It's Complicated

by Julia Kent

“Boyfriend...zzz...?” Alex looked at Josie. If it wouldn't have caused searing pain, his eyebrows would be at his hairline. “You have a thing for threesomes?”

  “No, my friends and relatives have a thing for threesomes,” Josie retorted. Trevor looked extremely uncertain and pulled back.

  “And her new job’s all about—” Darla piped up.

  “SHUT UP, DARLA!” Josie shouted. Darla wandered into the apartment building, muttering under her breath.

  Motioning for Trevor to help him limp home, they made it about twenty feet before Josie huffed and caught up to them, carrying her first-aid kit.

  “You’re impossible.”

  “Then we’re a match,” he shot back.

  “Seriously? C’mon, Alex. This is about your permanent health. You need to go to an ER.”

  “I need to get home. My first-aid kit is better—it has way more supplies.”

  “Size matters. Who knew,” Josie cracked.

  The blonde guy snorted, but stopped when Alex glared at him. “Do you have Lidocaine in there?” Alex’s tone was supercilious, and he knew it, but he just wanted to get out from under the humiliation and pain. Being at home would help. He could make real decisions there, with his own kit, good lighting, and away from the ongoing misery that being so stupid was shelling out.

  “Why would I?”

  “I’ll need it to stitch this up.”

  “You’re going to sew your own face? Hardcore, old man,” Trevor said in awe.

  “Shut up,” Josie and Alex said in unison.

  “I know! Shut up. Who does that? Who stitches their own flesh? It’s like that old movie from the 1960s—Rambo?” Trevor reached around Alex to shake his good hand.

  “Really,” Alex frowned at him. It hurt his eye. “Seriously, how old are you?"

  “We meant shut up as in stop talking.” Josie cleared her throat. “Darla, can you go get my keys? We need to get Alex down the street to his apartment.”

  “You want to fold me into your little car? Like this? Absolutely not. Just get me home.” Lurching down the sidewalk with Rambo-lover his only support wasn’t cutting it.

  “What do you suggest? We prop you up on a skateboard and roll you home?”

  “Mama actually won one for us, Josie!” Darla said excitedly, coming out of the apartment holding a glass of water for Alex. “Drink this. You need it.” She turned around and rushed back inside.

  “You are not putting me on a skateboard and rolling me home. That would be unsafe.”

  “I know!” Josie exclaimed. “You might, oh, hit a sign or something!”

  Like a zombie in a cheesy film, Alex began the slow drag home, making it half a block before Josie buzzed around him again, nattering on about the ER.

  “You are the worst patient!” she said, nearly bursting into tears. Something in her voice broke, though she didn’t actually cry. She didn’t have to. He understood emotional pain all too well.

  Oh, fuck.

  Darla came running outside, a red and black thing that loosely resembled a skateboard in her hands. “Here!”

  “Darla, that’s a ripstick,” Trevor said, laughing.

  “It’s a skateboard!”

  “No, it’s not,” Joe added. “It’s two diamonds with wheels, connected in the center. He’d be on his ass in three seconds if he tried to roll down the block on a ripstick.”

  “Shit,” Darla said, staring at it. “Now there are different kinds of skateboards? How am I supposed to know this?”

  “Did your mom win you a Segway? Because that could help,” Joe asked.

  Josie waved them off. “You guys go back to…whatever you were doing. I’ll take care of Alex.” They complied, Trevor saying something that made Darla burst into giggles.

  “You will?” Alex asked, starting to pant from pain and exertion. How could he go from barreling along at a fast clip to this? Being out of breath from a snail’s pace? Pain radiated through his hip and his shoulder ached. The wound on his face was crying, blood coagulating, and the throb of a new gash set in.

  “If you’re too stupid to get to an ER, then you leave me no choice, dumbass.”

  “Hey! Watch the name-calling. I’m not dumb.”

  “Okay, asshat.”

  “Much better.”

  Lurch. Pause. Lurch. Pause. He couldn’t lean on her—she’d snap in two. A few parked cars gave him relief, a place to pause. Regretting the move to dismiss Trevor, he forced himself to keep going. Once he was sequestered in his own little apartment he would be able to get some mastery over this mess.

