Chapter Thirteen
She. Was. Touching. Him.
That guy. The one next to her in the green shorts, lounging like some model from an Abercrombie ad. The kind of guy Alex had played basketball with in high school. The too-perfect rich kid who had everything spread out before him on a platter—including girls—and who walked through life as if it were water, parents treating him like the New Fucking Messiah.
That guy.
Josie’s fingers were on him. Caressing his chest. Intimate and casual, like a lover. Her hands were supposed to touch Alex. Not that guy. Never that guy.
Never.
White rage raced through his veins as he caught her eyes, the exchange of emotion like a supernova pulse of energy. Could she feel it, too? Her face said so many things he wanted to hear. Hello. I miss you. Can we talk? It’s good to see you. I’m sorry.
No, Josie. I’m sorry.
I’m the one who screwed up.
And then—hope. Her face broadened with the first hint of a smile, hand pulling back from the flesh bag who didn’t deserve her, and Alex felt grounded again. Centered. Like he’d been whiplashed emotionally back into a core of everything, pulling together the disparate pieces of himself that had slowly peeled away these past weeks.
Found.
In her eyes.
BAM!
His face felt it first, the smack of unexpected resistance against his head a ringing sort of annoyance, turning his eyes from Josie and rocketing him into a stellar shock. What the fuck? And then the pain seeped in, slow at first but roaring as his head ricocheted back, his breastbone striking something slim and hard, feet flying out from under him.
Instinct made his arms go back to catch himself, but then training overrode instinct. Surgeons needed to prize their hands above all else, so he held his hands up, still unaware of what was happening, but knowing he needed to save the hands at all costs. Pivoting in mid-air, he came down not on his back but instead on his hip, then shoulder, and finally the resounding thump of a melon hitting the ground.
That, he thought, would be my head.
A scream. His name.
Then nothing.
*
“Alex!” Josie cried, sprinting from the porch out into the street. Please let him be okay. Please please please. Those few seconds of eye contact had given her more serenity than she’d had in ages. A contract of promises in one yearning look had been initiated and she couldn’t have it all fade away now. Please please please.
“Alex?” Darla shouted. “The Alex? Hey, Josie! Watch for cars!”
Trevor and Joe flashed past her, legs pushing harder, athletic prowess beating out her under-fit form. Alex was bleeding from his cheek, lying motionless, but breathing.
“Don’t move him!” she screeched. “Darla, get my first-aid kit. Under the bathroom sink.” Treat him like a trauma patient, she told herself.
Because he was.
He was so damn still, the rise and fall of his chest as he took a breath and the steady trickle of blood from his face wound both the only signs that he was alive. Legs rested on the debris-covered sidewalk; he’d fallen a few feet short of a big stretch of bottle-green glass, someone’s litter from a beer binge gone wrong. Had he fallen in that…
Blood flowed from a cut right along the top of the cheekbone, tearing the soft flesh that framed his eye. Grabbing the edge of her shirt, Josie pressed hard against it, giving it pressure but avoiding moving his neck.
“What can we do?” asked Trevor, Joe standing beside him. “Anything?”
“Should we call 911?” Joe asked. “My phone’s back in the apartment, but I can run and—”
“No 911,” Alex moaned.
“Here!” Darla rasped, placing the frustratingly inadequate first-aid kit on the pavement. Josie needed to focus, and as she ripped through the kit, she found gauze to press against his gash and staunch the bleeding. Alex rolled from his side onto his back, groaning, changing the pressure she applied, making a small flap of skin peel back. Repositioning her hand, she made sure she pushed hard enough to stop what she now saw was a half-inch rip in the skin.
“Don’t touch him,” Alex whispered, eyes closed. Josie’s heart did a salsa beat in her chest as her mind went into triage mode. He was moving his legs fine, knees up, now resting on his back. His hands and arms seemed safe as he rested his palms against his flat belly. The faded blue t-shirt he wore was yanked up, his bare back against the cracked pavement, and his skin glistened with sweat against the hair covering his muscled belly.
“Don’t touch who?” Was he delirious?
“I think we should call 911,” Joe declared.
“Ah, God, no.” Alex struggled to sit up as Josie gingerly pulled the gauze back. The bleeding was slowing down. “No 911. I’m fine.”
“Dude, you are so not fine,” Trevor said, bending down to help Alex sit up.
“They say doctors make the worst patients,” Darla announced.
Her guys looked at her, puzzled.
“You know him?” Joe asked, one eyebrow cocked.
“Josie does.” Darla smirked.
“Shut the fuck up,” Josie hissed. Darla’s smile drained, and she pulled Trevor and Joe aside.
Alex couldn’t balance in a sitting position, and his left arm stretched down in a funny way. Eyes closed, he rested with his head between his knees.
“Alex? Did you hit your head?” Waving Darla over, she gestured for her to take over with the pressure. Carefully, Josie pulled Alex’s head up to make eye contact.
