Paradise by the Dashboard Light

by Kathryn R. Biel

  Watery gray light filters through my window, letting me know that my rest time is over. I should probably check on Ian before I set about getting ready. Beth has to be at work early this morning, meaning she slept hard and fast throughout the night. I pop out of bed with more energy than I should have and rush to check on Ian. There are large bags under his eyes, and his face is taut.

  My heart skips a beat, worried that there's something terribly wrong. Complications from surgery, like infections or blood clots. Again with the complications. "Hey, are you okay?"

  "Do you think you can help me up?" he asks apologetically. "I'm sorry," he quickly adds.

  "There's nothing to be sorry for. Did you get any sleep?"

  He shakes his head slightly. "Not much. You?"

  "Not really," I reply as I set about taking that contraption off his leg and gingerly swinging it down to the floor.

  "How come?" Ian reaches for his crutches.

  I shrug. "I dunno. Thinking about things. Ready? One, two, three." I help Ian up to a standing position and hold onto his waist for a minute while he gets his bearings. He told me last night standing up made him dizzy. I already broke him once. I don't need to do it again.

  "Thanks. I'm okay." He looks down at me.

  Quickly, I avert my gaze elsewhere. The last thing I should be doing is looking longingly into his eyes. Mooning would be more like it.

  "I have to work today. Are you going to be okay?" I stare at a spot on his shoulder.

  "I should be, if you can fill the cooler. I need to be getting up more anyway. It will be good for me to practice."

  "I think Beth is working today." I look at my watch. It's almost six. Beth probably already left. I need to get a move on to get to work on time. I like to be there by seven-thirty.

  "Yeah, she and Pete will be working double-duty to cover my shifts. All the third-years will have to pitch in to cover the clinic, the floor, and the E.D., so I need to get back as soon as I can."

  "E.D.?"

  "Emergency Department."

  I nod in understanding. "But won't that be like six weeks or a few months?" In my head, a panic explodes that I'll have to be with him for that long. It might just kill me.

  "I'm hoping to be back to work next week."

  That doesn't sound right. "Okay, so I'm not a doctor or anything, but isn't that too soon?"

  He smiles at me and finally starts limping down the hall, his crutches thumping gently on the hardwood. "I'll worry about that. I am a trained professional."

  Since he's tying up the bathroom, I head into the kitchen and start a pot of coffee and take a few minutes to pack a quick lunch. I really need to get moving in the bathroom, but I don't want to rush Ian. On the other hand, he has all day, and I need to get to work. Not like I'll have much to contribute with my three functioning brain cells. At least tonight I'll know Ian will be on my couch when I get home. It won't be a shock.

  I knock on the bathroom door. "Um, Ian? I need to get in the shower."

  He opens the door, revealing a firm chest and abs that make me look twice. His gym shorts hang a little lower than I'd prefer as I'm quite distracted by, well, everything. His hair is wet and the facial hair works for him. "Oh, sorry. I was trying to clean up a bit. I can't shower yet, but I'm pretty sure I smell."

  Before I can stop myself, I lean in toward his chest, close my eyes, and inhale deeply. The crispy spice of his deodorant fills my nostrils, with an underlying scent of something manly yet familiar. My brain remembers his essence and my loins (do women even have loins?) remember his pheromones.

  I open my eyes to see his eyebrows knit together. "Did you just smell me?"

  I look at my feet, blood warming my face. When will I stop acting like a moron around Ian? "I was helping out. You smell fine. I don't. I need to get to work. You have all day to wash up."

  "If I need to wash up, then isn't there an issue?" Ian does nothing to get out of my way. "And who under the age of ninety says wash up anyway?" He grins that devilish grin that makes my loins (I'm fully convinced I have loins now) clench.

  There's part of me that wants to revert back to my nine-year-old self and shove Ian out of the way. Then there's the part of me that's two decades older who understands pushing a man on crutches is probably a bad idea, especially considering it's my fault he's on them in the first place.

  Then there's the all adult part of me that wants to do something else entirely.

  "Oh my God, I overslept. I gotta pee. Move. I gotta pee." Beth comes barreling down the hall, cutting in between Ian and me, and not even waiting for Ian to be fully out of the bathroom before dropping trough.