  “You are the most stubborn jackass I have ever met.”

  “I consider that a compliment, coming from you. Where do you hide your Olympic gold medal in obstinance, Josie?”

  “With my sex toys.”

  “So you can view it daily?”

  “Hey!” she barked. “That’s low.”

  “But true.”

  “Okay. True, but low. It’s not my fault the only form of affection I get these days comes from molded BPA-free plastic.”

  “It’s my fault?” At his driveway, he could see the end of this torture. The pain part.

  “It just is, Alex. Like your wound. And it needs to be dealt with.”

  “You can’t fix my gash with a sex toy.”

  She laughed. “I might be stubborn enough to try.”

  “See? You beat me there. You’re the Stubborn Champion.”

  “Right now I want to be the nurse who convinces you to get proper care.” Her voice was weary, filled with sadness. She lent him a hand as he bobbled to his door.

  He felt his pockets for his keys. Shit. No keys. Phone? No phone.

  “I lost my—”

  Trevor appeared suddenly, both in hand. “Here!” he said, breathing hard. “Darla found them on the sidewalk. Had me run them over.”

  Grateful, Alex took the keys, while Josie reached for the phone. Opening his door, he hobbled in, opened the apartment door, and collapsed on the couch.

  Josie fished around in his fridge and came back with an ice pack and a glass of water. “Nice ice wrap,” she said as she handed it to Alex, who carefully slid his arm through the wrap’s hole. The wraparound shoulder ice pack had come in handy over the years with rotator cuff injuries. Boy, was he glad it had been in the freezer. The cold gave him instant relief.

  “What about your ass?” Josie asked.

  “What about it? Do you like it? I embedded gravel and added a few red scrapes to it just for you.”

  Sighing, Josie went back to the freezer and found a package of peas. “You’re a regular Tim Gunn of road rash, Alex. Sit on this,” she commanded.

  Positioning the bag on his hip and ass, he had to admit that the cold packs made a huge difference in his comfort level. Internally, discomfort and anxiety were through the roof, because now that the crisis was over, he had to figure out what to do with Josie. Was she here out of professional courtesy? Because she really cared about him? Was there a chance to reconcile?

  Or what?

  Pressing the glass of his phone, Josie made a series of puzzled faces. “Aha!” she finally said.

  “What are you doing?” His head throbbed, and he was emotionally and physically wiped.

  “Under ‘Contacts’—Mom.”

  He opened his eyes and sat up. “You wouldn’t!”

  “I’ll call her if you don’t go to an ER and get care.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Look. I just need to clean it, apply Lidocaine, and do my own stitching.”

  “What’s her name again? Oh. That’s right. Meribeth. Is it Dr. Derjian, or does she have a different last name?”

  Groaning, he forced himself to stand, limping into the bathroom while clutching the frozen peas to his ass cheek. “I can’t hear you!”

  “But your mom can.”

  Slam! He looked at himself in the mirror. Gah! World War Z makeup artists couldn’t have done better. If medicine didn’t work out for him, he could get a job a
s an extra on the set of The Walking Dead. Road rash on his ass and one calf. The gash on his face. Probably the shoulder was just from the force of the fall, and his hip—time would tell. If it were too bad he couldn’t have staggered two blocks. He was healthy. Healing would just take time.

  But that gash…that would take stitches. The idea of going to any emergency room right now made his stomach heave. First off, it was July—the month when new interns come in for the beginning of their internship year. That meant he’d be handed off to some fresh-faced med student with the suture skills of Leatherface. No fucking way.

  Second, being a doctor who had to be treated for running into a sign meant ridicule. Big, heaping doses of it from colleagues. Again—no way.

  Pulling out his first-aid kit, he found what he needed to start cleaning the wound. And then—

  Bang bang bang. “Alex?”

  “Yes?”

  “Open the door.”

  “No.”

  “Alex!” Bang bang bang.

  “I am fine, and about to start stitching. I really don’t need anyone screaming and banging in a way that might make my hands shake.”

