I run my finger across the picture that was taken of Tyson and me when we were twelve. The photo was snapped after a summer co-ed soccer game. It had rained that day, and our jerseys and cleats were covered in mud. My ponytail hung messily across my left shoulder and we both had mud caked to our faces and legs. Our smiles were large and bright as we posed for the camera with our arms wrapped tightly around each other’s shoulders.
I would give anything to go back to the day this picture was taken, before high school, boyfriends, girlfriends, and gossip. A time when we were naïve and innocent, and all we cared about was playing ball, winning games, fishing, and catching fireflies. A time before emotions, love, and rejection. I squeeze my eyes closed, hugging the picture to my chest, and allow myself to be absorbed in the memory.
I can feel the tears breach the corner of my eyes, but I don't wipe them away. I let them make their journey down my face because they're there for a reason. Although at this point, I’m not sure if I'm crying because of the happy memories, the sad ones that came years later, or out of fear of what’s to come.
“ALRIGHT, MRS. COLLINS, YOU’RE good to go!" I yell, slowly enunciating each word. Sweet Mrs. Collins is completely deaf, even with her hearing aids. “I’ve sent the prescription to your pharmacy electronically, and don’t forget¸ no more Q-tips in your ear.”
“Why would I put Q-tips in my beer?" she yells back, furrowing her brow in confusion.
“No." I shake my head, laughing, and point to my ear. “Not beer. EAR. Don’t put Q-tips in your ear.”
“Oh. Okay," she says, patting my hand gently and nodding her head. Gripping her walker, she shuffles down the hall with the nurse following closely behind.
I head over to the nurses’ station to finish my charting on Mrs. Collins when Avery steps out of an exam room. “Hey, Avery. How’s your morning going?”
Avery completed her residency two years ago at a hospital in Indiana. She recently relocated to St. Louis after accepting a job here in the ER.
“It’s going okay," she says, wiping her arm across her forehead. "I’ve done stitches on a head laceration, and I’m fairly certain that the gentleman I just examined broke his hip. How’s your day going?” she asks, falling in step with me.
Avery is petite and at least a good foot shorter than me. She reminds me a lot of Brit; they both have straight, blond hair and big, blue eyes. She’s really quite beautiful—if that’s the type of girl you’re looking for. But right now, I’ve got my sights set on a gorgeous brunette with large green eyes, thick black lashes, and a dimple in each cheek. I can’t help but grin when I think about the look on Harley's face after she ran into me earlier this week and spilled her tea. Damn, she looked incredible. The past five years have treated her well. If it’s possible, she’s even more of a perfect version of the woman she already was.
“Tyson?" Avery shakes my shoulder gently, pulling me from my memory.
“Huh?”
She smiles at me warmly, her perfectly straight teeth on display. “Where’d you go just now?" she asks. "You stopped talking and had a huge smile on your face."
“Sorry,” I reply, pulling out a chair at the station for her and then one for myself. We both start thumbing through charts. “What did you ask me?”
“I asked how your day was going.”
“Eh...” I shrug. “It’s going, I guess. I’ve had an abdominal pain, a sprained ankle, and I just saw a woman who had the end of a Q-tip come off in her ear canal.”
She chuckles lightly. “Mrs. Collins. I heard her yelling something about beer.”
“I love my job," I state sarcastically with a grin, turning my head to look at her.
She smiles shyly and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “So, you’re from around here originally, right?" she asks, turning back to continue her charting.
“Yup," I nod. "Well, I was raised across the river in Illinois, but I grew up in the area. How are you liking it here so far?"
I turn around when someone taps my shoulder. “I took Mr. Cook down for an X-ray of his ankle. I’ll let you know when he’s done," Callie says as she walks by the nurses’ station.
“Thank you, Callie!" I holler at her retreating back and she throws her hand up over her head in response. I turn my attention back to Avery. “So...how are things going?”
She averts her eyes, appearing nervous. Do I make her nervous? “It’s okay, I guess," she says with a shrug. “I don’t really have any friends and I don’t know anyone other than the staff here, so I spend most of my time off at home working around the house.”
“You’ll make friends," I say, nudging her shoulder with mine. "The nurses here are all really great. You just need to get to know a few of them.”
“Yeah, I will. I’m sure it’ll get better soon." She logs out of her com
puter and stands up, stretching her arms above her head. When she lowers her arms, she places her hand gently on my knee. I look down at it and frown.
What the hell is that about? Is she hitting on me? The sad thing is that I’m a twenty-eight-year-old man and I’m not even really sure if a woman is hitting on me or not. Jesus Christ, I was with Brit for too long. And she never flirted with me—okay, sure she did in the beginning, but not after we got to New York. After the move, our relationship became strained and we never saw each other. You’d think that would’ve been a sign that maybe I shouldn't have proposed.
I raise my head when Avery tightens her grip on my thigh. "Wow, you're really bruising my ego here," she says with a hesitant smile.
"What?" I ask.