by Penny Reid
Except that big one.
You know, that big promise where we were now married by Elvis and I was Mrs. Manganiello (despite the fact that I still couldn’t pronounce the name).
“When did that happen?”
I blinked twice, bringing Dr. Ken Miles into focus.
“What?”
“You’re married?” he asked, his eyes moving between the rings on my finger and my face.
I glanced down at the completely ridiculous diamond ring and band, flexed my fingers, and cleared my throat before answering. “Ah, yes. Three days ago.”
I was an hour past the end of my shift, but I was in no hurry to go home to the empty penthouse. I missed Nico, and being in our home without him made my heart hurt. This was exacerbated by the fact that he wouldn’t call me back. I’d resorted to recording his show nightly and watching it two or three times daily.
Ken was chewing gum; he chewed it several times more, then asked, “Sorta fast, right? Didn’t you just get engaged?”
I squinted at Dr. Ken. “No. It wasn’t sorta fast. We’ve known each other since we were kids.”
“It’s the fame thing, right?” He said this as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the nurses’ station countertop, his gaze traveling up then down my body, a smirk on his face. “You’re rushing things 'cause he’s famous.”
After a moment I nodded. “That’s right. It’s all about the fame for me—and also the great sex. Because, let me tell you, he’s a slow eater…” I winked, “If you know what I mean.”
“Thanks for that,” he said, his tone flat.
I ignored him, feeling like it was my God-given right to get on his nerves since he’d asked such an asinine question. “Our marriage has nothing to do with the fact that he’s the best person I know and the most amazing man on the face of the earth. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I love him more than I love Star Trek and need him more than oxygen. Furthermore, marrying Nico had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I can’t imagine living a single day without hearing his voice and his laugh and touching him and-”
“Alright! I get it.” Dr. Ken held up his hands, rolling his big pretty blue eyes, then stiffening when his gaze caught on something over my shoulder. Then he rolled his eyes again. “I’ll leave you two to it then. Exam room seven is open. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
I lifted my eyebrows in confusion as Ken picked up the two charts he’d been holding and walked past me.
The sound of Ken’s departing footsteps was accompanied by his saying, “She’s all yours,” to some unknown person.
I twisted over my shoulder to see to whom he was speaking and subsequently felt like I’d been poked with a bewilderment stick.
Standing behind me, right behind me, was Nico.
He wore a tailored black suit with a lavender shirt and dark purple tie, and he wore it exceptionally well. The violet of the tie brought out the deep green of his eyes, and I would have jumped him, except for the smirk.
He was smirking—with his mouth, with his twinkly eyes, with his entire face, with his whole being—as his gaze affixed itself to my stunned expression.
“Hello, wife,” he said with smirky swagger. “Did you miss me?”
“You…” I said, turning completely around, but nothing else emerged. My heart leapt, and warm girly euphoria filled my stomach and chest and made my limbs feel loose and rubbery. However, the gargantuan delight at finally seeing him was warring with extreme annoyance at finally seeing him. Who marries someone while they’re basically incapacitated, leaves a pathetically short note, then feigns static on phone calls for three days? Three days!
Who does that? My husband, that’s who.
My husband… I loved the way that sounded, even in my brain.
I tried again to speak; this time I managed to point at him and force some strength into my voice. “You!”
“Yes. Me.” Nico stepped forward, slipping his hands into his pants’ pockets and backing me up against nurses’ station, my pointed finger pressing into his chest as he crowded my space. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine, stealing the barest of kisses and with it my breath.
His eyes lovingly caressed my face as he leaned just his head away. “You are so beautiful,” he said, his voice like velvet, his eyes starry and mesmerizing. The effect momentarily knocked me senseless.
“I’m mad at you,” I said, knowing I didn’t sound at all mad. Because I’m the queen of sending mixed signals, I slid my hands into his suit jacket and around his torso. Everything heterosexually feminine in me loved the hard muscled planes of his stomach and sides and back.
God…I wanted him naked.
He grinned, gave me another light kiss, then retreated. “Are you? Why?”
“For lots of reasons,” I sighed. He was just too dreamy for starters.
“Is it because I’m the best person you know, or because I’m the most amazing man on the face of the earth?”
Annoyance mixed with amusement made my mouth curve into a reluctant smile. “You’re a dirty eavesdropper. How long were you standing there?”
He pressed his lips to mine once more—making my heart beat faster—then reached around his back, extracting my hand and holding it in his. He nodded to a nurse who walked past, gave her a winning smile, then turned his attention back to me.
His acknowledgement of the nurse was an essential reminder of my surroundings and provided good dose of sobriety. I shouldn’t have been kissing him at the nurses’ station. It was highly unprofessional.
And I was mad at him. I was. I was mad.
“Where is this exam room seven that Dr. Prettyprincess referred to?” Nico scanned the hallway.
I linked my fingers with his and tugged, leading the way to the exam room. I moved the red flag outward to indicate that the room was occupied, then pulled him in, shutting the door behind us.
We were newlyweds. What we did now, how I let him treat me, how we dealt with problems and issues would set the tone for the rest of our marriage. I couldn’t have him run away, disappear for days, every time he thought I might be upset.
