The Spark (Carolina Connections Book 2) Read online

  He finally spoke. “What brings you here at—” he checked his watch, “ten-twenty-four on a Friday morning?”

  “Just a check-up,” I answered. I certainly wasn’t going to elaborate on my visit with Dr. Brandon. “How about you? You mentioned a shitty morning.” I sipped my coffee and hoped I had successfully transferred the focus to him.

  He must not have been lying about his crap-tastic day because he looked like he hadn’t slept at all last night. His brow held what looked like a permanent crease big enough that I could potentially store my eyeliner pencil in there, and the area under his eyes had a greenish-gray cast that even those lashes couldn’t disguise.

  “Yeah, you could say that. Just some family stuff—had to come in early this morning to the ER.” He scrubbed a hand over his light brown hair.

  Before I had time to think about it, I covered his other hand with my own. “Oh God, is everything okay? Who got hurt?” My heart pounded and I suddenly regretted any of my negative thoughts toward him. Muscles are great! And who needs a silly old neck anyway?

  He waved me off. “Nobody.” He stared at my hand on his and I couldn’t read his expression. I removed my hand as nonchalantly as possible and used it to grab my coffee—super casual-like. Ugh.

  Mark leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Well, somebody, but he’s nobody important. My mom wanted to come in to see him so I drove her—that’s all.”

  I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, although I was a bit confused by his comment. “Oh, well that’s a relief I suppose.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” he said distractedly.

  Clearly there was something going on that I was not privy to—and why should I be? I didn’t even know this guy. Apart from sharing a few insults and a cup of coffee we were virtual strangers. Our only connection was some mutual friends and that didn’t necessarily amount to anything much in the grand scheme of things.

  “Listen, I’d better get back to the waiting room. I don’t want my mom coming out and wondering where I am.” He stood from the chair. “I guess I’ll see you around, what with Nate and Laney and Gavin…” he trailed off.

  He stood still for a moment, looking oddly pathetic in an old threadbare t-shirt and track pants. I don’t know what possessed me, but out it came. “Would you like some company while you wait?”

  His head snapped up, almost as if he’d forgotten I was there. Then he blinked a few times and I saw the crease in his brow release a bit. “Actually, that would be nice.”

  I had never realized before how uncomfortable the chairs were in the ER waiting room. Back in the day, I’d spent many a night waiting in similar rooms, but I had usually been too nauseous or in too much pain to care about the hard chairs. I made a mental note to ask my mom to add new chairs to the ever-growing list of fundraising efforts. Not that is was that important, but sometimes it’s the little things that can make a difference.

  I was flipping through my texts and trying not to laugh out loud at something Laney had texted about Rocco—totally inappropriate to laugh in an ER waiting room, I know, but that kid cracks me up! I don’t have to deal with him on a daily basis, however, so I’m allowed to find his antics funny.

  Rocco is an exhibitionist of sorts, always preferring to hang out in his underwear and absolutely nothing else.

  Am I the only one who finds tiny boxer briefs to be completely adorable?

  Anyway, according to Laney’s frantic text, Rocco had accidentally seen Nate naked and kept asking when his wiener would be big like Nate’s. She then caught Rocco walking around the house wearing Nate’s boxer briefs with a belt cinched around his tummy to hold them up. If I hadn’t been sitting next to a very seriously brooding Mark, I definitely would have laughed my ass off.

  Laney: I’m worried this has scarred him for life!

  Fiona: Shut up. This is hilarious. These are the moments you store in your memory only to be brought up at his rehearsal dinner when he gets married. Please tell me you took pictures of the belted underwear!

  Laney: No way! Now Nate is never going to move in! He’s worried CPS is going to come and arrest him for letting Rocco see him naked!

  Fiona: Calm down. He didn’t “let” him. It was an accident. Plenty of little kids see their parents naked. How many times has Rocco walked in on you naked?

  Laney: But Nate is NOT his parent.

  Fiona: Seriously?

