by Jewel Ann
No blood.
I touch my nose again.
No blood.
Damn! That hurt like a motherfucker. How is there no blood? I actually wish blood would gush from my nose so my reaction that’s silenced the area around us might feel a bit more justified.
Dr. Hawkins grimaces, pulling the wet material away from his skin while he inspects my non-bleeding nose. I grab several napkins as does the lady behind the coffee counter, and we hand them to him to blot the coffee. Then I grab some more napkins and blow my nose really hard.
No blood!
I’ve never wanted to bleed so badly in my life.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry. I had no idea you were so close to me.”
That’s because I was sniffing you.
I laugh at my own thoughts. How appropriate that I got elbowed in the nose for sniffing him.
“Is it bleeding?” He keeps his focus on me.
The older woman behind the counter hands him more napkins. “Are you okay, Doctor? That had to burn your skin.”
He gives her a polite nod, taking the extra napkins.
“I’m …” I shake off his question while removing the wad of napkins from my nose and showing him the clear mucous on it. “There’s no blood. See?”
The barista grimaces. I take her cue and dispose of the napkins. Maybe showing my snot is not the right approach.
“But yeah … no … I mean good. I’m good. Your ass is probably scorched from that coffee. Hope you have on thick briefs.” I do my best to show my concern for his wellbeing instead of focusing on my complete embarrassment and lack of blood coming out of my nose.
“It’s just skin.” He wipes his leg as the barista cleans the mess on the floor so the line can keep moving.
I place a five on the counter for my coffee.
“Let me get you another cup of coffee.”
“What?” I shake my head so hard it hurts my brain. “Let me pay for your scrubs. Your medical bills for treating your burns. New briefs. Shoes. Everything! Let me pay for everything.”
He laughs in spite of the slight grimace on his face as he moves forward several steps. “I’m good. Really, Dorothy. I’d better get cleaned up and have someone take a peek at my backside.”
“Want me to take a look?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “You’re a patient transporter.”
“Yes. And a nursing student. But I have my CNA license, and I was an EMT for a while. Also, I listened to a podcast a few months back on cutting-edge burn treatments that can prevent permanent nerve damage, reduce scarring by sixty-three percent, and cut recovery time in half.”
Dr. Hawkins blinks for several seconds, eyes narrowed a bit. “Dr. Hathaway is head of the burn unit. I think I’ll have her take a quick look.”
“Your ex-wife?” I’m certain the whole cafeteria hears me, but his suggestion strikes me as odd. I mean … all the rumors about his marriage. His wife leaving him.
Wrinkles form along his forehead.
Yes, I know everything about him because the sexiest doctor in the hospital getting a divorce was the hottest topic for months. The divorce saga settled down, but he remains a hot topic.
“She is. Why?” he says slowly.
“I realize she’s a doctor, but it has to be weird letting your ex-wife see your naked ass … butt … buttocks … gluteus.” I smile, my go-to when things get really awkward—which happens way too often.
His thick eyebrows dip. “She’s seen it a few times before.” An odd grin plays along his lips.
I’m not sure if I amuse him or if it excites him to think about his ex being forced to look at his ass again, a reminder of what she gave up. Sucking my top lip between my teeth, I nod several times. “Okay. But make sure she listened to that podcast. I can send her the link if she hasn’t heard it yet. But I’m sure she knows all about it. She’s brilliant and my favorite boss bitch in the whole hospital.”
“Dorothy …” He scratches his chin, lips corkscrewed to the side.
“I mean bitch in a really good way. Take charge. No nonsense. Get shit done.”
Dr. Julie Hathaway is my idol in so many ways, but I stop short of making that confession. Real progress on my part. “Yes?” I whisper.
He hands me his cup of coffee. Pressing his finger to the bottom of my chin, he lifts it, guiding my head to one side and then the other side, gaze focused on my nose. Then he gently pinches my nose while pressing the surrounding area with his other hand. It’s a bit sore, but not broken … or bleeding. Or scorched from hot coffee.
