Rev It Up (28 page)

“Damn,” Frank murmured after they’d gone. “It
is
lucky Snake was here.”

Yeah. Lucky…

That was the last thought she had before her world went black.

***

The nurse pointed Jake into a little room where a middle-aged guy in green scrubs and bright orange Nikes was busy washing his hands in a miniature stainless steel sink.

“Jake,” she said, “meet Carl. He’s the world’s greatest phlebotomist. He’ll have you a pint low in no time.”

“Have a seat.” Carl the Great Phlebotomist motioned to a chair with padded arms while snapping on a pair of blue latex gloves. The nurse gave him a wink before turning and squeaking down the hall in her ridiculous hot pink rubber shoes.

“Gotta love Susan,” Carl said, watching the sway of the nurse’s rather plump butt with a little smirk before turning back to Jake. “So you’re the elusive AB neg, huh?” He handed Jake a squeeze ball, telling him to give it a couple of good pumps while tapping at his inner elbow with a chubby finger.

“So I’ve been told,” Jake muttered, a vague sense of unease settling over him.

It’s just worry over Franklin
, he told himself, though somehow that didn’t seem right.

“Ever given blood before?”

“Plenty of times.” Once during a battlefield transfusion that’d saved the life of a fellow operator but nearly killed
him
in the process. Of course, Carl didn’t need to know about that.

“Cool, dude. So this is gonna be a piece of cake, especially with killer veins like yours. I always like taking blood from guys who work out. That low body fat really makes the hoses pop, if you know what I mean.”

Yeah, Jake knew what he meant. Especially when he glanced down at his inner arm and saw a vein the size of garden snake winding down to his wrist.

“A little pinch now,” Carl said as he inserted the large 17-gauge needle. Jake had been shot at, dodged mortar rounds, rolled a jeep during a getaway, and been stepped on by hadjis while having to lay prone in a hide-site, but nothing gave him the heebie jeebies like a good, thick needle.

“Oh, you’re a quick one,” Carl remarked when his blood raced through the plastic tube and down into the clear collection bag, a red, life-giving river he was happy to know might help save the life of Shell’s son. In terms of shedding blood for a cause, he figured it didn’t get much better than this. “We’ll be finished in a sec.”

He continued to squeeze the ball, watching absently while the bag filled, his mind turning over the events in the waiting room. That’s what was niggling at him. Something wasn’t right. Something didn’t make sense. But when he tried to get on top of whatever it was, it flew out from under him like an un-waxed surfboard.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Carl broke into his spinning thoughts.

“What makes you say that?”

“The accent, dude. It’s totally So Cal. And I should know. I’m So Cal myself.”

“Oh yeah? Where are you from?”

And for the next few minutes, the two exchanged surfing stories, which Jake was pretty sure were mostly bravado on Carl’s part, especially when the guy claimed to have done an aerial from an A-frame off Australia’s Gold Coast.

But he didn’t call bullshit. Surfing was like fishing. Exaggerations were a prerogative.

After the bag was full, Carl stuck a wad of cotton to Jake’s inner arm and secured it with a two Band-Aids. Then the surfing phlebotomist handed him a cookie and a glass of orange juice, and it suddenly occurred to him what it was that’d been bugging the hell out of him.

That whole
take
your
mind
off
it
and
it
will
come
to
you
thing wasn’t just an old wives’ tale.

“Hey, Carl,” he said with his chocolate chip cookie halfway to his mouth. “You know a lot about blood, don’t you?”

“Dude, I’m the Stephen Hawking of blood.”

Jake figured ol’ Stephen might shudder at that particularly gruesome and, no doubt inaccurate, comparison.

“Why do you ask?” Carl inquired, digging around in the bag of cookies.

“Is it possible for a mother who has blood type A and a father who’s O to have a child who’s AB?”

Carl shook his head, taking a bite of the perfect cookie he’d finally managed to locate. It was obvious from the paunch around Carl’s belly, he didn’t do much surfing anymore, and he partook of his cookie stash far more than he should. “Not unless the rules for genetics have suddenly changed.”

“Huh, that’s what I thought.”

Carl looked at him askance. “Uh, oh. I know that look. That question wasn’t rhetorical, was it?”

“No, Carl,” he muttered, standing and heading for the hall, taking his cookie and juice with him. “It wasn’t.”

“Ah, hell,” he heard Carl grumble as he stomped toward the waiting room.

***

“Okay, okay,” Michelle slapped at her brother’s hand, the one that was clamped on to the back of her neck, keeping her head shoved between her knees. “I’m fine now. You can stop with the manhandling.”

“Give it a few more minutes,” Frank muttered.

“I’m not going to hyperventilate again, I promise. But I might pass out from all the blood rushing to my head if you don’t get off!” She swatted at his hand a second time.

When he released her, she sat up and squeezed her eyes closed as stars happily circled her vision. Then the scuffling sound of footsteps had them snapping open again.

Oh, great. The cavalry has arrived.

