by Peter Styles
I felt real for once in my life, like I was totally present in the moment. Not looking forward to the future or angling for some big prize down the road, but really, truly present. All because of Jason Whitham and his stupid one-eyed cat.
10
Jason
After Mark and I worked together to straighten the kitchen and get the dishes into the dishwasher, he suggested we retire to the living room and maybe watch some Netflix. I was tired, but I wasn’t sleepy, so I agreed. I figured I’d get him to drive me home once my food had settled.
“Don’t drink too much,” I told him when he poured his second glass of wine and settled into the comfy sectional beside me.
He stared at me for a moment, expression inscrutable, and then something sparked in his dark eyes. His lashes lowered in a lazy, almost catlike way. “Why? You afraid I’m going to jump you again?”
“Nooo…” I felt heat rise to my face, and I hoped the lights were low enough to hide the blush from Mark.
How could he always do that to me? Make me feel like a little kid who was trying to play with the big boys. It didn’t matter if it was at work or on the tennis courts or when we were just talking one-on-one about nothing. He was intimidating in a way I wasn’t equipped to handle.
“So, now that I’ve abducted you, and you can’t get away… I’d really like to have a serious discussion about why you freaked out on me at the party. Why you got so offended. I know we touched on it a little bit, but I get the feeling you’re not being completely honest with me. Not that you’re lying, but… I don’t know. Just holding something back.”
“What could I possibly be holding back? You acted like an asshole, and I didn’t appreciate it. End of story.”
“But I could have sworn you were into it.”
“It was New Year’s. I was into a kiss.”
Mark’s eyes drifted down to my—his—shorts. “Your dick said you were down for more than a kiss.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. “My dick has a mind of its own. He and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on the situation.”
“Well, maybe you should listen to him more often. He’s got some good ideas.”
I took a deep breath. “Are you trying to talk me into sleeping with you again? Is that what this is about—bringing me to your lair? Is your ego smarting over the one that got away?”
“Absolutely not. The truth is I was worried about you. Some awful shit went down today.” He held up a hand when I opened my mouth to speak. “But we’re not talking about that right now. We’ll get to it, but right now I want to get this other thing straight between us, okay?”
I nodded.
“Okay,” he continued. “I don’t want New Year’s to get in the way of our friendship. We’ve known each other for a long time, and it would be a shame to let that one little thing ruin it. If you’re not into me, fine. You think I’m an asshole, fine. But let’s clear the air about it once and for all.”
“I don’t think you’re an asshole.” I toyed with the hem of my shorts and tried to avoid looking at him. He had too much power over me, and I was terrified of spilling my guts.
“So, you’re not into me.”
I didn’t answer.
“Okay. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I can live with that. As long as it doesn’t mess with our friendship and our work relationship.”
Dammit, I wanted to tell him I was into him. That I’d been into him from the moment Rosenfeld introduced us. That my body really, really wanted him to take advantage of me and treat me like a two-dollar hooker at a gynecologist convention.
But I also wanted him to respect me as more than just a hook-up. I’d known guys who only fucked for the sake of fucking. They left behind a string of lovers who had dared to hope for something more and instead got dropped when they started catching feelings. I knew first-hand how that felt.
If I let Mark get into my head—and my pants—like that, I was afraid I’d never recover. For me, Mark was not a one-night-stand. He was my ideal. If I couldn’t have all of him, it was better to just stay away.
That’s what my brain said, but my mutinous dick had other ideas. As Mark had so annoyingly pointed out.
“So, let’s talk about this Terwilliger thing,” Mark said, his expression turning grave. “What the hell happened after I left that room?”
Fear prickled through me at the mere mention of the incident, but it needed to be discussed. Ignoring it wasn’t going to make it disappear.
I grabbed a sofa cushion and hugged it to my chest, but then Bill was there. How was it that a one-eyed cat could sense when I needed him? He burrowed up under the pillow and into my lap, then started purring. My fingers found his fur beneath the cushion and started idly stroking.
