Where We Belong

by K. L. Grayson

  “You didn’t tell him about Max, did you?" I ask nervously, wringing my hands together.

  Levi shoves his hands in his pockets and pins me with an annoyed look. “That’s a stupid question. Of course I didn’t. Again, that’s not my story to tell.”

  “Holy moly, this is like a Jerry Springer show and I’m the live studio audience." Lifting her hands in the air, Quinn acts as though she’s a narrator, even altering her voice for optimal performance. “Girl tells best friend she loves him. Best friend leaves girl. Best friend’s best friend helps heal girl's broken heart. Best friend returns only to leave again...only to return again." We all chuckle at her impromptu performance. “Wow,” she continues, “I did not see all this coming when I came over here tonight. Seriously, Harley, you can’t make this shit up.”

  “You didn’t see this coming?" I ask incredulously. “What about me? This changes everything.”

  WHOA! What? Where did that come from? I’ve been saying all along that this changes absolutely nothing. I’ve clearly been lying to myself.

  “So...now what?" Quinn asks, looking at me curiously and then at Levi. Reaching up, she starts twirling a strand of hair around her forefinger. It’s a nervous habit the both of us share.

  “Now, Miss Quinn,” Levi says, pushing her hand out of her hair. “Now we sit back and watch Harley fumble her way through this. It should be quite entertaining." Levi has a goofy smile on his face and his deep blue eyes are smiling warmly at me. Reaching down, he pulls me up to him, wrapping me in a tight hug.

  “I’m gag ewe fine gas runny," I mumble into his shirt.

  His deep chuckle vibrates through me. He pulls back and I tilt my head to look at him. “I'm sorry you find my gas runny," he says with a smirk.

  “I said I’m glad you find this funny.” I frown up at him as Quinn walks up behind me and they sandwich me in a hug. I love these two so much. Tears sting my eyes just thinking about everything they have done to help me get to where I am today. I wouldn’t be here if they didn’t love me and believe in me as much as they do.

  It’s after ten o’clock before I end up kicking them out, refusing their multiple attempts to help me clean. “Go!" I say, pushing them out the door. “I need to clean. It’ll give me time to think."

  Two hours later, I’m still cleaning an already spotless kitchen because I can’t seem to keep my mind from going in a million different directions. I’ve not only cleaned every nook and cranny in the refrigerator, but I also took care of the stove, microwave, and toaster oven.

  I force myself to take a shower, fighting off a thousand ‘what ifs,’ and crawl under my crisp, cool sheets. I toss and turn for over an hour before I finally give up. Reaching across my bed, I run my hand along the underside of the mattress until my fingers hit the edge of what I’m looking for. Pushing myself up against the headboard, I lean back, pulling my knees up to my chest.

  I stare at the old, tattered picture. The edges are falling apart and there are numerous smudges and tear stains. I’ve been able to find comfort in the picture off and on over the past five years, pulling it out when I felt like I couldn’t remember what he looked like or what his voice sounded like.

  I run my finger across the picture that was taken of Tyson and me when we were twelve. The photo was snapped after a summer co-ed soccer game. It had rained that day, and our jerseys and cleats were covered in mud. My ponytail hung messily across my left shoulder and we both had mud caked to our faces and legs. Our smiles were large and bright as we posed for the camera with our arms wrapped tightly around each other’s shoulders.

  I would give anything to go back to the day this picture was taken, before high school, boyfriends, girlfriends, and gossip. A time when we were naïve and innocent, and all we cared about was playing ball, winning games, fishing, and catching fireflies. A time before emotions, love, and rejection. I squeeze my eyes closed, hugging the picture to my chest, and allow myself to be absorbed in the memory.

  I can feel the tears breach the corner of my eyes, but I don't wipe them away. I let them make their journey down my face because they're there for a reason. Although at this point, I’m not sure if I'm crying because of the happy memories, the sad ones that came years later, or out of fear of what’s to come.

