Fever

by Carnal, MJ

  “That’s very nice, but—”

  “No buts. Dinner’s at three. We eat early. I’ll give you my address. I expect to see you there,” she says, standing up, and before I can come up with a good reason not to have Sunday dinner with her, her ‘ass,’ and their families, she disappears behind the counter and starts taking care of other customers.

  I sit there for another hour, eating and reading on my phone. When Viv comes back, she gives me her address, cell phone number, and a very sweet hug. I leave the diner, get in my car, and head back to Kenton’s. This time when I get there, his car is gone, and I breathe out a sigh of relief that I don’t have to face him for a while.

  ~~*

  I wake up to the sound of pounding and the doorbell going off. I roll and look at the clock on my bedside table, seeing that it’s after three in the morning. “What the hell?” I mumble sitting up. My brain is still asleep as I stumble through my bedroom door and down the stairs. When I reach the front door, I look out the peephole and see a beautiful woman with dark hair and sun-kissed skin standing outside.

  “I know you’re in there! Open up!” she yells.

  I turn off the alarm and open the door, leaving the night latch in place as I peek out the crack. “Can I help you?”

  “Can you help me?” She waves her arms around. “Can you help me? Yes, bitch, you can help me by telling me what you’re doing in my man’s house,” she says, pushing on the door, the lock keeping her out.

  “Your man?” I repeat, putting my weight against the door.

  “Yes, my man.” She shoves the door a little harder and I’m surprised when I hear the sound of wood cracking.

  “Look, if you’re Kenton’s girlfriend, then you need to call him. He’s not home,” I tell her, not liking the way my chest feels as the word ‘girlfriend’ leaves my mouth.

  “I know he’s not home,” she says, pressing on the door again.

  “You should call him or come see him tomorrow when he is here,” I suggest, trying to be reasonable.

  “Let me inside.” She takes her shoulder and slams it into the door.

  She is really crazy. What the hell?

  She stumbles back and then runs at the door again like some kind of football player. This time, the door crashes open. I fall on my ass and she flies into the house, falling onto the floor.

  “Are you fucking insane?!” I ask her, standing and feeling a bruise forming on my hip. I look at the lock on the door, seeing it swinging on the doorjamb.

  “You wouldn’t let me in.” She rolls over, getting on her knees before standing up.

  “That’s because Kenton’s not here, you psycho. Now get out before I call the cops.” I walk to the door, opening it wider, signaling for her to leave.

  “No, I’m going to wait for Kenton.”

  “You’re on crack if you think I’m letting you stay here to wait for him. Get out!” I point out the door just as lights beam through the house.

  I look outside and watch Kenton pull up and park. He sees me standing in the door, and that’s when I realize that all I have on is a T-shirt and panties—and it’s not even a long shirt. His eyes slide from me to the woman in the house and then narrow.

  “Cassie, what the fuck?” he growls at her, walking through the door.

  “We need to talk,” she cries, taking a step towards him, only to stop when his eyes narrow further.

  “You opened the door to her?” he asks, looking at me.

  I shake my head no, taking a step back from the look on his face.

  His head swings in her direction. “You know what time it is?” he asks.

  “Yes. I got home to find all my stuff outside on my front porch.”

  “You came to my house and forced your way inside when I wasn’t home?”

  “All my stuff is ruined,” she whines on a huff.

  “You okay, baby?” he asks as he turns his head my way, his eyes locking on mine.

  Heat boils under my skin at the endearment. I want to claw his eyes out.

  “‘Baby’? Really? You call her ‘baby’? You never called me that!” Cassie screeches, looking at me.

  “I wouldn’t get too upset, honey,” I tell her softly. “I’m just a stripper and don’t mean shit to Kenton.” My eyes go from her to him, and seeing his jaw ticking makes me feel better. “Now,” I say happily, “if you two don’t mind carrying on this love spat without me, I’m going to bed.”

  I turn and head up the stairs, smiling when I hear Cassie yell, “Stripper?! A fucking stripper is living with you?”

  I close my bedroom door and crawl into bed. I listen to the rumble of Kenton’s voice for a few minutes, and then I hear the door close and the alarm being set. I hold my breath as I listen to feet pound up the stairs. I don’t know how I know, but I can feel him standing outside my bedroom door. The hall is silent for a few moments, and then he says my name. I ignore it, pulling the covers over my head.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

  I hear a thump then the sound of feet moving away from the door, and I squeeze my eyes closed, blocking him out. No way am I buying into that again. I run my finger over the tattoo behind my ear, taking comfort in it.

  It’s the only physical thing I have that connects me to my son. I wasn’t allowed pictures or any other reminders from the nine months I carried him or the few hours I spent with him after his birth. Not that I would need them—he was embedded in me, a piece of my soul that was taken from me before I was strong enough to fight for myself or him.

  When I was sixteen, I met a guy. His sister used to compete in pageants against me, and he would show up at the competitions and sit in the crowd, looking annoyed about having to be there. He would growl at his mother, telling her how wrong it was what she was doing to his sister. He fascinated me. I wanted someone like him to fight for me or teach me how to fight for myself.