  "Oh, God, Beth, I did not need to see that!" I try to shield my eyes as I turn away.

  "I guess she beat you into the bathroom." Ian laughs, slowly making his way back to the couch. We can hear the water running and the occasional thump. I proceed to pour my coffee and bring Ian a cup. When Beth's finally out of the bathroom, I dash in. It's going to be tight to get to work on time, so getting out the door becomes my singular focus. As I rush through, I see Beth bent over Ian's knee, and the wrapping removed. I don't want to see any blood and gore.

  My body takes over the commute, hoofing it as fast as I can make it without breaking into a full-blown run. By the time I'm climbing the stairs to our office suite, Ian's been replaced by the Caparazzo account, which is a welcome reprieve.

  My heart cannot take the hope and the letdown again.

  

  Ian

  I don't know what to do with myself. Sitting here on the couch in Beth and Rio's apartment leaves a lot to be desired. So does being hooked up to an ice water bath and falling asleep every few minutes. Beth unwrapped my knee for me, although I'm confident I can handle wrapping and unwrapping it myself. She's going to bring home supplies so I can change my dressing. I run through the exercises I'm supposed to be doing, which is mostly working on straightening my knee. I vaguely remember Dev saying something about not using my quads to do it, which seems impossible. I grab my phone and send him a text.

  And then I don't know what else to do. I don't have my notes to study. I send a text to Pete and John to see if someone could bring them by. I might as well keep up on things. I'm hoping to make it to Grand Rounds on Friday. I should be able to hobble in and sit there.

  Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? is on. God, TV sucks.

  Beth has given me carte blanche kitchen privileges, but I'm uncomfortable rummaging through someone else's cabinets. I mean, not everything here is Beth's.

  But if it's not Beth's then it's Rio's.

  This is all too weird. I still can't wrap my head around it. Honestly, until the moment I walked into Casa Pedro and heard that song, I hadn't thought of Rio in eons. I'd resigned myself to the fact years ago that she was gone, never to be found. Rainne still plagued my thoughts occasionally, though not nearly as much as she used to, when I was an obsessive teen bent on getting the Holy Grail. Rainne was my unachievable quest, and her betrayal at the end was horrific on so many levels.

  She taunted and teased me for so long, first with taking so long to agree to date me, and then with having sex.

  Only to go off and screw Travis right after she'd been with me.

  Right after I told her I loved her.

  It doesn't take an armchair psychologist to figure out why relationships aren't my thing. I keep telling myself that I have time to get over it before I'm looking to settle down for good. Everything else in the meantime is just for fun.

  It's why Trish and me worked. Well, until it didn't.

  Not to mention that between med school and residency, fourteen-hour shifts and ninety-hour workweeks, I have neither the time nor the energy to expend on something so frivolous as dating and romance. The energy and effort of meeting new people. Testing them out to see if you're compatible. While it would be nice to have someone outside the hospital to talk to, I've resigned myself to putting dating off for a few more years. Once I'm settled, I'm su
re things will figure themselves out, and I'll be able to have the life I've sort of always figured I'd have.

  Until recently, my plan included Evan—I did realize my parents wouldn't always be able to care for him. While I won't need to make arrangements for his direct care, I'll probably at least have to look for a house close to his home now, which means settling down in Cedarwood. It would make sense to wait until I move back home to start dating.

  Unless I already found someone from Cedarwood.

  My stomach growls, pulling my focus to the present rather than the future, and forcing me to make the journey into the kitchen. Even though I'm in the mood for something more substantial, I can reach the apple that's on the counter without difficulty. I supplement it with a yogurt that's within my grasp in the fridge. I haven't quite figured out how to bend over with the leg immobilizer on yet. Next time I talk to Dev, I'll ask for clearance to get out of this stupid thing. Orthos have an ongoing debate about whether or not to brace after ACL reconstruction. I know the evidence doesn't support it, but I’m also not going against doctor's orders. Yet.

  Even though I've been out of commission—this is day three including the day I fell—I'm already wiped out, so position myself for a nap. Plus being upright is making my leg throb. The cold therapy makes it feel much better, and I relax enough to fall asleep.

