Bishop (A Frat Chronicles Novel)

by B. T. Urruela

  She shrugs. “It’s my job. And it’s not about me. It’s about you, Bishop.”

  “Is it wrong of me to want more than that… more than just a doctor-patient relationship?”

  The surprise in her features and lack of response sends a jolt of burning anxiety through me. I wouldn’t have been so forward without the alcohol, and at this point, as her tongue is tied and mine serves as a placemat for my foot, I’m left to stutter my way through the silence.

  “Ugh, I mean. Fuck.” I give up when the words just won’t come. Her eyes are on the concrete now. The embers of her cigarette are moments away from meeting the filter.

  “It’s okay.” She waves me off, taking a long puff and killing the rest of her cigarette. As she lets out a smoky breath, her eyes trail to mine. She looks hesitant, nervous, as she bites her lip, dabbing the cigarette out in the ashtray.

  “You’re just so fuckin’ gorgeous,” I blurt, whiskey-produced words, with no other help needed. Taking a deep breath, I keep my eyes away from her, though I can see her staring at me through my peripheral. I can see the white of her teeth too, as her mouth hangs open.

  “Bishop …” Her voices echoes throughout the empty silence between us.

  My cigarette is burnt out but still clutched between my fingers. “No, I get it. I’m really not trying to be inappropriate,” I reason.

  “I know. I know that,” she says, setting a hand on my arm. “It is a huge compliment. It’s just … with our professional relationship, I think it’s best to make smart decisions. Even drinking with you tonight was too far. I shouldn’t have come over. I kept telling myself not to in my head, but your friend there, can be quite … uh, convincing.”

  I nod, cracking up. “Which you can imagine was just really great for my early twenties.”

  She laughs. “I can only imagine.” Out of nowhere, a look of seriousness crosses her face and she takes a deep, worried breath. “Listen, Bishop, I’m sorry you’ve seen me like this. You weren’t supposed to.”

  “Please! If anything, it helps. It makes you feel more human.”

  She smiles. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t an android.”

  “So, since I am considerably more drunk than you are, perhaps you can forgive me for the conversation I’m about to trigger, but … is me bein’ your patient the only thing keepin’ you from talkin’ to me about this further? Our ‘professional relationship’ as you put it.”

  She cocks her head, an eyebrow arched. “First off”—she puts a pointer in the air—“talking to you about what?”

  I take a step forward, tilting my head slightly. “About how completely and ridiculously attracted to you I am.”

  A nervous laugh escapes her mouth and she puts up both hands to halt it, to no avail. She shakes her head with a wrinkle in her brow. “You definitely can’t talk like that.”

  “If you answer the question, I never will again.”

  She hesitates for a moment, tapping a pointer against her chin as she thinks, before she asks, “Wait, can you repeat the question?”

  “If it weren’t for me bein’ your patient, would you let me kiss you right now?”

  A look of shock passes over her features, and she takes a step back. Not an uncomfortable one, not as if she’s trying to get away, but as if she’s worried about how close she already is.

  “Bishop. We really can’t talk like this. We still have so many sessions left.” She finally notices the burnt-out filter between her fingers and tosses it into the ashtray, reminding me I have to do the same.

  “I’m just speakin’ hypothetically.”

  “Speaking realistically,” she says, shrugging, that gorgeous smile stamped on her face thanks to the liquor. “I could be your mother, Bishop. I’m an old lady. So, regardless of doctor-patient relations, there are other reasons nothing could ever happen between us.”

  I take a step forward, the alcohol running my game. I’m so reserved normally, but if you get an adequate amount of Jameson in me, I’m the smoothest motherfucker you’ve ever seen.

  “You think your age bothers me? It doesn’t. Does it bother you?”

  She looks around nervously, biting her lip again as she searches for the words. “Bishop, you have to stop. It is such a mistake being here. I should have left the moment your friend approached me.”

