by Scott, S. L.
Wriggling, I shift enough to try to satisfy the craving deep in my belly that he’s created before moving on top of him and straddling his hips. “And other than my hands and my face?” I’ve never had anyone else feed my ego, and I can’t complain. It feels pretty dang awesome.
“Your eyes. They change with the hour of day, keep your mood, and hide the words you never say.” He shifts, reaching for protection. Wrapping himself, he continues, “I try to read your emotions, but you’re protected by grassy green meadows that lead to your secrets.”
I lift and then slide down as our bodies reconnect as one soul again, a foundation built of pain from the past and hope for the future.
* * *
As I stand on the sidewalk outside the hospital, my lips are swollen, and my chin suffers from scruff burn. He holds me with one arm and an overnight bag for me in the other hand. We’ve haven’t stopped kissing, but I know I need to pull myself away and go in. “I have to go, or I’m going to be late.”
“You’re already late.”
I steal one more kiss and then push myself away, hating that I have to leave him after the most perfect twenty-four hours of my life. It would feel like a dream if I couldn’t feel our reunion in every twist of my body, the blissful ache, and thrill still running through my veins. I was no longer surviving. I was alive for the first time in six years. The sliding hospital doors keep opening and closing because of my hesitation to walk away from the man who made my heart shift into gear.
Joshua says, “Get going, baby. I’ll see you later.”
I try for sexy, and say, “I’ll be there, waiting naked in your bed.” But a lump forms in my throat from having to part ways. I should be stronger than this—light and carefree—but I’m heavy with emotions from the past night. Trusting us after all this time is terrifying. He comes to me, kisses my forehead, and whispers, “It’s going to be all right.”
“I know.” Even scared, I do. He let Dwayne Evans stay at my apartment with Frankie. If that’s not a sign of intent, I don’t know what is. That man has loved that tree since he was thirteen. I’m still sad to leave Joshua, though, but we’re not as fragile as we used to be.
He says, “It’s just us getting used to this again. I . . .”
When I peer up at him, I ask, “You what?”
“I . . . I’ll see you after work.” His hand runs over the top of his hair.
I know that’s not what he was going to say, but I understand the struggle. I nod, turning to leave before dumping an I love you on him like we’re allowed to say those things. Natural or habit from being around him, those three words float around my mouth like they belong there. It’s too soon, even if I see them reflected in his eyes right back at me.
When I drag myself inside, Julie’s leaning on the check-in desk. “Ummm . . . Is that the room five, coffee shop guy?”
That’s the delivery guy who brought me food one night and stole my heart a week later. Since that’s a lot of information to dump on her all at once and because I’m fifteen minutes late, I say, “Yes, but I need to get to my rotation. I’ll fill you in later.”
“My break is at ten,” she calls when I pass.
Laughing, I’m feeling too giddy to keep this euphoria inside. To share the magic between him and I with someone else, even when scared, lights me up. “I’ll go ahead and schedule mine for then.”
I hear her clapping excitedly behind me. I’m just about to push through the locker room when the chief of staff calls my name. I turn back to see her leaning out of her office. “Can you spare a moment before you start your rotations, Dr. Fox?”
“Of course, Dr. Willick.” I follow her into her office. Closing the door behind me, she says, “Have a seat.”
I sit when she returns to her leather chair and sits down with purpose. She steeples her fingers with a smile I can only interpret as sympathetic. I’m not sure what to think of that, so my foot starts tapping nervously. “I know I was late today, but I swear it’s the first time—”
“That’s not what this is about, Dr. Fox. That happens.” She rests her forearms on the desk; her eyes are kind and her body language approachable.
Despite that, I don’t like beating around the bush, and my foot bounces faster.
“What did you want to see me about?”
“Your father is a highly respected neurosurgeon. World-renowned, in fact.” She’s usually much more direct, my father being an unwelcome detour. “The bar for your career must have been set quite high.”
As discomfort threads through me, I press my hand to my knee to still it. “Are you asking me?”
There’s that sympathetic smile again. She replies, “No. I’ll get to the point because I know you have a busy night ahead. As much as I’ve enjoyed working with you these past three years, we’ve reviewed your application and decided not to bring you on. With several doctors returning from maternity leave and another from a sabbatical in South America, we aren’t prepared to offer a full-time position to any doctors from the residency program at this time.”
My eyes dry from staring so hard, so I force myself to blink to appear that I’m not dying inside. “I don’t understand.”
“I know this must come as a shock. It’s disappointing to us as well. We don’t have the budget to support additional doctors at this time. I know we’re losing a handful of talented medical professionals, but it’s a battle I lost with the board over hospital funding.”
“But—” How can I go from floating five minutes ago to this?
“It’s not you. You are so talented, a doctor with a promising career. You have a knack not only for retaining an incredible amount of information, a dream for an ER with the fast pace of cases, but your bedside manner is also comforting to so many. I hear nothing but positive things. If you would have followed in Dr. Fox’s specialty, then it might be different. We have the vacancy and funding already in place for neuro, but we don’t have the same for the ER at this time.”
