Surrender to the Stars: An Enemies to Lovers, Hospital Romance

by Swati MH

  “Sounds like a tool.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Lynn chomps a worm in half and chews slowly. “But in terms of my professional life, is there any chance you can take the next four hours of my shift so I don’t have to endure Becca any longer?” Lynn puts her hands together in prayer form.

  “Oh, hell no.” I put my hands up and back away slightly. “I love you, Lynn, but not that much. I endured her plenty yesterday, to the point where I considered pulling out my eyelashes with medical tape.”

  “Today she told me that I should really consider getting a nose job.”

  I gawk at her. “She needs to consider shutting the hell up.”

  Lynn sighs. “Well, get out of here and enjoy your day off tomorrow.”

  Waving to her, I head toward the parking lot. As soon as I’m in the car, I dial Avni on my Bluetooth since she’s usually done with work by this time.

  “Hey! So, I got an interesting text from my cousin today.” She doesn’t even wait for me to greet her.

  I growl audibly, driving out of the parking lot. “Seriously, Avni, of all the freaking doctors in this hospital, I had to get him? I had this doomsday feeling in the pit of my stomach all day yesterday. Well, now I know what that was all about.”

  She laughs. “I don’t--” She continues laughing because somehow, this is all really amusing to my best friend. You know, the same girl who’s supposed to be my ride-or-die, my sister from another mister, and all that? I’m about to dump her ass. “I don’t even know what to say. I mean, maybe some of my luck transferred over to you. It was a stroke of lightning that brought Clark and I together again. Maybe this is the universe giving you a new . . .” she struggles to find the right word before cracking up again, “option.”

  “A new option? Thanks, but I’ll pass. I think maybe this is the universe’s way of giving me the middle finger because I was a shitty person in my last life.”

  She giggles again. “I’m sorry, this is just too funny.”

  I purse my lips momentarily, suppressing the laugh that’s bubbling inside me. “Why are you even entertaining this? You and Misha both gave me a discourse on his lifestyle and warned me to stay away from him. Not that I needed it because I knew with one glance to do just that.”

  “Well, he’s not all bad. He’s . . . layered. Yes, he’s a playboy and a total commitaphobe, but he’s extremely kind and generous, too. You should see the way he is with his brother. When I told you to stay away from him at the wedding, it was more to give you a warning not to fall for his pickup lines. Even now, I would encourage you to stay away from his charm, but he’s not a bad person, Cass. In fact, he’d be a good friend to have. He’s really fun to be around.”

  “Yeah, if I’m looking for fun, I’ll buy tickets to the local carnival. How long is he here for anyway?” Hopefully, she’ll tell me this is his last week and he’ll be going back to the other side of the country soon.

  “I think for another two months.”

  Commence internal turmoil.

  I groan again, which only makes her giggle more. “You know how I feel about guys like Vik, Avni. He seems like another Ben, and you already know how that ended.”

  With me dropping an entire semester of college.

  Suddenly, all the laughter is gone from Avni’s voice. “I’m not trying to convince you to date Vik, Cass, but he isn’t Ben, either. Believe me. Vik’s free-spirited, but he’s not the scum of the earth like Ben was.”

  In my heart, I know she’s right. It takes a special snowflake to be the kind of turd Ben was. And while I’m cynical enough, I know that there are fewer assholes than good guys in the world. “Alright, well, I just got home and need to check on my dad, so I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “How’s your dad doing, by the way?”

  I sigh. “Oh, you know, about the same. He has his good days. He was sleeping a lot last week, but this week has been slightly better. We started him on new meds, so we’ll see.”

  “Ugh, I wish there was a cure for this. It sucks that he’s been dealing with it for so long.”

  “I know.” Watching him suffer for the better part of my life has been akin to slowly hammering a nail through each one of my toes. My dad has suffered with his autoimmune condition for so long that at this point, I doubt he even remembers normalcy.

