Sever (Closer Book 2)

by Mary Elizabeth

  “Your mom didn’t teach you how to cook?” I ask, continuing when she scowls. “I mean, this is great, but she didn’t show you around the kitchen?”

  Consequences of an absentee mother and a clueless father are that everything I’ve learned about cooking came from a book or television. Maby and Teller grew up with both parents and a fill staff in their home, so simple things like taking the plastic off sliced cheese before melting it between two pieces of bread should be something she absorbed at some point.

  “She did a little, I guess.” Maby shrugs, cutting her plastic-free sandwich in two to share with Husher. “But I didn’t pay much attention. And speaking of attention, you had lunch with my brother today? Why?”

  “He forced me,” I mutter.

  “Liar!” Maby laughs. Husher, who’s never truly cared about conversations that don’t involve him, zones us out and focuses on the TV. “Teller’s never been able to make you do anything you didn’t want to do, Ella. Spill it.”

  Rolling my eyes, I sit back and rest my hands on my stomach, hoping to calm the insistent unease.

  “Are you okay?” Maby asks. The playful tone is gone from her voice, replaced with concern. “You look kind of pale, babe.”

  “I think I’m coming down with something,” I say. Inhaling through my nose, I exhale as a wave of sickness rolls through me. “It’s been coming and going all week. I’ll take some cold medicine before bed tonight.”

  This seems to put Maby at ease as she jokingly says, “Oh my God, wouldn’t it be hilarious if you were pregnant?”

  Husher’s ears perk up, and he’s suddenly very interested in exactly what we’re talking about. His eyes dart back and forth between his wife and me, holding his breath as he waits for what comes next.

  Is that fear I see in his expression?

  “Maby,” I say, waving her off. “Don’t be ridiculous. That would be—”

  Sitting up, I knock my tray over and count the weeks backwards on my fingers. When was my last menstrual cycle? How many weeks has it been since Teller and I had sex in the tent in my backyard? Do my boobs feel bigger?

  “No, I had my period last month,” I say to myself. “Right?”

  “Don’t ask me,” Husher says.

  Maby slaps his arm. “Of course, she wasn’t asking you.”

  Standing to my feet, I press rewind on every day during the last six weeks, which included a lot of sleeping and eating, but not a lot of bleeding.

  “Holy fuck,” I say, ending the needless counting. “I missed my period.”

  Pressing my hands to my stomach, I don’t notice a change. I’m a little soft and kind of round, but not pregnant plump … not carrying another human being inside of me round. Not that I’d be far along enough to show, but surely, I’d notice if there were a person there. I’m a medical professional, for goodness’ sake. I know these things; I have the student loan debt to prove it.

  Maby and Husher blink, blink, stare as I examine my body in front of them, moving my hands from my abdomen to my breasts and squeezing.

  Shit.

  I experience definite tenderness with pressure.

  “Going by the look on your face, you just realized you’re pregnant,” Maby says.

  “No.” I scoff, squeezing my breasts again. Total sensitivity. “There are many different reasons why women miss their periods, like stress and bad diet. I’m guilty of both. I bet if I eat an apple and take a Zoloft, this will all become a bad joke.”

  Maby squints and presses her lips together, shaking her head. “I mean, I know I’m not the one who went through nursing school, but I think it’s too late to eat fruit.”

  Husher clears his throat, turning his attention toward his wife. “If she is pregnant, don’t you think she should eat more fruit?”

  She nods thoughtfully. “Yes. You should eat more fruit, Ella.”

  Heading toward the door in a hurry, I grab my sweater from the coat hanger, ready to make a run for it. I can’t possibly be pregnant; that’s ridiculous. This will all be taken care of with a few doses of over-the-counter cold medicine—or better yet, I’ll call an old colleague for a prescription of whatever-the-fuck-cures-this-madness and be done with it. Maby, Husher, and I will laugh over burned spaghetti the next time we have dinner together.

  “Wait,” Maby shouts. She trots after me, untying her apron. “I have a pregnancy test in my bathroom. You can use it. I won’t ever need it.”

  “I’m not pregnant,” I reply. There’s no punch in my tone, no fight, no convincing.