  I pass most of the day alternating between dozing and moving around. I shouldn't be surprised at my drowsiness based on the pain medication. I don't like it, but it's to be expected. On the other hand, I know sleep is critical for tissue growth and regeneration. And let's face it, it's not like I get tons of sleep on a regular basis. I could probably sleep for a week and still not be caught up, and that has nothing to do with the injury.

  The front door opens, waking me. I have no idea what time it is. Early evening, maybe? Too early for Beth to be home yet, so it must be Rio. I ignore the tightness in my chest. That's ridiculous. A memory of her in those leather pants flashes through my mind, followed quickly by a memory of what was under those pants.

  "How's my favorite patient doing?"

  I was not prepared to hear Dev's voice. I sit up a bit too quickly and wince from the resulting pain. "Yo, man. What are you doing here?"

  "Checking on you, idiot."

  "I didn't think hot shot attendings made house calls."

  Dev's got a black bag from which he produces gloves and supplies to do a dressing change.

  "I can do that for myself. I am a doctor, you know."

  Dev smiles. "You're still a third year. And a pediatrician. You wouldn't know what to do." He gets to work, first checking my incision and then the range of motion in my knee.

  The door flies open, making me jump for the second time. "Ian! Oh my God, Ian! I forgot you were—" Rio barrels into the apartment and skids to a stop when she sees Dev.

  "Oh, hi," she says a bit breathlessly, like she's run all the way here. Grocery bags dangle from her hands. "After I left this morning, I sort of forgot you were here. This afternoon, when I finally stopped for lunch, I realized you probably weren't able to get anything to eat. I had to wrap something up and bring the rest home, but I got here as soon as I could." She pauses for a moment, looking Dev up and down. "I didn't realize you'd have someone taking care of you already."

  Dev stands up quickly and removes his gloves. "I'm Dev Agarwal. I'm Ian's surgeon." He extends a hand to Rio, which she promptly shakes.

  Giving Dev a large, relaxed smile, Rio replies, "I didn't know doctors made house calls anymore! That's so nice of you. I'm Rio."

  I notice that she doesn't add that she's my friend, or even that she's Beth's roommate. Being Rio is enough.

  I also notice that she gives him a big, warm smile and is again looking him up and down. He's got that dapper-thing going on, with his fancy custom shirt and vest.

  All the ladies love Dev.

  "So you're letting this big oaf crash here?" I hope she doesn't find his accent attractive. Most women do.

  The need to get him out of here and away from Rio is overwhelming.

  Rio nods. "It was a bit of a shock to find him camped out on my couch when I came home from work yesterday, but well," she looks down at me and shrugs. "What are you going to do?"

  Something about their interaction is not sitting well with me. The ease with which she smiles. The interested tone in his voice. It's the bloody accent. Dammit.

  "What do you do for work?" Dev follows Rio into the kitchen. I hear the water running and assume he's washing his hands. Even though I strain, I can't hear what they're saying clearly.

  "Can I wrap up now?" I yell loudly. Obtusely. Like I've got somewhere pressing to be instead of on this stupid couch.

  "Keep your shorts on. I'm making you dinner," Rio calls from the kitchen. That's certainly nice of her, so I can't complain. Well, I shouldn't complain.

  The fact that I can hear them speaking but can't hear what they are talking about is driving me mad. They've been in the kitchen a while. Too long. I wait. And wait. And wait. Then I'm done waiting. I need to know what they are up to. I re-wrap my knee, taking care to smooth out the wrinkles in the ace wrap. Then I haul myself up and hobble out to join the party. I don't like that they've been alone all this time. It has to have been at least a half-hour, if not more.

  "What are you doing up?" Rio asks, somewhat in a panic.

  "I'm supposed to get up and move around. Doctor's orders." I smile, probably unconvincingly, at Dev.

  "Not without your immobilizer, you're not," Dev chides.

  "Oh, come on. Do I really need that?"

  Dev frowns. "Yes, you do. And you will be getting a brace next week. And you will wear it."

