Kissing My Dad's Friend

“All right,” he responds. Still, there’s another long pause, before he finally walks back down the hall once more. Neither of us move until the stairs creak, the telltale third step groaning beneath Dad’s weight, telling us he’s back downstairs once more.

“Fuck,” I groan, collapsing against Russ.

He bursts into laughter, then, and wraps his arms around me. With one gentle finger, he tilts my face back until I’m forced to look up at him, my eyes narrowed.

“It’s not funny,” I protest. “He would have killed us.”

“It’s a little funny,” he replies. “And I’m pretty sure I could give him a run for his money.”

I groan and roll my eyes, but I let him lean in and kiss me softly.

“If you’re having regrets about this, Maggie, you can tell me,” Russ murmurs, when he draws back from the kiss, his worried eyes fixed on mine.

A guilty, unpleasant sensation tugs at my chest. “It’s not that. I don’t regret doing this.” I really don’t. “Just… I don’t want to make anything harder. For either of us. And I really don’t want to fuck up your entire life.” I search his eyes. He opens his mouth, but I hold up a hand to stave him off. “I know you said you don’t mind if you get fired. That you have other options. But I would hate to be the reason you had to implement them against your wishes. Even if you were alright with it in the end… I can’t help but worry that at some point down the road, you’d start to resent me for it.”

His eyes search mine right back. “Would you resent me if you lost your job at the hospital?” he asks, one eyebrow lifted. He’s quick to add, “It’s all right if you think you would be. I’d rather us be honest and open with one another.”

My cheeks flare red again, though less intensely than when my father almost walked in on me post-fuck a minute ago. “It’s not that. I mean, I don’t even like my job right now. Though…” I hesitate and chew on my lower lip. “Thank you for talking to Dad about it. For trying to convince him he should let me have a normal patient roster again.”

“Of course. Any time.” Russ’s forehead creases. He’s clearly trying to figure out what I’m not saying. What really makes me so nervous about pissing off my father.

I groan and sink back against my bed. After a moment’s hesitation, he lies down alongside me, and loops one arm around my waist. I snuggle into him, grateful for his warmth, not to mention his strong, comforting presence. It makes it easier to say what’s on my mind. “I want to make a difference in the world,” I say softly. “And I’m afraid that I can’t do that from here… but Dad could ruin my chances to do it from anywhere. You know how much clout he has. He could…” get me blackballed from Doctors Without Borders, a part of me finishes. But it’s hard to admit even that much out loud. Russ has never traveled or worked anywhere except right at Dad’s side. Somehow, admitting my deepest desire proves harder than I expected. “He could ruin my future chances anywhere else, too,” I finally settle on saying.

Russ’s chest rises and falls in a deep sigh. “I can understand that. You have ambition, Maggie. Not to mention a huge heart.” He lifts a strand of my hair and twirls it around one of his fingers. “It’s why I don’t want to let you go, Mags. Because I love that about you.”

My heart twists in my chest, a little too painfully aware of how close that is to another three little words. Words that might break me, at this point. But he doesn’t say them. He just sits in silence, watching me. Waiting to see what I want to do.

Finally, I lean up and kiss him, soft and sweet this time. And I settle on the truth. “I don’t want to let you go, either…” I admit in a low whisper.

As bad as this idea is, as crazy as us trying to be together seems…right now, he is exactly who I want.

7

A week passes. A week of sly glances in the hallways, of whispered promises between rounds. Dad doesn’t give me back a full roster of patients yet, but he lets me have three more than before, after I apparently treated the handful of rich patients to his satisfaction. So now I’m up to six patients instead of three. Better than before. But still not the two dozen I should be handling.

Still not enough to stave off the annoyed or angry glares of my fellow nurses in the hallways.

But I have Russ to distract me from those, at least. We start to fall into a regular pattern. He’ll text me something innocuous—a winking face or a grin. Then I’ll text him the time of my next break. By the time the break rolls around, I’ll find Russ waiting for me in the handicap stall on our floor, down an out of the way passage, or maybe in the break room near the OR wing.