Nick

by Brittany Dreams

  His phone buzzes, and he answers it, then frowns.

  “When and where?” he says, shaking his head. It sounds like there’s trouble. He hangs up and stands. “Nick, we have a problem. Looks like we got to eat later.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “O’Shea. That was Rodriguez. He just found him. Kid almost jumped off a bridge.”

  I grab my jacket and we’re both out the door two seconds later.

  I never knew O’Shea had a kid, a son who just turned eight months old.

  His girlfriend looks like she should still be in school.

  They’re in an apartment on the edge of the city, though, and it looks like he’s doing his best to take care of them.

  We sent Rodriguez home. We thought he’d done enough.

  Tony is with the girlfriend. He’s trying to get the baby to sleep while she gets some rest.

  She was hysterical. Apparently he left the house last night, and she didn’t want to call the police because of the drugs.

  O’Shea called Rodriguez to ask him if he could look after his girl and his baby because he didn’t think he could do anything anymore.

  Thank God Rodriguez is a kid with his head screwed on.

  Kids.

  I know they’re not. When I was twenty-four, if anyone ever called me a kid, I wouldn’t joke to show them how much of a man I was.

  Now we’re here.

  I’m here with O’Shea in his living room, and I see he’s just a kid who reminds me of myself at that age.

  We’ve been sitting in silence for the last fifteen minutes.

  I have a duty to him but also to the team, and he knows it.

  “I’m done, aren’t I?” he states and brings a hand to his head. His dark curls that are usually more neat look unruly today, like the rest of him.

  “Why do you say that?” I ask.

  “You’re going to tell Coach, then that’s it. I’m done. I should have jumped.”

  It crushes me to hear that. “Why? Why do you think that?”

  “I want it all, and I can’t have it. Last season I played hard and I played good, but I missed the birth of my baby. I couldn’t ask for time off in the middle of a football season. I left my girl, and she needed me, but I was traveling and could only come back for the weeks we weren’t.”

  I frown. “O’Shea, how are we supposed to know what you need if you don’t tell us?”

  “You can’t. But that’s not my only problem,” he breathes, and a tear runs down his cheek. “I can’t stop using. I know I’m not supposed to, but I can’t stop. I was just doing it at first to cope and get myself from one day to the next. Then it became something else I couldn’t control. I don’t want someone like me around my kid. Taking drugs and treating his mother like shit when she means everything to me. She dropped out of college to take care of him, and that’s how I repay her? She can do better than that.”

  Great, now he’s starting to sound like me.

  I look him over and think of doing something unlike me to help him, so I say the words Tony said to me just a few hours ago.

  “Do you want her to do better with someone who isn’t you? Do you want your kid to have a father who isn’t you? O’Shea, you need help, and if you love them, you’ll do what you need to do for them.” I actually surprise myself.

  My words seem to help because he breaks down and shakes his head.

  “I don’t,” he answers. “I want them to have me.”

  “Then let me help you, please let me help you,” I offer, and he nods again. “Go be with your girl. Don’t worry about anything else.”

  “What if I get kicked off the team?”

  “Not gonna happen. You aren’t a shit player, and we only pick the best, which means we keep the best too.” It’s true. He’s gonna need a break to do what he needs to, to get better, but we’re the kind of team that will do what we need to as well.

  “Thank you. I was thinking…if I can’t play football, I don’t know what else I can do. I don’t want my career to be over in such a short time.”

  I grin at him, feeling slightly better than I did earlier. “I think I’m living proof that won’t happen to you. I stopped playing football when I was twenty-six, and I’ve been a scout since. I had five years of pro ball and that was it, but then I realized it never actually stops. You find the next thing in the thing you love. So don’t beat yourself up. You hear me, kid?”

  “Yeah,” he answers, looking grateful and less tense. I feel better when I see that.

  At least I did something good today.

  I leave shortly after and get back to my empty house. It feels emptier tonight.

  I glance at my phone before bed and notice a message. But it’s not from the person I want to hear from.

  It’s Rachel.

  Her message says:

  * * *

  Thinking of you and missing your body.

  Let me know when I can see you xx

  * * *

  I sigh and read over the message, remembering the night at the bar when I was thinking that my decline would deter her. Obviously, it didn’t.

  She just said she’d wait for me to message her when I needed her.

  It’s women like this that make me look like a playboy.

  I sit down on my bed and the second I do, a flash of memory sparks in my mind.

  Tania on my bed. Me with her naked and tangled in this bed. Me inside her. Me all over her touching her like I couldn’t get enough.

  Once on the table downstairs wasn’t enough. I remember needing to have her in my bed.

  I wanted to look at her against my sheets, have her silky smooth skin next to me, her gorgeous, delicious breasts bouncing in my face while she rode my cock.

  Fuck…

  I remember it all.

  I remember all that happened, and my answer to Tony is this: No, I don’t want Tania to do better with someone else. I want her for myself, and no fucking way am I going to allow her to find some clone of me when she can have me.