  "A brace? The evidence doesn't—"

  "I know you and I know you'll try to do too much too soon. If I could trust you to follow protocol, like most sane people would, I wouldn't order a brace. But we all know you're a bit too intense for your own good, and if the brace stops you from undoing all my beautiful work, then it's worth it."

  I can feel the scowl forming on my face. He's not … wrong, but it's not like I'm going to admit that to him or Rio, who seems to be taking a certain amount of delight in my dressing down.

  "Okay, fine." I notice a delectable smell wafting off the stove. "Whatcha making?" I lean around Dev, but Rio's body is blocking the stove.

  "Stroganoff," she says without turning around. I could be imagining things, but I think I see her shoulders and back go rigid. To the right of her on the counter is a bowl of peas.

  "Stroganoff and peas?" I ask, even though it's blatantly obvious that's what she's making.

  "Why don't you go sit down and get ice back on your leg? You've been standing with it down for long enough, and you want to stay on top of the inflammation." Dev ushers me out of the kitchen.

  Stroganoff and peas.

  It's my favorite childhood meal. I can't believe Rio even knew that, let alone remembers it. Evan didn't like peas, so we rarely had them. It was always green beans, which I hated, and still do, but Evan could pick them up more easily with his fingers at first and then his fork with the built-up handle, making it fit more securely in his hand. I do remember one night I pitched a fit because we were having green beans again, and I wanted peas. I got sent to my room. That kind of behavior was neither accepted nor tolerated. Later, my dad told me that peas were too tricky for Evan to get into his mouth. And that was the night I learned what shame felt like.

  From that night on, foregoing my peas seemed like a minor sacrifice compared to all that Evan dealt with.

  The peas tonight are a guilty pleasure, with a side of shame.

  After a brief pit stop in the bathroom, I get myself situated back on the couch with the Cryocuff back on. Not that I'd admit it to Dev, but he was right. Being upright was causing the swelling to increase at a rapid rate, and as we all know, swelling means pain. I reach for my pill bottle but pull up short. I don't want to be sleepy and foggy and out of it. Especially not when Rio is cooking my
favorite dinner. And certainly not while Dev's circling her like a hungry shark.

  Dev's not the only thing that's hungry. My stomach growls in anticipation.

  As if she could hear my body's plea for food, Rio emerges from the kitchen with a wide, flat bowl in one hand and a cereal bowl in the other. She sets them on the end table. The steaming noodles and beef, covered in creamy sour cream goodness entice me.

  Dev places eating utensils next to the bowls. "That looks like dog food," he says with a wrinkle of his nose.

  "But it tastes so much better," I reply, dumping the peas right on top of the stroganoff. "And it's a good thing Rio's back in the kitchen and can't hear you. This was nice of her."

  "Yes, it was. I wonder what I have to do to get her to be nice to me like that?"

  I give Dev the side-eye. "Don't go getting any ideas. Rio's not into your type."

  "And what type am I that she doesn't want? Brilliant? Devilishly handsome? Cultured?"

  "Smarmy."

  Rio returns with a large salad, ending the conversation. "No stroganoff for you?" I ask.

  She smiles and then looks down quickly. "No, I made it just for you."

  My stomach tightens, this time not from hunger. The shame of the peas is replaced by a feeling of pride that she did this, just for me. If I were a peacock, I'd be strutting right now.

  "Well, I need to run. Ian, I'll be in touch. Keep the immobilizer on except for when you're doing your exercises, no exceptions. Rio, it's been a pleasure." I try not to notice that Dev kisses her hand. What is this, 18th century Europe? I swear, if he goes for the cheek kiss, I will punch him.

  The envy swirling through me is unfamiliar. I wonder where it's coming from?

  Chapter 14

  Rio

  I'm a stupid freakin' idiot. Me plus Ian McCallister equals melted brain cells and an inability to function like a normal human being. I probably couldn't be any more obvious. I might as well have served him supper and then offered to bear his children. Oh wait, I already did that. Good God, how could I have been so stupid? He's probably over there, desperately thinking about ways to get out of this apartment before I go all Single White Female on him. Which, if you think about, I sort of already did, minus the stiletto to the head.