughter’s neck, holding tight like a second skin. Laughter surrounded all of them.

  “That’s Ava,” the woman pointed to the dark-haired one matching her apparent father. “She’s six. And the blonde, choking your daughter is Emaline. She’s four.”

  My eyes drifted back to the collection of young people but froze on the man with rock star looks. Deep set eyes, a thin scrap of scruff around his jaw, and the midnight color of his wet hair, added to what I imagined was a brooding look on an average day. Smiling at his child made all the difference in his appearance.

  “You can ask,” the woman said. “Yes, it’s him.”

  I turned to her, fully facing her equally striking appearance. Softer than his, her face held a playful look in her blue eyes. Puffy, pink lips conjured images of them kissing each other passionately. Passionate enough to create two small daughters. I sighed. It had been a long time since someone kissed me like that. Even the man who created two children with me had fallen out of practice years before everything happened.

  “He’s Gage Everly.”

  I blinked at her, shaking my head in confusion. “I’m sorry. Should I know him? Do I know you?” My eyes opened wider, a tingle of fear that somehow, I didn’t recognize him when it should be obvious. Not only had the cancer taken my hair, it had taken my memory, I chuckled, knowing that couldn’t possibly be true.

  “Gage Everly, lead singer of Collison?” Her brow rose in question, as if I should recognize him or the name of the band.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said again, cursing the terrible habit I had of apologizing for everything. I’m sorry, I wasn’t younger. I’m sorry, you no longer love me. I’m sorry, I got cancer. “I don’t…” My head shook to acknowledge I didn’t recognize him.

  She chuckled softly, clapped a hand, and covered her cheeks. “Oh my, how refreshing.” Her blue eyes beamed brighte
r than the sky overhead.

  “I think it’s just because I’m old,” I weakly smiled, reaching for the bandana once again. My hair had moved from the stages of peach-fuzz to crazy C-shapes and kinky, curly Qs, going in all directions. I didn’t need the material covering my head, but sometimes, I felt safer wearing it. My hair color hadn’t returned to my natural fading brown, but a mixture of white and dirty blonde.

  You can dye it whatever color you want when approved, Nurse Marjorie had told me. Purple’s very popular for people your age. Her sweet, innocent voice intended to encourage me. Instead, I wanted to erase the smirk on her lips.

  Your age. I was forty-three. I should have been in the prime of my life. Where was that sexual libido return everyone promised me would happen? Oh, right, it walked out the door with a younger model—blonde, thin, and cancer-free under her skin.

  The new hair combination caused conflicting emotions. On one hand, the brilliant color reminded me of my growing age. On the other hand, the change from lackluster to vibrant aided to the new personae I wanted to adapt. It was time for a change.

  “Oh.” My companion’s eyes opened wide, “Oh, I wasn’t implying…I mean…It’s just that…” Her hands waved in front of her as she swung her thin body toward me. “It’s just everywhere we go people know it’s him. It’s nice to meet someone who doesn’t recognize Gage.”

  I smiled. I didn’t know how to respond. A child squealed and I turned my attention to the pool, noting my son in a deep conversation with her husband. Masie still held one girl while the other tried to climb her father. Caleb wanted to be a guitarist when he was younger. It was his life’s ambition, until he discovered baseball. The sport became my ex’s dream for our son. Watching Caleb, his body straightened, his awe trained on the man before him—someone I didn’t recognize, but surely Caleb did.

  A gruff voice behind us bellowed, “Please step away from him.”

  My body twisted to face the sound, rich in baritone, tough as a boulder, and rugged like gravel under bare feet. I shivered despite the heat. Two thick arms crossed a midnight colored T-shirt stretched over the barrel chest of an older man, rightfully in his forties with silvery hair curling at his neck and salt-and-pepper facial scruff. He wore black pants, balancing himself with a wide stance of thick legs Regardless of tinted aviators, the weight of his eyes bored into me. Rock star sprang to my mind.

  “It’s okay, Uncle Tommy,” the woman said. “They’re only talking.”

  “Well, we all know where talking can lead.” His knuckles met his neck and he scratched at the hint of hair under his jaw. The sound traveled to me, and a thrill tickled over my sun-heated shoulders. His pouty lips crooked in one corner as I sensed him teasing the girl. It was obvious he knew her secrets. “But seriously, he’s on vacation. He doesn’t need a groupie and some wannabe—”

  “Excuse me?” I interjected, attempting to make my voice as knife sharp as his but failing miserably as he removed the aviators. Two deep set circles of coal returned his focus on me and the will to breathe escaped me. He stole my breath, literally, as he’d noticed the scarf. There was no way he couldn’t, but he kept his eyes pinned to mine.

  Out of respect, I told myself.

  To hold me prisoner, my mind whispered.

  Take me, I foolishly screamed, and then the deepest blush I’ve ever experienced crawled over my skin, prickly, tickly, tingly like the tiny tap of a million feet. I shivered again. The motion snapped his attention and he turned away.

  “Tommy, this is…” the young mother paused. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Edie,” I said, holding out my hand while the other fingers found security in touching the fabric just above my ear. “Edie Williams.”

  “This is Tommy Carrigan. He’s the band’s manager.” She turned to look up at him over her shoulder, her smile affectionate. “He’s a giant teddy bear when he isn’t acting like a grumpy eagle.” She pouted as she spun back to me.

  “Don’t be ruining my reputation before I make an impression, sweetheart,” he teased with a hint of Southern drawl, his eyes redirected to the pool but his shoulders loosening a little. Oh, he’d made an impression all right. A deep one, right between my thighs just from the sound of his voice.