“Exactly what you would think happened, I guess. Jolene arrived with the meds. Roberta hadn’t canceled the order for the morphine, only added the Dilaudid, so Jolene showed up with both, plus the Phenergan. I told her to administer the Phenergan and the morphine. I mean the Dilaudid. Shit, I got confused there for a second.”
Mark’s face drew into a frown. “Are you sure you didn’t get confused that day? It could happen. You just saw how easily it could happen. The wrong word comes out of your mouth, and suddenly a man is dead.”
“Yes, Mark. I’m sure I didn’t accidentally say morphine.” But was I really? Anyone could say the wrong word. It happened all the time. It had just happened to me only seconds before.
God, maybe I had killed Terwilliger. Maybe one little slip of the tongue had put a man six feet under, and I’d have to live with that knowledge for the rest of my life.
Mark looked just as doubtful as I felt, but he pressed on. “So, what happened to the vial of morphine after Jolene gave the Dilaudid? Did you actually see it?”
I searched my brain. Closed my eyes and tried to go back in time to see with my mind’s eye what I’d actually witnessed that day.
“Jolene said she was going to chart, and I remembered the unused medication. I told her to return it to the pharmacy. I specifically remember stopping her on her way out and telling her to take it back.”
“And where was Roberta?”
“As soon as the meds had been given, Roberta wheeled the patient out to get his ultrasound. Mr. Terwilliger was in bad shape, and I was pretty sure he needed to get to surgery as soon as possible. He said he couldn’t urinate at all and hadn’t actually passed any water for about twenty-four hours. His abdomen was distended with it, and I was worried.”
“So, Roberta wheeled him away, and Jolene said she was going to chart, and you told her to take the morphine back to the pharmacy first.”
“Yes.”
“And what did she say?”
“She said she would go do it right then. I assume that’s what she did.”
“That’s easy enough to confirm,” Mark said. “I think the first thing we need to do is talk to the pharmacy.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, dialed the hospital, and pressed the phone to his ear.
“So, are you taking over the investigation, Detective Johnson?” I asked with a grin I only half felt.
“Somebody’s got to.” He held up a finger to keep me silent. “Pharmacy, please.” To me, he said, “It never hurts to take things into your own hands as much as possible, Jason. Never let someone else call the shots. Do you want to leave your fate in the hands of people like Rosenfeld and the hospital administration?” He stood abruptly and began to pace the floor, speaking into the phone again. “Yes, this is Dr. Mark Johnson. Yes, yes, I’m fine. I was just calling to check on something. A couple of days ago, we returned a vial of morphine. Yes, on the first of January. Can you check the log and see if it was returned and who returned it? Who checked it in, that sort of thing. Yes, I’ll hold.”
“Good idea,” I said. “This should be the end of it.”
Mark nodded, still pacing. “Yes, I’m still here. Okay. All right. Are you sure? Okay. Thank you for your time.” He slipped the phone
back into his pocket, and his face said it all. Something was wrong.
“What is it?” I asked, a tremor of anxiety beginning low in my belly.
“She said it was Dilaudid that was returned to the pharmacy. The vial was scanned out and scanned back in shortly after. I’m sorry, Jason.”
“No!” I jumped up from the sofa, dumping both cat and pillow into the floor. I buried my hands in my hair and yanked hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. “That’s impossible. I specifically told Jolene to give the patient morphine. Shit! Dilaudid. I told her Dilaudid.”
Mark’s brows furrowed, and he looked down at the floor. “It doesn’t look good for you, Jason. And it doesn’t help that you keep saying morphine instead of Dilaudid.”
“I swear to God, Mark. I swear to God. You know I’m careful. You know I would never do anything to harm a patient.”
“I know you would never purposely do anything to harm a patient. But, Jason… facts are facts.”
“What if Jolene accidentally gave him the wrong medication?” It was shitty trying to push the blame off on her, but dammit I was sure I hadn’t made a mistake that day. I couldn’t have. Could I?