  “Okay, well, tell him I said hi. I’ll let you get going.”

  “Sounds good. Say hi to Clark for me.”

  After hanging up with Avni and locking my car, I head into the house. I’m surprised by the scent of herbs and tomatoes that hits my nose as soon as I enter. “Dad?” I call out from the garage entryway, hanging my purse on the hook near the door.

  “Come into the kitchen, Tinkerbell. I hope you’re hungry.”

  I can’t remember the last time my dad cooked, but it’s been at least a year, if not more. He’s usually so tired, he can barely manage to get out of bed. The new prescription of steroids his doctor gave him last week must be giving him some renewed energy. Even though I’ve had one hell of a day at work, my spirit is immediately lifted by the sound of him humming in the kitchen.

  Lupus is such a strange disease. Some people have mild symptoms and can live a pretty normal life with minimal medical intervention, while others, like my dad, haven’t been so lucky. Sometimes the disease goes into remission and he’ll get two to three good years where he feels healthy and normal, but some years it comes back with a vengeance--full of extreme joint pain and fatigue.

  He’s been dealing with his condition since before Mom died, though the symptoms weren’t as prominent then. In fact, with everything going on with Mom--having to take her for chemo and radiation--Dad didn’t even get a full diagnosis of his own problems. He kept thinking the fatigue was due to the stress from Mom’s deteriorating health. It wasn’t until Mom died almost twelve years ago that Dad even went to the doctor to get tested.

  I walk through our dated living room, past the tan leather sectional my parents bought when I was still a toddler and a wall covered with pictures of me in various stages of childhood, awkward teen years, and adulthood. Besides the TV I bought a couple of years ago, Dad hasn’t changed a single thing about this living room since Mom died. It’s like he’s afraid that changing the room would alter his memories of her.

  I wish I could alter my memories of her . . . even ones from when she was healthy.

  I glance at the old upright piano--now serving as another console for picture frames--nestled between the two large windows. I haven’t touched it in years and even though Dad doesn’t know how to play piano, he refuses to sell it. He insists he has too many memories of Mom playing one of her favorite Elton John songs on it and he just can’t part with it. I think he secretly hopes I’ll play it again one day, too.

  Coming up behind him in the kitchen as he stirs pasta sauce over the stove, I reach around his waist and hug his thin frame, placing my face on his back. “Hey, old man. Glad to see you. It smells good in here.”

  He turns around after lowering the heat on the burner and places a kiss on my forehead. “Luckily Paula came over to check on me before heading to the grocery store this afternoon and asked if I needed anything. I asked her to get me a few things to make my little girl dinner. I even have garlic bread warming in the oven.”

  My stomach growls at the sound of garlic bread, reminding me that aside from a handful of gummy worms and a few chips, I’d barely eaten all day at work. “That was nice of her. Did she leave a receipt?”

  “She did, but I had some cash on hand so we’re settled up.”

  Paula is our next-door neighbor who lives with her husband and three dogs. She and her husband John welcomed my parents into the neighborhood almost thirty years ago, and she and my mom became close friends. I still remember how Mom and Paula religiously continued their ‘Thirsty Thursday’ tradition of drinking margaritas on the porch up until Mom no longer had the energy to even walk outside.

  Mom definitely made certain people a priority. I just
wasn’t on that list.

  Mom’s passing hit Paula just as much as it would a sister. She was devastated, but if it wasn’t for the love she showed my dad and me at that time when our world was shattering, I don’t know what we would have done. She practically lived at our house for weeks, cooking, cleaning, and wiping our tears. Even now, Paula comes over to check on Dad or have a cup of tea with me in the evenings after my shift. You wouldn’t know that she’d never had kids of her own. The maternal role she’s played in my life helped heal the crater that Mom had left.

  “How are you feeling, Dad? Those new meds seem to have kicked in.”

  Dad takes two bowls out of the cupboard. “Yeah, I definitely feel more myself today than I have in months.”