  Then I noticed my hand still lingering in the air, waiting for him to reach out and shake mine. When he didn’t, I awkwardly lowered it, fussing with my scarf one more time.

  “Don’t mind him,” the woman said. “By the way, I’m Ivy. Ivy Everly, and I’m happy to meet you.”

  Her smile put me at ease. For some reason, I was just as pleased to meet her.

  Funny how a random introduction changed everything.

  2

  A sane woman would never

  The headscarf isn’t there, I reminded myself.

  Reaching for it had become a habit, but I didn’t wear it that night.

  You don’t need it, Masie told me as I got ready for the evening and I agreed. This was the first step to a new me, I encouraged myself, only my heart hammered at the thought as I pulled open the solid club doors. The tropical air tickled my neck while the wave of air-conditioning hit my face. The humid caress was a welcome feeling as I questioned once again, how had I gotten myself into this position.

  Within hours of meeting, Ivy had invited me to join her for cocktails. At first, I hesitated knowing we were on a family vacation, but my daughter encouraged me to go. She also agreed to babysit Ivy’s little girls. And just like that, I was going out for drinks with Ivy Everly and her famous husband, Gage, lead singer of Collision, a band I knew nothing about.

  My son told me they were something. “Mom, how have you not heard of them?” His voice echoed in my head. Suddenly, my arm was enveloped by another, and my face shot up to find Ivy’s arm looped around mine. Her big, blue eyes widened like a smile.

  “Ready?” she asked, tugging at me as I smoothed my black dress over my hips with my free hand. I was still a little bloated from the treatments—everyone responded differently—although my body shape was getting better. However, I’d never return to the shape I was twenty years ago.

  Without thinking, I reached up, my fingers finding soft hair unhidden by a scarf, reminding me once again of how far I’d come.

  “You look beautiful,” Ivy said, and I looked at her again, my brows pinching at the compliment. Her eyes saddened for only a second before she let the sympathy pass and a smile brightened her face. She squeezed my arm tighter. “There’s Tommy.”

  My eyes flipped instantly to a man I had no business staring at, or thinking about, although he’d filled every thought since we were introduced earlier in the day.

  Tommy Carrigan.

  Not Tom. Not Thomas. Tommy—even at age forty-five or so. His salt and pepper hair gave his age away, but more accurately, the slightly longer locks curling at his neck were shimmery silver and black satin. My mouth dried when he looked in our direction. My cheeks heated, and I was thankful for the dim light covering the teenage-like feeling of embarrassment. I was only embarrassing myself with thoughts I shouldn’t have had of a man whose very essence said player. His solid, barrel chest and thick biceps under another black T-shirt proved what I already knew about him. He wasn’t a young man, but all male. There was a certain sexiness about an older man, one no longer lean with a six pack, but firm, with a rounded chest and tight abdominal muscles. Tommy’s T-shirt showed all that off, leaving not much to the imagination. Unfortunately, my imagination was running rampant, as was my heart. I was doubly grateful for the pulsing beat of the bar music drowning out the organ in my chest drumming three times faster than usual.

  When we met earlier in the day, Tommy had the same effect on me and I credited the shiver up my spine to being out of practice in the art of attraction. I was instantly overwhelmed by his dark looks. Yet his defensive vibe of crossed arms and refusal to shake my hand left a salty impression on me. His standoffish presence set up a wall between us, and I scolded myself for overreacting t
o his rock star hotness.

  As Ivy and I crossed the night club, I was conscious of people watching us, wondering myself how she ended up escorting me? Despite her innocent look, Ivy walked like she owned the room, and many eyes followed her every move. The stares could have also been intended for the man making a bee-line for us. With dark, chin-length waves and even darker, intense eyes, Gage Everly’s focus was solely on his wife. Within seconds, he cupped her cheeks and kissed her like he hadn’t seen her in years. Ivy’s arm was still looped with mine, making me the literal third wheel to their passionate display of affection. Attempting to free myself from Ivy’s grasp, my opposite hand was clasped, and I spun to find Tommy holding it. His fingers spread and without thinking, I laced mine with his.

  The thick digits brought an instant comfort and distraction. A strange ripple traveled up my wrist, increasing my pulse and ratcheting up my already pounding heart.

  “Gage,” Tommy barked, and the lovers broke apart. He shook his head, and I looked back to find a wicked smile on Gage’s lips and a dazed look in Ivy’s eyes. “Don’t make me have to babysit,” he commanded, and Ivy turned to face him. Shaky fingers came to her lips and they curved into a smile.

  “Chill, Care,” Gage snapped, wrapping an arm around his wife. The nickname startled me.

  “Sorry, Uncle Tommy,” Ivy mocked, but there was a certain teasing familiarity when she spoke to him.

  “Let’s get you guys to the VIP section.” Tommy still cupped my hand in his, and while every fiber of my being wanted to press my palm firmer to his, I tried to keep it aloft, separate. Only…it wasn’t working. My hand started to sweat and panic spread. I hadn’t held a man’s hand since…I couldn’t remember when. I couldn’t think of the last time David held my hand—not even bedside, during the worst of times. I wanted to melt into the warmth palming mine. Heat flushed over every inch of my skin with thoughts of that same hand skimming my body. The image screeched to a halt. My body. He’d discover parts of my body weren’t mine anymore. What was I even thinking? A man like him would have no interest in a body like mine or a woman like me—older, settled, boring. Scarred.