by Isabel Love
“Wait until you see her, Monica. She’s so tiny. How could a grown man punch a little girl? Why?”
“I know it’s hard to see domestic violence, but that’s why everyone living here is in this situation. We get to help make their lives better, even if we’re just a tiny part of the process.” I hug his back, leaning my head against his arm as I wrap my arms around his waist.
“Yeah, well, maybe I shouldn’t be here. I’m a man. It’s a wonder any of these people will talk to me at all after what the men in their lives have done to them.” He sighs, disgusted.
I step in front of him and meet his gaze. “Max, if I thought for one second you weren’t the perfect person to help out here, I wouldn’t have accepted your offer to volunteer. You are exactly what these people need in their lives—a kind, gentle man. A man who helped raise his two little sisters when he wasn’t that much older than them himself. A man that still to this day goes grocery shopping for his mom. A man that packs me an extra sandwich because half the time I forget to feed myself. If you aren’t the embodiment of a caring man, then I don’t know who is.”
He sighs again and hugs me. “Thank you,” he mumbles into my hair. “I just want to find Lucy’s father and punch him in the face, see how he likes it.”
“You and me both, but that won’t help Lucy. We can’t change what they’ve already been through; it’s done. I’m just glad they are out of harm’s way now.” I disentangle myself and kiss his lips softly. “I’m going in there, want to come with me?”
“Not sure that’s what’s best for Lucy right now. You go ahead. I’ll get a stuffed animal out of the box for her.”
“Good idea.” I knock softly and enter the exam room.
A slim, blonde woman is sitting on one of the chairs facing the desk holding a blond girl in her lap. Lucy has stopped crying, but she’s clinging to her mom with her face buried in her chest. The woman is hugging her close and silent tears fall down her face. I remove my stethoscope and white doctor’s coat, drape them over the desk chair, and approach the mother and child.
“Hi. I’m Monica.” I smile at the woman and sit beside her instead of across from her on the other side of the desk.
She swallows hard, brushes her tears away, and gives me a watery smile. “I’m Samantha Reed. This is my daughter, Lucy.” She pats Lucy’s back, but the little girl just burrows closer into Samantha’s chest, holding on tight.
“Hi, Samantha. Hi, Lucy. Nice to meet you.” No movement from Lucy. “It says here that we’re going to take your stitches out today, Lucy. How does that sound?”
“No!” a muffled voice tells me.
“Come on, sweetie. Dr. Morgan is going to take the stitches out.” Samantha tries to coax her daughter to let go of her, but those tiny arms are not budging.
“Samantha, why don’t you tell me about Lucy’s stitches. Any problems?”
“Not really. She mentioned they were a bit itchy, but that’s about it.”
“And she’s had them in for how long?” I ask.
“Just a little over a week,” she replies.
“Perfect. She should be ready to get them out. Lucy, are you ready to show me? I promise this will be fast.”
No response. Samantha sighs. “Please Lucy, can you turn around?” She’s exasperated.
“You know what? I’ll be right back. I forgot to get something from my friend, Max.” I have an idea of how to get Lucy to open up.
Max
Monica comes back into the office, and I haven’t moved since she left. Seeing that sweet little girl bruised by the hand of her father made me feel physically ill.
“How’s Lucy?” I ask her.
“Well, she won’t show me her face. She’s latched onto her mother and has her face buried in her mom’s chest, but I have an idea.” She looks inside the cabinet for the box of stuffed animals.
“What?”
“Do we have a suture kit?” she asks me.
“I laid out the suture removal kit in the room already,” I tell her.
“No, not a removal kit, a kit to place stitches.”
“Um, why do you need that?”
She waves a sock monkey in the air. “We’re going to give this stuffed animal stitches and Lucy can help us take them out.”
“Good idea. When my little sister Ella broke her arm in second grade, the doctor gave her a teddy bear with a matching cast.”