  “I know,” Maby says. Husher is wide-eyed and unblinking. “Just take it, and then we’ll know, and you’ll know, and everyone will know. I’ll eat an apple with you when it comes back negative, okay? We’ll eat an entire fruit platter if it makes you feel better.”

  “I can’t be pregnant, Maby,” I say, dropping my sweater to the floor in defeat. “I can’t be. I don’t know how to be a mom.”

  A smile like her brother’s spreads across Maby’s face, and she says, “And I don’t know how to cook, but here we are.”

  Before

  “Hey, man,” Joe says. He falls into the chair beside me, cracking open a can of soda. His draft rustles the stack of papers I’m in the middle of sorting. “What are you up to tonight?”

  It never skips my mind that Joe’s invasion in my life is by no fault but my own. If I hadn’t offered the sorry motherfucker a lift to the hospital the day we filled out of applications for residency, leaving him curbside without a ride instead, he wouldn’t be dating Ella right now. He also wouldn’t be looking at me expectantly, as if my plans are any of his damn concern.

  That’s what I get for being such a nice fucking guy.

  “Nothing much,” I say, uninterested. “What about you?”

  Like I give a shit.

  Joe and I were both accepted for residency at the same hospital Ella banks her clinical hours for nursing school. Between the never-fucking-ending hours we spend on the hospital floor and his delusions about being in a relationship with Ella, Joseph West is always around. I can’t shake him off.

  Lucky for him, Joe is a nice guy, because I’d knock him the fuck out for being in my way if he weren’t. But hitting him would be like punching a puppy.

  “Thinking about taking Ella to dinner or something,” he says. “Are you dating anyone? Do you want to double date?”

  It has to be his accent that hemmed her up. Chicks like that shit. Because there’s no way a girl like Gabriella Mason spent five years walking the line with me, only to settle down with Mr. Let’s Double Date. Joe’s cool, but he’s a nerd.

  “I don’t double date, J,” I say, flipping through pages of nonsense. I thought residency would break up the day-ins and day-outs med school offered, but it’s just a bunch of runt work—filing paperwork and fetching coffee for senior residents. “Isn’t Ella on the night shift?”

  He shakes his head, swallowing a mouthful of sugar and syrup. “Last-minute roster change. It didn’t work with her class schedule, so she’s out early today. She’ll do nights next week.”

  This is news to me.

  “That’s right,” I say, scooting my chair away from the desk. I leave the filing for another day, because fuck those files. My girl has the night off, and I’ll be damned if she wastes it with Joe. I leave the room without looking back, muttering, “I’ll be right back. I got to go … I forgot I have to do that thing for someone.”

  Catching the elevator before the doors close, I scoot past staff and patients toward the back of the crowd and lean against the rail. All eyes are glued on the glowing numbers above the double doors, each floor representing a different division of the hospital and specialty. One by one, riders exit the elevator until I’m alone with a set of expecting parents. We’re headed to the same floor.

  Labor and Delivery is equal parts laid-back and chaotic. New parents think the sound of their crying brat is precious, while the nurses would love to walk around with their fingers in their ears. Hormones, di
rty diapers, exhaustion, labor pains, anxiety, excitement, joy—it’s overwhelming. I’ll stay in the ER, setting broken arms and stitching busted chins. But Ella fits in nicely.

  “Hey, Dr. Reddy,” a redheaded nurse says after buzzing me in. She has a pencil holding her hair up, and the smile curving her lips is tempting. “Nice to see you here. How can I help you?”

  Labor and Delivery isn’t equal parts male and female; it’s all women. Young, eager-to-be-fucked-by-a-doctor, straightforward women. There’s a handful of old-timers hanging around, making sure business runs smoothly. Those nurses glare from the corner of their eyes, wondering what I’m doing in their space, skeptical. It’s the ones fresh out of nursing school I like.

  I lean against the counter, close enough to smell the spearmint gum in Cherry Bomb’s mouth. “I’m looking for a friend.”

  Her cheeks redden, and she pushes her chest out. “You’re bad.”

  “You have no idea,” I say. “What’s your name?”

