by Abby Brooks
Maya pulls her hands from mine and runs one over her mouth. “But it is too late. I have too much debt. I can't go back to school because of that alone. But there’s also the fact that I can't imagine starting over after getting so close to the end of my residency.”
I stand and start gathering the dishes. I understand what she’s saying. I understand why she feels trapped doing what she’s doing. I hate it for her, and I would do anything to make it go away, anything to make her smile a permanent feature on her face.
“Do you even like being a surgeon?” I know better than to meet her eyes when I ask such a personal question. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I pick up our wine glasses and bring them into the kitchen so I can refill them. I don't expect her to answer truthfully. So when she does, I stop what I’m doing and listen.
Maya spins in her seat to look at me. “Not at all. It's hard and it's ugly and people's lives hang in the balance of my successes and failures. It's too much. I want to make a difference, but I don't want to lose myself in the process. Do you know how hard it's been to juggle my career and this relationship?” She stands and closes the distance between us, running her hands up and down my arms, looking deeply into my eyes. “It's been worth it. Don't doubt that for a second. But it's definitely been hard. There are some days I just want to sleep because I don't remember the last time I did. I don't think that's the way life is supposed to be.”
“No Maya, it's not supposed to be that way. I don't know what the right answer is, but I do know the way you're doing it right now isn't working. That your career is killing you. Something’s going to have to give, doll face.”
Chapter Fourteen
Hudson's right. I need to start living for myself. It's just that I have absolutely no idea how in the world I'm going to do that. What do I want? How do I go back to square one after I've spent so much time working to get to this point? All I know is that something has to change. That if I keep going on living this life, in this way, then I’m not going to make it very far. I can't survive like this.
“You do realize you were supposed to be a bad decision, right?” I grab Hudson's hands and wrap his arms around me. “That sleeping with you was supposed to be my own little rebellion? You weren't supposed to end up being good for me.”
Hudson leans down to kiss the top of my head, holding me tighter and swaying us back and forth. “Do you think I'm good for you?” His voice rumbles in my ear and I realize it’s become one of my favorite sounds.
“I know you're good for me.” I’ve known it for weeks now, ever since that night that the little boy died on my table.
Hudson pulls away. “Then grab that wine glass and join me in the living room. We're going to sit and we're going to cuddle and we're going to figure out what it is in this life that excites you.”
“We already went over that,” I say as we curl up on the couch. “It's you.”
“And I’ve already said that’s obvious. But you can't spend your days locked up in this apartment as my sex slave. A woman like you needs more than that. You’ll get bored. Fast.”
“I don't know, anyone who can get bored when there is Hudson Knox and sex slave in the same sentence has to have something wrong with them.”
We sit and we drink and we talk about anything and everything that comes to our minds. Hudson’s hands roam my body as we talk, but that doesn’t bother me. I know how much he loves touching me, that his hand on my breast isn’t just a strange attempt at foreplay. It’s also his way of saying how much I mean to him. Besides, I love how sexual our relationship is. I love that we’re talking about changing the landscape of my whole life at the same time that he’s pinching my nipple through the fabric of my sweater.
He was right when he said he knows how much I want to make a difference in the world, in people's lives. I want to be a force of positive change, bringing happiness to people who might not get it otherwise. But I just don't know what skills I have other than surgery that would allow me to do that without losing little slices of my soul each and every day.
“I love kids,” I say, downing the remainder of my wine. “That's what led me into pediatric surgery. And I’ve always liked being in charge. When I was little, I used to love playing school with my sisters. We'd sit in my room and I would hand out papers and give them tests and then pretend to grade them. I always gave Chelsea a C because I loved to see her lose her mind over not being perfect, and I always gave Dakota an A because she never got them anywhere else.”
“Is that what you want to do? Teach?” Hudson looks incredulous.
I shake my head. “No, I think the reality of life as a teacher is way different than the fantasies I had as a child. But I think if I could find a way to guide people in making positive changes in their lives, a way to help mold and shape the way they see the world, a way to help them become the best version of themselves, I think I could be really happy then.”
As the night goes on and Hudson continues to ask more and more in-depth questions about what makes me happy, I get more and more uncomfortable because I realize that I have very little clue what makes me happy other than being with him. Every time I shrug or gives a non-answer, he smiles that supermodel smile of his, and starts asking more questions. And with each new question, my stomach twists a little harder and before I know it, I’m a mess. Hudson’s being amazing to me and I completely and utterly hate it.
That’s strange. A little sick. I shouldn't react like this. But the fact that he knows me so well, the fact that he's so willing to spend this much time trying to help me get to the bottom of who I actually am, that makes me feel like he's more invested in me than is safe for either of us.
I don't want to hurt him. And I don't want him to hurt me.
It's a scary thing, being this vulnerable. Knowing that his opinion matters to me. Knowing that my decisions matter to him. Before Hudson, life wasn't great. It wasn’t amazing. I didn’t wake up each morning thankful for the things I had on my schedule that day. But who really lives that way? My life was fine. I went to work. I was successful. And I had a promising future as a respected surgeon.
