Doctor Her: A Single Dad Virgin Romance

by Hazel Parker

  “You once told me you'd be a bird if you couldn't be a motorcycle,” she said her voice thick with tears. “I hope you get to be a motorcycle,” she whispered. “I love you. I love you so much and I'll never let you go,” she said kissing his lips before nodding to the doctor.

  She held his body tightly as the doctor undid the monitor wires, and we all watched as his chest rose and fell a few more times, each time slower than the last, and finally when it stopped. She cried as if the ferocity of it might have brought Harrison back; as if with the sheer force of her grief, the news would be undone.

  It was too much and I slid into the hallway to break free. The last time I saw someone cry like that was my mother after my father died. I didn’t like how Lila's pain brought back the painful memories of my concealed pain when my father passed. I was over it and had moved on, but the topic was still something I didn’t touch. At least that’s what I told myself.

  “Hey,” I called out to her as she came outside another patient’s room.

  She glanced up as she tapped into the iPad. “Hey.” Her smile was warm. “You look like you got more bad news.” Her smile slid away and concern knitted her eyebrows together. I liked it better when she was smiling at me, but I was touched she could feel so much for me—someone she'd only just met.

  “I'm not having the best day,” I admitted but I didn’t want to dwell on it. “You on break? I was hoping we could get coffee again.”

  Her mouth formed a pout and I wanted to kiss it. “No. I'm not. I have,” she flipped her wrist to see the time, “an hour left.”

  “Okay. No worries. I get it. I'm on your time.”

  “I would if I could,” she said apologetically.

  “I know,” I said, leaning against the wall.

  Kaylen

  Something in the way he leaned against the wall stopped me. I couldn't leave him. Not like this. I glanced into the room and knew what I was seeing. Taking someone off life support was always an emotional drain.

  "But technically, since you are here for a patient, I can spare some time and talk to you."

  His smile was worth any of the possible trouble I'd get into if someone caught me not doing rounds. He breathed a long sigh of relief. His eyes closed and placed his palms flat against the wall behind him.

  "You're not alone, you know?"

  "I know. It just feels like…" he paused, struggling to come up with the words.

  "A little like you're dying too?"

  His eyes opened and caught mine. Something of understanding passed between us and something else got caught in my throat.

  "Yeah," he choked.

  I moved to stand next to him.

  "I've lost a friend before."

  We both looked straight ahead, too vulnerable to look at each other.

  "Does it ever go away?" he asked desperately. He turned and looked down on me, his eyes a storm and raging sea.

  "No," I admitted, shaking my head.

  I wasn't ready for the devastation my truth would cause. His eyes told me more than his words ever could.

  "Come with me," I said, taking his hand. We speed-walked to an on-call room and once in, I slammed and locked the door behind me.

  "I'm so sorry," I said pulling him into a hug.

  There is no excuse I could dream up to explain my behavior. I don't know why I brought that man to that room. I don't know why I felt so much for this stranger. I don't. But it felt like the right thing to do. Our arms felt right wrapped around each other tightly and in that moment, we knew we weren’t just random strangers anymore, we were humans. He needed to be comforted, and I knew I could do it. I sunk into the warmth of his body, appreciating the simple gesture. His touch made the room warmer somehow. The world around me melted away as I squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end.

  He pulled back, mere inches from my face.

  "You don't have to apologize," he whispered. His eyes were the only thing visible in the darkness and close proximity. "I'm sorry too," he said leaning in.

  "For what?" I asked leaning closer, my mind unaware of what my body had decided.

  "For this," he said quietly as his mouth took mine.

  His lips brushed mine. Not innocent, but hot, fiery, passionate, and demanding. I wanted to pull away before I lost myself but I couldn’t seem to. In that moment, my senses had been seduced and I could no longer think straight. He kissed me and the world fell away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. My arms reached up and wrapped around his thick, strong neck. His hands cradled my face. His thumb caressed my cheek as our breath mingled. I ran my fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between us and I could feel the beating of his heart against my chest.