Ugh …
It’s not that I’m not concerned about my nose. I am. This isn’t my first nose injury. By now I could have irreversible damage to structures and tissues in my nose. I can’t even think about the long-term problems I might experience, like stuffiness and breathing issues or sinus, bone, and other nose infections. This could be really bad for me.
“Sorry about your nose.” He releases my chin and smiles before heading toward the elevators.
“Your coffee!” I hold it up.
“Keep it.” He presses the up button.
* * *
Elijah
Julie knew she wanted to be a plastic surgeon from the moment her younger brother had surgery on his cleft lip. She knew she wanted a successful career as a doctor. She knew she wanted to change lives by giving kids confidence again. I, on the other hand, floundered around, unsure of a specialty, unsure of where I wanted to live and work, unsure about if and when we should start a family.
Julie was my compass.
“I need a favor.” I tuck an extra pair of scrubs under my arm.
She glances up from her phone, just outside of her office on the second floor. “I’m not switching weeks with you. Roman has been looking forward to—”
“A large cup of really hot coffee was just spilled down my backside.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh. You want me to take a look?”
“No. I just wanted you to know in case I die from sepsis.”
She rolls her greenish-brown eyes and smirks. “Follow me.”
We find an empty room down the hall, and she closes the door with her back to me. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
“Wow! Fifteen years of marriage and you want me to undress while your back is to me? Put on a gown, only so you can pull it back and inspect my bare ass. We’ve had sex so many times in this hospital, I stopped counting. Yet … here we are. Cordial and professional.”
“Eli …” she whispers on a sigh.
“I’m ready, Dr. Hathaway.”
Dr. Hathaway … there was no question that she wasn’t going to take my name when we got married. I didn’t need her name to be the same as mine. I just needed her.
On my stomach, I glance at her over my shoulder. She focuses on my burns. Always professional. I focus on her new red hair color and her crisp, purple button-down under her lab coat revealing her larger cleavage. I’m sure some eager plastics guy jumped at that opportunity for professional reciprocity with the world renowned Dr. Hathaway.
“Hope you can learn to sleep on your right side or your stomach.” She cleans the burns as I clench my teeth.
“I’m a back sleeper. You know this.”
Julie frowns, dressing my wounds. “That’s why I said it. But we’ve been apart for over a year.” She shrugs. “I thought maybe having the bed to yourself might have changed that. Or do you have company in bed?”
“Yes. Roman finds his way into my room, heating my bed by about ten degrees.”
For the first time since she started tending to my bared backside, she shoots me a quick glance with a nervous smile.
Yeah, I’m an idiot.
I turn my head, staring at the wall with my arms folded under my chin. “That was your way of asking if I’ve had another woman in my bed? Smooth, Jules … so smooth I didn’t catch it.”
“You’re a wonderful man, Eli. Any woman would be lucky to be in your bed.”
“Except my wife.”
“I’m not your wife anymore.”
I grunt. Maybe I should have let Dorothy deal with my burns. “God … you’re so clinical, Jules.”
“I’m professional.”
“Cold.”
“Thorough. Focused. What is your deal? Did you think I was going to treat your burns with a hand job?”
“If I thought you were going to address my burns with the same fumbling ineffectiveness as your hand jobs, I would have let the patient transporter treat me.”
Her gloves snap as she peels them from her hands and tosses them into the trash can. “Have your mommy change your dressings.”
The door opens. The door closes.
I remain on my stomach, eyes shut as I blow out a slow breath. Had I not loved her right down to my soul, I wouldn’t hate her so much. After easing on a pair of clean scrubs, I slip out of the room and find Julie in her office.
She glances up from her computer as the door clicks behind me. Guilt wars in her eyes, weathering her face and weighting her posture. It’s always the same look. Even when I provoke her like I did a few minutes ago, she bleeds more pain than anger.