“Exactly. Come on, help me with the supplies. Show me where Lucy’s cut is so I can put the stitches in the same spot.”
I locate the supplies and point out the location of Lucy’s stitches, and then Monica places some large stitches on the sock monkey’s face. We grab a second suture removal kit to use on the stuffed animal and make our way back to the other exam room.
“Are you sure I should go in there? I don’t want to scare anyone.” The look of fear on that little girl’s face in reaction to me is not something I will forget anytime soon.
“Take off your lab coat and stethoscope and sit on the floor in front of the desk. You’re tall, so it will probably help if you come down to her level.”
“Okay.” I take off my lab coat and put it away, leaving me looking a bit more informal in my blue t-shirt and jeans. I doubt it makes me look any less manly though.
Monica knocks softly and we enter the room again. Lucy and Samantha sit in the same position I left them in a few minutes ago.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Monica says gently, “but Max and I are going to take care of my friend Coconut first.” She holds up the stuffed animal and Samantha’s eyes light up.
“Lucy, look at Coconut,” the mom whispers to the little girl.
“Uh-uh.” Lucy is not interested.
Monica and I sit on the floor in front of the desk, right by their chair. I sit cross-legged and cradle ‘Coconut’ in my lap.
“Coconut,” Monica says to the stuffed animal in an exaggerated voice, “are you ready to get these stitches out?”
“Oh yes, Dr. Morgan,” I play along in a little kid voice. I end up sounding like Kermit the Frog, but who cares. “These stitches are so itchy. Get them out of me, please!”
Monica stifles a giggle and we notice Lucy turn her head just ever so slightly. “Okay, here’s what I’m going to do. First I’m going to clean the stitches, then I’m going to take my teeny tiny scissors and cut them off.”
“What!” I exclaim in my play voice. “You’re going to cut them? I don’t want you to cut them.” I make the little monkey dance around so Lucy can hear it flopping all over the place. She turns her head even more so that one eyeball can peek over at us.
“Well, Coconut, I have to cut them so I can get them out of your skin.”
“But I didn’t like it when the stitches went in my skin.” I shake the monkey’s head side to side.
“I promise, it won’t hurt as much to take them out,” Monica says reassuringly.
“Does Coconut really have stitches?” a tiny voice asks. I keep still, hoping she will turn all the way around.
“Yes she does, take a look.” Monica gestures to the monkey in my lap.
Lucy peers down at me. I smile and make no sudden movements so I don’t scare her. She scopes out the monkey and I watch Monica take stock of her face. Her left eye and cheek are covered with yellowing bruises, a laceration stretches from her eyebrow to her temple, and a row of black stitches runs down it. My heart crumples all over again, and I fight to keep my face friendly and open. Monica doesn’t react at all, her experience shining through at this moment. I know this has to affect her, but she doesn’t let it show.
Slowly, I hold Coconut up to Lucy. “You have stitches just like me,” I squeak in my play voice. “Maybe we can get our stitches out together!”
Lucy fingers her own stitches and looks at her mom. “Coconut has stitches, too,” she tells her quietly.
“I see that.”
“How about this?” Monica says. “If you help us take out Coconut’s stitches and you let us take
out your stitches, then you can have Coconut.”
Her bright blue eyes widen and a hint of a smile forms on her lips. “I can have Coconut? Like forever?”
“That’s right.” Monica smiles.
“Okay.” She gets down from her mom’s lap and approaches slowly. She has one hand on her mom’s leg but takes a brave step toward me. “Can you make Coconut talk again?”
I smile wide. This little girl is so brave.
Tate, Monica, and I decide to go to lunch at Que Pasa, the place we went before we went salsa dancing the very first time.
“So how did it go?” Tate asks us.
“Really well,” Monica says, beaming. “Our schedule was full and we even saw some extra people that walked in.”
“I’m so glad you and Simone made this happen. Safe Zone really needs it,” Tate says.