  “ALRIGHT, MRS. COLLINS, YOU’RE good to go!" I yell, slowly enunciating each word. Sweet Mrs. Collins is completely deaf, even with her hearing aids. “I’ve sent the prescription to your pharmacy electronically, and don’t forget¸ no more Q-tips in your ear.”

  “Why would I put Q-tips in my beer?" she yells back, furrowing her brow in confusion.

  “No." I shake my head, laughing, and point to my ear. “Not beer. EAR. Don’t put Q-tips in your ear.”

  “Oh. Okay," she says, patting my hand gently and nodding her head. Gripping her walker, she shuffles down the hall with the nurse following closely behind.

  I head over to the nurses’ station to finish my charting on Mrs. Collins when Avery steps out of an exam room. “Hey, Avery. How’s your morning going?”

  Avery completed her residency two years ago at a hospital in Indiana. She recently relocated to St. Louis after accepting a job here in the ER.

  “It’s going okay," she says, wiping her arm across her forehead. "I’ve done stitches on a head laceration, and I’m fairly certain that the gentleman I just examined broke his hip. How’s your day going?” she asks, falling in step with me.

  Avery is petite and at least a good foot shorter than me. She reminds me a lot of Brit; they both have straight, blond hair and big, blue eyes. She’s really quite beautiful—if that’s the type of girl you’re looking for. But right now, I’ve got my sights set on a gorgeous brunette with large green eyes, thick black lashes, and a dimple in each cheek. I can’t help but grin when I think about the look on Harley's face after she ran into me earlier this week and spilled her tea. Damn, she looked incredible. The past five years have treated her well. If it’s possible, she’s even more of a perfect version of the woman she already was.

  “Tyson?" Avery shakes my shoulder gently, pulling me from my memory.

  “Huh?”

  She smiles at me warmly, her perfectly straight teeth on display. “Where’d you go just now?" she asks. "You stopped talking and had a huge smile on your face."

  “Sorry,” I reply, pulling out a chair at the station for her and then one for myself. We both start thumbing through charts. “What did you ask me?”

  “I asked how your day was going.”

  “Eh...” I shrug. “It’s going, I guess. I’ve had an abdominal pain, a sprained ankle, and I just saw a woman who had the end of a Q-tip come off in her ear canal.”

  She chuckles lightly. “Mrs. Collins. I heard her yelling something about beer.”

  “I love my job," I state sarcastically with a grin, turning my head to look at her.

  She smiles shyly and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “So, you’re from around here originally, right?" she asks, turning back to continue her charting.

  “Yup," I nod. "Well, I was raised across the river in Illinois, but I grew up in the area. How are you liking it here so far?"

  I turn around when someone taps my shoulder. “I took Mr. Cook down for an X-ray of his ankle. I’ll let you know when he’s done," Callie says as she walks by the nurses’ station.

  “Thank you, Callie!" I holler at her retreating back and she throws her hand up over her head in response. I turn my attention back to Avery. “So...how are things going?”

  She averts her eyes, appearing nervous. Do I make her nervous? “It’s okay, I guess," she says with a shrug. “I don’t really have any friends and I don’t know anyone other than the staff here, so I spend most of my time off at home working around the house.”

  “You’ll make friends," I say, nudging her shoulder with mine. "The nurses here are all really great. You just need to get to know a few of them.”

  “Yeah, I will. I’m sure it’ll get better soon." She logs out of her com
puter and stands up, stretching her arms above her head. When she lowers her arms, she places her hand gently on my knee. I look down at it and frown.

  What the hell is that about? Is she hitting on me? The sad thing is that I’m a twenty-eight-year-old man and I’m not even really sure if a woman is hitting on me or not. Jesus Christ, I was with Brit for too long. And she never flirted with me—okay, sure she did in the beginning, but not after we got to New York. After the move, our relationship became strained and we never saw each other. You’d think that would’ve been a sign that maybe I shouldn't have proposed.

  I raise my head when Avery tightens her grip on my thigh. "Wow, you're really bruising my ego here," she says with a hesitant smile.

  "What?" I ask.