“Alex? Honey? Open your eyes so I can see you,” she crooned, the voice natural and flowing.
Hazy and unfocused, his eye contact was poor but improved within seconds. “Josie? What happened? Did I run into a car?”
“Parking sign,” Joe explained.
“Not you,” Alex groaned.
“What did I do?” Joe asked, palms up.
Alex’s eyes shifted from Joe to Josie. “Don’t touch him,” he said.
“Why are you talking about yourself in the third person? Are you the Queen of England? Bob Dole?”
“I’m not,” Alex growled.
“He’s talking about Joe,” Darla whispered.
“Joe? What? I—” And then it hit her. The long, soulful look from Alex. His repeated loops around the park. He was checking out the situation on her porch, worried she’d moved on and was dating someone.
He was worried.
That meant he hadn’t written her off.
“You’re fast for an old guy,” Trevor said, a tone of respect in his voice.
Alex winced, trying to steady himself without using his hands, but needing Trevor to support him. “Uh, thanks.”
“Pain that bad?”
“No. Being called an ‘old guy.’ How old are you, anyway?” He gave Trevor a resentful, bloody side-eye.
Josie pulled the gauze back and searched for antiseptic solution. Alex gingerly moved his right arm, trying to wave her off. “You can stop. I’m fine. I’ll dress it at home.”
“You’re not fine,” she said, relief flooding her. “I got the bleeding stopped, but you need to go to an ER. It looks like you hurt your shoulder and maybe your hip.”
“You called me ‘honey,’” he said, smiling, then frowning, then struggling not to move his face muscles.
“I do that to all the guys who run into No Parking signs around here.”
“I like it.”
“You like hurting yourself?”
“Josie,” he said softly, exhaling slowly. Was that a begging, a pleading in his voice? Or more of a reproachful tone? Was she ruining this moment—or should there even be a moment when he was injured and bleeding?
She would have to remember to ponder, sometime, how it was that they had moments during what were usually considered emergent situations—births, accidental traumas. No time for that speculation now—or for the possibility that the emergency at hand might, indirectly, be her fault.
Struggling to stand, Alex put his weight on his right leg, Trevor supporting him as Darla crouched, then stood, continuing pressure on the wound.
“I’m fine,” he groused.
And then nearly fell as his left hip went on him. Only Trevor’s strength kept him upright.
“Let’s get you over to Josie’s,” Trevor said in a low, authoritative voice. It made Josie’s backbone straighten, and Darla’s eyes flashed with surprise.
The biggest shock was that Alex acquiesced, regarding Trevor a second time, now with some respect. Hopping at first, by the time they crossed the street and made it to Josie’s steps, Alex had modest control of his left leg.
“I don’t think I fractured anything,” he stated.
“You couldn’t walk if you had,” Josie answered, carrying the first-aid kit and thunking it on the porch.
“Actually, I’ve seen patients who could walk with hairline hip fractures,” Alex replied, his voice taking on that doctor tone Josie had come to associate with rolled eyes.
Her own eyes, that is.
“Your X-ray vision powers are duly noted, doctor. If you ever leave medicine you can always go into a career as a medical intuitive. Or Superman.”
“I’m fine.”
Josie fished around in the first-aid kit and—ah, yes. There it was. A small mirror. Holding it up to his cheek, she gestured to Darla to peel back the gauze.
Alex’s eyes searched the mirror. “Fuck,” he rasped.
“You need medical attention,” Josie insisted.
“I am getting medical attention,” Alex said. “From you.”
“But I’m not a doctor,” she said, acid in her voice.
Alex winced again.
*
Pride goeth before a fall. If only his ego had been there to catch him. He’d have landed on a bloated sack of overinflated importance the size of Cleveland.
What the hell had he been thinking? Between going for a fourth lap, staring down the dark-haired dude as if he could crush his trachea with his corneas, and not paying attention to where he was going, he’d not only made a complete ass of himself, and caused moderate injuries to his face, hip, and shoulder, but he’d inadvertently reminded Josie of why she had reason to be pissed at him. And efficiently set her up to skewer and disembowel him with a barb from his own big fat stupid mouth—mere moments after she’d used a lovely little term of endearment.
That was some skill.
“Let’s get you in my apartment and we can start icing your hip and shoulder. And wait for an ambulance,” Josie said, nudging the blonde guy to help support Alex.
“No,” he said, turning lamely toward the sidewalk that led to his house. God, this hurt. He wanted to rage and cry at the pain coursing through him. He must have fallen on his left side, because his shoulder was throbbing like a bitch and his hip was a solid chunk of pain-filled granite.
But the hands were fine.
Mission accomplished.
“Alex, you’re acting like a petulant schoolboy.” He froze. The words, the tone—it was like she’d channeled his mother.
Dear God.
“Then I’m a petulant schoolboy who is a board-certified physician and who can take care of himself,” he said stiffly, acutely conscious of not-whining. “What’s your name?” he asked blonde dude.
“Trevor.”
