Lennon Reborn Read online

  A stray piece of hair fell in front of her face, and he wanted desperately to lean over and push it behind her ear. If he’d known she was coming, he would have moved the motherfucking chair to the other side of the bed.

  “You’d have been a spectacular mermaid,” he said without thinking.

  Georgia blushed and shook her head. “I’m not that great of a swimmer.”

  Lennon shrugged. “Who cares? Show me a guy who looks at a mermaid and thinks, ‘Wow, look at the speed on that mermaid,’ and I’ll show you a liar.”

  Georgia laughed in response. “Fair point. But I wasn’t going to be a mermaid for the looks I could get from men. I remember watching The Little Mermaid and just wanted a pet Flounder and Sebastian.”

  “So, you aren’t all serious neurosurgeon, then? Do you have a fish tank at least?”

  “No,” she said, the smile on her face dying. “Childish things get put away and all that. What the hell would I do with a giant saltwater tank?”

  Lennon fidgeted so he could turn to see her better. “I don’t know. Sit in front of it. Relax. Talk to your damn fish.”

  He imagined arranging for a fish tank to be delivered, a saltwater one with a crab and whatever type of stupid fish Flounder was. He’d get someone to do the math on what a lifetime maintenance would cost on a salt water tank, given that she was already so fucking busy. It was the one thing he could give her.

  “Life isn’t always a Disney movie,” she said quietly.

  He laughed sadly. “No, it fucking isn’t.”

  Her phone buzzed and she glanced down at it, taking a second to scroll through something.

  “Do you need to take that?”

  Georgia shook her head. “Occupational hazard. You never know when you’ll be called in an emergency.” She dropped the phone into her purse. “You know, at the children’s hospital, I see these kids with horribly aggressive conditions. . . . Sometimes they come in dressed as princesses, or superheroes.” Georgia put her heels up on the metal frame of the bed. “Any time I’m not helping them feels like a waste of what I was meant to do.”

  She looked up at him, and even though it pained him, he held her stare. His palms—palm—began to sweat as his stomach clenched. He needed to work through it. If he could just figure out how to hold her stare. Once upon a time, with a therapist’s help, he’d imagined a bucket list with emotional shit on it.

  Be loved by another human being.

  Make love to a woman while looking into her eyes.

  Have a family of his own.

  Over the years, it had changed.

  Be left alone.

  Be free of his past.

  Feel love once.

  He shook his head as he felt tears burn his eyes. Ever since Petal had kissed his bandage, waves of sadness had washed over him and taken him under. But he wasn’t going to lose it in front of Georgia. He wasn’t going to be that needy guy. Right now, he was feeling inspired to be there for her, to encourage her to slow down and live the life he’d never get the chance to.

  “Still, you don’t need to work all the time. I bet you’re a better surgeon when you’re relaxed, rested.”

  Georgia shrugged. “Maybe. But what I’m doing right now works. It assuages the guilt I feel at not helping more kids. So, I check my phone in company, and I yawn, and when I go back home in a little while, I’ll read through some files for upcoming surgeries. I guess I can’t bear the idea of someone dying on my watch if I could have prevented it.”

  His mind went back to the accident and remembered all at once telling her to let him go. She hadn’t. She’d told him that his work here wasn’t done.

  What if she was actually his work?

  What if it was his job to save her from herself before he left?

  Clearly, she would take it personally if he went ahead with his plans. He couldn’t bear the idea that she would feel responsible for him—for what he wanted to do.

  Which left him at a crossroads.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Here we are,” Georgia said as she and Lennon came to a stop at a gray apartment door on the fourteenth floor of her building.

  In the two days since she’d had coffee with him, she’d been uncharacteristically busy with things that weren’t related in the slightest to medicine. On the way back to her apartment on Saturday, she’d called William Kessler, the head of the property management company that looked after her family’s portfolio of property, to ask if any of the rental units in her building were free.

