CHAPTER NINE

MONTANA FOUND SIMON on the burn ward. He stood outside of Kalinda’s room, the door slightly open. He didn’t look up as Montana approached.

“Fay went home to shower and get some clean clothes,” he said quietly, studying the sleeping girl. “There will be another surgery in a couple of days. She’s healing well.”

Montana stared at him. “That’s it?” she asked, keeping her voice low so as not to wake the girl.

Kalinda and the other patients were the only reason she wasn’t screaming. And possibly hitting. Ethan and Kent had made sure she and her sisters knew exactly how to punch so that it hurt.

Simon glanced at her, frowning slightly. “What else did you want me to say?” he asked. “She’s—”

He swore under his breath. “You came to check on me.”

“No,” she said, firmly. “I came because a friend is having a baby. Then I decided to check on you.”

“It’s not what you think. I didn’t change my mind. There was a patient—”

She put her hands on her h*ps and put as much energy into the glare as possible. In a perfect world he would turn to mush and melt right there on the hospital floor.

“I wasn’t in surgery because I didn’t get the chance to operate. He died before I started.”

Montana opened her mouth, then closed it. Her mind went blank, which was probably better than the guilt she was going to feel any second.

Simon took her hand and pulled her down the corridor. He drew her into an empty room.

“I’m sorry,” she said, facing him. “I shouldn’t have assumed the worst.”

“Why not? You don’t know me well enough to think otherwise.”

The room was dark, the hospital bed stripped of sheets, the blinds on the window open to the night. His forgiveness unnerved her. She’d thought he would get angry, rather than understand.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Losing him like that must be hard.”

He shrugged. “I never saw him. He died before I got started. Sometimes it happens like that. It’s not always my job to save them from death. I’m there to make them look as normal as possible. There are limits to what it means to fit in.”

Although he was looking at her, she had a feeling he didn’t see her. He was staring at something else—something from his past.

Was he talking about himself when he mentioned fitting in? Yet he wore his scars like a badge of honor. Or were they a reminder?

She raised her hand and rested her fingers on his cheek. The spiraling marks were raised and hard. He pressed his hand on top of hers, as if holding her in place.

“They’re not just here,” he said, his gaze more intense. “They go down my neck and across my chest. There are a few on my back and my arm.”

She didn’t know what to say, what he needed from her. Telling him she wouldn’t have minded didn’t seem to be enough.

“You don’t have to worry,” he continued. “You wouldn’t have seen them. If we’d made love tonight, I would have kept on a T-shirt. It’s easier.”

“Easier for who?”

“Both of us.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted it to be easier. Seeing him was a part of being intimate. Or maybe that’s what he didn’t want. He didn’t want to be seen. Not fully.

If that was true, who had hurt him? Who had taught him it was better to conceal the truth? Or had he decided that by himself?

She found herself wanting to see the scars, to touch them. Ridiculous, she told herself. It wasn’t as if she could heal him.

He lowered his hand and she did the same. Still staring into his eyes she said, “My friend Pia just had twins. Girls. That’s why I’m here. It’s kind of a town thing. We’re filling up the maternity waiting room. There’s some food. Are you hungry? My mom’s here. I know she’d want to say hi.”

“I’m not the party type.”

“It’s not a party. Just people getting together. Birth is a time to celebrate.”

He turned away from her. For a second she thought he was going to leave, but then he faced her again.

“This is who I am,” he said, his voice a low growl.

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m a brilliant surgeon. I can work magic in the operating room. I can take someone who has to creep in the shadows and turn him or her into someone who can pass for normal. Do you know what that means to them? To be just like everyone else?”

She shook her head, not sure what he wanted.

His mouth twisted. “You can imagine, but you’ll never know.” Now he touched her face. “You have the gift of beauty. Do you know what we find beautiful and what we find ugly is a difference of millimeters? Eyes too small, an uneven mouth. Not even inches. Fractions.” He traced her lips with his thumb. “You’re physically perfect.”

“I’m not.”

“Close enough. But there are others like me—the monsters. I take them from the shadows.” He raised both his hands in front of her. “Like magic. Training, hard work and a gift. But it comes at a price. I don’t belong, Montana. I don’t have your beauty and I don’t have your world. I do my work, I stay apart. It’s better that way.”

“That’s so much crap,” she said before she could stop herself. “There’s nothing that says you have to sacrifice yourself to be good at what you do. Yes, you have a great talent and you’ve worked hard to nurture it. You’ve decided to be the best and you are. But there’s no giant accountant in the sky. No one who says if you have a life, if you belong, you lose everything.”

“You don’t know that. I do.”

Was this the problem? Simon at his essence? A man who believed the price to save the world was to sacrifice himself?

She couldn’t imagine such a thing, but knew he wasn’t lying.

The room was dark enough that it was difficult to make out his features. She could see the scars, and knew the unmarked side of his face illustrated the beauty he had talked about. The perfection. When he stared in the mirror, he saw both halves of what he did as a surgeon. He was the before and the after. The creature of the shadows and the man of light.

Words bubbled to the surface, but none of them would make a difference. She didn’t fully understand the problem, nor was she qualified to fix it. She only knew he was in pain and somehow she wanted to make him feel better.

“Come with me,” she instructed and took his hand.

She expected him to protest, but he went along with her. They walked to the elevator, then got inside. She pushed the button that would take them down two floors.

The nursery windows were lined with people pointing and waving. Denise had left, probably to take Peter home, and Dakota had returned to her family. But Nevada was still there, along with Mayor Marsha and everyone else who had waited to hear the news of the twins’ birth.

