Mickie
Present day
I had a phone at my ear, a patient was standing at the desk in front of me, another phone was ringing incessantly, my cell phone was buzzing in my pocket, and I was attempting to fill out a form on the computer.
Just another Wednesday.
I caught the attention of one of my nurses walking past the desk. “Lanie, can you stay an hour longer today?” I asked, holding the phone away from my mouth. “Sheena called in sick.”
She nodded once. “Sure thing.” Then she was on her way again. Because everyone was always on the move around here.
The individual in front of me—who wasn’t actually a patient, but a patient’s mother—was trying to keep her cool, but I could tell she was getting frustrated.
I finally hung up the phone. “I still can’t reach Dr. Stein, Mrs. Bowers,” I said to the woman. “I’ve left him two messages and paged his beeper. He should be in within the next half hour.”
Should be. The perpetually late Dr. Ramen Stein never picked up his damn phone. At least not when the call came from this hospital. The woman left with a tight smile and a disgruntled attitude. Story of my life.
I finished filling out the online form, answered two more calls, replied to three texts on my cell phone—two from other nurses and one from Margot—made the rest of my rounds, and eventually took a much-needed breath.
I loved working ER. Really, I did. I loved the excitement, the fast-paced work environment, the fact that every day was never the same as the one before. I even loved being a floor supervisor. Most days. I had to admit there were days when I looked forward to being the boss and overseeing everyone a little more than performing my regular nurse duties.
I still loved my job after all these years, despite my growing weariness.
But every now and then, I just wanted to hit the pause button.
Because for the past few years, I’d felt like the only buttons on the whole remote had been fast forward and skip chapter. No pause, no rewind, no stop. Not even mute.
It didn’t help that it had been almost two months since I’d kicked Dawson out of the house.
Two months I’d been without him.
It was the longest we’d been separated since we met.
I had to sniff back the tears that always accompanied thoughts of him. We’d only had minimal contact since that Saturday afternoon when I’d slammed the door in his face. And when we had talked it was usually about our son, Leo, and daughter, Gabby.
Sometimes I couldn’t believe I’d actually kicked him out.
But it was the only thing I could think of that would light a fire under him. Show him how bothered I was by what our relationship had become. It wasn’t like I wanted to be without him. I didn’t want this.
And I sure as hell didn’t want the D word.
I just wanted my Dawson back.
The real Dawson. Not the hard ass cop. Not the overprotective father figure. And not the strong silent guy who kept all his emotions and feelings to himself.
I wanted the man who’d passed me a joint at a reggae concert. The guy who’d run down the street on a movie set with a torch in his hands, screaming at the top of his lungs. The sex god who’d fucked me in a bar bathroom because he couldn’t wait to get me home.
It wasn’t as if this change in him had happened overnight. It had been gradual over the last five years. He’d been slowly pulling away from the man he used to be, even if he didn’t realize it. Gone was the man who’d glared at me and told me to come on his tongue. Now, it was as if he was afraid to get rough with me.
He almost took too much care.
Those possessive kisses had turned into sweet pecks on the cheek. Fondling on the couch after dinner had turned into sitting on opposite sides of the room while he went through case files on his computer. And those morning sex romps in the shower had become non-existent.
I missed shower sex, dammit.
It wasn’t just our physical relationship that needed work, though. Throwing him out for simply not slipping me the tongue when he greeted me after work would be petty and unfair.
The biggest problem was that he wasn’t talking to me anymore. Not about important stuff. It was as if we’d suddenly rewound time and were right back to where we’d started, before he’d proposed. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a multitude of variables that factored into this behavioral shift.
One, when I’d been put on bedrest five years ago while I was pregnant with the twins. Since then, he’d gotten it into his head that the more exposed I was to his law enforcement career, the more worried and stressed out I would become, which would once again put my health at risk.
Two, when he started working as a homicide detective almost five years ago. I knew he didn’t want the things he saw and experienced on the job to ever touch me and the kids. But in his efforts to keep the two separate, he’d only further removed himself from our lives. Life with his family.
Three, when his father died a few months ago. Everything Dawson went through in the weeks leading up to and following Sal’s death had affected him on a deep, personal level. I knew it had stirred up so many memories inside him. But no matter how hard I’d tried, I hadn’t gotten him to open up to me about any of it. Not once.
Four, when he’d admitted his mother to a rehab facility for her addiction to prescription pills, right after Sal’s death. Despite the fact that he and his brothers were helping Sandra, I knew this was only making Dawson feel even more helpless. Like he was disappointed in himself that he couldn’t do anything more for her. Like he was somehow letting her down.