“I’m Alex. And who’s the other guy?”
“Joe.”
“And you are…?” The words came out in a menacing tone. He kind of liked that.
“Darla’s boyfriends.”
“Boyfriend...zzz...?” Alex looked at Josie. If it wouldn’t have caused searing pain, his eyebrows would be at his hairline. “You have a thing for threesomes?”
“No, my friends and relatives have a thing for threesomes,” Josie retorted. Trevor looked extremely uncertain and pulled back.
“And her new job’s all about—” Darla piped up.
“SHUT UP, DARLA!” Josie shouted. Darla wandered into the apartment building, muttering under her breath.
Motioning for Trevor to help him limp home, they made it about twenty feet before Josie huffed and caught up to them, carrying her first-aid kit.
“You’re impossible.”
“Then we’re a match,” he shot back.
“Seriously? C’mon, Alex. This is about your permanent health. You need to go to an ER.”
“I need to get home. My first-aid kit is better—it has way more supplies.”
“Size matters. Who knew,” Josie cracked.
The blonde guy snorted, but stopped when Alex glared at him. “Do you have Lidocaine in there?” Alex’s tone was supercilious, and he knew it, but he just wanted to get out from under the humiliation and pain. Being at home would help. He could make real decisions there, with his own kit, good lighting, and away from the ongoing misery that being so stupid was shelling out.
“Why would I?”
“I’ll need it to stitch this up.”
“You’re going to sew your own face? Hardcore, old man,” Trevor said in awe.
“Shut up,” Josie and Alex said in unison.
“I know! Shut. Up. Who does that? Who stitches their own flesh? It’s like that old movie from the 1960s—Rambo?” Trevor reached around Alex to shake his good hand.
“Really,” Alex frowned at him. It hurt his eye. “Seriously, how old are you?”
“We meant shut up as in stop talking.” Josie cleared her throat. “Darla, can you go get my keys? We need to get Alex down the street to his apartment.”
“You want to fold me into your little car? Like this? Absolutely not. Just get me home.” Lurching down the sidewalk with Rambo-lover his only support wasn’t cutting it.
“What do you suggest? We prop you up on a skateboard and roll you home?”
“Mama actually won one for us, Josie!” Darla said excitedly, coming out of the apartment holding a glass of water for Alex. “Drink this. You need it.” She turned around and rushed back inside.
“You are not putting me on a skateboard and rolling me home. That would be unsafe.”
“I know!” Josie exclaimed. “You might, oh, hit a sign or something!”
Like a zombie in a cheesy film, Alex began the slow drag home, making it half a block before Josie buzzed around him again, nattering on about the ER.
“You are the worst patient!” she said, nearly bursting into tears. Something in her voice broke, though she didn’t actually cry. She didn’t have to. He understood emotional pain all too well.
Oh, man.
Darla came running outside, a red and black thing that loosely resembled a skateboard in her hands. “Here!”
“Darla, that’s a ripstick,” Trevor said, laughing.
“It’s a skateboard!”
“No, it’s not,” Joe added. “It’s two diamonds with wheels, connected in the center. He’d be on his ass in three seconds if he tried to roll down the block on a ripstick.”
“Shit,” Darla said, staring at it. “Now there are different kinds of skateboards? How am I supposed to know this?”
“Did your mom win you a Segway? Because that could help,” Joe asked.
Josie waved them off. “You guys go back to…whatever you were doing. I’ll take care of Alex.” They complied, Trevor saying something that made Darla burst into giggles.
“You will?” Alex asked, starting to pant from pain and exertion. How could he go from barreling along at a fast clip to this? Being out of breath from a snail’s pace? Pain radiated through his hip and his shoulder ached. The wound on his face was crying, blood coagulating, and the throb of a new gash set in.
“If you’re too stupid to get to an ER, then you leave me no choice, dumbass.”
“Hey! Watch the name-calling. I’m not dumb.”
“Okay, asshat.”
“Much better.”
Lurch. Pause. Lurch. Pause. He couldn’t lean on her—she’d snap in two. A few parked cars gave him relief, a place to pause. Regretting the move to dismiss Trevor, he forced himself to keep going. Once he was sequestered in his own little apartment he would be able to get some mastery over this mess.
“You are the most stubborn jackass I have ever met.”
“I consider that a compliment, coming from you. Where do you hide your Olympic gold medal in obstinance, Josie?”
“With my sex toys.”
“So you can view it daily?”
“Hey!” she barked. “That’s low.”
“But true.”
“Okay. True, but low. It’s not my fault the only form of affection I get these days comes from molded BPA-free plastic.”
“It’s my fault?” At his driveway, he could see the end of this torture. The pain part.
“It just is, Alex. Like your wound. And it needs to be dealt with.”
“You can’t fix my gash with a sex toy.”
She laughed. “I might be stubborn enough to try.”
“See? You beat me there. You’re the Stubborn Champion.”