The tremors in my belly had spread, and now my entire body was shaking like I had a fever. A really bad one. The kind that gets you shoved into a bath of ice water.
“Hey, hey, calm down.” Mark crossed the floor and folded me into his arms. “Things aren’t any worse now than when you got here, okay? This isn’t a death sentence; it just wasn’t the answer we were looking for.”
Warmth spread from his skin to mine, and I could feel his muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt, pressing against my chest, enveloping me. I wrapped my arms around his waist, my fingertips skating along the contours of his lower back.
God, he was so warm and strong and capable. All I wanted to do was stay there forever, wrapped up in his embrace. Nothing could touch me while he had a hold of me like that. Mark Johnson was a god. He had the power to make everything okay.
All too soon, he pulled back from me, and my arms fell limply to my sides. I wanted to beg him to hold onto me, but all he did was rest his hands on my shoulders.
“Come with me,” he said, and I followed like an obedient little pet. He led me to his bed, to the far side, and tucked me in under the covers. It was cool and dark, and the sound of downtown traffic was like an urban lullaby. “Stay here for just a minute.” He returned with a pill and a glass of water and sat down on the bed beside me. “Here, take this.”
“What is it?”
“Xanax. Normally, I wouldn’t share my prescription, but you need this right now, and I’m not going to watch you suffer.”
“But—”
“Take it, Jason. Now.”
I tried for a smile. “You have a rather aggressive bedside manner, Dr. Johnson.”
He smirked. “You have no idea.”
I swallowed the pill, ignoring the way his nearness made me feel, and the slide of his thigh against my hip as he shifted on the bed. He really was beautiful, and the swell of his biceps made me want to reach out and touch. Instead, I handed the water glass back, and his fingers brushed mine as he took it.
“Get some rest, okay? I’ll be in shortly.”
“This is your bed,” I said.
“That’s an astute observation, Dr. Whitham.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if I slept in the guest room?”
Mark snorted. “If I had a bed in the guest room, that’s where you would be, but right now I have it set up as a home gym. I don’t think you’ll get much rest on the weight bench. Though I suppose you could lie down on the yoga mat and use a deflated stability ball as a pillow.”
“Sounds comfy,” I said.
“Or you could just stay right here on this bed with me. I promise I won’t try to cuddle you in my sleep.”
“It’s not your sleep I’m worried about,” I said with a chuckle. “You left yourself some wiggle room in that statement.”
He grinned. “Another astute observation.”
“Speaking of cuddles,” I said. “Bill sleeps with me. Is that okay?”
“I guess,” Mark said dubiously. “As long as he doesn’t bite me or get fleas in my bed.”
“You like him, don’t you? Admit it. I won’t tell anyone. Your reputation is safe with me.”
Mark shrugged. “He’s cool, I guess. For a cat.” He patted my hip. “Now close your eyes and try to get some rest. I won’t be long.”
He got up and went into the—well, somewhere. Who knew in this apartment? My place only had three rooms: the great room, the bedroom, and a little closet-sized space they called a bathroom. There was only one large window in the great room and one tiny window in the bedroom, so it was really dark in there. The kitchen area and bathroom felt like black holes.
Mark’s place was a palace. I hadn’t seen the entire thing, but I was guessing it had to be over 2500 square feet, and that was some prime-sized real estate. Easily worth a million dollars in this swanky part of downtown, and probably more than that. The view alone made me green with envy.
The kitchen was one of those gourmet deals with all stainless steel and granite countertops. The living room could easily accommodate a small party, and the bedroom would have felt cavernous if it weren’t for the warm accents everywhere. And I loved the bathroom. Natural tiles, a shower with multi-level jets that had massaged my body from top to bottom, and a jacuzzi tub surrounded by so many soaps and salts it looked like an upscale apothecary. Yeah, this was the life. No wonder Mark walked around acting like he owned the world.