“Will the day ever come that I fully understand?” I stroll around her tiny office, inspecting the diplomas, professional licenses, and achievement awards that I’ve seen a million times before, the photos on her desk of Roman, and the Zen garden my mom gave her.
“Probably not.”
Keeping my back to her, I stare blankly at the bookcase filled with medical journals. “Are you happy, Jules? Is this new life everything you hoped it would be?”
“I don’t know how to answer that. It’s hard to feel happy being the villain.”
I turn slowly as she closes her laptop and leans back in her desk chair, hugging her arms to her body like a shield.
“I never said you were the villain.”
Julie grunts. “I’m not sure our families would agree.”
“Families? You mean my family.”
“Your family. My family. Our mutual friends. People here at the hospital. Don’t act like you don’t see it. Perfect Elijah abandoned by his awful wife. The looks. The whispers. They don’t go unnoticed by me. And that’s fine. I made a very conscious decision to walk away knowing this would happen. But it’s been a year. Haven’t I served my time?”
I can’t answer that question. I just … can’t. One night we were making love with so much intensity I felt like a damn virgin, falling in love with this woman all over again. It felt pivotal. Something so out of our ordinary that I knew things would be different between us. But my different was not even on the same planet as her different. Before I could suggest we ask her parents to watch Roman so we could get away, maybe renew our wedding vows, and work on giving Roman a brother or sister … BOOM!
“I need out, Eli.”
Need.
Not want. NEED.
Julie needed out of our marriage. And when she broke down crying, I actually felt sorry for her. She sounded like a victim pinned beneath an overturned car. Begging me to help her.
“What do you want me to do, Jules?”
Anything.
I wanted to do whatever she needed. All I could focus on was helping her out of her pain. Lifting that proverbial car from her so she could breathe … so she’d stop crying. It was always instinctual to take away her pain.
“I need you to let me go.”
She wanted me to let go of fifteen years of marriage, just like that. Live with joint custody for the next sixteen years. Untangle my life from hers. Julie wanted me to stop breathing. She’d been so adamant about my lack of understanding her motives, her feelings. But I just couldn’t understand why you’d work so hard to have everything you ever wanted and then just … let it go. Because that’s what I believe. The life we had was everything. How do you let go of everything?
Taking two slow steps, I pick up the framed photo from her desk. Same frame. Different picture. It used to be a photo of our family at Disney World. It’s been replaced with a photo of Roman at the zoo with Julie. “You know the patients who survive the unimaginable? The ones who, by all rights, should be dead? And yet … they hang on. As doctors we have no explanation for the heart that’s still beating in a body that’s broken beyond repair. We remove our hero cape and toss it aside because we’re not worthy of taking credit for something that’s clearly greater than our most honed skill. It’s the fight. The patient fights for something they refuse to lose, even when to everyone else it’s over.”
I return the photo to her desk and continue. “I never saw you fight. You just … let go. And the only explanation you’ve ever given me is ‘I just can’t explain it. You won’t understand, and it won’t change anything.’”
“Eli …” She bows her head, closing her eyes.
“If you could give me something … the tiniest of clues … it would profoundly change my life.” Emotion hits me in the form of desperation. I refuse to blink and let her see me cry again, but fuck … it still hurts.
Julie opens her eyes but keeps her chin tipped to her chest. She won’t even look at me. “I fell out of love.”
“With me …” I whisper.
She slowly shakes her head while lifting her own teary gaze to meet mine. “With myself. I fell out of love with the woman I was with you. And to this day, I still can’t explain it because the words sound so selfish and utterly ridiculous in my own head. I just wanted to be someone different. And I couldn’t do it when I felt anchored to you. And as much as I wanted to just forge ahead, I felt this ticking clock counting down the hours of my life. And every day felt like a missed opportunity to honor myself by living the life I wanted to live.”