  She’d been correct. There had been two. The first had been in desperate need of renovation after a tenant who had lived there for twenty-seven years had died in it. The second had just received its final coat of paint. As a member of the board, and William’s goddaughter, she’d asked him to call in every favor he knew to furnish the place.

  Then she’d gone on an online shopping spree to find every imaginable gadget for someone in his position and ordered a truckload of food.

  Finally, with Lennon’s dressing change schedule in hand, she’d promised to personally change his bandages every two days except during her brief trip to a hospital in Mexico.

  They pushed the door open, and she was disappointed to find there was still a lingering smell of paint in the air. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve had the window open for the last couple of days to air this out.”

  “It’s fine.” Lennon stepped inside and tugged on the brass luggage cart they’d used to bring his belongings up in the elevator. He winced in pain, just as he had when he’d tried to load part of his drum kit into the back of her brother’s Range Rover. But she wasn’t going to do anything to stop him.

  He had to find his limitations for himself. Seeing him try to do everything gave her hope that he wasn’t giving up. At least, not yet.

  “So, what do you think?” she asked as she watched him look around the large open-plan room. It had been a Herculean effort to furnish the three-thousand-square-foot space. Two large gray sofas dominated the living area in front of the fireplace. Ceiling-to-floor silver drapes hung along one wall that also featured double doors out onto a balcony that shared her apartment’s view of Central Park. White walls reflected hues of pink and orange, the last of the mid-April sun for the day.

  Tiny beads of perspiration dotted Lennon’s upper lip, a sure sign that either exertion or pain was getting the better of him. Given that his right hand went to grab the arm that wasn’t there, he was likely experiencing phantom pain. She wanted him to trust her enough to be honest with her, but she knew it was too early for that.

  Lennon turned to look at her, something she noticed he was doing more frequently, if only fleetingly. “Thanks for setting this up,” he said gruffly. He’d tucked the sleeve of his hoodie into the pocket, she noticed. He was quiet today. Distant. It was to be expected as he processed the life changes ahead of him. Suddenly living alone had to be incredibly daunting. And they’d barely touched on discussing the many concerns he had to have.

  “Let me show you around,” she said, stepping ahead of him. “There are two bedrooms and bathrooms off this hallway from the kitchen. So if any of your friends from the band come to town, you could put at least one of the couples up.”

  Lennon shrugged. “They’ll stay in hotels. Like I could have done.”

  Georgia turned on her heel and took hold of Lennon’s hand. She tried to ignore how right it felt, how that hum of vibration that she’d felt before was even stronger now that they were connected. Lennon’s eyes flared in response, but she couldn’t tell if it was appreciation or frustration.

  “As a medical practitioner, I hated the idea of you dealing with this in a hotel room with no support network around you. As a friend, all I can tell you, Lennon, is that you’ll heal faster if you are home, and secure, and loved. I’m not going to pry as to why you don’t want to go home to those men who clearly love you, but I’d be dammed if I didn’t try to persuade you to let me be there for you instead.”

  Lennon clos
ed his eyes and tilted his head toward the ceiling. He looked like he was fighting tears. His fingers tightened around hers, his thumb rubbing over the top of hers.

  She was terrified of moving, terrified of saying anything that would ruin this honest show of emotion.

  A part of her wanted to pull him close, hold onto him for however long he needed.

  But she didn’t. She simply stood where she was, his fingers crushing hers, letting him take what he needed from her.

  Lennon coughed gruffly. “So, two bedrooms. Check,” he said, as he let go of her hand and glanced into the room she’d set up for him in shades of gray and teal with a California king bed to accommodate his height. “What else?” When he looked back toward her, his eyes were red, but no tears were spilled.

  And just like that, the moment was over. He walked back into the open-plan area, and she followed.

  Brightness. Levity. She wished she was better at both as he went ahead of her. “Here’s the kitchen.” She yanked open the double doors of the refrigerator. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I stocked a bunch of super-easy foods, precooked meals, fresh soups, and ready-made salads, that kind of thing. Beer and wine in the door there.” Without the prosthetic he’d shown no interest in accepting, he’d have a hard time managing simple cooking tasks, like getting hot pizza out of the oven. Many of those everyday skills would return eventually, but for the rest of his life every task would require adaptation.