  Not long after the first time I saw him, he found me in one of my favorite hiding spots. At first, he was rude and distant, only recognizing me as another snotty pageant girl, but then I told him that I hated it. I explained that I didn’t have a choice and what would happen if I didn’t perform.

  After that, we met often. I trusted him. He told me what I wanted to hear—we could be together, he had an apartment, and he would save me from the life I was living. For a girl who was broken and didn’t know any better, he was perfect. It didn’t take long for me to fall in love with him and give him the piece of myself that was the only real thing I had to give another person. I thought he loved me too; I thought he was willing to fight for me. He used my weakness to get what he wanted.

  In the end, I learned a hard lesson. Not only did he not care about me, but when I ended up pregnant, he turned his back on me, allowing my mother to send me to a home for young girls to give birth to my son before being forced to give him away.

  I pull my pillow over my face and cry into the soft material as images of my son flash through my head. I think I memorized everything about him during those few short hours. He was so tiny, weighing only six pounds. His small head was covered in dark hair and his eyes were bluish grey. I remember praying that I would be able to see them one day to know what color they turned out to be.

  He had a birthmark on his right thigh. I looked at the small area of discolored skin for a long time while I held him. The shape was unique, just like him. Not long after moving to Vegas, I was walking down the street and looked into a tattoo shop window. I hadn’t wanted a tattoo until one of the posters on the wall caught my eye and I saw my son’s birthmark. I went inside to find out what it was.

  The old guy behind the counter got on his computer and looked it up for me. He told me that the symbol was an Ankh, the origin was Egyptian, and it represented eternal life or the giving of life. I couldn’t believe that his birthmark had that kind of meaning behind it.

  I knew that my son was the one who’d actually given me life; he’d made me fight harder to get out of my mother’s grasp. I had hated her befo
re he’d come along, but after she forced me to give him away, I knew the kind of evil she really was and fought until I was finally free.

  I must have fallen asleep again, but when I wake up, I feel like I have only been asleep for an hour. The sound of the doorbell going off again registers, and I wait to see if I hear Kenton answer it. The house sounds quiet, and I hope the person at the door leaves. When the bell rings again, I let out a frustrated huff.

  “Seriously?!” I yell as the pounding starts.

  I climb out of bed, stumble out of my room, run down the stairs, and swing the door open without thinking. The alarm starts going off and I run to the keypad, typing in the code quickly before turning and going back to the door.

  “Can I help you?” I ask a guy who looks no older than twenty-one. He’s tall and lean with tousled, blond hair. He looks like he just came from the beach.

  “Holy shit.” He looks me over from head to toe, and I groan when I realize I once again forgot to put on pants. “Shit. Please tell me the carpet matches the drapes,” he mumbles.

  I’m not sure if it’s the lack of sleep or the promise I made myself the last time those words were said, but I walk towards him slowly, swaying my hips, my hands going up to his shoulders. His eyes go wide when I touch him, and then I bring my knee up, connecting with his nuts.

  He groans, his knees hitting the floor with a loud thud. “What was that for?” he asks me in a breathy, high-pitched voice, holding his junk.

  “That was for asking an inappropriate question. Weren’t you raised better than that?”

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  I turn at the sound of Kenton’s words. He’s standing on the stairs, wearing nothing but a towel. His eyes come to me then lower down my body. I make a mental note that, from now on, I will wear pants at all times. When his eyes stop on my hip, where I have a nice-size bruise from last night’s run-in with the lunatic, they narrow.

  “How did you get that?” He looks at the guy on the floor then back at me. His jaw goes hard, and I put my hands up in front of me.

  “That’s from your girlfriend last night.”

  “He doesn’t have a girlfriend,” the guy I kneed says, whimpering as he stands.

  “Why’d you knee Justin in the nuts?” he asks, walking the rest of the way down the stairs.

  I try to take my eyes off him, but they feel glued. His wet hair is dripping onto his body. His abdominal muscles flex with each step. The deep V of his hips disappears beneath the small towel that is also showing off his well-endowed package. He walks past me and goes to the couch in the next room, coming back with a blanket in his hand. I don’t even have a chance to think as he wraps the blanket around my waist. I slap his hands away from me, taking a step back to glare at him.

  “Oh shit. I’m in love,” the guy named Justin declares, smiling at me.

  “Why are you here, Justin? I told you I would be at the office late,” Kenton growls, taking a step in my direction. I take another step away from him.

  “I know, but I needed to talk to you and it couldn’t wait.”

  “You should have called,” he scolds.

  “I did. You didn’t answer.”

  “Fuck me.” Kenton looks at me like he wants to say something, but I shake my head no and take another step towards the stairs.

  “You’re leaving already?” Justin asks, looking at me with a big, cheesy smile on his face. “We’re basically past second base. You touched my junk. It’s only fair I get to touch yours.”

  I can’t help but smile at the guy. I see it now. He’s not pervy, just strange and kinda cute in a brotherly kind of way. “Sorry. No, I need my beauty sleep, and I work tonight.” I shrug, smirking.

  “You don’t need sleep, my love. You’re alread—”

  Kenton smacks him in the back of his head before he can finish, and I can’t help but smile at him again.