“The hair. The tattoos. The new clothes. The…” I glance at her chest “…the implants …” I shake my head. “Did you think I wouldn’t be okay with them?”
“Don’t do this …” she whispers.
“Do what? I don’t understand why you can’t tell me—”
“Because it’s embarrassing!” She presses the heels of her hands to her head before running her fingers through her red hair. “I wanted a new start. A rebirth. I felt like a butterfly dying to emerge from my cocoon, and you were the cocoon. I didn’t want to become something in your eyes. I wanted to simply be someone in the eyes of a man who didn’t watch me stumble through my awkward teen years. Who didn’t have a firsthand account of how much I hated sex for months after I lost my virginity because I didn’t have the confidence to be sexy and adventurous. I want a man who didn’t see me break down a million times during medical school. It’s like you were the contractor who built me. But I don’t want to be with someone who knows every single part of me. I want to be exciting and new. I want to have a man look at me with curiosity and wonder. I want to keep a part of me for myself. An unsolvable mystery, not a forgone conclusion.”
Her words hang heavily in the air as my mind struggles to process them. They would make sense to me if we were fifteen again. But we are grown-ass adults with jobs and a child. Still, I just want my life back. My wife … my family. “Fine. Let’s meet at a bar. Let’s date like we’re meeting for the first time. I’ll act like you’ve looked this way forever. You can tell me as little or as much as you want to about yourself, and I won’t bring up our past.”
After several unblinking seconds, a tiny smile works its way up her face. “I love you, Eli. I will always love you. But you just said it yourself, it would be an act. We both deserve something better than that. We could go through the motions, but they would mean nothing because we both would know they were an act.”
She looks at me like a dog she plans to leave at a shelter. It’s the way she looked at me when she said she needed out. A terrible look. I’m good with that being the last time she gives it to me.
“I’ll have Roman’s bag packed Sunday night.” I turn and exit her office without looking back. I’m done looking back at the wreckage of my marriage.
* * *
Dorothy
&nbs
p; The following morning, after a twelve-hour shift, I wait inside the parking garage entrance. I have it on good authority that Dr. Hawkins will be here at 7:00 a.m. It’s not his weekend to work, but (also on good authority) he has a patient in a special chemotherapy trial, and he needs to check in on her.
“Dr. Hawkins!”
His head snaps up as he walks through the automatic glass doors, holding his son’s hand. The little boy looks about four from his height. Tall. Probably his dad’s genes. Dr. Hawkins has to be at least six-four—a full foot taller than my five-four stature. But I know, in spite of his height, little Roman is only three. Lots of rumors about the hottest doctor at the hospital float around. I’m fairly certain the age of his son is correct.
“Dorothy …” he says my name slowly, like the smile that grows on his face.
“For you.” I hold out a large reusable shopping bag, but it hasn’t been used before. I bought it for his stuff. He can reuse it. He can think of me when he reuses it. Unless it brings back memories of me spilling coffee on his ass and down the back of his legs. Then maybe I prefer he not think of me when reusing the bag.
He releases the little boy’s hand and takes the bag. “What’s this?”
“What’s in the bag?” Roman says in choppy increments. He’s a spitting image of his dad. They both have the same dirty blond hair. A little longer on the top and shorter on the sides. They have the same rich brown eyes too. His shirt reads TROUBLE.
“Dorothy …” Dr. Hawkins shakes his head, lifting his gaze from the contents of the bag to me. “Why did you do this?”
“I ruined your scrubs. So I bought you new ones. Underwear … just took a guess on the size. Hope you’re good with boxer briefs in black. And the shoes are in two sizes. I guessed either a ten and a half or an eleven. Am I right?”
Dr. Hawkins nods slowly, wearing a distorted mask of confusion. “Eleven. But …”
“Donate the other pair.” I shrug.
“You …” He shakes his head again, brows knitted together. “You should return them and get your money back. You should return all of this and get your money back. And what is—” He pulls out the superhero cape.
