by Carly Keene
Rachel reads it, then looks at me. “Might be an excuse. Might be a genuine emergency, too.”
“But the next part, it sounds like a huge kiss-off. A fuck-off,” I amend.
Rach’s eyebrows go up. “So you did get laid.”
“Several times. And unless she’s a world-class faker, she was loving it.”
“Now you’re bragging.”
I sigh. I just want Kalinda back. I want us back.
“If you want her back, you might have to pursue her. Don’t give up on her,” Rachel tells me, and then sits down next to me with her own coffee.
“Fuck it. I’m gonna take James to the Science Museum later this morning. Maybe nap some this afternoon. Gotta work tonight.”
I get up and walk out of the kitchen, just the way that Kalinda walked out of the room we gave our bodies to each other in last night.
My mood’s no better when I go in to work, and I’m resolved to stay out of Radiology. It’s an average-busy night in the ER, full of the usual suspected appendicitis cases and broken bones, plus a couple of heart attacks, a premature labor, a mild stroke, and a feverish toddler with a mother panicked about brain damage. (Kid has a minor viral infection, and he’ll be fine.)
Right before the end of our shift though, the EMTs bring us two cases of suspected overdose, a couple found unresponsive in an apartment. I get the guy; my buddy Maddox Gray gets the woman. Naloxone brings them both back, and afterward, Maddox and I are snatching cups of industrial-strength coffee from the diner-style pots in the cafeteria, discussing them.
“I’ll never get it,” Maddox says. “Women who get into drugs with their kids right there. Poor things. CPS is coming for the kids, but right now they’re camped out in the waiting room.” He shakes his head. “This lady’s got a record as long as your arm. They’re probably going to terminate her parental rights, and I can’t say it’s a bad idea. Funny thing is, turns out she’s the mother of one of our x-ray techs.”
One of our x-ray techs. I’ve been blind, or stupid. Light dawns on that “things got crazy” text message.
“Kalinda White.”
“Yup. I feel bad about it; she’s a nice girl.” Maddox gets up from the table. “Back to the grind. Shift’s over but I’m not done yet; I have eight fucking million charts to update.”
I do too. I don’t care. I rush out to the waiting room, and there are the White kids, huddled under a blanket. Look at them up close, and it’s easy to tell that not two of them share a father. “Hey,” I say to the teenager. “Kollin, right? Want me to go get Kalinda?”
He yawns. “She’s talking to the cops.”
“It was bad at your house last night?” I ask.
The little girl pipes up. “They were just drunk last night. But then they were doing other bad stuff. Drugs are bad. Kollin made us get out and go to the park.”
In this cold weather? I guess it was healthier than their apartment, though.
And there’s no way an eight-year-old should know her parent is drunk. Maybe I’ve been too protective of James—but I don’t think so.
“I think they’re taking Mom to jail,” the ten-year-old says, and pats his little sister on the back. “It’s okay. We’ve got Kalinda. We’ll be fine.”
“And you got me,” I say. I mean it. “I’ll help.”
NINE
Kalinda
I’ve been expecting this for a long time. I mean, it’s happened before, Mom not able to fight her addiction. But this one, I suspect, is the last straw for Child Protective Services and the courts. They’ll TPR her ass, and make sure she’s never in charge of Kollin and Korey and Kandace ever again. She’s going to jail for possession and child endangerment.
And it might honestly be the best thing for her. I love my mother, but she has problems that go deeper than any of us can fix. This will definitely be the best thing for the kids.
I’m so tired when I get done talking to CPS and the cops, but I have to go reassure my brothers and my sister that it will be okay. They will have me. CPS expects to name me as guardian, and it will be good to have that be official.
I’m exhausted, and I’m grieving. I’m losing my mom again, and this time it feels final, because while I don’t want to cut her out of my life, I’m done relying on her. Every time she’s said she’s turning over a new leaf, I’ve expected her to really do it, but this time I’ve stopped expecting. We’ll go forward without her.