  “What did he say to you, by the way? He was gone a long time.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Bishop. He was drunk.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “He shared a lot with me. A whole lot. Some things I would’ve liked to have discovered on my own… during our sessions. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t. Not until I told him we should get back inside.” She looks toward the front door. “Speaking of which, we should probably go back in. Your friend may be naked and dancing around in there by now.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

  We laugh until the seriousness of our conversation comes back into view.

  “So … what did he tell you?”

  “He told me he was here visiting family. That you guys served together.” She smiles. “He has a lot of admiration and respect for you.”

  “He’s a good kid. Did he say anything else?”

  She bites her bottom lip, and she has no clue how her affinity for it drives me to realms of desire I’m not quite comfortable with.

  “I can see it in your face. Just tell me.”

  She hesitates, her eyes flitting away from mine as she seems to search for the words. After a few long moments, she says, “He told me about the explosion.”

  I scoff, shaking my head. I pull my pack of cigarettes out and put another between my lips. After offering one up to Carleigh, and she declines, I pocket the pack and light the smoke, taking one nervous drag after another before finally asking, “What about it?”

  “How much of it do you remember?”

  “I have two different recollections. Now, what did he tell you?”

  “What do you mean ‘two different recollections’?”

  I take a puff and shake my head as I scoff the smoke out. “Is this a therapy session, Doc?”

  “I don’t know, McKenzie.” She puts her hands on her hips. “I thought honesty was your thing tonight. So let’s use that.”

  “I don’t want to feel like every time I’m with you, it’s clinical … so you can study me.”

  “I’m your therapist. What other kind of situation would you expect between us?”

  “Somethin’ natural. A situation where we are both open and honest about this mutual attraction.”

  “Bishop, I—”

  I put a hand up. “No, I know you’re gonna say there’s no attraction from your end, but I know and you know it’d be a lie.”

  She’s about to say something but hesitates, taking a deep breath.

  “Carleigh, I find you irresistible. Your age? What the hell does that mean when we’re talkin’ about real human connection? Hell, what does it mean when you don’t even look it?”

  “Bishop …”

  “Tell me now, Carleigh, that you ain’t ever thought about kissin’ me. Not once. Tell me you ain’t thought about what it would be like, on a proper date, and not stuck in a tiny little office and in the confines of a doctor-patient relationship. Tell me now, and I will go say goodbye to my friend, I’ll head home, and put on some King of Queens. I’ll drink a beer since I can’t smoke a joint.”

  She laughs, shaking her head.

  “And I’ll continue wishin’ I could watch it with you, and wonderin’ what it would be like to ask you questions, to get to know you, to hear your truths. I think about that a lot.”

  She scoffs, but it’s followed immediately by a dimple-inducing smile. Shaking her head, she says, “Bishop. You have to stop. I’m your doctor.”

  “Answer my question though. If you weren’t my doctor …”

  “Yes, I’ve thought about what it would be like to kiss you!” she says, letting out an exasperated breath.

&nbs
p; I smile. “That’s all I needed to hear.” I take a step forward, and she takes a step back. I place a hand on her elbow and she bites her lip.

  “Oh, Bishop,” she mutters.

  I kiss her before she can say another word, and much to my surprise, she kisses me back. Hard. Her lips dance with my own, the softness of them electrifying. Pulling her into me, I cradle her cheek with one hand, simultaneously backing her against the brick wall. I can hear people exiting the front door behind us, but I pay them no mind. I’m too preoccupied with this sexy fucking cougar in my arms and her perfect, delicate lips working so effortlessly with my own.

  I pull back from her and she lets out a slow breath, her eyes still closed.

  “Lord …” she whispers.

  “I’ve wanted that since the day I met you,” I respond, shaking my head, lifting her chin with two fingers to bring her eyes to mine. She slowly draws her eyelids open, a look of contentment in her features.

  “This is so, so bad,” she says, though there’s a smile on her face. “So bad.”

  I kiss her again, ignoring her words and concern, instead relishing in the feeling of complete desire that wraps me up like a blanket.

  As our lips part, I say, “Can we go back in and get another drink? I think it’s time I started gettin’ to know you.”