  Laney: What??!!

  Fiona: Don’t be ridiculous. You know you’re going to get married and have more beautiful babies and Nate will be a father to all of them.

  Fiona: Your silence speaks volumes. Stop worrying.

  Laney: I love you.

  Fiona: I love you too.

  Laney: Oh my God—I am a horrible friend! I totally forgot! How was your appointment?

  Fiona: All GOOD!

  Laney: Yay! I’m so happy!

  Fiona: Me too.

  Too bad my heart didn’t quite agree with my text. Damn Pa and his thought-provoking nuggets of wisdom.

  What was wrong with me? I’d just gotten good news and I was sitting next to a guy who, while claiming this ER visit was no big deal, was obviously grappling with something monumental.

  Guilt shook her finger at me. Yes, Guilt is a woman because women are better at head weaving and finger shaking so it’s more effective. If Guilt were a guy he’d just shrug his shoulders and say, “Eh, just rub some dirt on it.”

  I pushed the negative thoughts aside and peeked over at Mark. We’d been sitting in a somewhat companionable silence for the last half hour, but it was clear he was getting restless. We had both finished our coffees and he sat with his hands clenched over his knees while I had been occupying myself with my phone. I quickly glanced at my calendar one more time before putting the phone back in my purse and turning my body toward Mark.

  “How are you holding up?” I asked.

  “What do you mean? I’m just waiting for my mom,” he scoffed.

  “You are quite possibly the worst liar I’ve ever met in my life,” I informed him with a smile.

  “Not possible. I’m awesome at poker.” He turned to me and—damn those eyelashes!

  “Then I have never met the terrible liars you play poker with,” I returned.

  That earned me a hint of a smile.

  “Come on, give me your worst joke,” I said.

  He looked at me like I’d just escaped the psych ward.

  “Oh, don’t give me that look. Your worst joke. Go.”

  He shook his head. “Fiona, I don’t…” he trailed off.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll go first.” I sat up straight and smoothed my hair as if preparing for a presentation. “Why don’t crocodiles eat clowns?”

  He peeked at me from the corners of his eyes and I swore I saw his lips twitch. “Fine. I don’t know. Why?”

  I gave him a “duh” look and answered, “They taste funny.” I followed that up with jazz hands.

  He face-palmed.

  “Pretty bad, huh? Your turn.”

  Mark sat up and looked at me. “What exactly is the point of this again?”

  I started to answer before I thought better of it. “My dad and I used to do this all the time when we were waiting—” I stopped myself just in time. “You know, for appointments and stuff. It passes the time.”

  It was actually one of my sweetest memories of that dark time in my life—my dad smiling at me and telling the worst jokes ever in an effort to distract me from fear or pain, even if it was just for a moment.

  Mark let out a short mirthless laugh that startled me.

  What was that about? I needed to chill him out.

  “Just go with it. Your turn,” I prodded.

  He looked sideways at me again before giving in. “Fine, let me think for a minute.” His eyes went to the ceiling for a moment before he continued. “Okay, prepare yourself. This is horrible.”

  I wiggled in my seat in anticipation. What can I say? I love a bad joke.

  “Did
you hear about the fire at the circus?”

  I shook my head.

  Mark cringed and said, “It was in tents.”

  I couldn’t help it. I giggled.

  “You’re not supposed to laugh—it was awful!”

  “That’s why I’m laughing. That might be the worst joke I’ve ever heard.” I still couldn’t stop giggling.

  Mark just shook his head and I finally got a full-on smile, the same one I remembered from Laney’s deck. The same one he’s used when he’d acted like a total sleazebag. I’d almost forgotten.

  But before I could give it another thought, the double doors to the inner sanctum of the ER opened and a slim woman with dark brown hair, puffy eyes, and a harried expression emerged. “Mark, sweetie,” she said, looking bewildered and a bit shell-shocked.

  Joke time was most definitely over.