“Right now I want to be the nurse who convinces you to get proper care.” Her voice was weary, filled with sadness. She lent him a hand as he bobbled to his door.
He felt his pockets for his keys. No keys. Phone? No phone.
“I lost my—”
Trevor appeared suddenly, both in hand. “Here!” he said, breathing hard. “Darla found them on the sidewalk. Had me run them over.”
Grateful, Alex took the keys, while Josie reached for the phone. Opening his door, he hobbled in, opened the apartment door, and collapsed on the couch.
Josie fished around in his fridge and came back with an ice pack and a glass of water. “Nice ice wrap,” she said as she handed it to Alex, who carefully slid his arm through the wrap’s hole. The wraparound shoulder ice pack had come in handy over the years with rotator cuff injuries. Boy, was he glad it had been in the freezer. The cold gave him instant relief.
“What about your ass?” Josie asked.
“What about it? Do you like it? I embedded gravel and added a few red scrapes to it just for you.”
Sighing, Josie went back to the freezer and found a package of peas. “You’re a regular Tim Gunn of road rash, Alex. Sit on this,” she commanded.
Positioning the bag on his hip and ass, he had to admit that the cold packs made a huge difference in his comfort level. Internally, discomfort and anxiety were through the roof, because now that the crisis was over, he had to figure out what to do with Josie. Was she here out of professional courtesy? Because she really cared about him? Was there a chance to reconcile?
Or what?
Pressing the glass of his phone, Josie made a series of puzzled faces. “Aha!” she finally said.
“What are you doing?” His head throbbed, and he was emotionally and physically wiped.
“Under ‘Contacts’—Mom.”
He opened his eyes and sat up. “You wouldn’t!”
“I’ll call her if you don’t go to an ER and get care.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” The expression on her face told him she absolutely would. “Look. I just need to clean it, apply Lidocaine, and do my own stitching.” He sounded close to begging and didn’t like it.
“What’s her name again? Oh. That’s right. Meribeth. Is it Dr. Derjian, or does she have a different last name?”
Groaning, he forced himself to stand, limping into the bathroom while clutching the frozen peas to his ass cheek. “I can’t hear you!”
“But your mom can.”
Slam! He looked at himself in the mirror. Gah! World War Z makeup artists couldn’t have done better. If medicine didn’t work out for him, he could get a job as an extra on the set of The Walking Dead. Road rash on his ass and one calf. The gash on his face. Probably the shoulder was just from the force of the fall, and his hip—time would tell. If it were too bad he couldn’t have staggered two blocks. He was healthy. Healing would just take time.
But that gash…that would take stitches. The idea of going to any emergency room right now made his stomach heave. First off, it was July—the month when new interns come in for the beginning of their internship year. That meant he’d be handed off to some fresh-faced med student with the suture skills of Leatherface. No fucking way.
Second, being a doctor who had to be treated for running into a sign meant ridicule. Big, heaping doses of it from colleagues. Again—no way.
Pulling out his first-aid kit, he found what he needed to start cleaning the wound. And then—
Bang bang bang. “Alex?”
“Yes?”
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“Alex!” Bang bang bang.
“I am fine, and about to start stitching. I really don’t need anyone screaming and banging in a way that might make my hands shake.”
“I know damn well you can perform a splash ’n’ slash C-section without shaking. So you can handle a pissed off woman telling you you’re being a fool.”
Damn it. She was right.
“Just…Josie, let me handle this my way.” The sting of antiseptic was a welcome, if painful, diversion.
Silence. As Alex went about the process of cleaning the cut, he could see exactly how close he’d been to the eyeball. A few millimeters north and he wouldn’t be able to claim there was no need for ER care.
He’d never stitched his own flesh before. Other doctors had talked about it. As he carefully looked at the wound, though, he wondered if plain old tissue adhesive would be enough. The gash was closer to the corner of his eye, and he’d have a scar regardless of whether it was glued with Dermabond or stitched.
Questioning whether he was in the right mind to do anything, Josie’s insistence gave him pause. As minutes passed, he sat down on the toilet, ruminating. Sounds from the kitchen—the fridge door opening and closing, running water, the gurgle of a coffee machine—told him Josie was still out there. Why was she staying? Could he apologize and try to repair their relationship? The stress at work was fading as what felt like the Star Chamber receded into being just another case, now put to rest. Josie had been right—his grandfather’s trial was broken and he was on the new medication. She’d left her job—was it because of Alex?
And then there was this threesome thing…
He stood and sighed. Time to decide. He chose the Dermabond.
And Josie.
*
How long was that man going to be in there? Standing in front of the bathroom door, she gave up, defeated but angry. Really angry. That gash and the way he limped—he needed to be seen. His stupid doctor ego was getting in the way, and Darla was right.
Doctors make the worst patients.
His phone was right there, where she’d left it, on the coffee table.
Time to meet Alex’s mother.
A few presses on the glass and the phone rang.
“Meribeth here.”