  She looks worried. “Oh boy, I don’t think I like the sound of that.”

  “Come on, Ms. Jacobs.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders and lead her toward the door. “Let Doctor Bishop get a peek inside that head of yours.”

  My lips curl into a smile as she rolls her eyes.

  As we make our way inside, I spot Jensen staggering toward us. He puts up a hand. “I didn’t think you guys were coming back,” he says, stopping just before us, a wide, drunken smile on his face.

  “I’m not that much of a dick,” I respond. “You wanna grab another drink?”

  He shakes his head stiffly, putting his bottom lip out. “Not a fucking chance. I’m taking my happy ass to bed. The wife’s pissed anyway. Gotta go give her a call.” He points toward the elevators before his eyes fall on Carleigh. He puts his hand out and she takes it. He rests his other on top of hers. “My dear,” he says, locking eyes with her, “it was so great talking with you tonight. Remember what I said.” He winks and unstealthily motions toward me. “Treat my boy right.”

  She flashes a tight smile as he winks at her. “Okay, Robert. Thank you.”

  He lets go of her hand, smiling, as he turns his attention to me.

  I glare as he puts his hand out for mine. Grabbing it, I bring him in and whisper, “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you,” before letting him go.

  He just laughs, waving me off before he turns on his heel and heads toward the elevators. “Text me if you want to crash here tonight, Bish,” he says over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, I probably will, buddy.”

  He waves a hand in the air as he stumbles toward the elevator bay.

  I look toward Carleigh. “You know you’re gonna have to tell me what the hell he told you about the explosion and why you asked me what I remember about it, right?” I say, narrowing my eyes at her.

  She laughs, motioning toward the bar. “A drink first?”

  I nod, and she leads me to the only open space at the cluttered bar.

  She orders two shots of Fireball as my eyes analyze her features. She seems to hold something new she hadn’t held when we last spoke. As she turns, catching me staring, she smiles self-consciously, shrugging as her eyes meet the floor.

  “What?” she asks softly.

  “I’m just really curious what y’all discussed,” I respond, and wrinkles of concern take up her forehead.

  She bites her bottom lip. “Why’s it such a big deal?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  She looks me dead in the eye, and I smile.

  “Because I haven’t seen that little shit in years,” I say. “He used to be my soldier, and I’m wonderin’ what the hell he told the woman I’m interested in.”

  Her cheeks go red and her eyes fall to the shots the bartender sets down in front of us.

  “Bishop …”

  “What, Carleigh?”

  “We can’t.”

  “We should.”

  “Regardless … we can’t.”

  I blindly grab the shot, lifting it to my lips with my eyes still on hers. “What did he tell you, Carleigh?” I ask, and then down the whiskey.

  “A lot about you as his squad leader. Like I said, he has a lot of respect for you. And …” Her voice trails off, her eyes on the shot as she brings it to her lips and throws it back.

  “And?”

  “And, just, other stuff.”

  “Carleigh!”

  “I can’t believe you’re trying to make me tell you what your incredibly drunk friend

  talked to me about. Do you know how out of his mind he was?” She shrugs, a wary look in her eye. “I mean, really, Bishop, he was so messed up. What he said doesn’t matter.”

  I contemplate this for a moment, my eyes locked on hers. “It matters because you’re my therapist, and what you hear about me from outside sources may affect the way you treat me. I deserve to know.”

  She grins, a hand meeting her mouth. “Funny how now I’m your therapist, but twenty minutes ago …”

  Got me there.

  “I’m not gonna be mad at him. I just wanna know what you know, for no other reason than I won’t sleep tonight if I don’t. So, for fuck’s sake, tell me.”

  She lets out a labored breath, before she says, “He told me about you carrying your guys out of there.”

  I take a deep breath, nodding, though I don’t know why. Finally, I say, “He was the only motherfucker to escape relatively unscathed, though the shrapnel in his leg didn’t make him too effective at helping to carry people.” I force a laugh.

  She nods, frowning in concern. “Yeah, I think he holds on to a lot of that still. He carries it with him.”