  “I know damn well you can perform a splash ’n’ slash C-section without shaking. So you can handle a pissed off woman telling you you’re being a fool.”

  Damn it. She was right.

  “Just…Josie, let me handle this my way.” The sting of antiseptic was a welcome, if painful, diversion.

  Silence. As Alex went about the process of cleaning the cut, he could see exactly how close he’d been to the eyeball. A few millimeters north and he wouldn’t be able to claim there was no need for ER care.

  He’d never stitched his own flesh before. Other doctors had talked about it. As he carefully looked at the wound, though, he wondered if plain old tissue adhesive would be enough. The gash was closer to the corner of his eye, and he’d have a scar regardless of whether it was glued with Dermabond or stitched.

  Questioning whether he was in the right mind to do anything, Josie’s insistence gave him pause. As minutes passed, he sat down on the toilet, ruminating. Sounds from the kitchen—the fridge door opening and closing, running water, the gurgle of a coffee machine—told him Josie was still out there. Why was she staying? Could he apologize and try to repair their relationship? The stress at work was fading as what felt like the Star Chamber receded into being just another case, now put to rest. Josie had been right—his grandfather’s trial was broken and he was on the new medication. She’d left her job—was it because of Alex?

  And then there was this threesome thing…

  He stood and sighed. Time to decide. He chose the Dermabond.

  And Josie.

  How long was that man going to be in there? Standing in front of the bathroom door, she gave up, defeated but angry. Really angry. That gash and the way he limped—he needed to be seen. His stupid doctor ego was getting in the way, and Darla was right.

  Doctors make the worst patients.

  His phone was right there, where she’d left it, on the coffee table.

  Time to meet Alex’s mother.

  A few presses on the glass and the phone rang.

  “Meribeth here.”

  “Um, hello, Dr. ...Derjian?” Was it Derjian? Damn. Alex hadn’t told her.

  “Yes?”

  “My name is Josie Mendham, and I—”

  “Josie!” Her voice became warm and friendly instantly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  That was an unexpected reception. “I’m here at your son, Alex’s, apartment, and—”

  “You are? How delightful!”

  Huh? “I wish it, um, were delightful, Dr. Derjian, because—”

  “Call me Meribeth!”

  “Um, Meribeth, Alex has been injured.”

  A beat of silence. “How, exactly, did you injure him, my dear?” Meribeth asked in a hushed voice, implying something that made Josie blush from head to toe.

  “How did I...what... Oh, no! Not that, um, way—no! He ran into a street sign and gashed his face.”

  “What!” The tone of voice changed to panic. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s refusing to go to the ER.”

  “Of course he is. Stubborn boy. I’ll be right there.” Click.

  Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. That hadn’t gone exactly as planned. Josie was strung out on the inside, but she needed to wait and make sure Dr. Mule was going to be okay. The fridge held little but milk; she refilled the ice trays. Ice would be his best friend for the next day or two.

  Coffee. She needed coffee. Searching through the cabinets yielded a bag of Rao’s, ground, so she made a full pot because hey—why not? Dr. Derjian was on her way.

  Josie was about to meet Alex’s mom.

  In the most bizarre way.

  As the coffee gurgled, she wondered what she was supposed to do right now. She certainly wasn’t his girlfriend. They weren’t even dating. Not even fucking. Josie wasn’t a booty call. Technically, she was an ex…something. They had been somethigning when he’d gone stupid and accused her of violating professional ethics and compromising an enormously important research trial.

  And then…what, exactly, had happened? Although she’d rolled the last few weeks’ events around in her head a million times, it only now occurred to her that the two most stubborn people in the world were at a standoff in Alex’s apartment. He wouldn’t budge. She wouldn’t budge.

  She’d done nothing wrong. Not one damn thing.

  But if he knew that, he would have reached out. Right?

  Inhaling slowly through her nose, she stretched her neck until it cracked, and she realized how tense and tight she was. Watching him on the ground, not moving, body splayed out and bleeding, had made her realize how much she missed him.

  Wanted him.

  Craved him.

  Needed him.