“Um, hello, Dr. ...Derjian?” Was it Derjian? Damn. Alex hadn’t told her.
“Yes?”
“My name is Josie Mendham, and I—”
“Josie!” Her voice became warm and friendly instantly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
That was an unexpected reception. “I’m here at your son, Alex’s, apartment, and—”
“You are? How delightful!”
Huh? “I wish it, um, were delightful, Dr. Derjian, because—”
“Call me Meribeth!”
“Um, Meribeth, Alex has been injured.”
A beat of silence. “How, exactly, did you injure him, my dear?” Meribeth asked in a hushed voice, implying something that made Josie blush from head to toe.
“How did I...what... Oh, no! Not that, um, way—no! He ran into a street sign and gashed his face.”
“What!” The tone of voice changed to panic. “Is he okay?”
“He’s refusing to go to the ER.”
“Of course he is. Stubborn boy. I’ll be right there.” Click.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. That hadn’t gone exactly as planned. Josie was strung out on the inside, but she needed to wait and make sure Dr. Mule was going to be okay. The fridge held little but milk; she refilled the ice trays. Ice would be his best friend for the next day or two.
Coffee. She needed coffee. Searching through the cabinets yielded a bag of Rao’s, ground, so she made a full pot because hey—why not? Dr. Derjian was on her way.
Josie was about to meet Alex’s mom.
As the coffee gurgled, she wondered what she was supposed to do right now. She certainly wasn’t his girlfriend. They weren’t even dating. Not even friends with benefits. Josie wasn’t a booty call. Technically, she was an ex…something. They had been somethinging when he’d gone stupid and accused her of violating professional ethics and compromising an enormously important research trial.
And then…what, exactly, had happened? Although she’d rolled the last few weeks’ events around in her head a million times, it only now occurred to her that the two most stubborn people in the world were at a standoff in Alex’s apartment. He wouldn’t budge. She wouldn’t budge.
She’d done nothing wrong. Not one damn thing.
But if he knew that, he would have reached out. Right?
Inhaling slowly through her nose, she stretched her neck until it cracked, and she realized how tense and tight she was. Watching him on the ground, not moving, body splayed out and bleeding, had made her realize how much she missed him.
Wanted him.
Craved him.
Needed him.
For God’s sake, she’d called him honey. No man had ever been called honey by her lips. Jackass, asshat, cracker (that guy really was), shithead—you name it. Honey was…it was what you said to someone you loved.
The creak of the bathroom door made her turn her head and jump up. Alex lumbered down the hall, using the wall for support, a soggy bag of peas in his hand.
“Can you help me?” he asked. The gash was hard to see in the hallway’s shadow, but as he emerged into the light and Josie walked to him, taking the half-frozen bag, she saw what he had done.
“You Dermabonded it!”
“Yes.”
Peering closely, she got right in his face, professional curiosity getting the best of her. “Good job. You’ll barely scar.”
He folded his arms over his chest, smug now. She inhaled and the scent of man sweat and athleticism blended with antiseptic and glue. “Told you. I didn’t need an ER.” He sagged against the wall, clearly in pain, and Josie’s sense of self was heightened, her face two inches from his, Alex’s hand now resting on her hip. “But I could use some comfort care,” he said in a low, suggestive voice.
Oh, how much she wanted to kiss him. Her body hummed, every inch of her skin wanting to touch every inch of his, her heart beating a pattern that only he could complete. Just as she leaned forward, pulled by a force of nature she couldn’t name, someone banged on the front door.
Alex jumped and Josie pulled back, practically running to the door as Alex called out, “Who would be here now?”
As she opened the door, Josie came face to face with a familiar woman, one who had brought Ed in for the Alzheimer’s trial from time to time. “So good to see you again, Josie!” Meribeth Derjian said, reaching in for a hug. Josie was suddenly very aware that she was still wearing her pajamas.
“You did!” Alex boomed. “You called my mother?” An incredulous look spread over his face as he limped closer to her.
Josie held out her palms. “Don’t—I just—you were being unreasonable!” She inched backwards.
“I was being unreasonable?” He snorted. “And why are you moving away from me? What are you afraid of—that I’ll shuffle after you faster than you can run?” He thought for a second. “Then again, I’ve seen you run. Maybe your instincts are right.”
“Alex!” Meribeth exclaimed, rushing to him, one palm against his injured cheek before he could say a word. “Josie did the right thing calling me. But…I thought you didn’t go to the ER. Did I misunderstand? You’re back already? Whoever did this surgical glue thing did a great job.”
If he could tighten those arms against his chest another millimeter he’d cut off his own circulation. “I did it myself.”
Meribeth rolled her eyes and shot Josie a sympathetic look. “Men,” they said in unison.
“Oh, no!” Alex shouted, dragging himself to the coffee pot. He pulled out a mug and declared, “You do not get to double team me.”
“It takes two of us to get you to see reason, Alex,” Meribeth answered. She gave Josie a knowing look. “Normally I have to bring one of my sisters in to help.”