  “Thank fuck,” he said, reaching for a beer. He popped the top using a bottle opener she’d had screwed onto the side of the fridge.

  Damn, she hadn’t considered alcohol would be the first thing he’d reach for. “You have to be careful with any meds you take.”

  “I’m a grown-up, Gia,” he snapped. “And I’m pretty sure I deserve a beer after all that time in the hospital.”

  She didn’t know whether to be frustrated by his comment or sigh a little in happiness at the way he’d shortened her name.

  “Sorry. I’m a doctor. I can’t help myself. Of course, you can do whatever you like.”

  Lennon drummed his fingers on the kitchen counter, watching them intently, as though he expected them to disappear. “Sorry, too,” he said, finally looking up at her. “Long week.”

  She placed her hand on his back and rubbed gently. She could feel the muscles undulating beneath her fingertips. “Why ‘Gia’? Nobody has ever shortened my name that way. George. Georgie. But never Gia.”

  He studied her for a moment, his faint line between his brows. “It was all I could see of your badge,” he said quietly.

  “My badge?” she asked, as he placed his hand on her upper arm. His palm was warm and felt better than it probably should.

  “When you knelt down next to me on the bus, ‘Gia’ was all I could make out on your badge, Doctor Georgia Starr. You’ve been Gia to me since the moment I first saw you.”

  She knew her lips opened, her mouth even moved to form words, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Will you have a drink with me?” he asked, stepping away from her and breaking their connection. “Stay for dinner? Apparently, I do a great line in frozen dinners and ready-to-eat salad.”

  Relief raced through her. She couldn’t imagine leaving him alone without support. “I will on one non-negotiable condition.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched up into the makings of a smile. “What’s that?”

  “You let me help you get set up first. It’s only five o’clock, and it’s bothering me that all your stuff is in suitcases. I’m a little OCD that way. You let me help you with this, I’ll let you help me make dinner. Deal?”

  Lennon shook his head and reached for his phantom limb. “Fine. But no sniffing my underwear.”

  Georgia saluted. “No sniffing, sir.”

  “I suddenly wish I had paid a little more attention to the way I packed,” Lennon said, grabbing the first of three suitcases off the luggage cart. It turned her stomach to see him wince, but he needed to be allowed his pride. It had been sixteen days since his surgery, so the chances of his tearing something were slim, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

  He flipped it onto the floor and opened it. A sea of black clothes were all thrown in together, and while she’d love to say they smelled like he did now, clean and sharp from his shower at the hospital, they didn’t.

  Lennon laughed. “Is there laundry in the building?”

  Georgia joined in, loving the way his eyes lit up. “One better—there’s a washing machine and dryer stacked in that double-door closet next to the bathroom. I put some detergent and fabric softener on the shelf next to it.”

  “I’ll take care of this,” he said as he closed the suitcase and wheeled it down the hallway.

  Certain he didn’t want her watching, she lifted the next suitcase off the cart and put it on the floor. Inside were clean clothes. “If I don’t sniff them,” she shouted, “can I put your clean clothes away?”

  When she didn’t hear a response, she walked forward a little until she could see down the hallway. Lennon had slid down the wall and was sitting on the floor, his head in his hand.

  She ran to him. “Are you okay?” she said, crouching in front of him and pressing a hand to his forehead. It was clammy, and his skin gray.

  “The pain won’t go away,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s like my arm is still there, but it’s not. It feels like I have a fucking dead arm, like I fell asleep on it and I can’t get it moving again,” he said, circling what was left of his arm as if he could shake the life back into it. “And then I bent forward to pick up some of the clothes and I almost fell over. What the fuck is happening, Gia?”

  Tears did fill his eyes now, and she could feel his pain.

  “When did you last take your meds?” she asked. “You know you can take them when it hurts.”

