Kaleidoscope Hearts (18 page)

“I wasn’t going to leave without saying goodbye,” he says against my hair. I think of all the times he did . . . all the times
we
did . . . and wonder if this time it’ll be different. “I had a great night.”

“I did too,” I whisper against him.

He drops a kiss on my head. “I don’t want to mess this up, Elle. So I’m going to give you some space, okay? Not because I don’t want you . . . not because I don’t think last night was incredible . . . but because I don’t want to push you.” He tilts my face to look at him, and my heart lodges in my throat as I wait for those green eyes to spear through me. “I want this to happen.”

“Okay” is all I get to whisper before he drops his hand and walks out the door. I’m not sure what to do with any of that. I don’t know what “that” is. All I know is that I’m scared to want him as much as I do. I’m terrified that I’ll get burned again.

A couple of days later, I wake up and throw on the navy scrubs Nurse Gemma gave me on a day that painting got extra messy. When I show up at the hospital, I see her at the nurses’ station, and she laughs.

“You here to offer back up?” she asks.

“Not unless you want the malpractice lawsuits to start pouring in.”

“Never give Estelle anything with a needle. Noted.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I’ll be quick today. I just want to make sure it looks perfect.”

“Last day,” she says, smiling. “I won’t lie; I’m going to miss having that Micah guy around.”

“Well, there’s always the maternity wing.”

“Nooooo! Don’t send him over there! I have to stake my claim over him first!”

After talking a little longer, I finally make it to the room we’ve been working on, and pull the blinds open to check on the progress of the drying paint. I smile at the beauty of what we created and select a small brush to touch up the clouds that are missing some color.

“I heard you were in here,” Oliver says behind me, almost making me paint outside of the lines.

“Never sneak up on a person holding a paint brush.”

He chuckles. “Sorry. You want help?”

I stop moving the brush and shoot him a frown over my shoulder, which makes him shrug.

“I can fill in.”

“Grab a brush. The clouds need another coat.”

He does as I ask and stands beside me. I look over at the cloud he’s painting and move on to the next one, which is a couple of steps further away.

“You look great in scrubs, by the way.”

I try not to smile and fail. “Thanks.”

“You would make a good nurse,” he adds.

I stop painting and turn to him with a raised eyebrow. “But not a good doctor?”

“Entertaining that question would mean that I’m saying doctors are more important than nurses, and they’re not. If anything it’s the other way around . . . either way, I’m not going there. I will say, though, that you would be good at any profession where you deal with people.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if this painting thing doesn’t work out,” I say with a smile.

“Meaning never?” he responds with a chuckle as he moves to the next cloud, on the opposite side of the room. “What do you think you would be if art didn’t exist?”

“Dead.”

Oliver lowers his paintbrush and looks at me. “Don’t ever say that.”

Somehow, with one look, he makes me feel the intensity in his words.

“Okay, fine, probably a teacher or a school counselor.”

He nods and goes back to painting. “For the record, I think what you do for a living is perfect. This whole project is really incredible.”

“Just doing what I can.” I shrug.

“Why are you doing it?” he asks, walking toward me. “I know how much you love working with kids, so I knew coming here and painting with them would be something you would like . . . but this? This is a lot, Elle.”

I turn away from his gaze—back to the cloud in front of me—and look at the wall as I answer. “It sucks to be having a bad day and have to get up in the morning and go about your business because it’s expected. Imagine having an illness and having no choice but to come here and be stuck looking at the same four ugly walls, every single day. It makes all of my bad days seem so stupid when I hear these kids talk about what they’re dealing with, and they don’t even complain about any of it,” I say, letting out a breath as I drop my hand and turn to face him. My heart skips a beat at what I find in his eyes. I walk to him and brush my fingers under his left eye. “You look so tired.”

“This is what twenty hours straight looks like, but it’s like you said, they don’t complain, and that gives me no reason to complain either,” he says.

I drop my hand and rock back in my heels, still looking at him. “You’re a good man, Oliver Hart.”

His lips curve into a smile, and I watch his hand come up. I brace myself for his touch, but he drops his hand before it reaches my face. “You’re a great woman, Estelle Reuben.”

“Art is pretty selfish. I create things for myself and hope others like it, but it’s not like I’m thinking about the greater good when I make anything. What you do, on the other hand, is completely selfless.”

His green eyes twinkle. “That’s where you’re wrong. This job may seem selfless, but helping those kids makes me feel like I’m leaving my footprint. When I help them leave in a healthier state than when they got here, that’s . . .” He sighs, looking away for a moment. When his eyes meet mine again, he looks completely happy. “It’s everything. It makes me feel like I matter.”

“You do matter,” I say with a smile.

“So do you. You think art is selfish, but I think it’s pretty giving. I can’t do this.” He waves his hands around the room. “I spend sleepless nights and endless days in here making sure these kids are getting better, but aside from the days that I announce that they can go home, I won’t put a smile on their face like this will.”

