Page 10 of The Ripple Effect

I look away first. Medicine and Lyle are both problems I don’t know how to solve, but my brain won’t stop turning them over and over, no matter how I will it to stop.

“What are you doing here, McHuge?” That was a bit abrupt; I make awhoops, sorryface at him. I can’t use that tone at work, not if he and I are going to be professional and cordial or whatever words he used to meanget over yourself.

He nods at Tobin. “My buddy lost his cool. Safer for me to drive.” He grabs the fitted sheet and expertly snaps it around the tiny mattress before slotting it into the crib. I object to how sexy it is that he’s hardly paying attention while he does it. Giving men extra credit for doing basic chores is so tired.

Mattress done, McHuge looks around, avoiding my eyes the way I should be avoiding his. “Is there a changing table?”

“Basement,” Tobin replies. “Under a few other boxes. Thanks, man.” Their brotherly camaraderie squeezes my heart to the point of pain, like a boob squished cruelly by a mammogram machine. Those two seem to be weathering the baby thing just fine.

McHuge’s voice drifts back as he heads downstairs. “Babe. Kitchen.” On the stairs, dog claws click reluctantly away.

I steel myself and turn to Tobin. “Liz’s hospital bag is packed and at your bedroom door. I’ll talk to McHuge about the job.”

“Oh, no. Stellar, no.” Liz surfaces from deep inside her husband’s embrace. “You don’t have to do that for me. Not necessary.”

Tobin meets my eyes over his pregnant wife’s head.Please, he mouths, when she’s not looking. He’s not the type to ask for favors, but he’s pretty convincing when he does.

“No, you were right. I thought about it while you were counting to ten over and over. It’ll be good. I’m excited.” My fist pump could be more convincing, but like Scully and Mulder, apparently Liz and Tobin want to believe.

Liz lets go of her husband and holds out her arms to me. “Thank you thank you thank you. I’m so happy for you. And it means everything that Tobin’s business is in good hands.” I have to lean way over her belly to hug her. She’s soft with pregnancy, warm like a sister in my arms.

“Take my truck for the summer. You’ll need it for haulingthe boat trailer. We have the baby seat in the Prius, anyway.” Tobin smiles beatifically, visions of safely secured infants dancing in his head as he shoulders the bag stuffed with Liz’s e-reader and a couple of sets of pajamas I chose for their stain-hiding dark colors.

“McHuge and I will sort everything out. You two focus on having a baby.”

“You’re the best.” Liz blows a kiss over her shoulder as Tobin escorts her to the door.

“Try to remember that feeling when you’re naming my new nibling.” I wrinkle my nose. “On second thought, forget it. Give the kid a decent name.”

It’s quiet once they’re gone. I arrange an unbearably soft sleep sack across the mattress, waiting for McHuge to come back.

This job doesn’t have to be the place I put my heart, no matter what Liz says. I could live at base camp, eat there, sublet my place, and save my entire salary. I’ll stay professional with McHuge and stay away from being a doctor in anything but name. The part of my life I lived in the outdoors—lost when I couldn’t afford the gear, the driving, the time off work—I can take back. At the end of the summer, I’ll have a financial cushion big enough to protect the things I love.

And maybe I can bargain with Lyle for something more permanent.

McHuge eases through the nursery door with a changing table under one arm and the topper under the other, like it’s nothing. Even beyond his sheer size, he fills a room. Not by being loud or seeking attention; he haspresence. He had it onstage at Liz’s improv showcase last summer. I was shitty to him, actually, almost heckling him. Fully on my “I must save us from ourselves” bullshit.

We have a lot of problems to get past, but me being unwilling to apologize for my mistakes isn’t one of them. Besides, it’s not like I have to work hard to stay away from him anymore. He can do his half of that job.

“I’m sorry I ghosted you, Ly—McHuge. You were nothing but respectful, like you said. It was me, not you.”

Sure, I failed at long-term relationships and then he ruined hookups for me, and was I irrationally, unfairly mad about that? Yeah. Yeah, I was, but that wasn’t his fault.

“I had some stuff going on, but that’s an explanation, not an excuse. I can be professional if we’re going to work together.”

I hope like hell that’s the truth, because the one time I was alone in a room with him, I forgot myself completely. I let things get unbalanced. I didn’t keep myself safe. And when I realized what I’d done, I freaked out so hard I haven’t slept with anybody since.

Why couldn’t I have stuck with my usual type—weedy, unimposing nerds wearing androgynous glasses and not dancing to the songs everybody else liked? Why, after so many friendly, forgettable hookups, is he the one who refuses to be ignored? Usually I keep a vague memory—an impression of facial bones, a movement of hair. Sometimes a first name. Rarely a last. But him? I remember it all, and I’m fully aware of how dangerous that makes him.

When I can be trusted to make good choices, I can allow myself to get back out there. If I deny myself nice things, like Liz said, I have my reasons.

McHuge puts the table down at my blunt declaration, his crooked eyebrow rising. “So… you’re taking the job?”

“Hear me out first.” I take a bracing breath. “I will do everything in my power to make your company succeed. I can work hard. Like every-hour-of-the-day hard. But I’m not giving ornicethe way you are. And you should know I left Grey Tusk General under less-than-ideal circumstances.”

He sobers up at this. “Were you fired?”

“No.”

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