  Mark rose abruptly from his chair and went to her, enveloping her in a hug. If the situation hadn’t been so sad, the image would have been almost comical—such a slight figure secured in an unbelievably expansive embrace. It almost looked as if he could have wrapped his arms around her twice. Perhaps it would have helped, she seemed so devastated.

  I wished I knew what was going on, but I reminded myself that I was a virtual stranger who had no business butting in—even if all I wanted to do was help.

  After several moments, Mark released her from his embrace but held onto her upper arms and peered into her face. “Tell me,” he said, his jaw tight.

  The woman, who I could only assume was his mother, swiped at some fresh tears. “It’s bad. He’s awake, but he owes some money to some really bad people and they tried to beat him to d-d-death.” She started to sob quietly.

  I frantically searched for a packet of tissues in my purse.

  “Shit,” said Mark.

  “I don’t understand,” his mother said. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen to people in real life. We need to help him. We need the police but he said no.”

  Mark cursed again as I finally unearthed the packet and approached cautiously. I handed the tissues to Mark. He spared me a momentary glance and then offered them to his mother.

  She turned her eyes to me, a bit surprised to see a stranger with her son. “Thank you,” she managed and then wiped her eyes and nose.

  Mark led her to a seat across the room and bent down to talk quietly with her. I couldn’t make out anything he said, and I just stood awkwardly, not quite sure what I should do. He rose a moment later and approached me. The deep furrows had returned.

  “I think I can take it from here.”

  Oh, okay, that was a bit abrupt. “Sure. Of course,” I said and reached out to touch his hand in reassurance. “Take care, Mark.”

  “Thanks. You too,” he said distractedly, but he was already on his way back to his mom.

  “Okay, so you know I’m a terrible gossip, but this is not gossip. This is just something you need to know but I’m afraid it’s going to come out as gossip,” I announced as I burst through Laney’s front door that evening.

  “Um, hi,” she said, but she was smiling—she knew me too well to expect any other kind of entry into her house from me.

  “Something is wrong with Mark,” I said as I stalked into the kitchen and put a bottle of Kim Crawford on her counter—her new granite counter, thanks to sweet Nate. He’d been slowly updating the kitchen, and the counters were the latest addition. Before that had come the cooktop, much to my delight. “We’ve got to figure this out and help him.” I brought my mind back to the situation at hand.

  I turned around and realized she wasn’t there. “Laney?!”

  She rounded the corner. “Excuse me, but did you just tell me something about Mark? Mark from Nate’s work?”

  “Yes! Keep up, woman!”

  “I thought you hated Mark.” She tilted her head to the side and crossed her arms over her giant rack. I sometimes marveled at her ability to stand up straight with all of that going on up front.

  “Meh.”

  “What does that even mean?” she demanded.

  “Not important. Get your hot piece of ass in here—we need to talk business.”

  “My ‘hot piece of ass’ is still at work so you’ll have to settle for me,” she said, blowing her hair out of her face. Now that I took a good look at her I noticed that she was dressed in a ratty t-shirt and an old pair of denim overalls, her messy hair partially pulled back. There was dirt smudged on her face—and she was sweaty.

  I circled my finger in front of her. “What’s all this? Are you a farmer now? I have to say I’m not a big fan of this look.”

  “Thank you, Joan Rivers,” she said, evoking a little sigh of pride from me that she made a fashion reference—one that actually made sense (although technically Joan is no longer with us, but whatever. RIP). “And no. I’m cleaning out Gavin’s room.” She gestured to the stack of packing boxes in the attached living room.

  “Holy shit! Is he finally moving out? Let me guess—one too many awkward midnight encounters in the hallway with the guy who just finished banging his sister?”

  Laney choked on the air, I assumed.

  “Now all you have to do is get a white noise machine for Rocco and you and Nate can play ‘feed the kitty’ as loudly as you want. Bow-chicka-wow-wow.” I threw in a hip swivel to reinforce my point. Hey, if you can’t be real with your best friend then what’s the point?