  In that moment, I was his anchor and I think he was mine.

  My pager buzzed in my pocket, hard enough for both of us to feel it. We pulled back slowly, almost afraid to let go.

  “Well, I’ve got work to do,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

  “That you do," he said slowly letting me go.

  "See you around the hospital? Hopefully no time soon though,” I smiled, opening the door before taking off down the corridor.

  What a dork. I'm so dumb. Why did I say that? My pager said I was needed on another floor so I pushed the button for the elevator. I watched him exit the on-call room. I tried to quell my anxiety by rocking back and forth on the balls of my tennis shoes. I could feel him staring, even though he was almost on the other end of the hallway. It was like even from that distance he was touching me. My skin was burning and with a racing heart I turned and waved at him before nervously tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. Finally the elevator came, and with a quick smile towards him, I went inside. I tried not think about what had just happened, but how could I not?

  What a kiss. I'd never been kissed like that in my life. And I wanted it again. Who was this man who touched me in places I thought had long shriveled up and died? I didn't even know his name. Would I ever see him again?

  Evan

  Today was a sucky day. The rest of the week would probably be even worse. We had to plan a funeral, find a burial place, and console a grieving woman, in addition to the normal work of club business. It could be a lot better. It would be, if I had her number. On impulse, I ran down the hall and stuck my arm into the quickly closing doors. I tensed just in case the doors didn’t recognize my arm and I lost an appendage. Thankfully the doors opened back up.

  “I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” she smiled nervously.

  “Me neither. But is that a bad thing?”

  She smiled and shook her head no. “This might be too forward, but I was wondering if you liked dancing. I figured you'd want to see me when I was less stressed and that I’d like to see you in something other than scrubs.”

  She laughed self-consciously.

  “Not that they aren't adorable in their own way, but I have a feeling you knock them dead in a dress.”

  She blushed and nodded her head. “I think I’d like to go dancing with you.”

  “Great. So is there any way I can get your number?” I laughed, “Or your name?”

  “Kaylen,” she giggled, realizing we’d talked several times without exchanging names. She handed me her phone and I leaned against the door as it attempted to close again and typed my number and name quickly into her phone as she typed her information into mine.

  “Evan.”

  The elevator beeped loudly, screaming as if telling on us, and I knew our time was up.

  “So this Saturday? Drinks?”

  “Sure,” she blushed.

  “Okay. I’ll call you,” I stepped back and smiled as the elevator doors shut between us.

  I had a date and I hadn’t had one of those in a very long time.

  Chapter Two

  Evan

  "Mr. Hunt," he said in a voice as slick as the gel in his hair, "long time no see."
He sat down at the corner of my desk, just inches from where my feet were propped up smiling widely.

  Why, God? Why? If there is a God, I'm asking what I did to deserve this.

  The idiot sitting at my desk went by the name of Harold Jenkins, Jinx for short, and he is the thorn in my side, the arch nemesis of Banditos. Every time he came around, I swear he’d just be looking for trouble.

  He's one of those people where when you see them, you’d want to go in the other direction.

  "Why are you here?" I may or may not have asked that with more gruff than necessary, but he was used to it. I was not in the mood to see him, let alone hear his irritating voice. He sounded like a mix between Donald Duck and that kid everyone knows with a bad lisp. His voice was raspy, like an old man, even though his face was young.

  "I've come to give you your audit notification, of course," he said, smiling and shaking his head.

  "You could have done that over the phone," I said, kicking my legs out, causing him to jump up or be hit.

  "I could have," he practically purred as he placed his fedora on his head and leaned forward to whisper, "but where's the fun in that?"

  I watched him leave, blood boiling in my veins. "You could have at least given me a time!" I yell at his retreating back.

  "I could have," he yelled over his shoulder as he went through the door.