  Her blue eyes dance with amusement. "You keep spacing out on me. You're either preoccupied or I'm really boring."

  "No, you're not boring at all." I stand up and her hand slides off of my leg. A slight frown crosses her face before she looks at me, the smile firmly back in place. "I'm just preoccupied, that’s all. What were you saying?"

  She steps toward me. Holy fuck, she's bold. "I asked if I could maybe go out with you and your friends sometime. You know, to get out and meet some new people outside of work." She raises her eyebrows in question and gently bites her lower lip, but what sets off the alarm bells in my head is the hopeful look in her eyes. No way in hell am I going to do anything to mess up the groundwork I've laid with Harley. I hate to be a dick, but Avery needs to know that I'm not interested.

  I step back, leaning a hip against the desk. "Sure, we could go out sometime," I say nonchalantly. "I'd be happy to introduce you to some of my friends."

  "Great," she says, her smile growing even brighter than it already was. "I can't wait."

  I rub my hand against the back of my neck and divert my eyes. Fuck, I hope this doesn't come out wrong. "Avery, you and I are friends...and if we go out, it will be just as friends."

  Her face falls but she quickly recovers, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin. "Oh. Umm, yeah." She nods slowly. "Absolutely. I wasn't...are you dating someone?" she asks, tilting her head.

  I appreciate her audacity. I wish every woman would say what she is really thinking or ask for what she wants. "No, I'm not, but there is someone that I really care about."

  Her eyes soften in understanding and her hand grazes my arm lightly. "She's a very lucky woman." Running her hands down the front of her scrubs, she takes a deep breath and sighs before stepping back. "I better get back to work."

  I reach in my pocket as she walks down the hall. All this talk has me thinking about Harley. It makes me happy, knowing that she's in the hospital and I could run into her at any time. Pulling up my contact list, I click on Harley's name. I wonder if she ever changed her number? Only one way to find out.

  Me: Did you enjoy your tea?

  What I really want to say is 'you looked amazing the other night,’ but I don't want to scare her off so I'll stick with the tea.

  I make sure my phone is on silent and shove it back in my pocket. "Callie, who's up next?"

  I spend the next forty minutes examining an elderly gentleman with chest pain. "Callie, Mr. Pierce is going to be a direct admit to cardio. I've already talked to Dr. Davis and he's writing orders now."

  "I'm on it." Callie is a great nurse, but she's not very talkative and prefers keeping to herself. "You're free for a little bit, Dr. Grawe. Dr. Pierce took the next patient."

  "Thanks," I murmur, pulling out my phone on my way back to the break room. I unlock the screen and my heart pounds at the sight of her name.

  Harley: Who is this??

  What does she mean, "Who is this?" How many people does she have buying her tea?

  Me: Are there other doctors bringing you tea? Give me names so I can kick their asses!

  I pour myself a cup of coffee, anticipating her reply. My phone lights up almost instantly.

  Harley: How did you get my number?

  Me: Shot in the dark. You never changed it. Have lunch with me.

  I stir my coffee impatiently, hoping that she'll say yes.

  Harley: I can't.

  Me: Why not?

  Harley: I would but I brought something. I was going to eat on the run.

  Me: What did you bring?

  My knees bounce nervously under the table. I stare at my phone for a full minute before I realize what I'm doing. Jesus Christ, when did I grow a fucking vagina?

  Harley: I brought a pack of dog nuts to eat.

  Me: Uhh... that's an interesting lunch choice. Do you cook them or eat them raw?

  I hit send, chuckling to myself. Her reply is immediate.

  Harley: NO! OMG NO! Doughnuts! I brought doughnuts!

  I throw my head back and laugh. I can picture her with wide eyes, her fingers typing furiously on her phone.

  Me: Thank God! Doughnuts are still a horrible lunch choice though. I'll break about 12:30. Have lunch with me.

  She doesn't reply and I tuck my phone in my pocket, disappointed at my failed attempt. She'll come around...I'll just have to give her a little more time.

