by Devney Perry
“We had something, Sara.”
I flinched at his voice and the lockers behind me rattled.
“I don’t—” He wiped at his face, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I can forgive you for this.”
Forgive me? The question stayed trapped behind my fused lips. I was too paralyzed to speak.
He kissed me.
I was going to vomit.
“We could have been something special.” Dr. Vernon stopped pacing and turned to me. The fury he’d worn in the hallway was gone. Now he looked at me like I was trash. “I can’t be with you now.”
I dropped my gaze to the floor, the urge to be sick even stronger. I wanted to cry. I wanted to hide and shower.
He’d kissed me without my permission, and I was the one who felt ashamed.
Because I’d let it happen without a fight.
Without another word, Dr. Vernon walked to the door and whipped it open. He left me standing there—stuck—replaying the past minute.
Outside, the world was going on. The hospital noises were faint behind the closed door. Patients were hurting. Nurses were healing.
And I was a statue, cemented in the minute I’d never forget.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the clock to rewind.
Dr. Vernon’s smell was everywhere. It clung to me, worse than any smell of cigarettes ever had. I took a deep breath and gagged. When I tried another, I slapped a hand over my mouth, plugging my nose as I found the strength to race away.
The moment I was in the hallway, I sprinted for the stairs.
Across the unit, Milo was in his room. He was probably anxious and waiting for an explanation.
But I couldn’t give him one. Not right now.
Milo would throw Dr. Vernon out a window if he knew about the kiss.
So with tears blurring my eyes, I kept my chin down and my hand over my mouth to keep the sob from escaping.
I ran, just like I had hours ago. The drum of my feet on the stairs only made me run faster, until I was home, safe in my condo.
Safe in the place Dad had given me.
It was then that I let the tears flow. I brushed my teeth and washed my face, except it wasn’t enough. Dr. Vernon’s smell, his taste, remained. So I took a shower so hot my skin was pink when I emerged from the steam.
I dressed in my most comfortable pajamas, collected my phone and went to bed, hiding beneath the covers as my entire body shivered.
I felt dirty. I felt angry.
I felt weak.
And the one person I wanted to tell was the one person I couldn’t.
The phone clutched to my chest vibrated and I didn’t need to look to know it was Milo.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I cried until the tears were gone.
Until I exhausted myself and drifted off to sleep.
Nine
MILO
“And here’s the last one.” Kym handed over the final brochure from her stack, this one warning me of the risks of drug addiction after long-term hospital stays.
“Thanks.” I tucked it into my backpack with its five hundred companions and accompanying leaflets, then zipped up the bag and slung it over my shoulder. The papers were all destined for the nearest trash can.
My parents had sent me a package from home this week. This backpack, one I’d had since high school, had been inside along with enough clothes to last a week.
Because while I was definitely leaving this hospital behind, I wasn’t quite done yet with Washington.
Mom had been disappointed when I’d called to tell her I wasn’t coming straight home. Her mood had lifted the instant I’d told her my prolonged stay was to spend time with Sara.
She did her best to hide it, but Mom had grandbaby fever. She was desperate for me to settle down and have a family of my own. For years, she’d tried to play matchmaker with Maisy’s mother. It wasn’t uncommon for childhood friends to eventually become married couples in my small hometown. But Maisy had always been a friend, something of a little sister. Mom had given up hope for the two of us to get married and have babies.
Now Mom had her hopes set on Sara.
So did I.
I hoped to bring her home one day. If the stars aligned, I’d get to introduce her to my extended family, coworkers and friends. But first, I had to get the fuck out of this hospital and track down my girl.
It had been a week since she’d fallen asleep in my bed. A week since I’d fucked up royally by drifting off. I’d gotten too caught up in the incredible feel of her snuggling into my side.
She’d run out of this room and I’d called her countless times. When she didn’t show up for work hours later, I knew things were bad. It took almost an entire day for her to answer my calls. Even then, I knew something was wrong. Her voice wasn’t soft and sweet like normal. It was edgy and despondent.
She assured me that she had not been fired. That she had been asked to take a vacation until I was released. She promised she was fine, just exhausted and not feeling well.
Even through the phone I could hear her lie. Something big was bothering her and even after a week, she wouldn’t open up about it. Stuck in my room, there wasn’t much for me to do but keep calling.
The phone was my only tool and I never let up. I called her throughout the day. I called again at night. I called even though our conversations were shallow and short.
Sara—my Sara, the woman whose smile could light up a room and whose voice could calm a hurricane—was missing.
Today, I was going to find her.
“Any questions?” Kym asked.
I shook my head. “Nope.”
Dr. Vernon had given me a full rundown of the post-care instructions. Keep my skin moisturized to avoid scarring. Wear sunscreen. Blah. Blah. Blah.
I hadn’t even waited until he’d left the room to get out of bed, rifle through my backpack and dress in jeans and a button-down shirt.
“Take care,” I told Kym, already heading for the door.
“You too, Milo. And, um . . .” She lowered her voice, a smile playing on her lips. “Good luck with Sara. I’m rooting for you two.”