  I laugh. “You think that after talkin’ to him for thirty minutes?”

  Her face remains unchanged as she nods. “Yeah, I am a therapist, after all.”

  “Well, I don’t remember any of it.” I shrug. “And it did no fuckin’ good anyway.”

  She sets a hand on my shoulder. “God, Bishop, I don’t want tonight to feel like a therapy session. I hadn’t in a million years anticipated seeing you tonight, but I have to at least say this. You must stop punishing yourself for all of this. You did everything you could. Everything. You carried two of them out, for God’s sake … blinded in one eye with shrapnel in your face. I mean, Bishop, do you understand what that takes?”

  “They didn’t survive,” I respond, my voice shaking, my heart pounding in my chest. I lean an elbow against the bar and drop my head in my palm, letting out a deep exhale.

  She wraps a hand around my elbow and leans in. “I’m sorry,” she mutters. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

  I wave her off, forcing a tight smile. “I asked you. It’s my fault.” I hesitate for a moment before adding, “No, it’s not my fault. It’s that drunk bastard’s fault.” I point toward the elevator bay.

  “I’m glad he told me though. Would you ever have?”

  “Told you about the explosion?”

  “No, I can read your files for that. I mean, what happened after it went off.”

  “I don’t talk about it often. To me, it’s fiction.” I motion toward the incoming bartender. “Another drink?”

  “Yeah, Grey Goose and tonic, wedge of lime, please,” she orders from the barkeep.

  “And I’ll take a double Jameson on the rocks.”

  As he departs, she smiles, saying, “I definitely shouldn’t be here drinking with you.” She puts a hand to her forehead. “For the love of God, I’m your substance abuse counselor.”

  Her tone begins to worry me. “Hey, do you want me to stop drinkin’? I can. I’d choose hangin’ out with you over alcohol. Any day.”

&
nbsp; She turns red, grinning. “No, have your drink. I won’t make you choose. But I should be getting home here in a few minutes. I need to get some sleep, and I don’t need one of my friends stumbling back in here, asking questions.”

  “Why not go somewhere else? Somewhere with dark corners made for kissin’,” I say, cocking my head.

  She laughs, waving me off. “You stop. I really do need to get some sleep. And why do I get the feeling you have effectively derailed our earlier conversation?” She smirks.

  Shrugging, I respond, “I’ve seen your diplomas. You’re quite the brain. I had no doubt you’d catch me. Shall we continue?”

  “Sure you don’t mind?”

  I shake my head as the waiter sets our drinks down in front of us. I throw some cash down and grab mine, shaking the ice around to properly chill the whiskey.

  “So, if Jensen was the only one with recollection of what happened, he’s the only one who can really paint the picture. It’s not just a story, Bishop. It’s fact. And you have the Silver Star to prove it.” She takes a sip of her drink.

  “He told you about that?”

  “Yeah, but I saw it in your retirement paperwork too.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “I know they don’t just give that V for Valor away for nothing.”

  “I guess I just don’t really credit myself for anything because I don’t remember any of it. It wasn’t a conscious decision to carry them out.”

  “I think that’s what makes it even more special. You were running on instinct, and instinct alone. And your instinct said to carry your men to safety, no matter the cost.”

  “Instinct and a heavy dose of shock-induced adrenaline.” I laugh, taking a drink.

  “Well, yeah. Thank God for that, too. You pulled your brothers out, Bishop, and regardless of what happened next, they received proper honors, a proper burial, and closure for their families. Who knows what would’ve happened had you not gotten them out of there when you did.”

  I shrug, taking a nervous sip of the whiskey. I don’t mean to shut down when the emotions start to overwhelm me, but in my current state of inebriation, it’s that much harder to keep the pain from my features.

  “Hey,” she says, putting a hand on my cheek and smiling. The compassion in her sparkling eyes and the authenticity behind her smile warms my soul. “Don’t you even think another second about it. Let’s have some fun, huh? Wasn’t it your turn to play doctor?”