  I should have been grateful. He didn't have to give me a heads up. The only reason he had was because we were greasing the inside of several IRS superiors’ pockets. He didn't like it, but he had a job to do and made it clear every time he saw my face that if he found so much as a decimal point off, he'd report us.

  Fuck!

  I slammed my hands flat against the desk. It's hard looking clean when you know you're not. I had to comb over every book and accounting entry to make sure every clean business that washed the money looked right even when I knew—and they knew—it wasn't.

  I sighed heavily.

  This is why I wanted to get clean. This extra shit was just that: extra. Extra work. Extra stress. Extra. Not worth it, in my opinion. I could see why we were in it though. The drug game was extremely profitable, and when we were starting out we had nothing and no one wanting to give us a thing. But that was 60 years ago. Hell, we moved from moonshine to drugs. I didn't see why we couldn't move from drugs to maintaining our actual businesses. Within five years, I'd gotten us the ownership of a car garage, three trucks, and was currently negotiating the ownership of a club. We didn't need the drug gig anymore. But motorcycle clubs are as democratic as your average dictatorship. We voted, but at the end of the day, Gus' word was law, and until Gus wanted out of the drug trade, we were still going to load them up into the base floors of our trucks and transport them underneath every day shipments.

  Banging my head against the desk seemed like the best thing to do, but I read somewhere that kills brain cells, so I checked my schedule instead. If there was one thing that ruined a Saturday, it was prepping for an audit.

  Date with Kaylen 8pm @ Oasis

  Kaylen and I had texted each other almost nonstop yesterday after she got off work. But between me helping at the club and her shifts, we’d only talked a little this morning to say, 'See you tonight.' And then I had to be a douchebag and cancel. It was the last thing I’d wanted to do. Plus, didn't girls think that meant you weren't interested? I didn't know what to say, but I had to play it right so she understood that I was canceling but not uninterested. I’ve always hated feelings for this very reason. They were unreliable and felt too much like game playing. I didn’t play games. I spent at least two minutes typing and deleting my message.

  "Hey, man," Jerry said, coming into the office. A quick glance at his face showed that he still looked sick.

  I mumbled to myself, "'Sorry I have to cancel tonight.' No, that's not right."

  "You rang?"

  "Yeah," I said, hitting his fist with mine per Bandito customary gesture. "We got a surprise audit coming."

  "Ugh. Bet. When?" he said, swinging the chair around and straddling it.

  "'Change of plans. I can't make it tonight. I'd love to reschedule.' No," I shook my head. "Tomorrow."

  "What?" he said loudly.

  "Yeah," I said nodding. I understood. It was almost not enough time. Almost. "'Can't make it tonight. Don't be mad. I'll make it up to you. Promise.' Yeah. That's it." I smiled and placed the phone inside my pocket, finally satisfied.

  I looked into Jerry's face and grimaced. He saw it and sighed, rubbing his unshaven faced. "I know. I know. You don't have to say it."

  "I do. Jer, you look like shit."

  He nodded and scratched at his scalp.

  "Is it Lila?"

  He nodded and rubbed his temple.

  "You want to talk about it?"

  "Nah."

  I hesitated for a moment, debating whether I should prod or let it go. Jerry was a grown man. He could handle his own, and it has always been my personal preference to stay out of other people’s business. I preferred keeping my nose in my own struggles. But he looked like he was dead on his feet. He obviously wasn't sleeping, and I didn't want to leave my brother if he needed help.

  "You sure?" I said, offering him a mental hand.

  "Let's get these numbers."

  "Alright," I said, pulling open our file cabinets, including the hidden one in the safe in the floor.

  When Shirley found us, we were knee deep in paperwork. It was everywhere. We both had old school calculators and pencils behind our ears.

  "You boys missed lunch," she said, her hands set firmly on her wide hips. Her red lips were set in a scowl. Her cheeks were as red as her hair, showing how hot cooking made her. She took it as a personal affront that we had missed chow time.