  So my first act is rescinding my title as playboy is this message I’m sending Rachel:

  Hey. Sorry babe. I can’t see you anymore. Take care of yourself.

  * * *

  I’m glad it looks like she understands because it’s the first time she doesn’t text me back.

  Good.

  Now for the next plan of action.

  Finding a way for Tania to give me a chance. There’s no way I’m having a night like I had with her and doing fuck all about it.

  I want more.

  Tania

  Kayla’s mom looks a little like her.

  I learned her father died some time ago, but the man sitting next to her mother is definitely her father in name. Mr. Thomas is her stepfather, but he’s been here around the clock, possibly more than her mother, to give his wife a break.

  Celine and I are talking with them again today. This time together.

  We do this sometimes when we’re trying to brainstorm an idea because it gives some insight, and it helps establish the root cause of whatever’s going on.

  Right now, we’re still not sure because the problem could be anything, so we’re still testing for everything.

  It’s a yes to juvenile osteoporosis, but it also ticks the box of other bone disease too, where the signs and symptoms of osteoporosis are similar. That’s where we need to be careful.

  This meeting is good for me too because I haven’t been myself. I haven’t been myself because I haven’t had Nick around.

  Today is day five, and I’m determined I’m not going to live another day like this. I’m going to see him later to talk. I don’t want this thing ruining us.

  Celine finishes her question to Mrs. Thomas and looks to me. It’s my turn.

  I had a few questions I wanted to ask too.

  I look at Kayla, who looks so fragile. She looks smaller than sixteen. To me, she looks more like twelve. I think that could be part of the problem, but I’m not sure yet.

&n
bsp; The purpose of this meeting today is because we’ve had to stop giving her painkillers in tablet form and do it intravenously.

  Her pain was that bad that we had to increase the dosage, and now she’s on morphine.

  “Kayla, you used to do ballet when you were eight,” I begin. “Can you tell me about that? Specifically, why you stopped? You mentioned it last week. That it felt like it was too hard. I know that sounds like a weird question but I’m trying to look at everything we can to help you.”

  “It’s okay.” She gives me a warm smile. “I understand. I thought some of the moves were difficult. I couldn’t turn my feet out or keep them positioned right. Then it would hurt so much after.”

  Her mother straightens on hearing that.

  “Do you think ballet caused this?” Mrs. Thomas asks me.

  “No, I don’t think it did.”

  “She did it for four years, and yes, hated it, but I pushed her because I knew she liked watching.”

  “Mom, it’s different to watch something than do it,” Kayla complains.

  “And you still like watching dear, don’t you?” Mr. Thomas adds.

  “Yes,” Kayla agrees then looks back at me. “You think I had this problem from then, don’t you? Like maybe it started back then and got worse as the years went by?”

  I know I’m never to say yes when I just have a theory, but that is exactly what I think.

  “It’s a possibility,” I answer. “It’s a strong possibility. Before coming to the hospital did you experience anything similar to the pain you felt when you did ballet?”

  She shakes her head. “No, I’m not real big on sports. Since then, I just tend to stay away from it. It all just started with a pain in my leg. Just by my ankle and calf,” she explains.

  That is exactly where I first saw the problem. I surmised that in a few months, the X-rays would be different. It took less time. That first X-ray was done a little over a month before I saw it. The one we did two days ago showed that there was a further decrease in the bone mass.

  So it left us with the question of what.

  “We’re working on it,” I tell her and look at each of them. “I completely understand how frustrating this must be, but you’ve been referred to our department so that we can hopefully get it right this time.”

  “Thank you. We appreciate it,” Mrs. Thomas replies.

  Despite the smile Mr. and Mrs. Thomas gives me, I see they’re not okay.

  It’s the look all the loved ones give. That look of helplessness but hopeful that we can do something.

  Celine and I leave, making our way back to the office to see if we can work this out.

  “It sounds like you have some idea on what it could be,” Celine remarks as we walk down the corridor.

  “I have a few things in mind, but I think it’s the same as you.”

  “I think it’s genetic. Oftentimes I find when you can’t find stuff out, it tends to be genetic. In the sense that it’s a throwback from someone dead who can’t help us, so we have to dig deep.” Celine sounds frustrated.

  “Hey.” I tap her shoulder. “Why don’t I hold the fort for a little bit? You sound stressed. God knows you’ve been doing enough with me at ten percent.”

  She smirks. “You’ve been more than ten percent. Please take this as credit, but sometimes I wish I could have your eye for detail. I’m a year ahead of you, and Mac and Chad are light-years ahead, but I don’t think any of us have that eye for attention you have.”

  I take that as a compliment. “Thank you, that means a lot, but I think the same way about you. You’re like the reference section of the library. I may be able to see stuff, but rest assured, whatever I’m seeing, you can tell everything about. I’d have to check it out and research, but you know it already.”

  She smiles at that. “Thanks. That means a lot too. I think I’m just testy because I think I’m going to break up with Patrick.”

  “Really?” I’m surprised to hear that.

  “Yeah. I think it’s best for both of us. He really likes me, and I see that, but he’s taken with his child. Plus, you know when you can tell when someone’s sorry for what they’ve done?”

