by Andria Large
Diandra’s father is African American and her mother is Japanese, and let me tell you, they made a stunningly gorgeous daughter. If I were straight, I’d be falling at her feet. She has pitch-black, poker-straight hair, her mother’s Asian eyes and heart-shaped face, and her father’s caramel-colored skin and pouty lips.
She’s had so many marriage proposals from her male patients—and some female patients—she’s lost count. Not only is she beautiful, but she’s got a great personality too. She’s funny, sweet, kind, loyal, honest, and independent. She’s really amazing, and I love her like a sister.
“You’re welcome, sweetie. How was your day?” she asks, coming around the couch to sit next to me.
“Nothing special,” I mutter around the rim of my beer bottle as I tip it back for a sip.
“That’s good, right? No deaths or horrible accidents. That’s always a good day in my book.”
I nod. “Yeah, you’re right. It was a good day.”
“I made some of my famous tempura shrimp you love so much. Want me to heat it up for you?” she asks.
See? So sweet.
“No, darling. I’ll get it in a little bit. Thank you, though,” I reply with a small smile.
“Okay, if you’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Oooh, you’re so cute!” She squeals and pinches my cheek. “If you weren’t gay, I’d climb you like a tree!”
I bark out a laugh. She probably could, being that I’m almost a foot taller than her.
“There’s that smile I love so much. What’s bothering you, Warwick? I can see something is on your mind. You still thinking about that guy, Jack?”
I sigh heavily and take another sip of my beer. It’s been a month since he came into the ER, and I haven’t heard from him. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I had really high hopes he would call for help. He didn’t deserve to be treated that way.
“Yeah. I can’t stop thinking about him, wondering how he’s doing and if he’s still with that fucking wanker.”
Diandra smooths her hand over my short hair. “I hate to say this, but he probably is.”
I nod dejectedly. “I know.”
“You gotta let it go, honey. There is nothing you can do if he doesn’t want the help.”
“I’m trying, but it’s hard. There was just something about him that is sticking with me for some reason.”
“Is it because he’s gay?” she asks, tilting her head and giving me a pointed look. “You connected with him on a deeper level than you would if it were a woman being abused.”
I stare at her in awe. “You’re so brilliant. That must be the reason. It makes total sense.”
She gives me a look that says “Duh,” then flips her hair over her shoulder.
I chuckle, then lean in and give her a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, love.”
JACK
I FLIP the little white card over and over in my hands. I’ve memorized the number on it, just in case I lose the card by accident. It’s been a month since Greg broke my arm. It’s still in a full cast, but it’ll be coming off soon. And I know as soon as it’s off, the first chance Greg gets, he’s going to kick my ass. He’s laid off since breaking my arm, and I know he’s been itching for a fight. I can see it in his cold black eyes. But I haven’t given him any reason to get angry. I’ve kept my mouth shut, done everything he’s asked me to do, and am constantly agreeable with him. I’m not looking to have my other arm broken.
I’m not stupid. I know I have to get out. It’s only going to get worse and could possibly lead to my death. But fuck, am I terrified to leave. I know if I leave, he’s going to look for me, and if he finds me… he’ll kill me. I really had no hope of ever being free until last month when I got this card I’m holding. I think about making the call every damn day, and every day I chicken out.
“What the fuck is that?” Greg asks, snatching the card out of my hand.
Holy fuck, how could I have let myself space out like that? I didn’t hear him come in the bedroom. My eyes widen as I watch him read the card and realize whose it is. Greg’s head snaps up and he glares at me, his face turning red like it does when he’s fucking livid.
“Why in the fuck do you have this?” he roars.
I flounder, unable to think of a good reason fast enough. I scramble up farther onto the bed from where I was sitting on the end of it.
“Were you going to call him?” Greg bellows.
I shake my head, having a hard time getting my voice to work. I haven’t seen Greg this furious since the day he broke my arm. He actually might be even angrier now than he was then, which is not good for me.
“Were you going to call him?” he barks again.
“N-n-n… n-n-no…,” I stutter.
Greg storms to one side of the bed, and I scurry to the other side to stay as far away from him as I can.
“Come here now!”
“No!” I cry.
Greg quickly climbs over the bed and shoves me into the wall. I bang the back of my head against it, hard enough to see stars. He sends a fist my way, and I bring my arms up to cover my face, but it doesn’t help—his punch connects with my left cheek. I feel the skin split as I try to stay conscious.
Kicking out, I connect with his groin, which forces him to let me go so he can cup himself.
“You little bitch!” he grunts.
I try to make a run for the door, but my attempt is futile. Greg grabs the back of my shirt and yanks me toward him, making me stumble and fall on my ass at his feet. He grabs a handful of my hair and yanks my head, exposing my bleeding face.
“What were you going to do, Jack? Cheat on me?” The deadliness of his tone sends shivers down my spine. I don’t bother answering because I know it won’t matter.