And it's not like any of those things have changed. It's just that now I'm questioning whether or not I'm interested in that future. Questioning whether or not I can continue to trudge through a life where there is no passion. No excitement. Just day after day of working and totally dedicating myself to the hospital and trying to save people when I myself am the one who needs saving.
And the fact that I resent Hudson for bringing happiness into my life, it just makes me hate myself all the more. I'm not worthy of a man like this. The Greek god with the body of an Adonis and tattoos and dimples and money and fame and an amazing brain. I'm not worthy of him devoting all this time to try to make my life better when I'm not able to make it better myself.
It makes me want to run away. And that makes me sad. Because what is so broken in me that allows me to see any of this as bad? Am I that lazy? Here Hudson is, showing me the path to happiness, and I'd rather keep on dredging through the hard parts then try to create any kind of real change.
The worst part about it is I know I'm going to let him down. I know he's going to invest himself in my happiness. Try to guide me toward something that's fulfilling. Something that I choose for myself rather than something that others choose for me. And when it's all said and done? What are the chances that I will actually be brave enough to make a change? To actually go against my parents’ wishes? To stand up for myself and say this is not the way I want to live.
Let's be honest, they're not good.
And so I smile through our evening, and I drink too much wine. I laugh when he jokes and I kiss him when he kisses me but I know that the time is drawing near when I have to say goodbye. I will not ruin him. He deserves better than that.
He deserves better than me.
Chapter Fifteen
Something’s wrong with Maya. She keeps smiling and nodding as we talk, but she’s distant. It’s like
she’s not even here with me right now. More like the old Maya than the one who makes me feel like the only person in the damn world who knows her. It takes her a little longer to respond to my questions each time I ask one. She just finished her third glass of wine and doesn’t look like she’s anywhere near stopping.
“You’re quiet tonight,” I say.
Maya looks at me, blinking slowly as her eyes swim into focus. “Just thinking,” she slurs and a Cheshire cat smile stretches across her face, all teeth and scared eyes, too wide to be real.
Whatever she’s thinking, it can’t be good. It’s bound to be poisonous. Some wicked little thought that basically means she’s afraid and is going to try to run away from me again. I won’t let that happen. I’ve worked too hard to get her to be comfortable and if I wasn’t the kind of guy who chases after the things that matter to me, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I’m a pit bull when it comes to getting what I want. I grab hold and don’t let go.
“What are you thinking about?” I put my wine glass on the coffee table and pull Maya in close, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and letting my hand fall onto her tit. I give it a little squeeze because who could resist something as perfect as Maya’s breast?
She buries herself into me and sighs. “It’s not a big deal.”
“You’re too quiet for it not to be a big deal.”
Maya stiffens. “I’m just lost in my thoughts, that’s all.”
“Exactly. And you haven’t been like this in a long time. You never filter yourself around me anymore.”
“I’m not filtering myself now.” She’s still leaning into me but she’s gone so tense I might as well be cuddling a mannequin.
I look down, lean over a little to try to make eye contact, but she keeps staring at my jeans like she thinks she’ll find a hidden treasure in them. Which she will. Later.
“Hey,” I say. “Come on, doll face. Give me a little credit. I know you. Something’s wrong.”
She sighs and struggles into a sitting position. Woah. She looks way more than three glasses in. Did I miscount how much she’s had to drink or is she really struggling with something important?
“You’re not supposed to be good for me,” she says, pointing at me. “You’re supposed to be a bad decision. Meaningless sex and that’s it.”
She doesn’t need to say anything else for me to understand what’s going on in that head of hers.
“No way,” I say. “You’re not going to ruin this because you’re scared of what we have.”
“I’m not scared. I just think you deserve better.”
“Because you’re scared.”
“No. Because I’m going to let you down. You think I can just choose to stop being a surgeon and disappoint my family simply because it’ll make me happier and I can’t do that. I can’t. And you’re going to put all this time and effort into trying to help me and I’m going to disappoint you and then you’ll leave. And I don’t want you to leave.”
I smile, bringing out the dimples so they can help with some of the heavy lifting here. She needs me to lighten the mood big time. “So. What I hear is that you’re scared.”
“Fine. I’m scared.” Maya picks up the empty wine bottle and shakes her head angrily as she realizes she can’t escape this conversation by pouring more wine into her glass. “If I let myself believe in the life you’re talking about, I’m gonna get hurt.” She puts the bottle down on the coffee table with a thunk.
“Why?”
“Because that kind of stuff doesn’t happen in real life.”
“I’m pretty sure my life is real and I’m basically describing the way things worked out for me.”
“Yeah, but you’re you. An anomaly. We can’t all be born with big muscles and sexy dimples.”
“Maya.” I take her hands and kiss each of her fingers. “I didn’t come into the world this big. I was a scrawny little kid who got told he’d break if he ever played football. I worked every day to build this body. I still work every day to build this body.” I shrug and wink at her. “The dimples? That’s a different story.”