I’ve already said goodbye to Noah in my head, although I guess I should tell him in person. No guy wants to take on a woman’s entire family all at once, and I don’t expect that of him, either. But it hurts, because for one shining night I felt like part of a whole, part of an us.
I swallow the lump in my throat and follow the CPS lady out to the ER waiting room.
Where Noah is sitting with my baby sister Kandace in his lap. She’s got her head on his chest, and Korey is leaned over onto his shoulder. Noah is talking seriously to Kollin, who’s nodding. I stop dead. That lump is back in my throat, because this looks like a little piece of heaven to me. I wish so hard this could be my life.
Korey sees me and comes running for a hug. “Is it true?” he demands. “Mom’s going to jail and we get to stay with you?”
“Yes, baby.” I lean over Korey’s head, trying to keep the tears from falling, but they fall anyway. Kollin and Kandace come to join the group hug. “We’ll be okay,” I promise. “Nobody will take us away from each other.”
I can’t help looking for Noah. I can’t make him deal with this huge burden, but I can’t help missing him already. He’s gazing right at me, his face craggy with tiredness but with so much warmth in his eyes. “I’m here for you,” he says. “All of you.”
The CPS social worker turns to him, surprised. “It won’t be easy,” she says.
“I don’t expect it will.” A smile begins to grow on his tired, beautiful face. “But I love Kalinda, and this is her family. I’m all in, 100%.”
My mouth falls open. He can’t mean that.
“200%. If she’ll have me,” he adds.
I’m shaking my head in shock. “That’s . . . I can’t believe . . . You can’t mean that.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” He steps closer, and the kids open our circle hug to let him in. “Guys, I love your sister. I mean what I say: I’m with you. We’re going to be family.” From where he stands across the circle from me, he smiles. “I’ll do this better later, but for now, Kalinda, will you marry me? Will we make ourselves a family, along with James and my sister Rachel?”
“You have to be sure,” I say, tears blinding me. “I didn’t want to leave the other night—”
“I know.”
“—but they needed me—”
“I know.”
“—and I needed to be there for them.”
“I know.” He sighs. “I thought you were ditching me. But now I get it. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I confess. “I love you, Noah. Yes.”
There it is. We’ve made ourselves a family.
EPILOGUE
Kalinda
It’s simple but beautiful, the long white cotton lace dress I just got married in. The ceremony was on the beach at Nags Head a few hours ago, with all of our family there. Noah and I promised to love and cherish each other, and to always be family. It means so much more than I could ever express. We laughed and hugged on the beach, and then we went to a restaurant and ate party food and wedding cake, and now . . .
Now Noah and I are alone together in our hotel room. Married.
Three months ago, I was thrilled when he asked me out. Shortly after that, my siblings and I moved into his big house, to share it with his son and his sister. And now we have the rest of our lives together.
I can’t believe my luck.
He’s standing at the door to the balcony, peering down at the people walking on the beach as the sun goes down. “Look at them,” he says, sounding smug. “They’re going about their business, having no idea that
the happiest people in the world are in this room.” He looks gorgeous as ever, his crisp dark hair windblown, his casual linen shirt now lying open over the firm planes of his abdomen. “Do you want some more champagne?”
“No,” I say, and start to unbutton the many pearl buttons of the bodice. “I want you to come here and unbutton me.”
He gives me his sexy smile and sheds his shirt. “At your service, Mrs. Bonner.” He steps closer and sets about unbuttoning the bodice as far as it goes. The lace bra I’m wearing underneath is so sheer that it hides nothing of me, and he hums in appreciation. “Damn, Kalinda, you look delicious.” The bra comes off. His hands are warm on my breasts, and my nipples go taut.
“You’re not done, Dr. Bonner.” I reach for his belt and unbuckle. I unbutton his trousers, then I tug down his boxers to reveal his dick, already growing hard for me. “Mmm,” I say, and drop to my knees to take him into my mouth—exactly the way I wanted to the first time I saw him running around the hospital parking lot in shorts.
