The Rebound Girl (Getting Physical) (16 page)

With the kids safely out to recess, Matt moved quickly through the halls. It wasn’t that he felt worried, exactly. Whitney was a competent human being who, despite outward appearances, would never do anything to cause him harm.

But unpredictability was her calling card, her trump. A large basis of his attraction hinged on her refusal to accept things at face value, in her ability to mold the world around her until she was comfortable with the fit. He gulped. That was a large basis of his fear too.

“I understand that Mrs. Horn runs the PTA, and I respect that you feel the need to support her in this.” Whitney’s voice, as usual, carried down several doors. “But I think you’re missing out on an important opportunity here.”

An odd mixture of relief and anxiety thrummed in Matt’s heart. Relief that the conversation had nothing to do with him. Anxiety that it contained anything else.

“I looked over your list of speakers. You’ve got an incredible array of professions covered, including the medical ones, but you can’t deny they’re strongly skewed toward the male persuasion. Where are the role models for girls who want to be more than medical receptionists or dental hygienists? Why is every non-secretarial professional on here a man?”

Matt stopped, pausing just outside the principal’s doorway. That sounded an awful lot like the argument he’d made at the last staff meeting about next month’s Career Day assembly. Every year, they marched a parade of successful men and the women who supported them across the stage. And every year, he had to spend the next two days explaining to the female students in his class why that parade should in no way limit their future aspirations.

“Yes, I’m new in town, but you can call my references, check my credentials. I graduated at the top of my class and received my board certification last year. From a professional standpoint, my qualifications are impeccable.”

He couldn’t hear what Mr. Gregoire said in return, but Matt had the feeling it wasn’t what Whitney wanted to hear. Or what
he
wanted to hear. The kids would love Whitney. Colorful, bright, scarily accomplished, strong and unwilling to let anyone tell her no. She was exactly the kind of woman little girls could—and should—look up to.

With a soft rap of his knuckles, he announced his presence at the door.

The principal’s office was spacious but windowless, which always gave him the sensation he was entering some kind of prison. Harry Gregoire himself didn’t help matters any. A balding, humorless man, he’d had his eye on a superintendent position for years. He saw his current job as a stepping stone rather than a place of honor, and his office reflected it. No color, no artwork, no indication that kids were welcome there. There was just his tiny, reflective head and his oversized desk, which was designed to intimidate even full-grown adults who happened to find themselves seated on the other side.

Whitney had elected to stand.

God, he adored that woman.

“She’s right, you know,” he said by way of greeting. “A female surgeon is exactly what our Career Day needs. We’ve had the same tired lineup of Pleasant Park residents for years, always giving the same speeches, always opening the same doors for our kids. Isn’t it time we let them see what else is out there? Expand their horizons beyond town limits?”

“Mr. Fuller.” Harry’s slightly nasally voice twinged, clearly displeased. “I believe Miss Vidra here is a friend of yours? Surely you are aware of the things being said—”

“Dr. Vidra,” he interrupted, correcting him. He caught Whitney’s gaze. Expecting her to be full of the usual light and laughter, he was surprised to find her mouth firmed in a line, her eyes sparking with wrath.
She’s
barely
holding
on
here
.

He hardly blamed her. Harry was not an easy man to get along with under the best of circumstances. When he was being a condescending, misogynistic prick, all bets were off.

“And yes,” Matt continued. “I know a little something about the current popular opinion on the subject of New Leaf.”

“New Leaf?”

“The medical spa she’s opening. You know, as a board-certified plastic surgeon and female business owner? Two things you have to admit we’re sorely lacking on that list in her hands.”

Whitney’s insides twisted into a strange and new contortion as she watched Matt come to her rescue. He leaned over the desk, his hands gripping the surface, staring down the bespectacled little rat on the other side. Even though Matt wore the haggard look of a man who hadn’t slept—or shaved—in at least forty-eight hours, it was obvious he meant business.

“Come on, Harry. You know as well as I do that Natalie can’t interfere with the school’s academic program, no matter how much noise she makes. This has nothing to do with the PTA or fundraising or appeasing parent tempers. It’s about the kids.”

A staring contest commenced. Whitney, not normally one to stay silent while a pair of obstinate men debated the outcome of her life for her, found herself curious to see how things would unfold.

Considering how she and Matt had left things the other day, angry and underpinned with the devastation of Laura’s diagnosis, she’d half expected him to be on the principal’s narrow-minded, belittling side. But he’d marched right in and taken over, embracing Whitney’s fight as if it were his own, finding the good in it.

Not once did it occur to him that Whitney needed to repair her reputation with the community and had simply found an efficient way to do it. Nobility—it was so ingrained into his own character he didn’t realize how unique an attribute it was. He saw it in everything and in everyone. Even her.

How easy it would be to fall in love with a guy like that. And how dangerous.