“Tell me about this side of him,” Josie asked, smiling. Interesting. She never thought about a layer to him that required prying and intervention.
“Alex thinks he’s his own island. Doesn’t need help. Can handle everything life throws at him without any assistance.”
Josie shrugged. “I can understand that.”
“Thank you,” Alex said with sarcasm. “You demonstrate your respect for my independence so strangely,” he added, pointing to Meribeth as he angrily poured a mug of coffee, then struggled to get to the couch with the hot cup in hand.
“Let me get that,” Josie said, taking the mug.
“See? Perfect example,” Meribeth chimed in. “When he had an asthma attack during a soccer game in eleventh grade, he insisted on playing between nebulizer treatments.”
“It was state championships!” Alex objected.
“When he was studying for MCAT exams for medical school, he ingested so much NoDoz he couldn’t sleep for three days, and we finally had to have him hospitalized. It took about an elephant’s dose of tranquilizer to get him to sleep.”
“But my scores got me in!” he said as he settled into a corner spot on the couch, motioning to Josie for his mug, which she gave him.
“I thought you were Dr. Calm and Mellow. Dr. Perfect. Dr. Centered,” Josie said, a dawning feeling hitting her. He was nuanced. Flawed. Imperfect. He glared at her and said nothing, but the edges of his mouth cracked into a smile.
And she liked him even more that way.
“Alex,” his mother said suspiciously. “Why are you lurching about like a frog with its leg mowed off?”
“I fell.”
Meribeth threw up her hands. “One-and two-word answers are your fallback, Alex.” She turned to Josie. “Can you explain?”
“He saw me sitting on my porch with another guy and he ran into a No Parking sign.”
Dead silence.
Josie winced.
Oh, shit.
*
Josie had called his mother. She’d called in his mother. No girlfriend, date, bedmate—whatever you called them—had been so brazen. He was fine. Fine! Bruised and sore with a fixed face, all he needed was for these meddling women to leave so he could drink a huge glass of water and take a nap.
Or for Josie to stay, so after that nap he could apologize and just put his arms around her and tell her everything he should have said that day he flipped on her.
Whispering, heads together, his mom and Josie kept saying “I know!” and “He does that with you, too?” Which didn’t help his increasingly split mood. Frustrated that they were treating him like a child. Maybe they were right. His hamstrings ached, his hip felt like an octogenarian’s, and his shoulder still hurt. Stretching his body out on the couch, he curled on his non-injured side and closed his eyes.
A soft hand on his brow. Mom. “Honey, are you okay?”
Honey. There was that word again.
“I’m fine,” he huffed.
More words between his mom and Josie, and then Meribeth gave him a hug, leaning over his body and awkwardly embracing him. “You’re in good hands with Josie. I have to get back to a patient, but I’ll call tonight.”
“Okay,” he said, sleep taking over. Whatever he thought his day would look like, nearly eight miles of running, a stupid injury, and a strange back-and-forth with Josie were all enough to let his exhaustion win, and sleep prevail.
*
“Thank you for calling me,” Meribeth said. Those kind eyes and her wit made Josie like her instantly. Nonjudgmental, sharp as could be, and funny, too.
Great mother-in-law material. About as different from Marlene as two women could be.
“No problem. He needed it.”
Meribeth laughed lightly. “He is a wonderful man, but Alex can be…self-contained. I assume he didn’t tell you about his problems at work.”
Josie frowned. “No.”
“For the past month his judgment was called into question on a case at the hospital. I’ve never seen him so stressed out. Professional ethics are very important to Alex.”
“I noticed.”
“And he misapplied those in your case.”
The two stood in awkward silence, until Meribeth said, “Josie, I’m about to pry.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“Whatever is getting in the way of your being together, get rid of it. I’ve never seen him so affected by a woman before. And I’d like to get to know you better.” The pressure of her hand on Josie’s forearm felt good. Comfortable. Warm and caring. Like an invitation.
Josie smiled. “Me too. I just don’t know…” She bit her lower lip and swallowed hard.
“You’ll find your way.” And with that Meribeth reached to her for a hug, the affectionate gesture so alien, so maternal that Josie felt both punched in the solar plexus and joyously appreciative all at once.
An anemic wave as Meribeth left was all Josie could muster. Padding softly over to Alex, she saw he was asleep. Admiring him like this, bruised and sweaty, she found her heart giving way. Maybe they could find their way. Maybe Josie could find her way.
Perhaps, even, Alex needed to find his way, too. Dr. Imperfect was more than enough for her.
Kissing his cheek, she went to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and settled into a chair across from him. Just in case his head injury was worse than expected, she figured the safest course was to stay until he woke up.
And then—an idea.
Her phone was back at her apartment, so she used Alex’s phone to call Laura.
“Hello?” Laura answered in a guarded voice.
“What should I do?” Josie hissed into the phone.