At the same time, I needed to control my temper. I needed to show him he didn’t need to disappear for days every time he thought I might be upset. I needed to be calm. I braced myself to confront him.
I turned, squaring my shoulders, my hands tights fists on my hips, and lifted my chin. I was ready for battle.
But as soon as I lifted my gaze to his, Nico stepped forward, his hands immediately slipping under the shirt of my scrubs, up my sides to my breasts. I opened my mouth to speak; instead I squeaked. He took advantage of my disorientation by covering and claiming my mouth with his.
My body—the traitor!—flooded with need. Automatically, I arched into his capable hands, moaned against his lips, and gripped the front of his jacket. I then pushed it off his shoulders. He pressed me to the door, his hips against mine, moving one of his hands down into my underwear and squeezing my bottom.
He tore his mouth from mine, kissed and nipped a path to my ear.
“Nico, we have to…ah…”
“Bella, mi sei mancata,” Nico massaged me through my bra and pinched the center of my breast, “e questo.”
“This is not fair; you’re manipulating me. You’re using your intense sexual prowess to overwhelm me.” I groaned, untucked his shirt; I needed to feel his skin. I burned for him.
He lifted his head and grinned, apparently supremely pleased with what he found, then lowered his mouth back to my ear. “Are you ready to go home?” Nico said in a rumbly whisper, sending lovely shivery spikes of sensation down my spine, tickling me.
“I’m upset with you,” I sighed, reflexively tilting my head to the side, giving him better access, my body clamoring for his touch. “We need to talk, and you want to skip straight to dessert.”
“Fine. Talk.” He bit my neck then soothed the spot with his tongue. “I love your voice.”
Despite how
lovely he was making me feel, I gritted my teeth and pushed him away. I braced myself for his handsomeness and charisma assault, then lifted my chin to meet his gaze. Immediately I was glad I’d made mental preparations. I didn’t know how I was going to maintain my self-respect in this marriage when every time I looked at him I wanted to kiss his face off.
And I wavered, because I also wanted dessert first. “We-” I started but was interrupted by the intercom announcing a Code Triage.
I stiffened, my eyes growing wide, disappointment and a spike of sobering adrenaline turning my stomach cold.
“Damn it.” I rubbed my forehead.
“What’s a code triage?”
“It’s the code for a catastrophic emergency, probably a shooting or a massive pile up…ten or more incoming, most fatal…” I shook my head, frustration choking my words. “I have to…I have stay. I have to help.”
He grew subdued, and he nodded once. “I understand.”
I reached for him before he could pick up his jacket. “When I call you, I need you to talk to me. I need…I need you.”
He nodded again, his eyes growing soft. “I will.”
“How long are you here for? In town?”
“I’m-” He started, but the intercom interrupted him again, announcing the first of the ambulance arrivals.
I tightened my hold on his shirt and took a deep breath. These events, treating multiple victims at once, deciding who would receive treatment first, prioritizing lives, making split-second decisions while short on sleep and high on adrenaline, I hated it. Someone was going to die, and I always went home feeling like a failure.
“Are you okay?” Nico took my face between his palms, tilting my chin up and kissing my lips quickly.
I nodded. “I just hate this.”
“What? What do you hate?”
“I hate that no matter what I do, I can’t save everyone.”
His mouth tugged to the side, and his eyes gave my face a cherishing sweep. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I turned my lips into his hand, kissed his palm. “I mean it, I do.”
His arms dropped to his sides, and he took a step back. “Go.” Nico indicated to the door with a lift of his chin.
I hesitated. “Will you be there when I get home?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. I promise.”
I exhaled my relief and threw my arms around him. After a fast, tight hug and a quick kiss, I turned and bolted through the door just as the intercom announced the second of the ambulances. I needed to clear my mind for the grim hours that lay ahead.
***
Four hours later, I’d lost two and saved five.
When the ambulances stopped arriving, and because I’d been there the longest, I was told to go home. I didn’t. I had two families to talk to, two sets of parents to console. I stayed another three hours. I brought tissues, and I gave hugs liberally.
But I was fine.
I went to the locker room and showered; I changed into my street clothes; I grabbed my bag and checked my email on my phone. There was a note from Fiona about the shawl we were all knitting for Janie as a wedding present.
I was still fine.
I jogged to the train station; I jumped on the El; I walked the two blocks to our apartment and nodded to Frank, the concierge, as I crossed to the elevators.
I was just fine.
I exited the double doors when they slid open and dug for my keys. But I found that my hands were shaking and I couldn’t quite focus on the contents of my bag because I was crying and everything was blurry.
I was not fine.
I heaved a sob, covered my mouth with my hand, and shut my eyes. I pressed my forehead against the wall of the hallway and tried to take calming breaths through my nose.
I’m fine…I’m fine…I’m fine… everything is fine.
“Dr. Finney?”
I glanced up from my position hugging the wall to find Dan, Dan the security man as Janie liked to call him, hovering about two feet away. His forehead was wrinkled, and he looked at me—aka, the crying woman—like I was a rattlesnake, with a dash of fear and a heavy dose of trepidation.