  Redhead’s smile drops to a straight grimace, and the blush on her face burns a few degrees past attractive and eager. “You’re kidding, right? You have got to be joking.”

  I stand level, swiping my pockets for the pack of cigarettes I know I left in my car. As my own cheeks warm, my heart sends a rhythm of panic through my body. Do I know this girl? Have we met? She doesn’t look particularly familiar.

  Maybe I feel a pang of recognition.

  No, it’s only embarrassment.

  “Dammit, Teller.” She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. “We met two weeks ago at Marvin’s party.”

  I blink three times, drawing a blank. “Marvin?”

  She stomps her foot. “Marvin Singer from radiology!”

  Realization washes over me like a cold shower, and I snap my fingers. “Marvin from radiology, that’s right. Sorry about that, babe, but I’m a busy man. I don’t even remember where I was this weekend, you know. No hard feelings.”

  My recollection of Marvin from radiology is bleak, but I can place a blurry face to the name. I remember going to his house and getting wasted after Ella refused to spend the night with me because she had something going on with Joe. But I’m coming up empty on the redhead.

  “It’s not clicking for you, is it?” frustration asks, turning ruddy as her hair. “We only spent the entire party together, asshole. I wondered why you hadn’t been up here to see me. But now I know. You’re a pig.”

  “So, I’ve been told. Don’t take it personally. I’m a dick.” My eyes scan the space, searching for the brunette I know by heart to save me from myself. “Look—”

  “Lisa.” She offers her name before I can locate her badge.

  “Lisa, I’m sorry I forgot your name. I’ll make it up to you sometime if you promise not to go on hating me, okay?” I don’t give a shit if she does hate me, but Lisa can be helpful if she knows where Ella is. The sooner I find her, the better. Joe might already have dinner reservations and movie times committed to memory.

  She uncrosses her arms and takes a seat, rolling the chair closer to the computer screen on the desk in front of her. “I don’t hate you.”

  “I’m looking for a friend,” I say.

  “Gabriella Mason is in room 1311,” she replies dismissively. Not sure how she knows who I’m looking for, but Lisa offers the information before I can ask. “She’s all you talked about at Marvin’s party, and she always finds a way to include you in any conversation. It was wishful thinking you were here to see me. Obviously.”

  I slap my hand on the countertop and wink. “Thanks, Lisa. You’re the best.”

  The last thing I want to do is add insult to injury, so I don’t run from Lisa’s post to room 1311; I powerwalk. Humiliation shadows me the entire way, stepping on the back of my shoes as I put strides between myself and the redhead who’s no doubt educating every nurse in this hospital on how I wronged her.

  Good. I’m done with random hookups with faceless and nameless women who have no interest in me beyond my financial and professional position. If Lisa does spill about what an ass I was to her, she’s saving a lot of people time and heartache better left for something more important. Like the fact that the only person I’ve ever loved is in a committed relationship because of my misplaced generosity.

  I might have convinced Ella to marry me by now if I’d taken out Joe’s knees with my bumper instead of offering him a ride.

  My should-be wife strolls out of room 1311 with her face in her phone, heading in the opposite direction. Regret is swiftly replaced with anticipation, and I slow my pace to a soundless step, step, step to take her by surprise from behind. The moment she’s within arm’s reach, I capture her hips in my hands and pull her against me, whispering, “Run away with me, Smella.”

  She screams at the top of her lungs and drops her cell phone, spinning to slug her attacker in the chest. I capture her hand before she makes contact and kiss her knuckles one by one, smirking as Ella’s wide eyes narrow with acknowledgment.

  “We could leave this life behind,” I say, pressing my lips to the top of her wrist. “Change our names. Chase the summer all over the world.”

  Startled babies cry, aggravated visitors mumble under their breath, and eager-to-fuck-a-doctor and old-timer nurses alike huff and puff and scoff at us outside of the bubble Ella and I surround ourselves in when we’re together. They can keep their animosity and disapproval, because we’re untouchable.

  “I like my name.” She blinks heavily, sleepily, and smirks.

  “Keep your first name,” I say. “But take my last.”

  “Gabriella Reddy.” She presses her lips together, tasting the words in her mouth. “It has a certain ring to it.”