I smiled. “Thanks. For everything.”
She wasn’t Sara, but as a nurse, she’d done a fine job.
I was healed for the most part. The grafts had taken well—I was covered in skin again. The less severe burns were slowly fading from red to pink. And other than the scars on my forehead and another under my jaw, the rest of them I’d hide from the world.
As I walked out of the room, my jeans felt rough on my thighs. I’d been in paper-thin cotton for so long, it was a welcome change to feel something worth its weight. The boots on my feet were loud and heavy. I’d never wear slippers again. I was thrilled to be in a shirt that actually went to my wrists and hid my burns.
Damn but I’d missed real clothes. I grinned as I reached the elevator, the excitement of being free.
Good-bye burn unit. Good-bye Candle Palace.
I patted the small battery-powered tea light in my pocket.
Then I stepped onto the elevator and rode down to go and find the real light from this palace.
My Sara.
SARA
“Ugh,” I groaned as the doorbell rang.
Why did the UPS guy have to ring the doorbell? He was bringing me toilet paper and coffee K-Cups from Amazon. Leave it and go, dude.
The doorbell I was obligated to answer. What if he needed me to sign for my toilet paper and coffee K-Cups? I shoved myself up and off the couch, annoyed that I’d get to the door just in time to see him dart inside his brown truck. I didn’t want to see him as much as he didn’t want to see me. Stupid freaking doorbell.
I pulled the cardigan around my front, covering up the thin tank top I was wearing because it was cold outside. Then I put on my smile and opened the door.
“Thank—”
My words died. Milo was standing on my stoop. He wasn’t supposed to be released until tomorrow.
“Hi.” His e
yes roamed over me from head to toe.
“Hi,” I breathed.
Oh my God. I hadn’t washed my hair in three days. I wasn’t wearing makeup, not that I wore much, but my pale eyelashes had never been without a few swipes of mascara when he was around.
I pulled the cardigan even tighter. I was a wreck and he looked amazing. More handsome than I could have imagined. He looked stronger. Taller. More rugged.
Without a word, Milo took a step forward, forcing me to shuffle backward. He did it again and again until I was inside my entryway and he had room to close the door. With a thud, he dropped the backpack from his shoulder to the wood floor.
Why hadn’t I showered? Why was he here a day early? I’d already planned my outfit for tomorrow when we’d agreed I’d pick him up from the hospital. My best skinny jeans and a cute navy sweater were waiting on a hanger together in my bathroom.
He was supposed to see me in that outfit, not my plaid Christmas pajama pants that pooled at my ankles and a red tank top that read Nameste in Bed. My cardigan was hunter green and missing a button.
It was early March and I was rocking my Christmas-morning outfit.
“Sara.” His voice made me shiver.
“Yeah?” I whispered, my arms wrapping around my waist.
Was this when he told me he’d had a great time getting to know me, but it was time for him to return to his life? I wouldn’t blame him. He deserved to find a woman who didn’t let domineering doctors kiss them in locker rooms. At the least, he deserved a woman who was strong enough to report it.
I waited for his heart-shattering words but Milo didn’t speak.
A graze of his fingertips preceded his hot palm as it smoothed across my cheek and behind the nape of my neck.
“Sara.” My name, then his lips were on mine in a flash of movement that stole my breath and made my knees go weak. His tongue plundered my mouth, his long fingers explored my shoulders and down my back and then up again, a frantic search for a place to settle and pull me closer.
It was the most erotic kiss of my life, the way his hands roamed so eagerly. The way his lips moved and his face tilted back and forth, wanting more and more as his tongue dueled with my own. He kissed me senseless. He kissed me until my heart nearly stopped.
He kissed me until I broke.
The first tear fell between us, wetting his cheek. Then the others followed.
I sobbed, breaking away from him and covering my mouth to keep the others hidden. I folded inward, my shoulders doing their best to provide a wall I could hide behind as I turned my back to Milo.
I was such a coward. I was unworthy. He deserved more. Another sob escaped, filling my quiet home.
Two arms wrapped around me before another sob could escape. They held me tight—tighter than I’d been held in . . . years. For the first time since Dad had died, I wasn’t utterly alone.
I cried hard, my entire body shaking. I hadn’t really cried since the day I’d run from the hospital after Vernon’s kiss. Instead, I’d locked my feelings away, numb to what had happened. Numb to my choices.
With Milo’s arms around me, I wasn’t numb anymore. Every bit of anger and shame came pouring out in a flood of emotion.
Milo didn’t speak. He didn’t beg me to tell him what was wrong or urge me to stop. He just let me cry, only loosening his grip to spin me around and hold me close.
I clung to him, gripping the thick cotton at his back. Every time I felt my legs give way, he held me up, until eventually, there were no tears left to fall.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered into his chest.
“Don’t be.” He let me go to stand back and wipe my damp face dry.
I sucked in a shaky breath, then blew it out in a long sigh. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re beautiful.”
I smiled and looked him up and down. “You’re in jeans.”
“I wear them every day.”