I sniffled and gave him a little wave. “Oh, hey, Dan.”
He was going to be Quinn’s best man at the wedding, and he’d been my guard for several months during the fancy stalker incident; therefore, I felt quite comfortable with him. We were a tad more than friendly acquaintances, and, if he were the type to hang out with girls, I totally would have hung out with him.
Alas, he was not the type to hang out with girls. Like Quinn, I doubted he had even one female friend. This was a strike against Quinn in my book but, for some reason, not a strike against Dan. Dan was too adorable for strikes. He deserved reprimands no harsher than a disappointed head shake followed by a hug.
But I digress…
Back to the hallway of crying.
Dan reached his hand out as though he were going to pat my back but then pulled it through his hair instead, sending the short brown spikes in all different directions.
“Elizabeth…are you okay? Did something happen?” His genuine concern initiated a new wave of melancholy, and my chin wobbled.
My voice tight with emotion, I nodded. “Yeah,” I choked then swallowed. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
I knew I sounded and looked not at all convincing, especially since new tears replaced those that had nearly dried; I felt the hot liquid emotion roll down my cheeks.
“Fuck…” he said, like he was just as distraught as I was, and pulled me into a big bear hug. We stood there for a bit—not long, but not super short—with him hugging me and me crying on his suit jacket. Then he added, speaking against my hair, “Sorry. Sorry for cursing.”
I pulled away and looked up at him, confused.
He cleared his throat and shrugged. “I mean, sorry for saying fuck. And, I guess, sorry for saying fuck again—just then—when I was explaining why I was sorry. So, sorry for all the times I just said fuck, including this time, while we’ve been standing in the hall.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. I laughed loud and long and let my head fall to his shoulder and laughed against his shoulder.
Tangentially, I heard the sound of a door open. I wouldn’t have noticed it, as I was too busy laughing like a crazy woman, but Dan became suddenly rigid, and he cleared his throat again.
“Uh, hey, Nico.”
I glanced up from my laughing spot on Dan’s shoulder and looked over mine to find Nico standing just inside the door wearing gray pajama pants and a white T-shirt. His eyes narrowed as they moved between me and Dan. Then they widened abruptly as his gaze moved over my face, and he stepped forward, reaching for me.
“Elizabeth, are you okay? Why are you crying?” He pulled me from Dan’s suit and placed me against the thin material of his shirt. He smelled like Nico. He smelled like home.
I snuggled against him and said, “It’s been a long day.” My voice was watery again. I was a mess.
“What happened?” Nico addressed this question to Dan.
“I don’t know, I swear. I came out of Quinn’s place and found her against the wall, crying.”
“But then she was laughing?” Nico stroked my hair.
“It’s because he said a curse word then apologized for saying a curse word.” I pressed closer to my husband…my husband…mmm…mine.
“That’s why you’re crying?” Nico asked, his hand pausing mid-hair stroke.
“No, that’s why she was laughing,” Dan supplied, sounding tired. “I have no idea why she is crying.”
I sniffled again, then told them, “I lost two.”
A slight paused followed, then Nico asked, “Lost two what?”
“Children. I lost two. It was a bus crash…a school bus.” I felt a new wave of tears; I tried my best to swallow them down, but I couldn’t.
“Fuck…” Nico exhaled the word, his arms tightened just before he released me and ben
t to scoop me into his arms. “I’ve got you…” He kissed my temple and carried me into our apartment, shutting the door with his foot and presumably leaving Dan in the hallway.
I would have to send Dan a thank-you card, something to express my gratitude for being such a nice person and taking pity on his strange, crying neighbor.
Nico carried me into the master bedroom, set me on a large leather chair, and covered me with a blanket.
“I’ll be right back.” He tilted my head back, cupping my jaw, and kissed my closed eyelids; but he waited for me to open them and acknowledge him before he stood and crossed to the bathroom. Peripherally I heard him turn on the bathtub.
I should have been fine. I should have been able to pick myself up and dust myself off. I knew I couldn’t save every person. Times like these were typically good examples of when my stubbornness was actually a gift.
But that was before Nico, before I stopped being so stubborn.
Before Nico, I would stubbornly ignore my feelings, go home, and get various shades of intoxicated then go to sleep; not the healthiest coping strategy, but it worked for me, and it didn’t happen very often. Or, if Janie were around, I’d stubbornly ignore my feelings, have her over, and we’d cuddle while watching old Star Trek Voyager episodes.
This wasn’t the first time I’d experienced a breakdown after losing a patient, but this was the first time I hadn’t been able to hold it together long enough to get inside my apartment.
I was rubbing my eyes, willing the tears to stop, when I heard music drift over the speakers. I wiped my nose with my sleeve, tried to bring the room into focus, and found Nico crossing to me. Without preamble, he picked me up and carried me into the bathroom, all the while showering my face with feather-light kisses.
“Is that Frank Sinatra?” My nose was clogged and my throat still tight, so the question sounded strangled and nasally.
“Yes.”
“What song is this? It sounds familiar.”
“Fly Me to the Moon.”
“Ah.” I nodded, sniffling again. “I guess the opening line should have tipped me off.”