  I smile, feeling a touch of hope. “That’s good, but I don’t want you to exert yourself too much too soon, okay? I’ll clean up after dinner. You go plop in front of the TV in the living room and I’ll join you there.”

  Dad sighs, pouring sauce over the pasta in both bowls. “Will you let me take care of my daughter for one night? Is that too much to ask? You take care of me every single day. I feel like a bag of bones that you’re constantly burdened with.”

  Dad sees the pain in my eyes caused by his words. He hadn’t meant to hurt my feelings but his words stung. “You think you’re a burden to me? Really, Dad?”

  He is my only living parent and pretty much my only blood relative. He’s put me through college and even graciously offered to help pay for nursing school. He was still working during that time, but I knew he’d be dipping into his savings to support me, so I ended up getting a loan. He’s not just my parent but also my friend. In fact, he’s one of the only ones, besides Avni and Paula--and fucking Ben, of course--who knows the real reason I dropped a semester in college. So for him to think that I’d find him to be a burden makes me feel like he has little faith in me.

  “No, Tinkerbell,” he counters gently, trying to smooth things over. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just . . . I don’t know. These are the years you should be out dating and having fun, not taking care of your sick old dad. I feel like I’m stealing the best years of your life from you.”

  I take the garlic bread out of the oven and put the pan on the stove to cool before turning to him. “I love spending time with you, Dad. You’re not a burden to me and you’re not stealing the best years of my life. Believe me, there isn’t an immense dating pool out there that I’m missing out on. Now stop trying to get rid of me so you can have your wild parties at home without me and let’s eat.”

  Dad chuckles but relents without adding any more on the topic. We take our bowls of pasta and slices of garlic bread to the dining table. It’s been so long since Dad and I ate together at the table. Usually, I bring him dinner in his bed and sit on the chair next to him with my food.

  I blow a little on the steaming forkful of pasta before putting it into my mouth. “Oh man, this is so good. I missed your homemade pasta sauce.”

  Dad looks satisfied with my response. I know how much he misses being able to do things for me. “Good, I’m glad. There’s plenty for leftovers, too.” He takes a bite from his bowl. “How was your day at work?”

  I take in a huge breath, twirling the pasta around my fork. “Long and tiring. I have a new preemie who has a broken collarbone. It was hard to see his little arm bandaged around his body.”

  Dad’s eyebrows rise. “I bet. How did his collarbone break?”

  “Sometimes it happens during the birthing process.” I grimace. “I could tell he was in pain but thankfully, I don’t think he’ll need surgery.” Right as I finish the sentence, my mind conjures up an image of Vik. Damn it! He looked so handsome and professional in his button-down light blue shirt tucked into his trousers with the stethoscope around his neck. I had to tell myself not to stare at him . . . or to drool. I really need to focus on something else, and quickly. “I might be going on a date this weekend.”

  Dad finishes chewing his food. “Is this someone you met through one of those apps you were telling me about?”

  “Yeah. So, see? I am dating and having fun.”

  Dad gives me a doubtful look but doesn’t argue. “What does he do?”

  “He’s a restaurateur. Apparently, he has a couple of restaurants in the Gaslamp area.”

  Dad nods thoughtfully as he finishes his pasta. “Sounds like an interesting guy. I’m excited for you.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I’ll tell you what becomes of it.” I get up and give my dad’s balding head a kiss before heading to the kitchen to clean up.

  Life didn’t give my dad a lucky hand. From growing up in foster care to losing the love of his life in the most heart-wrenching and drawn-out way to dealing with his own debilitating disease, nothing has been easy for him. All I can do is try to make him feel like he’s at least got an ounce of luck by having a daughter who thinks he raised the moon.

  After cleaning up the kitchen, I make sure my dad has taken his medicine and brew us both a cup of tea. With a blanket around him on the couch, Dad puts his feet up on the coffee table and changes TV channels while I sit next to him and scroll through my phone. When I open the dating app, I notice another message from Major.

