A New Hope (Thunder Point #8)(3)

“I don’t think there’s time for twenty,” she said.

“Gracie,” he said, his hand roaming, his voice a little breathless. “Is this a garter belt?”

She shrugged. “I think you bring out the slutty underwear in me.”

“Oh, honey, you plan to drug me with sex and get at least ten babies out of me before I know what’s hit me. Is that right? Huh? When are we getting married?”

“We have a little time. Maybe we should elope before my mother tries to plan a coronation from her sickbed.”

“I don’t want to elope,” he said. “I want to party! Please, Gracie, take off this dress! Let’s do it, then we can argue about the wedding. I always get my way after I make you feel good.” He kissed her. “I know exactly how to get my way.” He pulled down the zipper on the back of her dress and helped her shimmy out of it. “God,” he said. “I’m going to make you very happy.”

* * *

George Lacoumette and his wife, Lori, insisted on taking Matt to the hospital...with a bucket in his lap. They didn’t really think he’d cracked his head open, they explained. They thought the likelihood of concussion was lower than alcohol poisoning. But there would be nothing as awkward as the untimely death of a member of the wedding party. In an effort to protect Peyton’s happy memories of her special day, they forced Matt into their car and then into the emergency room.

Matt was pissed as hell. He knew he’d been out of line and regretted it, but he wanted to be taken home. He still lived in the apartment he’d shared with his ex-wife, Natalie, a woman he still loved, except that he hated her. It was Natalie’s fault that he’d gotten smashed at the wedding. They’d been married on the farm and he was still in a state of anger and depression over the divorce, which had come much too soon after the wedding.

The ER doctor started an IV, then left the room as a bag of fluid ran into Matt. He sobered up fast.

The doctor returned after a while.

“Wow,” Matt said. “I only see one of you!”

“Welcome back.” The doctor laughed.

“I didn’t know you could do that! One IV, instant sobriety! Instant shame!”

“Yeah, it’s magic. So, you have a headache?”

“Right here,” Matt said, pointing to the back of his head. “Am I injured?”

“Possible liver damage, but we didn’t see any blood or bumps. Let’s check the eyes.” The doctor waved a light across his pupils. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest you bumped your head on the way to passing out. So—this a problem for you?”

“Hitting my head and passing out?” he asked.

“No, drinking like a pig and falling down,” the doctor clarified. “Are you an alcoholic?”

“Ah, shit.” He rubbed his head. “I’m divorced. I got married in that same orchard a couple of years ago. It didn’t last long. The marriage, that is. It was kind of...what’s the word?”

“Painful? Embarrassing? Grievous? Lonely? Regrettable?” the doctor tried.

“Yeah, those are the words. I might’ve overdone it a little tonight.”

“So you’re not adjusting well?” he asked.

“My brothers and sisters have taken to calling me Mad Matt. Does that tell you anything?”

“You might want to consider some counseling. Before you really hurt yourself.”

“Doc, I appreciate your help, but if there’s one thing I don’t ever want to talk about it’s my ex-wife and my divorce.”

“Brother, there is life after divorce. I am living proof.”

“You?”

“Me. According to my ex-wife I keep lousy hours, I’m inattentive off the job, I don’t pitch in, I’m snarky and critical, a tightwad, insensitive, selfish, many negative things. The list is long.”

“I didn’t think anyone divorced a doctor,” Matt said, sounding surprised.

“The divorce rate among doctors is high,” he said. “I’m going to let you go home. If you have any problems or questions, call me. Don’t sit and wonder if you’re okay, just call me. And be done drinking for the day.”

“Funny,” Matt said, “the divorce rate among farmers is low. Yet...”

“Even if you were given a reason, that’s just one opinion,” the doctor said. “You going to be okay now?”

“Yeah,” he said, sitting up. “I have to come up with a good apology for my sister, the bride. I don’t think I’ll see her tomorrow. There’s the honeymoon and everything.” And she wasn’t the only one he should apologize to, but that other woman, whose name he never got, was long gone.

“Look, kid, you’re young,” the doctor said. “You’ll get past this divorce thing. It happens to the best of us. The next time you’ll be wiser and more patient about everything.”

“Next time?” Matt asked. “You’re kidding me, right?”

The doctor, who wasn’t that much older than Matt, clapped a hand on his back and said, “You’re like looking in an old mirror.”

* * *

Matt had fallen in love with Natalie instantly. True, he’d been all of twenty-five, but if that hadn’t been love he’d sure like to know what it was.