He cocks his fist and brings it down for a strike. I bring my casted arm up to cover my face again, to protect myself, and he ends up smashing his fist into that instead of my face.
Greg howls in pain, his hold on me releasing so he can cradle his hand. I take advantage and quickly get to my feet and run out of the bedroom. I only have enough time to grab my wallet and cell phone off the kitchen counter before I race out the front door with Greg yelling after me. I sprint down the stairs at the end of the hall and burst out of the door at the bottom that leads to the lobby of our apartment building. Without looking back, I run out the front door, make a left, and just keep running. I think I hear Greg yell after me, but I can’t take the chance to look over my shoulder to see if he’s following me. This is it. I’m out and I’m never going back. Fuck my stuff. I don’t need it. I’ll get new stuff.
I run until I can’t run anymore. I have no idea how long I run for, but it has to be at least a good three miles. I stop when I see a McDonald’s. I walk into the place and go right down the hall to the bathrooms. Breathing heavily, I push open the men’s bathroom door and step in. It’s empty, so I take a minute to catch my breath. My phone starts going crazy in my pocket with calls and text messages from Greg. I silence it as I try to build up the nerve to make the one phone call I’ve been trying to make for a month now.
WARWICK
I’VE JUST finished my shift and am checking an elderly patient’s blood work at the nurses’ station before I leave when the phone rings. The nurse who’s sitting at the desk answers it. After a short conversation, her eyes flick to me. I raise an eyebrow in question. She tells whoever it is on the line to hold on before she brings the phone down and covers the receiver with her hand.
“There’s a man on the phone, says he needs to speak with you, it’s urgent,” she says, her tone skeptical.
My heart leaps into my throat. “Did he give you a name?”
“Jack McClellan.”
“Give me the phone!” I exclaim, shooting my hand out, making her jump.
She quickly hands over the phone, her eyes wide in surprise.
“Jack?” I say as soon as the phone is to my ear.
“Dr. Aldridge,” he pants as thou
gh he’s out of breath.
“Jack, are you okay? Where are you?” I ask in a rush.
“I ran!” he says, sounding a little hysterical. “I… he’s gonna look for me…. I can’t stay here long!”
“Where are you?” I practically shout into the phone. I need to know where he is so I can go get him.
“I’m in the McDonald’s bathroom…,” he says and tells me the street it’s on.
That McDonald’s is only a couple of blocks from the hospital.
“I know exactly where you are. Don’t leave. I’ll be there in five minutes!”
“Five minutes? Are you sure?” he croaks.
“I promise, Jack. Five minutes. Don’t leave, okay? Stay in the bathroom,” I instruct.
“Okay. Okay, I’ll stay in here,” he breathes, then hangs up.
I practically toss the phone at the nurse. “I gotta go!” I call to her as I race down the hallway in the direction of the parking garage.
Exactly five minutes later, my tires screech as I pull my SUV into a parking spot outside McDonald’s. I fly into the place, getting shocked and surprised looks from the employees and customers. I head directly for the bathroom. I stop right outside the door and knock gently, not wanting to startle Jack any more than he already is.
“Jack?” I ask softly as I push open the door.
Peeking in, I see Jack leaning heavily against the sink counter, his whole body shaking. Catching his reflection in the mirror, I can see his left cheek is split open and still seeping. He didn’t even bother washing the blood off his face, and now it’s drying and getting caked in the beard he’s sporting.
“Jack?” I say again, frowning in concern.
“I ran,” he whispers.
His knees give out, and I lunge to catch him. Grabbing him around the waist, I gently lower us both to our knees as he starts to sob uncontrollably. He clutches my lab coat so tight I’m afraid he’s going to break his fingers. I wrap my arms around him and hold him to my chest, smoothing my hand over his dark blond hair.
“It’s okay, Jack. You’re safe now, love. I got you,” I soothe gently.
I give him a few more minutes to fall apart before deciding it’s time to go.
“Come on, mate. We need to get out of here.”
I help Jack to his feet. He’s shaky, but he’s standing on his own. I grab some paper towels and wipe his leaking nose. He’s still crying, but much more softly now. Going to his right side, I slip my arm around his waist and drape his arm over my shoulders.
The bathroom door opens and an employee stops in the doorway. “Is he okay? I saw him come in a few minutes ago with his face all bloodied. I was coming in to check on him.”
“Yeah, he’s okay. I got him,” I say.
The employee nods and holds the door open for us so we can make our way out of the bathroom. Helping him walk, I get us out to my SUV, where I place him in the passenger seat and buckle him up. After getting into the driver’s side, I start up the SUV, which makes him jump.
“You’re safe now, Jack,” I murmur.
As I back out of the parking spot, I glance over at the emotionally and physically broken man next to me, and my heart shatters into a million pieces for him. He’s going to have a long, hard road ahead of him. Recovery is not going to be easy.