My silent devastation must make her think she needs to fill in the rest because she says, “Fox carries weight in Newport. I’m sure they would love, like I would, to have you join a hospital there or your dad’s clinic. But we just can’t at this time. Your program will complete on June first. It’s been an honor to have you at City Medical. Again, I’m sorry to be losing you, Dr. Fox.”
I’m numb when I walk out of the office. I do my job, bury myself in injuries and emergencies, skip my break so I don’t have to face Julie, and clock out as soon as my shift ends. I call a car service and put on a brave face, so to speak, when I text Joshua on the way to his place: Leaving work. Can’t wait to see you.
I need him. His sweet words that make me believe I can do anything. His rational side that will help me see this as a positive, maybe even as an opportunity. Yes, he’ll help through this. I’ll survive. I’ll be fine.
The pep talk to myself doesn’t help, but I know Joshua will.
He replies: See you in an hour or so.
His arms around me are the only remedy for my disappointment. Everything I’ve worked for has come back to my father. Again. It’s a comparison I’ll never be able to shake. Did I just lose a job I wanted because I wasn’t his protégé?
Walking toward the door of Joshua’s apartment building, the doorman tips his head and holds the door open for me. “Welcome back, Dr. Fox. Mr. Evans left a key for you.”
“Thank you.” I enter the lobby and follow him to the desk, wanting to disappear in my hurt feelings, but doing my best for a stiff upper lip until I can fall apart in private.
“You made it home just in time. Looks like a storm’s blowing in.”
As if cued, lightning flashes outside. “Seems so.”
Inside the apartment, I set my purse down on the table in the entry. It’s quiet here, dark, the lights from the apartments across the street and another flash of lightning greeting me with a loud crack shortly after. I walk down the short hall and enter the large living space, not feeling at home without hi
m here.
Getting a glass of water, I rest my weight on the island and drink, trying to wash away the feeling of failure threatening to take over. I refill it and walk to the windows, standing with the rain pouring down on the other side.
Being in Joshua’s apartment alone and soon to be jobless were never things I would have imagined a week ago.
The weather is fitting for my mood. Still unsettled, I head for his bedroom to take a shower. While the water heats, I find my bag on the bench at the foot of the bed. Digging out the things I need, I take them into the bathroom with me, starting to find comfort in his home.
The hot water feels good on my shoulders, and though it doesn’t clear my head of the what-ifs—what if I would have become a surgeon? What if I would have gone to work for my father? What if I had listened to him?
I squeeze my eyes closed, knowing I’ll always choose the path I took because like Joshua said, there are no do-overs, and my destiny always ends with him. Standing in his closet, I see one of the T-shirts I remember him wearing back in college. The Patty’s Diner logo is faded, but still evokes a smile. Closing my eyes, I hold it to my nose, feeling the soft fabric against my face before slipping it over my head. I brush my wet hair and take care of my skin, but this feeling of loss keeps returning.
Thinking I need something harder to drink to fix my mood, I pad my way back down the hall, but an open door to an office catches my attention. I shouldn’t be nosy, but I’m curious why he doesn’t exist in any other room of this huge place.
Rain pours down outside the small window, and I find my way to the desk, clicking on a lamp. He’s a chef, so the papers strewn across the desktop are confusing. They’re not menus, but contracts. Seeing his signature upside down has me curious, but I don’t want to snoop. I’m about to move on until I spy my dad’s signature next to it. I’d recognize it anywhere, dated six years ago.
I square my shoulders puzzled by what that could be. With a finger pressed to the document, I walk around to the other side and lean over. Each word I read brings a new misery. Confession.
Reckless driving.
Kidnapping.
Stolen vehicle.
Agree to never see.
Chloe.
48
Chloe
None of this makes sense despite seeing it in black and white. Like my memory from that night, I’m at a disadvantage. Is my brain protecting me from the truth of what happened or playing tricks on me?
I’m so angry and tired of living in the dark. I can’t handle a new wave of pain today. The truth is locked inside me but where is the key?
Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I try to stop the pain that’s beginning to course through me with each new page. Before I know I’m crying, a tear falls on the dried ink, smudging the words as I riddle my way through the betrayal.
“Hey there, beautiful,” Joshua says, his voice lighthearted—so sweet, so trusting. “What are you doing?”
I look up, staring at him, my anger building. After reading what I did, I can’t give him the benefit of the doubt. Holding the page with his signature, I ask, “What is this?”
The smile that matched his tone falls as if he’s seen a ghost. “Chloe,” he starts toward me with his hands up in surrender. Already? He’s already surrendering.
“Only a guilty person gives up that easily.”
“I’m not guilty.” His tone hardens as his eyes darken.
The bottom drops out of my fairytale once again and takes my heart with it. I’m supposed to be alone. I’m just not reading the signs. There’s no other way this can be explained. I will never have it all. I’ll never have the guy and the dream job. I’ll always be empty, just shy of those reaching those goals.
“I’ve read your confession.” I slam the paper against his chest as I rush past and down the hall. He was so quick to deny but not plead his case. I don’t care about my toiletries. I grab my bag and pull on a pair of leggings. Slipping my sneakers back on without socks, I run back out, colliding into him. The sound of the bag hits the floor between us.