  For God’s sake, she’d called him honey. No man had ever been called honey by her lips. Jackass, asshat, cracker (that guy really was), shithead—you name it. Honey was…it was what you said to someone you loved.

  The creak of the bathroom door made her turn her head and jump up. Alex lumbered down the hall, using the wall for support, a soggy bag of peas in his hand.

  “Can you help me?” he asked. The gash was hard to see in the hallway’s shadow, but as he emerged into the light and Josie walked to him, taking the half-frozen bag, she saw what he had done.

  “You Dermabonded it!”

  “Yes.”

  Peering closely, she got right in his face, professional curiosity getting the best of her. “Good job. You’ll barely scar.”

  He folded his arms over his chest, smug now. She inhaled and the scent of man sweat and athleticism blended with antiseptic and glue. “Told you. I didn’t need an ER.” He sagged against the wall, clearly in pain, and Josie’s sense of self was heightened, her face two inches from his, Alex’s hand now resting on her hip. “But I could use some comfort care,” he said in a low, suggestive voice.

  Oh, how much she wanted to kiss him. Her body hummed, every inch of her skin wanting to touch every inch of his, her heart beating a pattern that only he could complete. Just as she leaned forward, pulled by a force of nature she couldn’t name, someone banged on the front door.

  Alex jumped and Josie pulled back, practically running to the door as Alex called out, “Who would be here now?”

  As she opened the door, Josie came face to face with a familiar woman, one who had brought Ed in for the Alzheimer's trial from time to time. “So good to see you again, Josie!” Meribeth Derjian said, reaching in for a hug. Josie was suddenly very aware that she was still wearing her pajamas.

  “You did!” Alex boomed. “You called my mother?” An incredulous look spread over his face as he limped closer to her.

  Josie held out her palms. “Don’t—I just—you were being unreasonable!” She inched backwards.

  “I was being unreasonable?” He snorted. “And why are you moving away from me? What are you afraid
of—that I’ll shuffle after you faster than you can run?” He thought for a second. “Then again, I’ve seen you run. Maybe your instincts are right.”

  “Alex!” Meribeth exclaimed, rushing to him, one palm against his injured cheek before he could say a word. “Josie did the right thing calling me. But…I thought you didn’t go to the ER. Did I misunderstand? You’re back already? Whoever did this surgical glue thing did a great job.”

  If he could tighten those arms against his chest another millimeter he’d cut off his own circulation. “I did it myself.”

  Meribeth rolled her eyes and shot Josie a sympathetic look. “Men,” they said in unison.

  “Oh, no!” Alex shouted, dragging himself to the coffee pot. He pulled out a mug and declared, “You do not get to double team me.”

  “It takes two of us to get you to see reason, Alex,” Meribeth answered. She gave Josie a knowing look. “Normally I have to bring one of my sisters in to help.”

  “Tell me about this side of him,” Josie asked, smiling. Interesting. She never thought about a layer to him that required prying and intervention.

  “Alex thinks he’s his own island. Doesn’t need help. Can handle everything life throws at him without any assistance.”

  Josie shrugged. “I can understand that.”

  “Thank you,” Alex said with sarcasm. “You demonstrate your respect for my independence so strangely,” he added, pointing to Meribeth as he angrily poured a mug of coffee, then struggled to get to the couch with the hot cup in hand.

  “Let me get that,” Josie said, taking the mug.

  “See? Perfect example,” Meribeth chimed in. “When he had an asthma attack during a soccer game in eleventh grade, he insisted on playing between nebulizer treatments.”

  “It was state championships!” Alex objected.

  “When he was studying for MCAT exams for medical school, he ingested so much NoDoz he couldn’t sleep for three days, and we finally had to have him hospitalized. It took about an elephant's dose of tranquilizer to get him to sleep.”

  “But my scores got me in!” he said as he settled into a corner spot on the couch, motioning to Josie for his mug, which she gave him.

  “I thought you were Dr. Calm and Mellow. Dr. Perfect. Dr. Centered,” Josie said, a dawning feeling hitting her. He was nuanced. Flawed. Imperfect. He glared at her and said nothing, but the edges of his mouth cracked into a smile.