Becky and Ozzie—Frank’s resident computer genius and all-around techy wizard—pushed through the waiting room door in front of Jake, who tossed an empty plastic cup into the trash and—

Oh, dear God, no…

She knew that look on his face. It caused her throat to burn and her stomach to ache and she couldn’t avoid it even as Becky rushed over to her.

“It’s going to be fine,” her future sister-in-law assured her, solicitously patting her arm. “Franklin’s going to be just fine. You wait and see. Billy, that’s my brother…” she explained for Jake’s benefit, though the guy wasn’t paying her a lick of attention. He was too busy staring holes through Michelle’s soul. “…had his appendix removed when he was twelve, and he was back to wrestling with me within two weeks and—what the hell have you got in your hair?”

“It’s, uh…it’s…” She didn’t finish. Mostly because she’d already forgotten the question. Oh, the look on Jake’s face…

“Shell,” he said, his jaw working like a rock grinder. “I need to talk to you out in the hall.”

“What’s up?” Frank asked.

Jake jerked his chin to the side. “I just need to talk to Shell.” His voice sounded like it’d been scoured with 24-grit sandpaper.

It was time, as they say, to face the music. She’d hoped and prayed this day would never come, but a large part of her had always feared it would.

Her brother glanced at her concernedly, and she tried to smile and reassure him. But it must’ve looked a bit sickly, because he only scowled harder.

“Shell? What—” She shook her head, waving away whatever question he might’ve asked as she stood to follow Jake into the wide, tiled hall.

Oh, sweet Lord. Her worst nightmares revolved around what was about to happen right this very minute, right this very
second
.

With her stomach hanging down to her knees, her heart perched dead center in the middle of her throat, and her head floating up around the ceiling somewhere, it was a wonder she could function at all. But somehow she managed to take a deep breath and face him.

“Th-thank you for donating blood,” she whispered, hoping to put off the inevitable for a few seconds longer.

“Who is Franklin’s father?” he demanded, his eyes searing into her.

Her heart moved from her throat to her skull, pounding in her temples like the entire percussion section of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.

“W-who do you think?” she stammered through a throat which, now empty of her heart, was swelling with unshed tears.

“I have no idea!” he hissed. “It sure as hell isn’t Preacher. He was a universal donor. Blood type O negative. I know because he was supposed to be our go-to guy for battlefield transfusions. And since you’re type A, there’s no way the two of you could’ve produced an AB son.”

“You’re right,” she told him as the hall started closing in around her.

He blinked. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“I—” she began and then had to swallow. Her entire world, the world she’d finally managed to build for herself, the world she’d finally managed to build for her son, was crashing down around her ears. “I made the best decision I could at the time, Jake. I made the decision I thought was right for my child. What more do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me who the hell Franklin’s father is!” he demanded, nostrils flaring like an angry bull’s. The nurse manning the station at the far end of the hall glanced up, her brow furrowed. “Because before you hooked up with Preacher,” he lowered his voice, “I thought
I
was the only man in your life. I guess I was wrong, huh?” His expression turned ugly. “And then you married Preacher under the pretense of carrying his child and—”

“Steven knew the baby wasn’t his,” she interrupted sadly, even as she tried to grasp the fact that he really hadn’t put two and two together. It seemed impossible…

“And he agreed to marry you anyway?” he asked incredulously.

“Steven was a sweet, loyal, honorable man. If there was someone in need or in trouble, he was the first to lend a hand. I was both. In need and in trouble.” And she desperately missed her husband, her friend, during times like this when she needed a strong shoulder to lean on.

Steven had been her rock, her savior, and he’d deserved so much more than she’d been able to give him. Oh, she’d loved him, there was no doubt about that. But it was the kind of love she’d felt for many of the boys in Bravo Platoon. And then he’d died before she got the chance to give him her whole heart…

God, he was worthy of so much more…

And that was one of her biggest regrets in what was turning out to be a very long list of regrets.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake scoffed. “We all know Preacher was a saint. But that doesn’t answer the question of who Franklin’s father really is.”

She lifted her eyes to his angry face, sadness and regret and…yes,
guilt
threatening to crush everything inside her. “You really can’t guess?”

“Well, it wasn’t Preacher, and it certainly wasn’t me so—”

“Of course it’s you, Jake. Who else would it be?”

His chin jerked back like she’d slugged him. “But…but…” He shook his head. “That’s impossible! We never—”

“Didn’t we?” she asked. “Think back to that night at the Clover. I know you were pretty drunk, but surely you remember at least
some
of what happened.”

***

Remember
some
of what happened?

For fuck’s sake, Jake remembered it like it was yesterday…

She
was
a
bright, burning flame in his arms when he pulled her into the restroom. Scorching him down to his soul. Climbing all over him. Her hands, everywhere. Her mouth, hot and hungry.

His
body
was
absolutely
rigid
with
pleasure
as
he
shoved
her
back
against
the
wall. And she laughed, low and sexy in that way she had, wrapping her beautiful, mile-long legs around his hips.

When
her
skirt
slid
up
around
her
waist, he felt the sultry heat of her sex through the thin, lace panties she wore. He felt it all the way through the tough denim of his jeans as his pounding erection settled into place.