She saw the possibility of a future with this man, and it scared the crap out of her. No matter how hard she would try to hide her true nature, no matter how much she might bend over backward to fit his ideal, he’d eventually find out that there was nothing noble about her. And then she’d be right back where she started.

Stranded in a strange town. Brokenhearted. Alone.

“You’ll vouch for her, Mr. Fuller?” The principal’s voice broke Whitney’s thoughts.

“I’ll vouch for myself,” she said firmly and extended a hand. Matt’s heroism would be well-rewarded, she’d see to that herself, but she refused to let him bear the burden of responsibility for her actions. “I’m good at what I do, Harry, and my medical spa isn’t going anywhere. Your school will be lucky to have me.”

“I have to talk it over with my staff first,” he warned, his nod effectively ending the conversation. “We don’t much care for change here at Hamilton Elementary.”

“It’s the Pleasant Park curse.” Matt placed a hand on the small of her back and led her toward the hallway. She shivered when his pinky finger slipped under the waistband of her skirt in a tiny yet defiant gesture of possession.
Mine
. “If there’s one thing we fear more than change, it’s a beautiful woman like you carrying it in. Take it easy on us, Whitney. We’re trying.”

She turned to face him, aware that they were talking about much more than a kids’ school assembly and a town that refused to evolve. Dimples, rumpled hair, boyish grin—even with the taut, tired expression underlying it all, he was still capable of making her heart go pitter-patter like she was twenty again.

She pushed a lock of hair out of his face. “I’m not asking you to change, Matt. I’m just asking to be accepted for who I am.”

“And who are you, Whitney Vidra?”

Good
question
. “I’m the rebound girl. I’m the selfish plastic surgeon who plans to use a little kids’ assembly to boost her fledgling business. I’m the crazy lady who yells at men when their ex-wives have been diagnosed with cancer.” And most important, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be more.”

The school bell rang, signaling the end of lunch and a stampede of boots and coats making their way indoors. As if carried on a rising tide, she and Matt were pulled apart.

And that was okay. For the first time in days, Whitney felt like she and Matt were in, if not a good place again, at least somewhere familiar.

Also? Kendra was going to freak when she found out Whitney had just scored a seat in an elementary school career fair.

Chapter Thirteen

Whitney’s parents visited her every year like clockwork, their trip aligning, not coincidentally, with her birthday. She’d once told them it was the worst present they could possibly give her, that any other time out of the year would have been better, that she’d even take time off from her regularly scheduled activities if they would leave her alone to celebrate in peace.

Whitney loved her birthday. She also loved her parents. She just didn’t love them at the same time.

“But it’s technically my birth day too,” her mother always protested, ignoring Whitney’s pleas and blazing forward with whatever plans she’d already laid out. “I’m the one who did all the work. Thirty-six hours of back labor, Whitney. You should be buying
me
presents.”

Nothing Whitney did or said could stop them. Never mind that she’d rather go dancing and eat a whole cake and spend way too much money on new shoes. Never mind that she had no desire to entertain them in the middle of the personal and professional quarantine area her life had recently become. The parental units were currently making plans to visit Pleasant Park.

God help them all.

“Well, if you’re planning my surprise party, you can go ahead and cancel,” she said glumly to John, who had come over to watch the Lifetime marathon on her DVR. “Mom and Dad couldn’t be talked out of visiting again this year.”

“Poor baby.” John dropped a giant bowl of cheesy popcorn onto Whitney’s lap. It was warm and smelled of processed food heaven—Kendra would have had a fit. “I happen to love your parents. Do you remember the year they took us all to Medieval Times and your dad was so drunk he volunteered to joust that huge knight?”

“That wasn’t because he was drunk,” Whitney pointed out with a sigh. “My parents are weird, and I don’t know why they refuse to get a hotel. I think they do it on purpose to spite me.”

“I think they do it on purpose because they love you.” John shoved his hand deep in the popcorn bowl until he reached the half-popped kernels. He had the disgusting habit of sucking off all the flavor and then spitting them out. “Also because the only way they ever learn anything about your life is by going through all your stuff while you’re at work.”

“They don’t do that.” Whitney grabbed the remote and selected their first show, part one of a series in which a woman with amnesia first gave birth to a demon and then, a few years later, to an angel. “I put all my kinky sex stuff right where they can find it. There is nothing like a vibrator in the crisper drawer to keep your parents from snooping in the really good cupboards.”

“You’re sick, you know that?” John spit out a popcorn kernel into a napkin and laughed. But as the movie came on, he sobered a little. “Are you going to introduce them to Dimples?”

“Shh,” Whitney hissed, watching the screaming blonde woman give birth from the back of a taxi. “You’re ruining the dramatic opening.”

“My humblest apologies,” he murmured. “I just wonder how it is you’re going to manage to hide a man like that in a town like this.”