  My heart motherfucking explodes. “Don’t play with me, baby. I’ll put a ring on your finger right now.”

  Ella rests her chin on my chest, looking up into my eyes with her arms wrapped tightly around my lower back. The entire scenario is in the empty spaces between us: a fighting chance and promise. We could be the chumps in one of these rooms, charmed by the ear-shattering howl from a life only the two of us can create together.

  Now she doesn’t have a choice, because I already love our pending conception.

  “Joe might have something to say about that.” She takes a pin to the bubble, ruining everything by letting reality back in.

  “Yeah,” I say. I run my hand through my hair. “Lisa might, too.”

  It’s fun and games until Gabriella realizes she isn’t the only one who can kiss, hug, and fuck other people. She’s close embraces and mischief until she feels slighted, and then Ella’s daring me to say more and ready to jump like she’s the one who’s betrayed and not the one doing the betraying. It’s a slippery slope with fate, but one I willingly balance.

  I won’t be so easily swayed.

  “Who the hell is Lisa?” she asks, shoving me away. “Who is she, Teller? I didn’t know there was a Lisa.”

  Pointing a thumb over my shoulder, I say, “Lisa.”

  Her expressions play like a slideshow, changing frames quickly in the start, only to slow down when we get to the good parts. Understanding deepens the color of Ella’s eyes. Teeth clench. Muscles tighten. Eyebrows narrow. Eyebrows relax. Jealousy looks past me. Guilt directs her glare to her feet. Curiosity gets the best of her, and Ella brushes past me and around the bend.

  “Where are your things?” I ask. She leaves indignation and enthusiasm in her wake, and I gladly let it wash over me.

  Ella digs in her pocket and retrieves a single key hanging from a dealership ring. “This is all I brought.”

  Lisa let her hair down, and it somehow heightens the severity of the situation. Her thick red hair is equivalent to Joe’s accent, uncommon and unattainable. Lisa’s curls even the playing ground, minus the commitment factor or the small detail that Lisa and I have only hung out once and I don’t remember it. But still. It’s principle.

  I want to ask, How does it feel, Ella?

  I wan
t to say, Now you know what I’ve been going through for the last year.

  I think to myself, Maybe now that she’s aware, she’ll stop acting like she and Joe have a future.

  A part of me looks forward to seeing disappointment confront the lie I told. My ego can use a good feeding, and Ella deserves a lesson in love and war. Did she think I was going to hang back like a sucker while she entertains a relationship with Joseph West?

  She likes this shit.

  We like it.

  We’re high on this.

  Ella casually leans against the counter in front of Lisa, and Lisa looks back and forth between us, waiting for someone to explain what the hell we’re staring at.

  “What’s up?” redhead asks.

  Ella smiles, but her eyes are fiery. “I know he looks like a nice guy.”

  Lisa scoffs. “No, he doesn’t. What kind of responsible doctor is covered in tattoos and chain-smokes? It’s irresponsible.”

  Rage shadows Ella’s passivity, and I know she’s ready to snatch this girl by her head of hair. But it passes as quickly as it showed, and she fixes the grin on her face. “Exactly. Stay away from him and tell your friends to stay away, too.”

  Dropping my head back, I laugh out loud. Ella winks, like sabotaging my reputation amongst the eager-to-fuck-a-doctor nurses would stop any of them from fucking me. It’ll only make them want me more.

  “Already done, sister.” Lisa rocks back in her chair, dusting her hands off after a job well done. “No one wants to have a thing to do with him.”

  “Come on, Lisa.” I play along, sliding in next to Ella. But I only have eyes for Cherry Bomb. “I said I was sorry.”

  She softens around the edges and can’t keep the corners of her mouth from curving. Sweet, sweet Lisa will make some lucky man’s life one day. But not this day, and not this man.

  “You’re a fucking idiot, prick,” Ella mumbles, pushing herself away from the counter. She stalks away, and I follow subserviently after mouthing a goodbye to our friend Lisa.

  “What are you mad at, Smella?” My voice echoes off the hospital walls. Staff looks up from their duties as we pass. “You have a boyfriend, remember?”