  She gave me a look she mostly reserves for Rocco when he sings about genitalia while at the grocery store.

  “Hey, speaking of Rocco, where is my little man?” I had an urge to hand out some tickles. I started down the hall to find him and to check out Gavin’s empty room.

  Laney recovered her voice and called out after me, “I had to send him down the street to play with Aiden. He was unpacking the boxes as fast as I was packing them. I don’t think he wants Gavin to go.”

  I stopped outside Gavin’s door. Huh, this was a little sad now that I saw the empty room. All that was left was a stripped-down bed and an old dresser. It was all a bit pathetic. Poor Rocco. Who was he going to learn bad habits from now that Gavin would be gone? Without his uncle around he was never going to learn how to belch the entire alphabet. Nate was a more civilized guy—the most he could probably teach him would be to blame a fart on the dog.

  I was actually very fond of Gavin, and not having any siblings of my own, I sort of saw him as my little brother too. When Laney bought her house last year, Gavin had moved in with her to help with Rocco and with renovations on the house. With the arrival of “Tall, Dark, and Holy Hotness,” though, Gavin had gotten out of the work on the house. But he was an important part of this little family and, while it was definitely time for him to strike out on his own, it was bittersweet.

  Laney joined me and leaned against the doorjamb. “I’m gonna miss his stupid face,” she sighed. “But he’s promised Rocco lots of sleepover parties, and I have to say it has been getting a little cramped around here. I’m proud of him, though.”

  “Me too,” I said and squeezed her arm. Gavin had basically gone from industrial-strength barnacle to semi-independent adult in the span of the last six months. A derailed baseball career had turned him into a freeloading cloud of grumpiness, and it wasn’t until recently that a series of events kicked his butt into growing up and moving on.

  He was now working part-time for Nate’s family’s construction company in addition to coaching advanced level players at the Baseball Academy in town. I may or may not have had a tiny bit to do with the latter, but I’ll never tell. Yeah, right. I totally abused my parents’ contacts to get Gavin an interview for the job, but in my defense, he was completely qualified. He was finally coming to terms with never going to the Big Show and was actually enjoying helping other guys work toward that dream.

  “Where is he moving?” I asked.

  “He and Brett are renting a townhouse just north of High Point.”

  “I fear for their neighbors.” Gavin and Brett have been best
friends since high school and let’s just say that they are pretty adept at bringing out the idiot in each other.

  “That is no joke,” she agreed, swiping her face with the back of her hand and leaving another dirt streak.

  I hated to imagine the things Laney had found while cleaning up that room. Perhaps the entire Kim Crawford should go to her.

  Or not.

  “So tell me this mysterious news you have about Mark Beckett?” Laney nudged my arm.

  “Is that his last name? Right. So, I ran into him at the hospital this morning and he was almost as insulting as he was the last time I saw him—well, at first anyway.”

  “Did he make more short jokes?”

  “Yes! What is up with that? Was he traumatized by a politically incorrect circus clown or something?”

  Laney snickered. “I have no idea, but that’s a solid theory. Now go on.”

  It’s true—I’m easily distracted, but Laney is good at getting me back on track without making me feel like a complete spaz.

  “I thought at first that he was hungover because he looked all zoned out and tired, but he had actually been waiting since early morning for his mom. He drove her to the ER to see somebody who’d been hurt. He wouldn’t tell me anything about who it was, but he was totally distracted and stressed out. When his mom came out she was super upset and Mark seemed really pissed off. I overheard his mom say that the guy—whoever he is—had been beaten unconscious by somebody he owes money to and that they tried to kill him! It was all very Sopranos, but without any of the funny stuff.”

  “Are you being serious right now?” Laney asked, looking skeptical.

  “Dead.” Oops. “I mean yes! This actually happened.”

  Her hands went to her hips. “Holy shit. I’m calling Nate.”

  “That’s what I was saying—we need his help!”

  “No—we’re gonna need more wine!”

  Chapter Seven

  Tag – You’re It