He tastes delicious, all sweet and salty, and I love the feel of his cock sliding in and out of my eager mouth. I use my free hand to cup his balls, and he moans in his throat, spreading his stance a little so I can reach back behind his balls and play with his taint. He gets instantly harder in my mouth, and it’s my turn to moan, as I think about how good it’s going to feel to have him inside me.
Before long, though, he’s gently pushing me off his cock. “Baby, stop, or I’ll come too fast. Can I get that dress all the way off you now?”
My sundress has been dangling off my upper arms, but he’s right. Now’s the time. I stand and let it fall.
“Fuck,” Noah says in astonishment. “You were wearing that under your dress?”
By “that,” he means the lacy pearl thong that I have on for the occasion. It has a string of pearls where the crotch should be. I nod, turning around to let him see the barely-there back. When I turn back, he’s squeezing the head of his cock, now almost purple in excitement. “No wonder you’ve been strutting around like a sex goddess all day.”
“I am a sex goddess,” I say more serenely than I feel, “and I demand your worship.”
He laughs out loud, picking me up and tossing me onto the bed. “Yes, my goddess.” He immediately bends to lick at my drenched pussy, and there’s no more laughter. “Oh. Kalinda. Fuck, you’re so wet,” he says against my folds before he starts to tongue-fuck me in earnest. Waves of pleasure rise higher and higher, his tongue making them rise, until finally the waves break against my exhilaration, and I come.
“I have to be inside you right now,” he growls against my breasts, licking and biting gently at my nipples. “Now. Leave that excuse for underwear on, so you can feel everything.”
“You don’t tell a goddess what to do,” I remind him, “unless you’re a god. And even then, she makes her own decision.”
“Shut up, goddess,” he says, and spreads my legs. “Look at this. It’s the damn promised land.”
And he places the big tip of his long, thick cock at my entrance and shoves it in, all the way. My head falls back as I’m overwhelmed with the sensation: his big dick stroking my pussy from the inside, and the large pearl beads rubbing against it from the outside. Plus his hands on my tits, his tight buttocks clenching under my hands . . . It all feels so fucking good that I can’t help climaxing again. And again, as he turns me onto my hands and knees and strokes me from behind. He’s everywhere, he feels incredible, and I’m so full that I burst into pleasure one more time.
I can hardly believe how much happiness the world holds.
DEENA
Heart Doctors Book 2
CARLY KEENE
THISTLE KNOLL PUBLISHING
ONE
Deena
At 3 a.m., the ER gets crazy. It’s never crazier than on a Saturday night or a full moon. On nights when Saturday and the full moon coincide, double the crazy.
And if there’s a full moon on the first Saturday of the month—right after the government payments hit people’s bank accounts and they have the cash to spend on alcohol and other recreational substances? Quadruple the crazy.
That’s what we’re looking at tonight. Along with the usual run of strokes, heart attacks, appendicitis cases, falls, and vehicle accidents, we’ve also got drug overdoses, alcohol poisonings, and domestic violence of all varieties. Not to mention bar fight victims and self-harmers, plus the patients who combined intoxicating substances and stupidity into accidental near-death experiences.
Don’t tell anybody, but I secretly love the crazy. On the surface, people think I’m a goody-two-shoes: I don’t sleep around, I don’t swear, I don’t have more than one glass of wine at a time. I don’t even speed five miles over the limit. I keep my apartment spotless, I work hard, and I return my grocery cart to the rack. I never tell secrets, whether they’re mine or somebody else’s.
But I’m not perfect, by a long shot. I have weaknesses. One of them is that I love the adrenaline rush. I love being the one in control of herself, calm and cool in the middle of the crazy, knowing exactly what to do in any tense situation. I like that I’m the level-headed one, and that I have clear ideas of what’s right and what’s wrong. Maybe I like it too much, because it’s caused people to resent me for being morally superior and smug. Sara, my dearest friend from college, once told me, “Deena, I love you to little bitty pieces, but sometimes you can be a self-righteous witch.” (Except she didn’t say “witch.”)