  Jerry went straight to apologies. “My bad, Shirley. What'd you make us?"

  "You know how it goes, Shirl," I said, standing up.

  "I know,” she said with sass and a smile. She turned to Jerry, "Sloppy Joes. That's why you have to come out of this den to eat it." With that, she turned around and walked out the door, fully confident we'd be following her.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  While we were holed in our cave to save the club from imploding, the brothers were gathering and chattering without a care in the world. Granted, there was less partying than usual – our brother had passed but Banditos lived by the code: tomorrow is a new day to steal. It was the lawless version of tomorrow isn’t promised and I liked it better. If you made it tomorrow, there was no reason crying over yesterday, you have a new chance to take something. I was planning to take control of the romantic aspect of my life. Thankfully, the office was soundproof. As soon as we left the room, the sound filtered in, increasing in volume the closer we walked to the main room. The club was more than a bar or gathering space: it was our home base. It was where we had meetings and fights, where we recharged and built a family. It was built like a cabin: with an open layout. You’d walk into the open room like a restaurant, based on the tables and chairs. To the right was a staircase that lead up to the ledge where there were three doors. One was Gus' and the other two were extras based on who needed it. There was a public shower in the back to the left. Around the bar was a fully stocked kitchen with food and booze, and through the back on the right side was our office.

  This place felt more like home than my own place. I spent more hours here. Hell, I grew up here. It hadn't changed through the years. If anything, it looked better with time. Like aging wine, when we could we updated appliances and appearances. What started as one man's dream became almost thirty men's dreams.

  Shirley had two plates waiting as we rounded the corner.

  "Eat." She made it clear it wasn't a suggestion, so we did.

  As I expected, some extension of Harrison was the topic. It was still too new and painful to be dropped.

  "You think she'll cremate him?" Warren asked.

  "Yeah. I think she will. Ain't no point in b
urying him. We should scatter his ashes on Cedar's Hill. What's the point in burying him? You know ain't nobody gon' visit," Gus said.

  He’s right. I don’t visit my own father’s grave; no way in hell I was visiting Harrison’s. When you’re dead, you’re gone. That’s what I believe, and I know a lot of the brothers feel the same way.

  Warren moved to Arizona almost ten years ago, but he still sounded like his hometown Atlanta, Georgia.

  "Well, it's not up to us. Has anybody talked to Lila?" Gus asked.

  "I brought her some food day before," Shirley said.

  I dragged my fries through the ketchup on my plate, not wanting to listen, but being unable to stop listening.

  "How’d she look?" Luke asked.

  "Like death warmed over," she said crassly.

  I caught Jerry wincing in my peripheral vision.

  "Don't say that," he said darkly.

  "I'm just saying," she said defensively. "And it's true! You know spouses tend to die right after the other from a broken heart."

  I stayed quiet as I typically would have and just watched. Jerry visibly paled even more and he slapped the countertop loudly with his fist. "I said don't say that!"

  The club stilled and I tensed. Shirley never took too much from anybody. I feared she’d retort with something even more cutting.

  He stood, dropping his half-eaten sandwich onto his plate.

  "Lila needs us to be strong for her. Words mean things. Don't say no shit like that. Especially around me,” he said. “She's strong. She's going to be okay. She's going to make it," he said forcefully. "She has to," he said under his breath as he walked back to the office.

  The air was still tense when the brothers went back to eating. Conversation slowly bubbled up again.

  "He's right. Maybe we should stop by again and make sure she's getting out of the house," Gus said from behind a glass of beer.

  Shirley pulled a rag from behind the counter and began to wipe down the wood, "I didn't mean nothing by it," she said, looking around.

  "We know, Shirl," I said, patting her hand before handing her the empty plate. "Thanks for lunch."

  "Take this to him, will you?" she said, pushing the rest of his sandwich towards me.