  Hey, still up for dinner Saturday night?

  I respond, wondering if we’ll be having dinner at one of his restaurants. Yeah, that works. Where do you want me to meet you?

  I made reservations at Platos in La Jolla at 7. The owner is a friend of mine and has been asking me to come dine there.

  Well, that answers my question. He’s not taking me to one of his restaurants. It makes sense; he doesn’t know me and probably doesn’t want to give his staff a reason to gossip. Sounds good. I’ll see you then.

  After putting Dad to bed, I take a long shower and tuck myself under the covers of my own bed. As I lay there peering up at the ceiling, my mind scrolls through the various images from the day. I reflect on baby Braxton with his wrapped arm. Logically, I know that he will be fine and this is just an unfortunate start to his life, but I can’t help that my heart hurts for him. I want him to feel better and heal.

  Maybe it’ll help me heal, too.

  Try as I may to not let my mind wander to the infuriatingly gorgeous doctor who came to check on Braxton today, it still does. He always has this air of confidence and this magnetic charm. It’s hard not to wonder what more those lips could do when he flashes a radiant smile at you.

  Think about Major. He’s handsome, too. He has a good smile.

  Forcing images of Vik from my mind, I direct my thoughts toward my date with Major this weekend. What should I wear? I need to look up this restaurant and find out how fancy it is. I wonder what Major is like. First dates are always a little awkward. I wonder how many other people he’s dating, though it is probably not as many people as a certain someone in orthopedics.

  Nope. Not thinking about a certain someone in orthopedics. Focus.

  After adjusting my pillow and turning from one side to the other for another fifteen minutes, I tell myself that maybe I need to just allow my mind to visualize the certain someone in order to move past him. It’s similar to when someone tells you not to imagine a pink elephant with polka dots but your mind immediately does. Vik is my pink, polka-dotted elephant. I need to give myself permission to think about him. Once there’s no intrigue left, I’ll get over any semblance of attraction. Because, one thing is very clear to me, I’m not attracted to Vik Bedi.

  Nope. Not. At. All.

  He may look beautiful on the outside, like a decorated cake in a pastry shop, but once you cut into him, he’s like a carrot cake--misleading and deceptive. Honestly, carrot cake needs to be outlawed. I mean, who puts vegetables inside cakes?

  So keeping in mind that this is just an exercise in reverse psychology, I concede, allowing myself to imagine him. My eyes wander over his thick, wavy, dark hair, pushed back like he’s just run a hand through it. The soft outline of eyelashes around his chestnut-colored eyes seem to push past my own
as if seeking entrance to my soul. I let my gaze drift to his plush lips, soft in contrast to the hard lines of his jaw, and the smooth skin of his neck peeking out of his collar. God, how I want to slide my tongue over it.

  Nope. This is visual admiration only. There will be no sliding of tongues anywhere. Not even in my imagination.

  It must have been somewhere between imagining his broad shoulders and the veins roped around his forearms showing under his folded sleeves that I fell asleep, convinced that I’d wake up completely satiated and over my strange curiosity for Vik Bedi.

  Boy, was I wrong.

  4

  Cassie

  You’ve always relied on your beliefs to keep you safe and from going astray. But as the sun moves into Gemini during the week, be ready to reevaluate some previously held beliefs. Who knows, maybe they’ll lead to risks worth taking.

  “Shit.” I hear the pop as soon as I exit off the highway, not even a minute from the hospital parking lot. I guess I should be thankful the tire didn’t blow when I was going seventy-five miles an hour on the highway. Feeling the car wobble and shake as if I was on a wooden roller coaster, I put my hazards on and slowly steer the car into a parking space.

  I’m already running late for work, so spending time examining the tire will only cause me to be further delayed. But I’ll at least see which tire it is, even if I change it after my shift. Luckily, I have a spare in the trunk.