Perfectly Adequate

“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.