His words make my heart soar. I turn back to the wall and finish the cloud I’m working on before walking back to the supplies and dropping my brush there. Oliver has a way of making even the smallest things you do, seem like they’re making a worldly difference. It’s part of his charm, I guess.

We say goodbye, teetering on unchartered territory. I’ve never gotten one hundred percent of Oliver. As far as I know, only his job gets that. In the past, we’ve been friends . . . and then more than friends . . . but this feels like something else. I’m scared to let go and get more than what I bargained for. I’m also scared that I won’t.

Past

I COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time I’d cried, if ever, but when I went to visit my dad in the hospital and saw the way half of his body was slouched, that’s exactly what I felt like doing. He may not have been an ideal father to us, but he was always larger than life. Between seeing him all crumpled up, trying to ace all of my finals, and my job as an undergrad student helper—which consisted of everything from tutoring to helping them pick their classes—I was stressed.

This particular morning, I’d settled myself into a corner table in the coffee shop by my mom’s house, and was working on a Quantum Physics paper and trying to keep my mind off my dad’s condition, when Estelle sat down in front of me. I looked up in time to see her cross her legs and smile at me as she closed her mouth over the straw of the cup she’d been holding.

“What are you doing in this neck of the woods?” she asked.

I let out a deep breath and put my pen down. I hadn’t seen her in a couple of weeks. The last time we’d hung out was in a crowded Chili’s. I’d gone with Victor and took a girl with me because I had no idea Estelle would be there. She hadn’t acted like she cared. She’d been talking to Mia and Jenson most of the time, but it had felt awkward to me, having her there after we’d kissed so many times . . . after I wanted more all of those times . . . and there I was with someone else. I felt relieved seeing her now, and having her talk to me as if everything was totally okay, which was something I’d feared wouldn’t happen after that night.

“You cut your hair,” I said after a beat.

“Only the front, and I’m already regretting that decision.” She brushed the long bangs out of her face.

“It looks good on you.”

“Are you meeting someone here?” she asked, looking around. She looked hesitant suddenly. I smiled, wondering if she meant the girl from Chili’s.

“Would it bother you if I was?”

Her eyes widened before her face settled into a small, thoughtful frown. “Not really.”

“Are you meeting someone here?” I asked, hoping she wasn’t. Why? I didn’t know. She was free to date whomever she wanted, but that didn’t mean I wanted to witness any of it. Her mouth turned up slowly as if she could read my thoughts. I was starting to think she could.

“Nope. I just left a terrible date.”

“Why was it terrible?” I asked, leaning in a little closer, both of my elbows on the table, as hers were.

“He talked about himself the entire time. Total jock move. All the girls want him, all the guys want to be him,” she said, mimicking a guy’s voice as she rolled her eyes. I laughed.

“That sounds pretty terrible. Why would you even give a jock the time of day?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I can think of one jock I like . . . but he’s sooo nerdy,” she said, her eyes dancing in so much amusement that I had to chuckle.

“Tell me more about this nerdy jock.”

“Well,” she started, dropping her gaze. She started using the condensation from her iced coffee to draw circles on the table as she spoke. “He’s really good looking, if you like tanned surfer dudes with long hair . . . and ridiculous dimples . . .” She looked up at me and smiled shyly in a way that made my heart stop. “He’s a really good guy, but rumor has it he’s not much into relationships.”

“It doesn’t sound like he’s good for you. You can’t base a relationship on hard abs and dimples.”

She grinned. “I didn’t say anything about hard abs.”

I shrugged. “I put two and two together. What else do you like about this nerdy jock?”

“I like how smart he is. I like the way he makes me feel when he talks to me . . . when he looks at me . . .” A blush spread over her cheeks. “When he kisses me.”

I tried to ignore the hammering in my chest. “You think pretty highly of a guy who’s not into relationships . . .”

“We all have our downfalls, and that just happens to be his,” she said, shrugging as she looked away.

“What if he was into relationships?” I don’t even know why I asked. It didn’t matter. Not only was I not into relationships, I was totally against them.

Her gaze cut to mine again. “I have it on good authority that he’s not.”

I nodded sharply and exhaled, looking away.

“Did I upset you?” she asked, her words bringing my eyes back to hers.

“No. Why?”

“You look . . . I don’t know . . . you’re acting weird.”

“I’m . . .” I ran my hands over my face. I wasn’t planning on telling her or anybody about this, but the way she looked at me with those beautiful, nurturing eyes made me want to lay it all out there for her. “My dad’s in the hospital.”

She gasped and reached for my hands. I let her take them. Hers were small and cold, but her touch warmed through me. “Again? Is he going to be okay?”

I let out a short laugh. “He had another stroke. He should be fine if he takes care of himself this time. He’s so stubborn though. He won’t quit smoking. He won’t diet or exercise. It makes me crazy.” Estelle squeezed my hands and gave me a small smile.