  I see my next two patients, one with pneumonia and one with mono. Afterward, I sit down to finish my discharge paperwork and I can hear Rosie at the front desk, laughing enthusiastically. I can't help but smile to myself. Rosie is such a sweet woman and her laughter reminds me of my mom.

  I print off my patient's discharge instructions and walk into his room to give him a rundown of what he can and can't do, things he should watch for, and when to follow-up with his primary doctor. Once I’m certain that he understands the seriousness of the situation if he doesn’t comply—college students are notorious for relapses—I give him a note for class and then usher him out. I turn down the hall and walk into the break room, barely crossing the threshold before stopping dead in my tracks. Goosebumps run up my back at the sight of a pair of mossy green eyes that I’ve dreamt about every night for the past five years. The door slams into my back, propelling me forward.

  Harley jumps up and hurries to my side. "Damn, that had to hurt. Are you okay?" she asks, her face laden with concern.

  "I'm fine," I snap, straightening my spine and smoothing my shirt. "What are you doing here?" Damnit, that didn't come out right. This is what happens when I'm around her. It's like she sucks the air out of the room and my brain loses the ability to function.

  She steps back. Her lips are pursed and a quick flash of regret crosses her face.

  "I'm sorry," she stammers, taking a step toward the door. "I should have texted you back." Another step. "I got busy and then realized it was almost twelve-thirty." She looks at the door and then back at me before shoving her hands in the front pockets of her scrubs. "I should go."

  "No!" I snap, reaching out and stopping her before she makes it out the door. "No—" I shake my head, trying to pull myself together. "I mean, yes. I do want to have lunch with you. Please don't be sorry." I run my hand down the length of her arm and grip her wrist lightly, stepping toward her. My movement causes her to look up and her breath fans my face. She smells of tea and cinnamon, and I would give anything to bend down and have a taste for myself.

  I run my thumb over the inside of her wrist several times, grateful when she doesn't pull away. She looks down at my hand, then back up at me.

  "I'm really glad you came down here, Harley." She smiles timidly and reaching up, she wraps a chunk of hair around her finger. Some things never change. If there is one thing I learned from being friends with Harley for so long, it’s her nervous habits. She stammers when she talks and she twirls her hair...incessantly. I'm not sure why, but the fact that I know she's nervous right now makes me smile. It lets me know that she still cares.

  I can't stop staring at her. My eyes roam freely from top to bottom and she stands there quietly, letting me take my fill. She's so fucking gorgeous, and the fact that she's completely oblivious to it makes her that much more attractive.

  I’m well aware
that I have a huge grin on my face and it probably looks ridiculous, but I don't give a shit. Harley came down here to have lunch me. This is a huge step. I can't even describe what it means to me that she took that initiative.

  Harley leans in, lifting her hand to my bicep and my heart starts pounding on contact. "We should get going. I've only got an hour."

  "Right." I open the door and gesture for her to go in front of me. The side of her mouth ticks up and she walks through the door, giving me a slight curtsy once she’s out in the hall.

  I follow behind her for a few steps and allow myself the chance to watch her. Harley is of average height, maybe five feet six inches. She has curves in all the places that a healthy woman should have curves and they are sexy as hell. My eyes drift downward, catching sight of the way her hips sway with each step. It's like she's floating. What the fuck is wrong with me? Floating? A brief shake of my head and two quick strides puts me next to her, and I nudge her gently with my shoulder. "I'm glad you decided to come have lunch with me."

  "Me too." She nudges back, a playful smile sliding across her face. Her smile alone makes my heart flop around in my chest. It's infectious, and the two dimples that perfectly frame her amazing mouth only add to the effect. Why the hell didn't I notice all these things five years ago?

  Something stirs deep inside of my body—a pull. A pull to be near her and touch her. My arm grazes hers as we walk and she smiles coyly without looking up. Her smile makes me happy...it always has. I dreamt of it several times over the years, and I’m overjoyed to finally see it again. I need to see her smile like this every day.

  We both walk through the cafeteria line and Harley grabs a turkey sandwich and apple as I reach for the same. She finds us a table while I grab our bottles of water.