I rub Monica’s back and kiss her cheek. I’m so proud of her.
“What did you think of it, Max?” Tate asks me.
“I’m in awe of those women. Half of me wants to take down names, go find the assholes that treated them badly, and beat the shit out of them. The other half wants to stand guard at the door just in case anyone tries to hurt them again.” I flex my muscles just thinking about it; my protective side was definitely out in full force today.
“I know how you feel. There’s a big difference between knowing domestic violence exists and seeing the people it happens to,” Tate says.
I nod. “Exactly. Little Lucy got to me the most.” Just remembering her bruised face makes my heart squeeze.
“Such a sad case, but we’re helping her now. Everyone at Safe Zone has access to a therapist and legal services, so she’ll get better.”
Monica squeezes my upper leg and leans into my side. “You did a great job today, Max. Really great,” she tells me.
“I’m amazed you guys can work together so well,” Tate comments. “Logan and I might strangle each other if we worked together.”
Monica and I look at each other and smile. I think we work really well together, too, but I’m interested in hearing what she has to say about it.
“I was worried about it at first,” Monica admits, “but I really like working together. It helps that you’re so good at your job. I’d rather work with you than any of the other nurses.”
“Oh, you. You don’t have to flatter me to get in my pants,” I joke.
“And what about your co-workers? Is everyone cool with you two dating?” Of course, Tate has to bring this up. Keeping our relationship a secret at work is the thing that drives me the craziest.
Monica looks at me for help, but she made this decision all on her own. I would rather tell everyone and just get it over with. Until she stops hiding us, I’m afraid we aren’t real. I nod to her, signaling that she’s on her own to explain this one.
“Well, that’s a bit tricky,” she hedges. “When we first started seeing each other, I didn’t want to make it a thing at work, a scene for everyone to watch and gossip about.”
“That’s understandable, but what about now? Does anyone know yet?” Tate looks at me questioningly. I try to mask how much this bothers me, but she knows me too well.
“No, Max is being so patient with me.” She glances at me warily. “I’m just afraid of what management will think. Although I’m not his direct supervisor, I am the director of the department. I don’t want either one of us to get any flak at work for being together.”
“Holy shit, you’re the director of the department?” Tate’s eyes widen. “Max! How come I didn’t know about this?”
Her reaction is not helping—it’s exactly what Monica doesn’t want to happen.
“I really don’t see what the big deal is,” I say sharply. This conversation needs to go in a different direction before my mood nosedives.
“Okay, okay.” Tate holds up her hands, placating me. “Just…I wish you luck that it goes smoothly whenever you do decide to go public at work.”
I smile at her gratefully.
“So Monica, are you going to the fundraiser at The Grand Ballroom next weekend?” Tate asks her, changing the subject. I’m not sure this one is any better. I don’t like the idea of Calvin—or whatever the fuck his name is—being anywhere near Monica.
“I am,” Monica confirms. “Are you?”
“Me too,” Tate tells her. “Logan and I were going to go, but Logan can’t make it. His dad needs his help with something that weekend, so he’ll be out of town. I have an extra ticket.”
“Can I buy the ticket off of you?” I ask Tate. I’d like to be there. The tickets were sold out by the time I looked into it, but I want to go to support Monica. I know how emotional this night will be for her, and I don’t want her to have to face her father alone.
Or Calvin.
“Of course,” Tate says with a smile. “You can have it.”
Perfect.
Is there anything on your desk you need to move?
Monica
I look at the clock and sigh. It’s late and everyone else in this hall has gone home, but I had piles and piles of paperwork in my office and staying late tonight helped me catch up. My cell phone chirps, alerting me to a new text message.
Max: Are you done working?
Me: Yes, I’m just about done.
Max: Still in your office?
Me: Yes.
Max: Can I come keep you company?
Me: Sure?
Max: Be there in 10.