He grabs my arms, catching me from falling back. “Don’t jump to conclusions. I can explain—”
“I think a signed confession says it all, don’t you think?” Screw the bag. I’ll buy new things. I duck under his arm and run for the door.
His voice trails behind me. “I was tricked. I thought I was signing something else.”
His words have me coming to a stop in the entryway. I keep my back to him, refusing to give him more of my tears and anguish, hiding them behind the chip on my shoulder. Sucking in a staggered breath, I ask, “What did you think you were signing?”
It’s so quiet between us that I can hear his frantic breathing. I need him to fix this, to make it better, to make me see this was all a big misunderstanding. I finally turn around, not able to hold onto pride any longer. As if I’d placed the tears in the corners of his eyes myself, they glisten in the low light. “Please tell me I’m wrong.” Scraping his hands through his hair, the tick of his is a dead giveaway as he searches my face for an answer he doesn’t possess. I yell, “What were you signing, Joshua?”
His silence is torture. “After all this time, I would have thought you’d have the lies already lined up,” I cry, wiping away these traitorous tears. “Were you naïve enough to think I’d never discover the truth?” Tapping my hand to my chest, I ask, “How could you? How could you let me feel the burden of your guilt all these years? I blamed myself when you chose to hurt me.”
That lights the fuse and anger narrows his eyes toward me. “My guilt? I don’t feel guilty for anything. Everything I did was for everyone else. Everything I did, including signing that fucking piece of paper, was in your best interest.”
“Liar!” My life has been ripped out from under me—professionally and personally—and he’s standing in righteous indignation covering his ass. “You’re a liar! You said you loved me, but that confession says otherwise. You signed us away and got rid of me in one fell swoop of the pen.” I rush him and hit his chest. “How could you make me believe in something that was never real? When you love someone, you don’t do that. You don’t hurt them like that.”
Grabbing my wrists, he renders me helpless. Sobs escape my throat, and my emotions tornado, ready to destroy what’s left of us. I scream, “How do you hate me so much that you would sacrifice me for your greater good?”
“That’s not true, Chloe. Listen to me. I signed for you. You wouldn’t be a doctor if I hadn’t. Your father wouldn’t—”
“How dare you!” Rage roars inside me. I yank my wrists free and slap him. “How dare you take my accomplishments and claim them as your own? You’re a despicable person. My dad was right about you. You’re jealous and needed to claim a Fox to feel better about your own failings with your father.”
“Fuck your father!” I gasp, clasping my cheek, his words slapping me harder than his hand ever could. “If you’re so blind to the truth that you can’t even see what’s right in front of you, then leave,” he growls.
I turn on stubborn heels, but a loud crack rivaling the lightning has me ducking from fear. I turn back to find his hand punched through the wall. On instinct, I move to check for damage to his hand but have to stop myself. His breathing is erratic, his chest rising and falling through the anger. And if that didn’t tell me everything I need to know, he says, “Leave! Leave me alone.”
Shaken to the core from him yelling for me to go, the words from jail are summoned—don’t come back, Chloe.
Heading for the door, I reach the knob, and under a trembling tongue, I say, “I loved you—”
“You loved me because your daddy didn’t love you enough. I was the bad boy to piss him off.”
I swallow his insult, and spit out, “You were right. Love isn’t real.” I raise my chin in my moral outrage and walk down the hall to the elevator. His words are messing with my head and I realize he may not understand the wound he’s stabbed open. Call it spite that drives me
to set the record straight, but my hand goes out to stop the doors from closing. With one foot out, I stare down the hall, meeting unfamiliar eyes to a soul I don’t recognize. “The last time I spoke to my father was the day I found out you were in jail. So yes, I chose to become a doctor. But before all of that, I chose you.” The doors push against my hands and the elevator dings. “Guess which one I regret?”
Pressing my back to the mirrored wall, I pray the doors close quick before I break down, feeling every second of this argument heavy in my chest. Just before the doors reunite, I hear, “Chloe, come back.”
I sink to the floor, puddling in my heartbreak. Ten floors to recover.
Nine.
I cradle my head between my knees.
Eight.
The tears fall heavy, dropping to the wood floor between my feet.
Seven.
My body shakes with sobs.
Six.
I take a deep breath, staring at the numbers lighting up in descending order.
Five.
Standing up, I grip onto the railing to hold me upright.
Four.
I dry my eyes with the inside of the T-shirt.
Three.
Where do I go? I forgot my purse. Dammit!
Two.
I take a deep breath, preparing to see the doorman.
One.
The doors open, and I hurry through the lobby. “Can I hail a cab, Dr. Fox?”
“No. Thanks.” I start running to beat him to the door, not wanting him to bear having witnesses to my personal tragedy.
“Good night, Dr. Fox.”
Pushing through I feel home free even without money, but stop just out from under the awning. Twenty feet ahead of me, Joshua stands in the pouring rain with his back to me and his arms behind his head in defeat. I search for an escape but am caught before I can make my getaway. “Chloe. Listen. Please.”
