Page 24 of Fearlessly Us

I roll my eyes. “Is she trying to get me to do the pink Converse thing again? I totally respect her love for them, but I’m not exactly a pink kind of girl.”

He flashes me a grin. “Can’t tell, she swore me to secrecy. You know how seriously she takes present giving.”

I laugh a little, thinking of my cheerful, sunshine aunt. “I’ll be at dinner. My mom sent me a calendar invite and has reminded me no fewer than four times, like she thinks I’ll forget.”

“Will you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

I roll my eyes. “I don’t forget anything.”

Jordan chuckles and glances at his watch. “I have to run to my consult, but I love that I got to see you. I can’t wait to text Jo Jo and tell her. She’ll be so jealous.”

I eye him. “Are you a teenager?”

He just grins wider. “It’s not often I get to one-up my wife, so seeing you before she does is a big get. Maybe I’ll drop by Fireside after the consult and see Jack so I can one-up her times two.”

I take another cautious sip of my coffee, weighing his words. “You guys have a really weird relationship.”

Jordan beams at me. “I know, isn’t it great? Gotta run, Cait. See you tomorrow.”

With a quick hug and a wave, Jordan heads down the hall, and I glance at the numbered patient room in front of me before heading in the opposite direction in search of the one I’m looking for. It takes fifteen minutes and two wrong turns to find the part of the floor I need. I passed no fewer than ten nurses and doctors and assorted other hospital employees I probably could have asked for directions, but everyone here has a job to do, and I didn’t want to keep them from theirs while I tried to find the room I needed to do mine.

When I get to the room, I pause and lean against the wall, my lower back aching just a little and my stomach still roiling. I really need to start drinking more water. And to get through this meeting as quickly as possible so I can kick off these heels because they’re killing my back and probably ruining my pedicure, and my patience is at an all-time low. Tossing my still almost-full coffee cup in the trash, I’m about to knock when a voice filtering through the heavy wood door has me pausing with my hand in the air.

“That’s, like, superhero levels of brave, dude.”

No fucking way.

The deep rasp makes goosebumps race over my skin, my stomach swooping in a way that has nothing to do with my caffeine consumption. My brain runs on side-by-side tracks of What the fuck? and Did that kiss affect me so much I am literally hallucinating Drew Ellicott’s voice in a children’s hospital? and for a second, I wish I was the kind of person who was comfortable ditching clients because I have the sudden, wild urge to turn around and run.

“I know, right? It was so awesome.” The earnest voice belongs to a child, and it’s followed by the low laughter that makes me sure I’m not hallucinating and has me cursing my zealous dedication to doing the things I say I’m going to do that makes running a nonstarter. Somehow, I think, I would know that laugh anywhere, and for reasons unknown, Drew is in this hospital room.

The hospital room I should have been in five minutes ago.

It’s the thought of being late that propels me forward despite whatever I’m about to find inside. Because I have a job to do and I am a motherfucking professional. With a deep, fortifying breath, I take the last step forward and knock on the door.

“Come in!” a female voice calls.

Pushing open the door, I step over the threshold, and like I’m some sort of fucked up homing beacon for giant, sexy football players, my eyes land directly on Drew. He’s sitting, his big body folded into a chair that looks way too small to hold his professional athlete-sized frame, situated right next to the hospital bed. He’s wearing jeans, a black hoodie, and a backwards Renegades hat that does crazy things to my insides.

His brown eyes flash with surprise when he sees me, and his lips tip up in a smirk. Those eyes drop the length of my body, heat searing through me at the slow perusal even as I resist the urge to fidget. For some reason he lingers an extra second on my black heels, and when his gaze comes back to mine, and he lifts a single eyebrow in a move that has no business being as hot as it is, the heat turns into a blazing inferno as memories of The Kiss once again invade my brain.

“Caitlin!” My client Mia Williams’ voice yanks me out of my sex haze, and even though I tear my gaze away from Drew’s to focus on her, I can still feel his eyes on me. She stands to shake my hand, all smiles. “You really didn’t need to make the trip all the way over here. We would have come to you once we got Aidan home and situated.”

I shake my head, ordering myself into professional mode. “It’s really no problem. I know how eager you and John are to sign these trust documents.”

She nods. “He just ran down to the cafeteria to grab some coffee, so he should be back soon. In the meantime, meet my son, Aidan.”

I turn to the bed, focusing on the nine-year-old clad in a hospital gown and a Renegades hat of his own, his right leg propped up and wrapped in some sort of splint. “It’s really nice to meet you, Aidan. I heard you broke your leg doing a killer skateboard move.” I smile and drop my voice low. “That’s badass.”

Drew snorts and Mia chuckles. Aidan beams at me. “It was totally killer. I can’t wait to do it again.”

“No rush on that,” Mia mutters.

Pointedly ignoring Drew, I open my briefcase and take out a file, handing it to Mia. “Here are the names for three of the best pediatric physical therapists in the city for when you get home from the hospital so that leg will be as good as new. I have a social worker on standby to help with whatever accommodations you might need in your house when Aidan gets home, and I called in a favor and the surgeon assigned to Aidan’s case works for the Lightning.” I turn and wink at Aidan. “He fixed Oliver Wright’s broken arm during his rookie season and Oliver was back on the ice by the playoffs. You’ll be back on that skateboard before you know it.”

“That’s so awesome,” Aidan whispers.

“Caitlin, oh my god,” Mia says, glancing over the contents of the folder. “Thank you so much, but this is so unnecessary. I’m pretty sure there’s nothing in our engagement letter about you sourcing physical therapists for my nine-year-old’s skateboard injury.”