Max got off of work a couple hours ago but I heard him talking with Kevin, Julie, and some of the others about grabbing a bite to eat after work. They must have gone someplace close if he’s headed back this way. I admit I was disappointed at the thought of not seeing him tonight. We didn’t have plans, so I had no right to feel that way, but knowing he wants to see me now makes me happy.
His knock surprises me even though I was expecting him. “Come in,” I call out.
He opens the door and steps inside. A white shirt paired with jeans shouldn’t look so sexy, but he wears them well. His eyes sparkle as he smiles at me.
“Dr. Morgan, shouldn’t you be done with work at this hour?”
I get up and stretch, my body stiff from sitting at my desk the last couple of hours. “Yes, but I needed to catch up on this stuff.”
He watches me stretch, looking from my arms held up high up over my head to my arched chest, down to my stomach peeking out from under my shirt, finally landing at my feet up on tiptoes. An innocent stretch suddenly feels like something more, and I see the look in his eyes change from appreciation to hunger.
Smoldering blue eyes meet mine, and that look wakes my body up. “I didn’t see anyone in any of the other offices,” he observes.
I swallow. “No, I think everyone has gone home.”
He turns to my door and locks it. The sound of the lock is loud and makes my heart rate accelerate.
“What are you doing?”
He walks toward me with a gleam in his eye and a small, sexy smile on his face. “I can’t stop thinking about your dream.”
“My dream? We can’t have sex at work, Max.”
“An exam room in the ER would be way too risky,” he agrees, “but here, in your office, down a deserted hallway? With your door locked? I don’t see how anyone could catch us.” He has a point.
I’m standing with my back to my desk and he’s right in front of me. He crowds me in so my butt hits the edge of my desk and our chests touch. I have to crane my neck to look up at him as he towers over me.
He meets my eyes, and the look on his face is full of desire. “Is there anything on your desk you need to move?”
“On my desk?”
“I figure it’s a good substitute for an exam bed.”
“Oh.” Butterflies take flight in my belly as I turn to look at my desk and find it surprisingly clear. I close my laptop and slide it into the drawer. Once the drawer closes, he presses in behind me, and I feel his erection dig into my back. My core clenches at the feel of him,
so hard already.
His hands slide up my arms to rest on my shoulders. Slight forward pressure causes me to bend over my desk, and I reach out to brace myself on its surface. Oh, my. He leans in to whisper in my ear, “Did I strip you naked or keep your clothes on?”
“What?”
“In your dream,” he clarifies, “did I strip you naked?”
He expects me to talk right now? “Um, you just pulled down my pants.”
His hands go to the waistband of my pants and start tugging them down. When they rest halfway down my thighs, he stops. “Like this?”
“Yes,” I say breathily. The scrape of his jeans on my naked butt makes me shiver. His hands caress my hips and ass, then he backs up a step and I can feel his gaze on me. Fingers spread my cheeks open and I blush at his blatant perusal. The cold air against my sex makes me aware of how exposed I am.
“Monica, I need to taste you. Did I lick you in your dream?” His voice is a deep rumble.
My breathing ratchets up, the sound filling the room. “Y-Yes.”
“Bend forward and spread your legs.” It’s a command. My legs are starting to shake, so it’s a relief to rest my upper body against the surface of the desk. I spread my legs as far as I can with my pants around my thighs. I imagine what we look like right now: in my office with my pants pulled down, bent over my desk, ass on display while Max is behind me, fully clothed, taking his time to look his fill. He’s torturing me and my arousal increases with every second that ticks by.
“Max,” I pant.
“Yes, Monica?” His voice is deep, husky, full of sex.
“Please.” I need him to do something.
My ass cheeks are spread apart, and I feel his breath on my pussy. Oh, God, his face is mere inches away from my lady bits. All of the lights are turned on, so I know he can see everything. Fucking hell, I need him to touch me, lick me—something! I arch my back, attempting to expose myself to him even more for easier access. He chuckles quietly.