“I think you should tell him how you feel and just stop being so ridiculous,” Laura answered without hesitation. “Whose phone are you on?”
“Alex’s.”
“Oooooh.”
“No, it’s not like that. I’m at his apartment. He’s asleep on the couch.”
“Tired him out?” You could hear the leer in Laura’s voice a mile away.
“No. He was running past my house and I was touching Joe’s chest and Alex got jealous and ran into a parking sign.”
“What? Repeat that!”
“I can’t. Hell, I don’t understand it myself.”
“Who is Joe?”
“One of Darla’s boyfriends.”
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz. The doorbell rang. Who the hell could that be? Slipping past Alex, she propped the apartment door open with the deadbolt and went to the main door.
Darla.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to check up on you. Make sure you weren’t being dismembered and put in a freezer.” Darla craned her neck around Josie, obviously hinting she wanted to come in. Letting her, Josie ushered her into the apartment, putting a finger to her lips, pointing to Alex.
“Laura?” she whispered into the phone. “I need to let you go.”
“Only if you promise to talk to him. Openly. Honestly.”
Sigh. “I promise.”
“Don’t do what I did with Mike and Dylan. Don’t shut him out.”
“He’s the one who was wrong!”
“Yes, he was. But you’re paying the price for you own stubbornness, Josie.”
“You’re right. Kiss the baby for me.”
“Mwah!” Click.
Darla was gawking at the apartment. “This is newer than yours”, she stage whispered, careful not to wake Alex. “Ours. Our building.” She glanced at Alex. “He okay?”
“He will be.”
“Did he really sew his own eye wound shut?” Darla asked, her face a mask of revulsion.
“No. He used Dermabond.”
“Dermawhat?”
“Surgical glue. Like crazy glue, sort of.”
“Trevor will be disappointed,” Darla joked.
“Tell Trevor to go rent a Rambo movie to get his flesh-sewing fix.” A loud growl came from Josie’s stomach and a lightheadedness hit her. Meeting Trevor and Joe. Alex’s appearances. His injuries. Meeting his mother—all in one morning, it was just too much.
“You okay?” Darla peered at her with knowing eyes. “You’re not okay.”
Tears filled Josie’s eyes, and she allowed them—finally—to spill over. “I’m not okay,” she admitted, sitting down on a chair across from Alex, pressing her forehead against her knees.
“What’s going on between you two?” Darla gave Alex the once-over, taking in his body. “He’s really cute.”
“I met his mom just now,” Josie sobbed as quietly as she could.
“It went that bad?”
“It was greaaaaat,” Josie cried. “She’s sweet and smart and funny and I could see her as my mother-in-law.” She hissed the last word in an even lower whisper, as if she were a Harry Potter character saying Voldemort’s name.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I’m too fucked up for Alex,” Josie wailed.
“Then go unfuckup yourself, Josie!” Darla said matter-of-factly. “No one else will do it for you.”
Laughing through her tears, Josie said, “Oh, like it’s so easy.”
“No—it isn’t. It’s complicated.”
Snort. “It’s always complicated.”
“You’re always complicated, Josie.”
That stung. “What do you mean?”
Darla’s voice softened. “I know it was hard for you, growing up with your mom like that. Mama used to say she got the better end of the bargain, because while she lost a foot and her mobility, at least she kept her mind. Her sister didn’t.”
“Aunt Cathy said that?”
“Yes, she did.” Compassion oozed out of Darla. They hardly ever talked like this, and Josie found it surreal. Eye-opening. Expanding. Not at all freakish or upsetting.
“I was always over at your place. She’d call and ask for help with you.”
“And sometimes she needed it, but Josie, mostly she was trying to get you out from Aunt Marlene’s wrath.”
“I know.” She’d known when she was eleven. She knew now, at twenty-nine. Aunt Cathy gave her a stable place to escape to, where the home was cluttered but there were regular meals, a place to do homework quietly, and Darla to curl up on the couch with and watch television. It was homey, even if it wasn’t home.
“But you got to get beyond that. You’re twenty-nine. How much longer are you going to drag your past around like a big old ball and chain?” Darla looked pointedly at Alex, then put her hands on her thighs and pushed herself to standing, sighing deeply, as if tired.
“And that”—she pointed at Alex—“is worth way, way more than the three or four luggage carts of baggage you’ve loaded yourself with.”
“You make it sound like I had a choice!” Josie hissed.
“You didn’t when you were a kid, but you sure as hell do now.”
“This from the woman who wouldn’t leave her mama until a few weeks ago?”
Darla stopped, her jaw going tense, nostrils flaring. Then she sighed, a slow relaxing that drained her anger out. “Yeah, Josie. That’s right. I decided I needed to make a change and look what I got.” She nodded toward the door. “And on that note, I’m going back to the apartment. Sam and Liam from the band are there and we’re getting ready to go out.”
“Four guys?” Josie gasped.