  “But this isn’t real, this pain, right? It’s phantom pain. It doesn’t exist. No fucking pill fixes that, right?” he snapped.

  “No pill fixes what’s happened, Lennon. But painkillers interfere with the messages to the brain that you are in pain, real and imaginary. They’ll give you some relief. Let me go get them for you.”

  He nodded his head once, which was all she needed to hurry down the hallway and grab two pills and a glass of water. When she returned, he was exactly where she’d left him. Quickly, he tossed the pills into his mouth and took a few gulps of water.

  She placed her hand on his knee. Even if he didn’t realize it, he needed comfort. “As for almost falling over, your center of gravity has changed. Think about it: the portion of your arm that was removed had been four to six pounds. Your body is used to being balanced, and now it’s not. You’re going to have moments like that while your body adjusts. I assumed your therapist in the hospital explained this.”

  Lennon placed his hand over the top of hers. “Thank you, Gia. For this,” he said, gesturing around the apartment with his eyes, “and for this,” he said, looking down at their joined hands.

  “Let me get you onto the couch,” she said, guessing he was done with bed after all the time he’d spent in one at the hospital. “Then I’ll start the laundry, do a little unpacking for you, and make dinner for us. Okay?” She stood and offered Lennon her hand.

  He took it and let her lead the way to the living room. They didn’t speak as she propped pillows behind his head, covered him in a blanket, and passed him the television remote.

  But as she was about to leave him to get to the laundry, he reached for her hand, his fingers linked with hers. “I can hire someone to do all this,” he said quietly. “You don’t need to do it.” His eyes were intently focused on her as he pulled her hand to his lips. It was too gentle, too tender, to be a simple gesture of friendship, and she felt her cheeks heat.

  “I know. But I want to. Let me be here for you. Please, Lennon.”

  * * *

  I called the hospital and they said you’d been released. Where the fuck are you?

&nbs
p; Lennon scrolled up the screenful of messages from Elliott. It wasn’t a surprise that he was the one blowing up Lennon’s phone. He’d always been the mom of the group, all caring and shit. As much as it bothered Lennon, as much as he wanted to hate it, it meant the world. But just as with all the other messages from the rest of the band, accepting Elliott’s care would open him to something he couldn’t bear. Something that always came, eventually—rejection.

  Elliott’s mom tendencies made him think about the abject lack of attention he’d received from his own mother—though he wished they didn’t. When Lennon was born, she’d been a sixteen-year-old who already had a two-year-old baby girl with whom she liked to play dress-up. She’d had no use for a baby boy from a different father. A young girl herself, too naïve to realize that a child deprived of attentive loving care would have life-long attachment issues—something that had taken him nearly thirty years to learn—she’d left him alone in his crib. All day. Every day. She’d take Jennifer out to the park and just leave him there. Even when he was too big to straighten out his legs.

  He’d remembered the shock on the social worker’s face when the doctor had explained why his legs didn’t work as they should. It had taken hours of physical therapy to put everything right. He moved his bandaged arm and shivered at the thought of all the therapy he was supposed to be doing now. For a moment, he felt a flicker of guilt. He wanted to do better for Georgia. She’d be disappointed in him if he didn’t.

  But, fuck, he’d been disappointing people his whole life. It had taken psychologists until he was twelve to figure out why no foster parents would keep him. Having been deprived of human interaction as a young child, he’d failed to learn the basics of human relationships. He’d never learned how to relate. Therapists had explained it, intellectually he knew it, but he didn’t know how to fix it emotionally.

  His phone rang, Elliott’s face filling the screen. Lennon stared at it until it finished ringing. For a moment, just a moment, his stomach dropped at the thought of never seeing Elliott again. Of never staying up until four in the morning trying to find the right combination for a song, of never laughing at the way the guy’s hair was up one minute and down the next. But those weren’t enough to fill the long periods of darkness or take away from the nightmares about being left alone in his crib, sodden with his own piss and shit.