Whitney ignored him. It wasn’t a question worth asking, let alone answering. Besides—there was no way Matt would fit inside the crisper drawer.

* * *

Her parents’ visit was slated to begin in T minus three days. As it had been a week since Whitney had last seen Matt at his school and even longer since she’d seen him without his clothes on, she sensed an urgent need to pay him a visit.

Not because she wanted sex. Because she wanted to make sure he was okay.

If her parents were going to be present for two weeks—two weeks in which she refused to introduce them to Matt in fear of getting their hopes up—she needed to do this now, to call and face her demons. Face his demons too.

Oncology wasn’t her field, but she’d done a rotation during her residency. All it took was one or two days on the floor to realize how much that disease tore apart families and people. Even if the patient was a cheating ex-wife with codependency issues.

Especially
if the patient was a cheating ex-wife with codependency issues.

She swung by his apartment on a Saturday afternoon. Fearful that a phone call would put him on his guard or that he might turn her down flat if given any advance warning of her arrival, she was making this a sneak attack. She’d even slipped into a pair of jeans and a beige sweater before leaving the house. Beige was her safe color, asexual and bland.

“Holy crap,” Whitney said when he pulled open the door. Tired and morose, Matt had never looked so beaten down. A stubbly growth covered his jaw and chin, a worn black T-shirt stretched tight across his frame. “You, uh, look like you could use a nap.”

It wasn’t her most glib response, but it was all she could come up with on short notice. She held up a six pack. “Or beer. I brought beer.”

Matt gestured for her to come in, his expression neutral. “I’m sorry I haven’t called. I should have called.”

“No. You shouldn’t have.” Whitney swept into the kitchen and put the beer in the fridge. Unlike his normal leafy greens and carefully lined up Tupperware, his shelves held a mess of takeout cartons and a lone withered orange. Things were worse than she realized. Peeking over her shoulder, she added, “You don’t call unless you want to. Remember? No rules?”

His face screwed up for a moment before straightening back out, almost as though he was trying hard to remember their past conversations, as though she’d fallen so far off his radar he no longer remembered her last name. “Thanks for thinking of me—with the beer and all.”

“Of course.” She handed him one. “Have you eaten?”

“No, but I’m not really hungry. Unless you are...?”

She thought of his fridge’s contents. “Nah. Not right now.”

An awkward silence fell, oppressive in how strange it felt. This was the first time she didn’t feel easy and perfect being in Matt’s presence. Damn that Laura. Damn her for getting cancer and making it Matt’s problem.

Maybe that made her a terrible human being, but it was a role she’d gladly play if she could just get Matt to smile.

“Okay. You have ten minutes,” she announced, pointing her beer at him.

His brow knit. “I do?”

“Yes.” She threw herself onto one of the kitchen chairs. “I want you to talk to me about Laura for ten minutes—whatever you’re feeling and whatever is happening. And then she’s gone for the rest of the day.”

Matt blew out a long breath and studied Whitney, lounging at his table as though she’d dropped over for a chat about the latest Eagles game. He’d known, when she appeared unannounced at his door, that he wasn’t going to get off easy today. No more sitting and staring at the wall, wondering what he was supposed to do. No more waiting for the phone to ring, to see if Laura had any more information about her diagnosis.

“I’m sorry about before,” he said. “For yelling at you.”

“I said talk about Laura, not apologize.” Whitney’s gaze was unwavering—her presence solid and warm. How was it that this woman was able to carry so much energy and joy with her wherever she went? It fizzled and crackled around her and made him think, for a small space of time, that he could be happy again. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Now spill.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather not.”

“Not an option. I want to hear all the gory details. Have you talked to anyone else?”

He let out a soft snort. It wasn’t exactly the sort of topic one foisted on coworkers or a set of six-year-olds, and the last thing he wanted was Lincoln’s or Hilly’s advice on the subject.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Whitney marched over to the microwave and set the timer for ten minutes before leaning on one elbow on the counter. She trained her eyes on him, unblinking and, to all outward appearances, interested and sympathetic. “Start talking.”

As always, he did as she commanded—not because he had to, but because he wanted to. It was an important difference, one he couldn’t always put into words but felt just the same. Making this woman happy was as ingrained into him as breathing.

“She had an appointment on Tuesday, and she wanted me to go.”

“Tell me you didn’t say yes. Doesn’t she have any family or friends in town?”

“Is you asking questions part of my ten minutes?” he asked. “Because that doesn’t seem fair.”

She made the motion of a zipper over her lips and gestured for him to continue.

“Her family does live here, but you have to understand that they’re pretty conservative people. When our marriage ended the way it did...”

“You mean when she cheated on you...”

He shot her a warning look. It was hard to explain this town to people who didn’t grow up here. Pleasant Park was anything but pleasant if the locals chose not to accept you. Judgment and contempt came with the territory.