When I lose control, I completely lose it. Much better to stay in control. Much, much better.
In fact, if people could control themselves, a lot of them would not be here in the ER on the first full-moon Saturday of the month, while the residents and the nurses and the incoming rescue squads rush around trying to save them.
I’m on the short list to train as an orthopedic surgeon here, but there are only a few spots for the program and a long line of applicants, so I’m waiting to hear whether I’ll be accepted. Sometimes I wonder whether it’s worth it to specialize: the long hours, the insane schedules, the strenuous studying. But then I see some high school soccer player with a torn meniscus in the ER, in pain and desperate to hear whether she can ever play again, and I just want to help. I remember what it felt like to stand by helpless while someone I loved dealt with a destroyed knee. So in the meantime, I’m dealing with the crazy that is the ER on a Saturday night.
I catch a brief breather from the crazy at some point, and I use it to go grab my sandwich out of the fridge. I’m in the break room cramming turkey-on-wheat into my mouth when two of the nurses come in, laughing. Lisa puts leftover pizza in the microwave, and Emma gets sodas out of the machine while talking nonstop. “So did you see that new EMT come in with the heart attack case about an hour ago? The one who just transferred to the Short Pump squad? Oh my god, he is soooo hot! Tall. Muscles for frickin’ days. Holy shit, he’s gorgeous.”
I manage not to roll my eyes.
“Ooh, yeah, I saw him.” Lisa fans her face with her hand. “Hot enough to blister me from across the room, damn.”
“I don’t know his name yet. But since he’s been transferred to Short Pump, we’re probably going to see a lot of him. So I have serious plans to, you know, see a lot of him.” Emma laughs.
I take my napkin to the trash and shove my reusable sandwich wrap back into my lunchbag, eager to get out the door before I have to hear any more of the gossip about the Hot New EMT.
Look, it’s not that I’m against sex. I’m not. It’s just that we’re here to save lives, not to drool over good-looking men. There are some remarkably attractive men working in this ER, but none of them have any strong appeal for me.
I guess I got spoiled back in college, by what I thought was the most amazing boyfriend in the whole of the universe. And then he ruined everything.
Not that all of it was his fault, but enough of it was.
I shake my head, trying to shake off thoughts of Troy Mueller. Everything Emma was
saying . . . Tall, muscles for days, generously endowed and skillful on top of it. Yep. That was Troy, back in the day. And he was bright. Sweet. Thoughtful. Disciplined. Devoted. Until the injury, and then he suddenly wasn’t any of the things I’d been so sure he was. And he broke my heart.
I wonder where he is now. But I’ve kept a rigid rein on my curiosity. I’ve blocked his cell number, thrown letters from him away unopened, deleted two Facebook friend requests, and stopped keeping up with mutual friends. There’s no point in trying to patch up what’s shattered.
Too bad my brain won’t let it go. The entire rest of the night, even while I’m setting broken bones, stitching up wounds, administering CPR, and ordering a heart cath, it keeps hitting me with memories. The smell of the skin on his neck, the shape of his hands. Or maybe it’s my heart that can’t let him go.
That’s why, when I hear the voice behind me, I know it immediately. I’d know that voice anywhere, anytime. Eight years since I’ve heard it, but I don’t think I could forget it no matter how many years went by.
The voice is talking about the two doses of naloxone given to the patient in the ambulance, giving the vital signs, specifying the time. My colleague Maddox Grey and two nurses take the patient, whisking the gurney past me on the way to a treatment room.
I feel like I’m spinning in place right now. One part of me is full of questions: How did Troy become an EMT? How did he get assigned to a station in the area of this hospital? Does he know I am here? What does this all mean?
The other part of me is flipping through emotions so violent and so confused that I don’t know how to feel.
In my attempt to not lose control of myself and start screaming bloody murder, I finish scribbling my initials on a patient’s chart and check with the intake nurse about which patients are left to be seen.