Marsha saw them first.

“Montana, there you are. Oh, and you brought Dr. Bradley.” She approached them. “We met when you first arrived.”

“I remember.”

Simon shook hands with her.

“I’m here to welcome our newest citizens,” Marsha said with a smile.

Montana wasn’t touching Simon, but she still felt the stiffness in his body. This was exactly what he’d wanted to avoid. There was no way to tell him that she hadn’t brought him here to talk to other people. Instead, she’d wanted him to see the babies.

Fortunately, Mayor Marsha excused herself and most of the other visitors drifted away. Montana was able to walk to the glass and stare at the two sleeping newborn girls, with the last name of Moreno tagged on the bassinets.

“These are the embryos that Crystal left Pia. She had them implanted and now they’re born.” She glanced at him. “You can’t do anything that compares with this.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Every day people get to create a miracle. They have children, grandchildren. And there’s no price put on that. No exacting from the gods. Why do you think what you do is so damn special that you have to pay for the rest of your life?”

His expression went carefully blank. She had no idea what he was thinking, but she had a feeling it wasn’t good. She’d hoped to convince him that he didn’t have to suffer to be brilliant.

But instead of saying he understood, or arguing, he simply stepped back, said, “Excuse me.” And then was gone.

She was left alone by the nursery, aware that instead of making Simon understand, she’d insulted him and caused him to feel even more isolated. She’d had her chance and she’d blown it.

DENISE STOPPED AT THE CORNER and waited until the car to her right cleared the intersection.

“Renting will give you a chance to figure out if you like the neighborhood,” she said as she accelerated.

“It’s Fool’s Gold, Mom,” Kent told her from the passenger seat. “There aren’t any bad parts of town.”

“True, but you want to be where there are people your age and Reese can have friends. You and your brothers were always bringing home neighborhood kids.”

Her house had been the one where everyone had hung out. While having a dozen or so boys playing in the yard or watching TV had created a lot of extra work—not to mention the expense of feeding them all—she’d liked having her boys at home and knowing all their friends.

“Are you worrying about me?” Kent asked as they pulled in front of a two-story Craftsman house.

“Yes, and don’t say I shouldn’t. I’m your mother. It’s part of the job description.” She glanced at the house. “This is nice.”

“Josh owns the house,” Kent grumbled. “I’m not sure I want him as my landlord.”

Josh had moved into their house when he’d been ten or twelve, Denise thought fondly. His mother had abandoned him, literally. The town hadn’t wanted to turn him over to the state, so she and Ralph had taken him in. He’d been one more kid in an already crowded house, but they wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“On the other hand, you can threaten to humiliate him by telling stories about when he was younger.”

Her son grinned. “Good point.”

They got out of the car and walked toward the house. Josh had said he would leave it unlocked, so she turned the knob and they stepped inside.

The foyer was small, opening onto a good-size living room. While the floors were freshly refinished and the paint was new, the Craftsman details—built-in cabinets and beams over the doors—had been left untouched.

“It’s lovely,” she breathed, heading for the dining room.

“Lorraine would really like it,” Kent murmured. “Craftsman was always her thing.”

Denise came to a stop and had to consciously unclench her teeth.

It had been over a year since Lorraine had walked out on Kent and Reese. Like Josh’s mother, she’d abandoned her husband and her child. A case could be made for ditching a spouse, but what kind of woman left her kid? Lorraine rarely saw Reese, didn’t call or even text. And she wasn’t dead. Apparently Kent had made sure of that. From what he’d told her his ex-wife was living a different kind of life now and didn’t want to be married or deal with her child. Not that she was willing to contribute to child support either. Denise had begged her son to take her to court over that, but he refused.

Kent walked into the kitchen. “This seems fine. Lorraine always liked big windows over the sink.”

Even as Denise told herself this wasn’t her rock to carry, she stalked into the kitchen. She stopped in the center, noted the blue granite went really well with the white cabinets and tile floors, then put her hands on her h*ps and faced her son.

“It’s been over a year,” she said, hoping she sounded more calm and reasonable than she felt. “A year. Lorraine isn’t on vacation—she walked out on you and Reese. She left her son, Kent. Not a word, not a note, nothing. This isn’t an example of a woman who has feelings. She’s not a good person and she’s not coming back.”

Her son stood with his back to her. She saw the tension in his back and the way his shoulders hunched, and felt crappy.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I shouldn’t say anything. I just hate to see you like this.”

He faced her, defeat in his gaze. “I can’t help loving her, Mom.”

“Have you tried letting go? Are you doing anything to get over her?”

“Are you over Dad?”

Ralph had been gone long enough that she could hear the question without having to deal with the pain. “I still miss him, if that’s what you’re asking, but, yes, I have moved on. I have a life.”

“Good for you, but I’m a different person from you. Lorraine was the one.”

No, Lorraine was a bitch, Denise thought, lowering her arms to her sides. “There can be more than one great love. Maybe if you got out there and started dating, it would help.”

“I don’t want to.”

“So you’re going to spend the rest of your life pining for a woman who doesn’t care about you?”

His body flinched and he looked away. “You weren’t there, Mom. You don’t know what she was like. We have a past.”

Not a very good one, Denise thought, grabbing on to her patience. As for knowing what Lorraine was like—everyone but Kent had figured that out years ago.

“I love you and I hate to see you like this. I want you to at least consider trying to put your marriage behind you. If not for yourself, then for Reese. Don’t you think he knows how much you’re hurting?”