We both survived. He had a bad concussion and broken bones, and ended up getting probation. I had scrapes, bruises, cuts—and one large scar down the front of me that never would heal right.
I dumped him the next day, but that didn’t help. The accident left me broken, tainted, ruined. I’d never get over it.
Maybe that was why I went into nursing. The idea of helping other people heal from their injuries appealed to me—even if I’d never heal from mine.
I sucked in a breath, finished my glass of wine, and called up Dean. He answered right away. “I was just thinking about you,” he said.
“Spare me the details.”
“Don’t be dirty. Actually, on second thought, please be dirty.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You wish.”
“I sure do.” He adjusted the phone and I heard it scrape against cloth. “So to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I just got off the phone with Gavin.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Seems pretty good.”
“What did he have to say?”
“Warned me to back off, first of all.”
“He’s probably right about that.” He laughed softly, but with a hint of bitterness.
“Are you having second thoughts?”
“Not at all, actually. You’ll learn soon enough, but I don’t back down easy.”
“I get the feeling I understand that all too well already.”
“What else did he say?”
“Gave me some names. Dante and Vincent, they’re two of the big, bad bosses, but he said not to get involved with them. He told me about another guy named Dr. Chen. Gave me a number.”
“Dr. Chen, huh. I take it he’s their personal doctor?”
“I guess so. He didn’t go into detail.”
“All right, that’s good to know then. We can reach out to him if we need to.”
“It’s not much though. I mean, we still don’t know anything.”
“No, we don’t, but we’re getting started.” He chuckled slightly. “You know, I’m weirdly jealous of Gavin.”
“Yeah? You wish you got chased out of town by the mafia?”
“No, but he found someone he loves. That’s no small thing.”
“I didn’t know you were a hopeless romantic.”
“Not exactly, but you have to admit, there’s something appealing about the whole thing.”
I hesitated and eyed my empty wine glass. “Honestly, I don’t ever plan on having a family.”
He was quiet for a second. “I’m curious about why not, but you don’t have to tell me.”
“I know I don’t.” I clenched my jaw and felt like an idiot for saying that. “I gotta get going. I’ll see you later.”
I hung up before he could argue and tossed my phone to the other side of the couch in frustration.
I didn’t know why I told him I didn’t want a family, because that wasn’t exactly true. It wasn’t that I didn’t want one—but that I couldn’t have one.
My fingers played with the scar on my stomach again and I stared up at the ceiling of my tiny apartment and heard water dripping somewhere, the muffled sounds of my downstairs neighbors arguing, a radio playing in the apartment next to mine, and I pictured all their tiny lives playing out in rooms like mine, their own thoughts and feelings centered on their own experiences, and my quiet life another side effect, another minor thing happening on the margins. It was strange, picturing it all, and I felt a crushing sense of loneliness, one I hadn’t felt in such a long time—or at least hadn’t let myself feel.
It was Dean and I knew it. He woke this up in me, made me start thinking about my future, about what I wanted from the rest of my life, and I almost resented him for it. We’ve known each other for a while, but it wasn’t until recently, when we got involved with this mafia thing, with this money laundering mystery, that I began to wonder if maybe I did need more.
It didn’t matter what I wanted or needed. Biology was just that, and reality couldn’t be denied.
I got up, filled up my glass, and tried not to let my bitterness overwhelm me.6DeanI lounged back in my office looking over a patient file, exhausted from a long shift. I tried to focus on the chart in front of me—lab results, doctor notes, patient history—but none of it cohered into anything resembling a rational diagnosis. It was frustrating, but unsurprising. This sort of thing was usually fixed by a good night’s sleep, something that I’d been sorely lacking lately.
It was past midnight and the hospital was quiet. Everyone hated night shifts, except for me, of course. I actually liked the hospital at night—the silent, dimmed halls, the sounds of the nursing and janitorial staff moving around as quietly as they could, the hushed voices over beeping monitors. Night was always a surreal time, and I felt as though I got my best work done when the place was half asleep.
Except for tonight, of course. Tonight, I was on the tail end of a twelve-hour shift and ready to get the fuck back to my apartment and into my comfortable bed, but I had one last task before I could check out for the evening. I checked the time again, and again, and finally took out my phone to text Fiona.