“No! Two’s enough!” Darla shouted. Alex stirred, and Josie put a finger to her lips. Rolling her eyes, Darla slipped out quietly, leaving Josie to stew in her thoughts.
*
Alex woke up to a dark room, the sun long gone, a small reading lamp the only source of light in the room. As he sat up, he groaned, the pain throbbing on his cheekbone and hip strong and vibrant.
“How are you?” a quiet voice asked, making him jump.
Josie leaned into the light, her legs curled under her. She was reading a book off his shelf, a piece of creative nonfiction about the history of ether.
“You scared me. I…uh…what time is it?”
She checked a phone. His phone. “Almost eight.”
“I slept that long?”
“You needed it.”
He winced, his face hurting and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like Velcro. As if she read his mind, she unfolded herself, went to the kitchen, and came back with a huge glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. “You might want these.”
Shaking two tablets out, he swallowed them greedily, then drank half the water. “Thank you,” he said, deeply grateful. “You stayed here with me? The whole time?”
“I wanted to make sure that you didn’t bang your head too hard. Just figured I’d be here until you woke up.” She stood, setting the book aside. “So…”
“No! Don’t leave!” he begged. “I’m…just wait.”
She froze. Alex knew that the wrong words wouldn’t work here, but he didn’t much care anymore about being perfect. What he needed was to be real. Not talking about the stress at work, jumping to ridiculous conclusions, not calling her and apologizing were all dick moves, and he’d known it then—but it was blatantly obvious now.
“I’m sorry, Josie. Deeply sorry. And I’m even more sorry that it’s taken me this long to apologize.” He stood, his hip screaming, but his mobility had improved from the nap as he carefully took three steps closer to her. Running his hand through his hair, he added, “I wish I could turn back the clock.”
Her eyes bored into his as she evaluated him. Trust wasn’t easy for her, he knew—and he’d proven that he wasn’t worthy of it. Given time, maybe, he could unprove that.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
So much unsaid hung in the air between them, like ephemeral storm clouds at sunset, unpredictable yet hovering, ready to waft off with a breeze or unleash a storm.
No one could guess which outcome was most likely.
She took a step closer. He did, too.
“I don’t feel like I need to apologize,” Josie said.
“You don’t.”
“But I do feel like I should say…something. About our somethinging.”
“Our what?”
She brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and his heart melted. “Somethinging. It’s a joke between me and Laura. She asked me what you and I were doing a while ago and I said we were somethinging. I didn’t have a name for it.”
“Ah.” They were getting somewhere. Josie wasn’t walking away, or stomping off angry, or worse—indifferent.
“Alex, I’ve never met a man like you before.” She frowned. “Or, if I have, I’ve driven men like you away on purpose.”
“Why?”
“Because, as I told Darla today, I’m too fucked up to be with someone who is normal.”
“No, you’re—”
She held up a palm. He shut up. “She told me to unfuckup myself.”
He laughed. It hurt. He winced. “Good advice.”
“Before I can be with you, then, I need to unfuckup myself. Meeting your mother today is one example. Alex, I was so scared that day you told me you wanted me to meet her,” she explained.
“Scared? Of my mom? Why?”
“You’d have to meet my mother to understand. You know that day you called me and we…well, we had that moment on the baseball field?”
The wide grin made his face hurt like a motherfucker, but the pain was worth it. “Yes.”
“You interrupted a call from my mom. She was asking for money. Mostly for her drug and alcohol habit. She claimed it was for repairing the gutters on our house, but…she’s an addict and she, well, let’s just say our moms wouldn’t exactly co-exist well.”
“C’mon, Josie—”
She snorted. “Maybe as patient and psychologist. But that’s it.”
Showing him this very exposed, very fragile part of herself was a gift, he knew. Josie wouldn’t do this for anyone. It made his stomach tighten and his arms ache to hold her. What he’d known was real and true and deep and broad was right before him, pouring her heart out in the only way she knew how.
And it had to be enough. He couldn’t push or prod or pull.
“If I’m normal, the world is in trouble,” he said quietly.
“You’re more normal than me,” was all she said, taking one more step closer.
Reach for her, his mind screamed.
So he did.
She accepted his embrace. Sinking his face into her hair, breathing in her goodness, he said again, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have doubted you. I just had this stupid case at work and I turned into a jackass.”
“Asshat.”
“That too. And I should have told you.”
“Yes, you should,” she said into his shoulder. “If I’m going to show you my belly, you have to show me yours.”
Pulling back, she lifted up her shirt. “See? My soft underbelly.”
He pulled his shirt up too. “There. We’re even.”
“Now what?” they said in unison. Alex bent down to press his forehead against hers, forgetting about the cut.
“Ow.” He pulled back.
Her fingers against his cheek searched the topography of his jaw. “Give me time.” On tiptoes, she kissed him lightly on the lips. It felt like a whispered promise.
“Time for what?”
“Time to unfuckup myself.” And with that, she walked to his front door and slipped out like a shadow in a dream, made from nothing quite real, but no less significant.