With each of these events, he’d little by little distanced himself from me emotionally. I think me being put on bedrest all those years ago had been a turning point. It had freaked him out so much that he never again wanted to feel like he was burdening me with his problems.
Which were my problems, too, though he didn’t see it that way.
He’d promised he would always be open and honest with me. And about so many things he had been. I knew he kept things to himself as a way of protecting me. What he didn’t realize was that he was only hurting me.
I had tried to tell him this so many times.
And after a particularly emotional fight one afternoon, I’d told him not to come back until he was the man I once knew. I’d been so angry, I hadn’t offered any further explanation.
Maybe it had been extreme.
Perhaps an overreaction.
But I couldn’t go on living like that any longer. Guessing what was bothering him but never actually knowing—never hearing it from him—wasn’t what I’d signed up for when I married him. And so help me God, he was going to understand that.
Because I loved him so much it was almost unfathomable.
My cell phone rang, breaking me out of my tangled thoughts.
Speak of the beautiful devil…
“Hey,” I answered in an even tone, trying not to give away how happy I was to hear his voice.
There was a moment of silence. “Hey,” he said. “You busy?”
“Not for the next two minutes.” I cringed at how snarky that sounded. “I mean, I’ve got a second. What’s going on?”
“I, uh, wanted to take the kids out for ice cream later. After my shift. Is that okay?”
My shoulders fell, my heart sinking to the floor. A huge part of me had been hoping he was calling to ask me to dinner or something. We hadn’t been on a real date in…over six months. Wait, eight? Shit, what month was it?
Another part of me was hurt that I wasn’t invited out for ice cream.
Why would he invite you? You kicked him out, remember?
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, that’s fine. What time you think you’ll be by?”
I heard some papers shuffling in the background, and I imagined he was sitting at his cluttered desk in the bullpen at the station. Attempting to bring some semblance of organization to the surface, all along knowing the effort was futile.
I missed his lack of organizational skills.
“I’ll try to be there by seven,” he replied.
In cop time, that usually meant no sooner than eight.
“I’ll make sure they’re ready for you,” I said.
“Thanks.”
He went silent again. If I hadn’t heard his deep breathing over the line, I would have thought he’d hung up.
“Was there something else you needed?” I asked. The question was hopeful, something I wondered if he’d picked up on.
He grunted. “Uh, no. That’s all. I’ll talk to you later.”
He hung up before I could respond. I threw my phone onto the desk with a weary sigh.
“Trouble in paradise?”
I looked up to find Dr. Stein himself standing in front of the desk. He was somewhere in his early forties, had a medium build, and kept his brown hair long enough that he could push it behind his ears.
I think he was really trying to look like Derek Shepherd from Grey’s Anatomy.
Yeah, right.
“No, just tired,” I replied, forcing a polite smile.
He raised a single eyebrow. “Didn’t I hear you and your husband were separated?”
I barely controlled the urge to roll my eyes. “The people in this hospital need better things to talk about,” I muttered. “And we’re not officially separated.” In a manner of speaking. “We’re just…working through things.”
His eyes narrowed. “Well, I hope you two…work things out.”
I didn’t miss the hint of mocking in his tone. I also didn’t miss the way his eyes dipped to my breasts before he sauntered off in his arrogant way. He always thought he was being sly about it, but that wasn’t the first time I’d seen him checking me out. He had never made a move on me, but something in his eyes…
My cell phone buzzed with a text before I had the chance to dwell on the disturbing thought.
Margot: When do you think you’ll give the hospital an answer by?
I fell back into my chair with another deep sigh.
She was talking about the hospital in Trenton, New Jersey, which had recently offered me a supervising position in their new ER wing. The hospital had a phenomenal reputation, and it would be better pay than here in Baltimore. I’d been an emotional wreck after I’d kicked Dawson out, and in my distraught state, I had put out some feelers for other jobs. Just to see what was out there.
As it turned out, I actually had options.
But taking this job meant I would have to move to New Jersey.
I knew Dawson didn’t want to leave the BPD, so it would be me going by myself. And the kids, because there was no way in hell I would leave them. But I also didn’t think I could leave Dawson.
He didn’t even know about the offer—Margot was the only one who knew—and I wasn’t yet prepared to tell him. I really just wanted to see what would happen with us in the coming months. If we could make it through this storm or not. Because if not, what was the point in me staying in Baltimore? But if we could, why freak him out at all?
The Trenton hospital knew of my situation, and they’d given me a couple of months to make my decision. I blew out a heavy breath and typed out my response to Margot.
Me: Soon
Needless to say, there was a lot I had to work through in the coming weeks.
Life could be so messy sometimes.
Especially when you were married.