I get a glimpse of the smile I was hoping for before a frown devours it. “Well, then, I don’t get why you keep trying to talk me into finding a different job if it all just comes down to having to work really hard to get ahead.”
“Right. But there’s a difference. I love what I do and so the work brings me joy. It doesn’t feel like work.”
Maya shakes her head. “Here’s what will happen. I’ll find my passion and give up on being a surgeon after a decade of education. My job of the heart or whatever won’t work out and then I’ll be broke. After that, you’ll leave me. I’ll be worse off than I am now financially. But even more than that, I won’t have you. I don’t want a life that doesn’t have you in it.”
The mere fact that my balls don’t crawl up into my belly hearing her say that makes a powerful case as to how much I care for this woman. The implications of forever should be a little too rich for my blood. And they are. Kind of. As much as I don’t want to think about committing to something as grandiose as forever, I’m not all that in love with a life that doesn’t have Maya in it, either.
“I’m here now.” I kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then her mouth. I might not be ready to tell her just how much she means to me with my voice, but maybe she can get a sense of it through my kiss. The urgency of it. The depth. Maybe I don’t need to tell her because maybe she already knows.
“I know. And I love it,” she says when I finally release her lips. She burrows into me and it’s not long before I feel her body go heavy and limp against mine. Her breath deepens. She always falls asleep first. Her work at the hospital keeps her permanently exhausted. Add in a glass of wine or three and she’s pretty much done for.
I make sure she’s comfortable and watch a couple YouTube videos of Greg Olsen—the tight end for the Carolina Panthers—in the 2016 Super Bowl. That’s where I want to be. Playing with the best of the best against the best of the best. I’m thankful for my start with the Bengals, but I just don’t see them taking me where I want to go.
When I start to feel tired, I scoop Maya up into my arms. She nuzzles into me as I carry her down the long hallway towards what’s starting to feel like our bedroom. Not my bedroom. Ours
She’s a tiny thing even though she swears she’s not. I can almost hold her one handed while I pull back the covers to put her down on her side of the bed. She moans as I lower her down, a worried sound.
“Hush now, doll face.” I swipe a lock of hair away from her eyes and kiss her, careful not to wake her up but totally unable to keep my lips off of hers.
“I love you, Hudson.”
Her words are barely more than a murmur. A whispered confession to her pillow. But they strike deep into my heart, fear and joy twisting together so tightly that I have no idea what I’m actually feeling.
Chapter Sixteen
My eyes are open before I know I’m awake. Light streams through the large windows in Hudson’s bedroom and pierce straight through to the headache raging in my head. How much wine did I have last night? Three glasses? That’s a lot, but combine it with the fact that I haven’t slept more than a few hours over the last couple days and that suddenly becomes a whole lot more.
Juggling Hudson and the hospital is killing me. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, but I don’t see me giving up either one any time soon so I guess I’ll keep going until I can’t anymore. I push into a sitting position and check the time. Shit, it’s late. I don’t know what time I passed out last night, but I’ve probably been asleep for a good fifteen hours. Just as I start to wonder what Hudson’s been doing all this time, he pushes through the door, balancing a tray loaded with food and coffee and a small vase with a single red rose inside.
“Good morning, doll face.” He sets the tray down across my lap. “I figured my girl could use some pancakes, sausage, and caffeine.”
The combined scents of my favorite foods
hit my nose and I close my eyes while my stomach churns hungrily. “I didn’t know you knew how to make pancakes,” I say, smiling at Hudson and picking up the fork.
He winks at me and grins. “I don’t. I ran out while you were asleep. Hence the rose,” he says gesturing towards the thing with his chin.
My eyes go wide. “You’ve been up long enough to go out for breakfast and come back without me even knowing?”
“And get a work out in.” Hudson plucks a piece of sausage off my plate and takes a bite. “You sleep like the dead, hot stuff.”
He watches me eat for a bit, pleased with himself for pulling off the breakfast in bed. I’m pretty pleased with him, too. Not only did I need the sleep, but I’ve apparently been starving because this breakfast is hitting the spot. A stack of pancakes this size should overwhelm me, but I think I’m going to make my way through it without a problem.
“How are you feeling?” he asks as he takes another bite of sausage. “Do you have a headache? You were pretty out of it last night.” His gaze darts from mine and he swallows hard. That look means one thing and one thing only, there’s something on his mind that he’s reluctant to bring up.
I shrug, watching him like a hawk in case I see anything else that makes me think he’s trying to hide something from me. “Nope, not much in the way of a headache. I think I was more tired than I was drunk. It’s been a long few days at the hospital.”
“You barely woke up when I carried you to bed.”
“You carried me to bed? I wondered how I got here.” And then, just like that, I remember. I remember the strength of his arms and the warmth of his body. I remember the gentle brush of his finger across my forehead and the welcome touch of his lips to mine. And then, after that, my words to him. I love you. Truth, sure, but a truth that wasn’t ready to be heard yet.