A few minutes later, I heard the shower start up. Mark was so quiet I hadn’t heard him come back into the bedroom, or maybe it was because I felt so damn relaxed. I’d never taken Xanax before, and I was surprised at how effective it had been at calming my nerves.
Now, lying in the safety of Mark’s cloud-like bed, I couldn’t quite remember how awful I had felt when he’d gotten off the phone with the pharmacy. Morris Terwilliger seemed so far away, as if he were a character I’d seen on a movie once. And what the hell kind of name was Terwilliger, anyway?
Terwilliger. Terwilliger. Ter. Willi. Ger. Terwilliger.
“What are you giggling about?” Mark’s voice startled me, and I opened my eyes to find him standing by his side of the bed in the darkened room.
“I was giggling?”
“Yeah, you were.” Rubbing a towel one-handed over his wet hair and lit only by the warm glow of the bathroom light at his back, he looked like a dream come true. Or maybe just a dream.
Was this real? Was I in Mark Johnson’s bedroom? Was he actually standing there in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts with the slit in front dangerously close to gaping?
“I think I was dreaming,” I murmured. “Might be still.”
Mark pulled the covers back and rested a knee on the bed while he situated his pillow the way he liked it, and I could not stop staring at his body. At his boxers. At the outline of the bulge that shifted with every move he made. And I knew what it looked like. Knew very well that it hung low.
A shower, not a grower, I thought, and this time I knew I was giggling.
“What’s so funny?” Mark asked, slipping beneath the covers and hiding that glorious body.
“Awww,” I groaned.
Mark smiled. “What, dammit? You’re like a sound-effects factory over there. Use your words.”
“You’re a shower, not a grower,” I said, too far gone to even be scandalized at myself.
“What?” His smile grew even wider.
“Your dick is huge. I don’t know how you walk around like that all day. Doesn’t it get in the way?”
“Oh, my God. You are so fucked up. Maybe I should have only given you half of that Xanax.” He turned onto his side to face me, propping up on his elbow and looking very pleased with himself.
“No, really. I know what I’m saying. Your dick is enormous. I’ve seen it in the locker room.”
“I know you ha
ve.” He carded his fingers through my hair, his expression soft and thoughtful. “But as much as I like you talking about my dick, you need to go to sleep. You’re going to hate yourself and me in the morning if you keep running that pretty mouth of yours.”
I grinned so wide I thought my face might split. “You think I have a pretty mouth?”
“I do.”
“Can I see it?”
Mark’s brows drew together. “What, your mouth?”
“No.” I pulled the covers back, stopping at Mark’s thighs. “Your dick. I wanna see it hard. Is it hard?”
“Jesus!” He snatched the covers back up, laughing. “Note to self: Xanax turns Jason into a sixteen-year-old virgin.”
“Try a twenty-eight-year-old virgin,” I said sourly.
“What? You’re joking, right?”
“I mean, I’ve done stuff. Just not…that.”
Mark flopped onto his back and covered his face with his hands. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He sounded almost angry.
“Well, you don’t have to act like there’s something wrong with me.”
He uncovered his face and sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “No, there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just that… I get it now. New Year’s Eve.” He turned his head to look at me, and his eyes glittered in the dark. “I’m sorry for what I did. You were right to be mad at me.”
And suddenly, there was a fire in my heart where there once was darkness. Mark had done that with his understanding and his sincere apology. For once, it felt like he saw me—the real me—and maybe he cared just a little bit.
I pushed the covers back and reached for Mark’s boxers, but before I could slip my hand inside that tempting flap, he grabbed my wrist and stopped me. But instead of pushing my hand away in annoyance or rejection, he pulled my hand toward him and pressed my balled-up fist to his chest. He held it there, and I splayed my fingers out, thrilling at the feel of the crisp, dark hairs and the warm skin beneath.
“Go to sleep,” he said, still holding my hand to his chest. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
And that’s how I fell asleep. Close to Mark. Touching him, and him touching me. Feeling warm and content and important for the first time in as long as I could remember.