  “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

  “I’m getting that vibe from his ex. It would help if she was horrible, but she isn’t. She’s just an ex who looks like she still loves him, and he won’t go there with her because of me.”

  “But what if he just wants to be with you? That can happen too. right?” I point out.

  “Yes, except I think he’s a really good guy who’ll do what he thinks is right. It’s going to be to give them a chance. It’s fine. I’m not in love with him. I think I’ve come to know the difference between just dating, just having sex, and being in love. I do really like him though. It’s been awhile since I’ve had someone treat me good. That’s why it’s hard. That’s why I feel a little off about it.”

  “I hear you. Well, I think your shift ended an hour ago. Go home. I can finish up,” I offer.

  We’ve both been here since six this morning, working extremely hard. When you get to a certain stage in your career, you no longer think in shifts and time. You just do what you need to, to get the job done.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. There’s not much to do. We actually can’t do any more for Kayla.”

  We were waiting for more tests to come back. That would be tomorrow at the earliest, and that was wishful thinking. I’m so glad I thought of her as high risk from the outset because she definitely took up the majority of time. Our other patient will be discharged from our care by the end of next week and he’ll go over to the main hospital.

  Mac’s not giving us any more patients after that until we get down to the bottom of the problem with Kayla.

  “Okay, thanks. Hey, I haven’t asked about Nick on purpose. Didn’t want to bombard or pester you. Have you heard from him?” She looks hopeful.

  “No. I guess he must be really upset with me. I’m gonna see him later. I’m just gonna go to his place and talk,” I explain. That’s the plan.

  “Talk about what though?” She blinks several times and smiles.

  “Why we should stay friends,” I answer, raising my shoulders into a little shrug.

  “God Tania, I’ll ask again, would it be so bad just to see where it goes?”

  I press my lips together. I did think that. I’m just not sure we should go there. I don’t even know if he remembers, and I found myself wondering if it truly would be better if he didn’t.

  “I don’t know. I see Nick, and I know how to act around him when he’s my friend. I know what to talk about and what he likes and doesn’t like. I know he knows me too.”

  “But now you know him in a different way, and I’m certain you know his other likes and dislikes.” She gives me a saucy giggle.

  A blush creeps up my cheek. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

  “Come on girl, the man is hot as fuck. If you tried at least you’d know. Just try or test. There’s so many things you could do to test.” The sinful smile Celine gives me tells me she’d know exactly what to do if she was in my shoes. “I guess if I were you, I’d take this problem over Owen.”

  Now the seriousness has returned to her face. It’s hard to believe that was a month ago yesterday. I didn’t even notice.

  It’s funny she says that she’d rather have the Nick problem over the Owen problem, but I wouldn’t.

  “Why?”

  “Because Nick adores you. Plain and simple, and you know that. No matter that he’s a playboy. I’d rather have the playboy who wants to be my boy than the demon in sheep’s clothing who made me believe he wanted to be my forever.”

  Celine is the knowledgeable one. It seems like she’s knowledgeable in other areas too, that go deeper than her great taste in men.

  “But that’s just me,” she chuckles. “See you tomorrow. Don’t work too hard.”

  “I won’t,” I answer, and she leaves me.

  I continue to
my little office and find the door ajar.

  I always close it. I don’t have any patient records inside today, but sometimes I do.

  I push the door open and can't deny that my heart doesn’t flutter or that I don’t get excited when my gaze lands on Nick sitting behind my desk, flipping through one of my New Science magazines.

  Tania

  I close the door when I walk in, and he stands up.

  He sets the magazine on the table. I notice there’s something different about the way he’s looking at me.

  “Hi,” I speak first.

  “Hello,” he answers.

  Has he remembered?

  I can’t tell. It’s been five days. That would be one hell of a memory loss if he still couldn’t remember, but then I’ve had that happen to me before where I got so drunk I did things I’m told I did and haven’t remembered until this day. Thankfully none of them were like what I got up to with him.

  “I was going to come see you later,” I tell him, hoping it will ease the tension that’s stretched between us.

  “Were you?”

  “Yeah, I was going to call too but I didn’t know if you’d answer. You looked really upset when we last spoke.”

  “I was.”

  I’m hoping that’s a was as in past tense, and he’s not now. I hope he’s…well, honestly, I’m not sure what I should hope for. What would feel worse? Him agreeing with me or not? I hate that I’m so confused about what I want to feel for him.

  He walks over to me and my body instantly reacts. Heat flushes through me when his eyes drink me in, raking boldly over my form from head to toe.

  “I remembered,” he states, and I swallow past the lump that’s formed in my throat.

  “You did?” I stutter.

  “I did, and now that I have, I don’t accept your answer.”

  My eyes widen then narrow. “What do you mean you don’t accept?”

  He steps closer, and I step back. One more step and I’m against the wall, and there’s nowhere left to go. This office is just a thinking space, really. It’s big enough to be an office, but small, and it feels smaller now with him inside, so close to me.