Then again, maybe she knew more about that than most...

“When she cheated on me,” he said, gaining momentum even as the words tripped over his tongue, “there was a pretty big public outcry. Most of the people here have had kids in my class, and since my sister and brother are their own kind of fixtures, we’re pretty well liked. It was really hard for her—for her whole family—for a few months. They’d go into the diner and wait for an hour for their food. Teenagers egged their house. Small stuff, but the kind of stuff that weighs on you after a while—especially since it wasn’t any of the town’s goddamn business.”

Whitney nodded. “That’s for sure.”

“Anyway, the point is that most of her friends started dropping off not too long after we separated. I don’t doubt her sister would have gone with her to the doctor, but not without making a big deal out of it. So yes, I went, and sat in the waiting room. And don’t you dare look at me like that. You just have to accept that no matter how much she hurt me, Laura was—and is—very much a part of my life. I’m not going to let a woman I once pledged my life to visit a cancer specialist alone. No one deserves that. Not even my worst enemy.”

He paused, waiting for her to insert a snide remark or comment on his nobility. But she just nodded, real warmth in her eyes.

“So that’s pretty much it. She still doesn’t have any conclusive results, but I think they did one of those biopsy things.”

Whitney opened her mouth and then promptly shut it again. It was probably killing her not to insert an opinion after every word.

“I don’t know what else to say,” he continued. “There’s lots of medical terminology I’m sure you already know. Laura is scared and freaked out and I’m not sure what my role is supposed to be yet. I told her it’s probably best to go into the city—they have specialists there and she can stay with an aunt—but she didn’t really talk much. She mostly cried.” His voice cracked. “Which seems fair, given the situation. She’s only twenty-six.”

Silence blanketed them both—not awkward or comforting, just present, like oxygen. There was a lot more he could say, but the depressing realization that it would come out more as a jumbled mixture of sounds rather than actual words was too strong to ignore. He liked Whitney—more, he knew, than she liked him—and he refused to break down in front of her over this.

A few more minutes were left on the timer, but he didn’t make a move to fill the silence, and she, bound by her word, did the same. It was odd. They weren’t touching at all, but he felt closer to her in that moment than during any of their sexual entanglements.

Of course, the second it went off again, Whitney bounced into action. “So, I brought a few movies, but it’s a nice day out, so that seems like a really depressing way to spend the afternoon. Which is why I also brought a kite.”

The randomness of that statement forced a laugh out of Matt. “Is it even windy enough outside for a kite?”

“I don’t know. Do I look like the type of woman who kites?”

“Then why did you buy it?”

“It’s pretty.” She said it with certainty, as though that were the answer to everything. Kite purchases. Relationships. World peace. “Can’t you just make it work by running fast?”

Matt had a suspicion Whitney was secretly some kind of master kite flyer and was testing him. They’d get outside only to find that she had one of those thousand dollar contraptions with dual handles, and she’d soundly whip his ass, laughing at him all the while.

It sounded wonderful.

“We can head to Blue Lake,” he suggested. “I think the winds are pretty decent on the shoreline, and there’s a cabin up there that used to belong to my grandparents.”

“Oooh,” Whitney squealed. “Waterfront real estate. Why, Matt Fuller, you never told me you’re a man of property.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. It’s not that kind of waterfront. Oh, and Whitney?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For letting me talk. For being here.”

“Of course.” Whitney turned sharply away. “Let’s get going. Daylight’s burning.”

* * *

Whitney had a small arsenal of outdoor equipment in the trunk of her car, which was strange, given how incredibly non-outdoorsy she claimed to be. In addition to a kite, there were coats and blankets and a picnic basket that she vehemently ordered Matt not to open, for fear of releasing the scents and spores of a long-gone day at the park. There was even a cricket bat, though she was hard-pressed to explain its presence among so much random gear.

“If you think this is bad, you should see my closets” was all she’d say as they piled inside and she revved the engine, taking off at a good twenty miles per hour over the speed limit.

Matt was slowly getting used to her way of driving, though he might have preferred to put the top up, considering it was a crisp spring day with a thermometer firmly topped out at fifty-five degrees. As he watched Whitney out of the corner of his eye, her hair whipping playfully in the wind, he decided maybe he would bear the cold. He wanted to cement the sight of her, youthful and flushed, in his memory to store for the hard days ahead.

Life with Whitney was ass-hugging jeans and laughter. It was stolen kisses and rushed orgasms. It was yelling and arguing and a constant battle of wills.

Life with Whitney was exhilarating.

“Take this exit and turn right.” Matt pointed toward a rustic one-lane road that disappeared into a dead overgrowth. One nice thing about having a frozen face and wind tearing up his eyes was that it wasn’t necessary to attempt conversation. He felt more at peace than he had in days. “I really hope your car can make it. The road is awfully rough.”