  “Nice to meet you, Justin,” I tell him, really meaning it.

  “You too, Copper.” He grins back.

  “You know you’re still not safe, Autumn. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be working,” Kenton says.

  I look at him, my eyes narrow, and I growl. “I’m safe and going to work, ass, so get over it.”

  His jaw starts to tick a little faster and his hands ball into fists. “Tell me the name of the place so I can check on you.”

  “I don’t need you to check on me.”

  “Tell me or I’ll have Justin do a run on you and I’ll know everything about you down to your last fucking period,” he growls, taking a step towards me.

  “Ass!” I yell, glaring at him.

  “Tell me,” he roars, leaning forward, and I can feel the anger rolling off him.

  “Vanderbilt,” I say, but I pronounce it ‘Vander’s Belt,’ hoping he doesn’t catch on that it’s the hospital. I don’t know why I don’t what him to know what I’m really doing. I almost feel like he hasn’t earned the right to know.

  “We need to talk,” he says, his tone softer, but the growl is still there.

  “We don’t,” I assure him, pulling off the blanket and tossing it at him as I walk up the stairs. I hear Justin laugh and Kenton growl something about spankings under his breath before I close the door to my bedroom, smiling.

  Chapter 3

  One Tequila, Two Tequila…Floor.

  “So why the hell did you want to move to Tennessee?” Tara asks.

  I’ve been working at the hospital for about two weeks now, and I’ve been Tara’s shadow since the day I started in the ER. Tennessee is nothing like Vegas. Not only are the people different, but the ER here is much calmer. I look at Tara and smile when she raises an eyebrow at me. One thing I learned quickly is that people here have no problem getting in your business or asking personal questions.

  “I just needed a change.” I shrug, putting away another patient folder.

  “I can understand that. I need a change, like a nice sandy beach and a hot guy to wait on me hand and foot.” She smiles, her head tilting back like she’s imagining herself on a beach right now.

  “Autumn, Tara,” a deep voice says.

  Tara and I look up and smile at the same time.

  “How are you ladies this evening?” Dr. D, or Derik, asks. He’s a very, very attractive black man; sadly, he is also very, very gay and has an even hotter boyfriend.

  “Good,” Tara and I say in unison. We laugh, pointing at each other and calling out, “Jinx!”

  I’ve found myself laughing a lot more often since I started working here. In general, I find myself a lot happier period. All of my coworkers are very nice and easy to get along with. So far, I haven’t met anyone who is petty or mean.

  The one thing that hasn’t changed is my relationship with Kenton. I can’t get over the amount of anger I feel towards him. Maybe it’s stupid and immature on my part, but he hurt my feelings when he said all that to whomever he was talking to on the phone. Worse, I’d thought he’d been starting to like me.

  “What are you girls doing this weekend?”

  “I need to sleep,” I say, closing my eyes for a second. “My body hasn’t adjusted to this schedule yet. I swear, if it weren’t for coffee, I would be lying facedown on this desk right now.” Plus, if I slept, I could continue to avoid Kenton.

  He’s left me a note daily and somehow got my cell number, so he’s started texting me. He never says much. Mostly, he asks how I am, if I need anything, and if I am settling in at my job. I never answer him. I can tell that he is becoming frustrated. I have no idea how to face him, so I do the easiest thing and avoid him like the plague.

  “Sleep is overrated. You two should come out with me and Stan this weekend. There’s a club that just opened up downtown. We could go out, have a couple drinks, and dance. Wouldn’t that be fun?” Derik asks.

  I look at Tara, who nods her head, and I quickly agree. I need to start acting my age. I should be having fun and going out, and now that I have a few people I trust, I have a reaso
n to do that.

  “Sure, but I won’t be staying out late. I have dinner plans with a friend on Sunday in the early afternoon,” I tell them. I’ve had dinner with Viv and her family the last two Sundays, and now, she expects me to be there. Her daughter is really sweet. Plus, her niece is supposed to be coming this weekend and Viv really wants me to meet her.

  “That’s fine. Two drinks tops.” Derik smiles and the desk phone rings.

  Tara picks it up and stands suddenly. “Got it,” she says, looking at Derik. “When?” she asks and listens for a few more seconds before hanging up the phone. She leaves from behind the desk and I follow her. “The ambulance is in route. Male, thirty-four, gunshot wound to the right shoulder. He’s conscious and may need a transfusion. We need to get everything set up. The ambulance is five minutes out,” Tara says, and all three of us run down the hall to prepare the trauma bay before the patient arrives.

  The ambulance pulls in and what I least expect happens. The guy is conscious, laughing, and joking with the EMTs like this is a routine occurrence for him. He hasn’t lost enough blood to need a transfusion, and it doesn’t appear that the bullet hit any arteries; it was a clean in-and-out shot. All he’ll require is a few stitches and an overnight stay in the hospital.

  “Are you sure you two don’t want to give me a sponge bath?” Finn, our bullet wound patient asks.

  I laugh, shaking my head at him, but Tara doesn’t seem so sure about turning him down. His tall, lean body, boy-next-door good looks, and easy smile definitely make him swoon-worthy.