His legs were long and lean. They went on forever until the hems brushed the tops of his brown, square-toed cowboy boots. His shirt was baggy, a size too big. It hid the roped muscles of his arms and the rigid planes of his chest.
Maybe this was why most women overlooked Milo. He didn’t flaunt or showcase the body beneath the clothes. He was just . . . Milo.
Humble. Unassuming. Pure.
Sexy.
“I’ve never seen you in jeans before.” I blushed, remembering his reaction to seeing me in jeans. “They look . . . good.”
He chuckled. “Want to see the back of my head?”
“Yes, please.”
With a quick grin, he spun in a slow circle, his arms rising as he turned. He might be hiding the sculpted torso and chiseled arms, but those jeans did wondrous things for his ass. Which confirmed my suspicions—the women of Prescott, Montana, were blind.
Their loss.
Milo planted his hands on his hips when he was done with the turn. “So, what would you like to talk about first? What that crying jag was about? Or why you’ve been off all week?”
Neither. I sighed. “Maybe we should sit.”
He nodded and followed me into the living room, glancing around as he walked. “Nice place.”
“Thanks.” I sat on the couch, giving him plenty of room to sit by my side. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Good as new.”
It was obvious I was stalling, but he didn’t rush me. There was probably a right way to go about this conversation, but the only thing that came to my mind was “I got kissed.”
“Uh . . . yeah. I was there.”
“Not by you.” The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees as Milo’s frame turned to ice. His fists balled on his knees. “Amber told me to take a week of vacation, I told you that. Well, after, I went to the locker room to get a jacket I’d left in there. I was coming out and Dr. Vernon cornered me.”
Milo’s jaw cracked as he ground his molars together. His fists, if possible, became even tighter. I’d never seen knuckles so white. “He kissed you?”
“He kissed me. I’m so sorry.”
“Did you want him to kiss you?”
“No, absolutely not.” I grimaced. “Never.”
“They why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I stood there,” I confessed. “I didn’t fight back or push him away or even scream. I just stood there and let him kiss me. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Oh, Sara.” Milo’s arms wrapped around me like ropes. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I feel violated. It was just a kiss but . . .”
Milo held me tighter. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was scared you’d stab Dr. Vernon to death with the needles from your sharps container.”
He didn’t think my joke was funny.
The truth was, I’d wanted to tell Milo about the kiss all week. I’d been so close, but I wasn’t sure how he’d react over the phone. I pictured the burn unit torn to shreds, papers flying, linens strewn as he hunted for Dr. Vernon.
Yet here he was, surprising me again. He was calm and gentle with me in his arms. Though his jaw was still clenched in fury.
“You have to report him,” he said.
“I can’t.”
“What?” He let me go, his eyebrows furrowed. “Why not? That bastard can’t get away with this. He assaulted you.”
“Milo, he’s a doctor with an impeccable record. The burn unit is more successful than they’d ever dreamed and it’s because of him. I’m just the nurse having an inappropriate relationship with a patient. It’s not a stretch to assume that if I’d lust after a patient, I’d do the same for a doctor.”
“That’s bullshit.”
That’s real life.
I hung my head. “I’m trying to let it go and pretend it didn’t happen. I’ll be okay.”
“You will.” He kissed my hair. “You’re the strongest woman I know.”
I melted into his side, no lon
ger caring what I was wearing or what my hair looked like, simply happy he was here. “I felt guilty. Like . . . I cheated on you.”
“You didn’t cheat on me, and you have nothing to feel guilty about.”
I nodded.
“Sara, look at me.”
I leaned away to meet his gaze.
“This is not your fault. This is on him.”
“I know, you’re right. I’ve been telling myself that all week.” But it was easier to believe Milo’s firm tone than the shaky voice in my head. “I wish I had pushed him away.”
Milo took a hand from my lap and brought it to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Thank you. I needed to hear that.”
“Will you report him?”
My stomach rolled. “I don’t want to.”
Milo’s eyes met mine. “It’s your choice and I’ll support you no matter what.”
But . . .
His unspoken word hung in the air.
My silence could have consequences. We both knew that. If Dr. Vernon got away with this now, what would happen to the next nurse? Or the one after that? I didn’t know Milo’s friend Maisy, but her ex had been a doctor too. Arrogant, like Vernon, from how Milo had described him. If Vernon didn’t get punished for kissing me, would his next victim suffer a worse fate?
“I have to report him. If I have a black mark on my record, he deserves one on his.”
Milo was off the couch in a flash, hauling me up with him. “Get dressed.”
“Right now?”
“Yes. Right now.”
“All right.” So much for my quiet afternoon at home. As I walked down the hallway to my bedroom, I glanced over my shoulder to see Milo pacing the short length of the living room. He was running a hand over his hair, the strands longer now than they had been when we’d met.
Right before I disappeared into my bedroom, he muttered, “That motherfucker is not getting away with kissing my girl.”
My girl.
I smiled—a real smile—for the first time all week.
“They aren’t going to do a goddamn thing, are they?” Milo fumed as we walked out of the hospital.