I drive to the hospital, calling ahead to make sure security is on alert in case Greg shows up. When we get there, I help him out of the car and walk him into the ER. My coworkers don’t ask questions as I take him right past triage with me. I spot Cheryl walking down the hallway toward us.
“Cheryl, I need a room!” I call to her.
She looks confused at first, but then she realizes who I have with me, and she scrambles forward. She comes up on Jack’s left and puts herself under his arm to help support him. He’s barely walking. I’ve been taking most of his weight.
“Room ten is open,” she says and helps me walk him there.
We get him onto the bed, and I start assessing him for other injuries. Jack is really out of it, still crying and muttering to himself. I feel around his head for any lumps or lacerations. The dark blond hair is fairly long and thick. As I get toward the base, I find an egg-sized lump. Jack hisses in pain when I touch it.
“Lean forward, mate,” I command gently, helping him sit up and bend forward a little bit.
I sift through his hair in that area just to make sure there are no lacerations. I don’t see any, so I help him sit back. I then check him for a concussion and find he does have a mild one, most likely from whatever he hit his head on.
While I’m checking him over, Cheryl is setting up an IV on his right arm. I take a look at the cast on his left arm and see there is a section on the underside, just below the elbow, that is caved in. I frown hard at it.
“What happened here, Jack?” I ask him.
“He tried to hit me again, and I brought my arm up; he hit the cast,” he murmurs.
I had instructed Cheryl to give him medication to calm him down when she was first setting up the IV. It’s definitely starting to kick in, because his body is slowly relaxing and his heart rate is coming down to where it’s supposed to be. This also allows me to talk to him easier, because he’s calm and can answer my questions.
“When is the cast due to come off?”
“Next week.”
“Okay, I’ll order an X-ray to see how well it’s healed, and I’ll get the orthopedic doctor down here to see if we can take it off early or if this one needs to be replaced.”
He nods, his light blue eyes glassy and unfocused.
I check out the cut on his cheek next. “I think we can get away with some butterfly stitches. It’s not that deep. Cheryl, can you clean him up and do that for me?”
“Absolutely,” she says.
“I need to go make a phone call,” I say and move to leave the room.
Jack grabs my lab coat with his left hand, his eyes now wide and fearful as he looks at me. “Don’t leave me,” he chokes.
I place a hand on his chest and the other on the top of his head as I lean in closer, my eyes locked on to his beautiful blue ones. “I’m going to be right outside the door, and Cheryl is here. I swear, I’m not leaving you alone.”
He searches my eyes for a moment, swallowing hard before he gives me a jerky nod.
“You are safe here, Jack. I promise.”
“Okay,” he whispers and slowly lets go of my coat.
I give his chest a pat, then leave the room so I can call the police. I’m going to get a second report filed and a restraining order in place.
JACK
AFTER TALKING to the police, I feel sleep sucking me under thanks to the drugs Dr. Aldridge gave me. I barely wake up when Cheryl takes me down for an X-ray of my arm and when the orthopedic doctor comes in and cuts the cast off. He said my arm is healed enough to just wear a brace for a couple of weeks. If anything else happened after that, I don’t remember.
A soft masculine voice calling my name has me rousing from my drug-induced sleep. I rub my crusty eyes and blink them open. It takes me a minute to remember where I am. Turning my head toward the voice, I try and focus on the man standing next to the bed I’m in.
Warm bright blue eyes are watching me. Shit, those eyes are pretty. I let my gaze travel down his straight nose to those sexy bow-shaped lips. There is a light dusting of hair just below his bottom lip and on his chin. The rest of his square jaw is clean shaven.
“Jack?” he asks again with his British accent that I freaking love.
“Hey,” I sigh.
“Are you ready to go?”
That question has me fully awake and sitting up in an instant, my heart ready to burst out of my chest. “Go? Go where? You can’t just throw me out on the street where he can find me!”
“Whoa! Slow down, mate.” Dr. Aldridge frowns and holds out his hands as if to calm a wild beast. “I called a shelter, and they have a bed ready for you.”
On the verge of a panic attack, I try to c
omprehend what he just said. “A shelter? What? No. I can’t go to a shelter. They can’t stop Greg from coming into the place and grabbing me.”
Dr. Aldridge is silent for a long moment before he gives me a hesitant look and rubs the back of his neck. “I… I have a spare room, if you’d like to stay with me,” he hedges.
I lick my dry lips and try to swallow past the lump in my throat. “O-okay… yeah. I’d rather do that.”
“So, do you want to get out of here, then?” he asks, a small crooked smile on his handsome face.
“Yeah… yeah… that sounds good.”
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Aldridge leads me into his apartment. It’s a beautiful apartment. There is a huge kitchen with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances; it’s open to the living room, which is also a very nice size. The decor is incredible, very shabby chic. I would have loved to decorate my apartment like this, but Greg didn’t think it was manly looking enough, so we stuck with dark woods and leather. Off to the right is a hallway with what looks like five doors.
“Make yourself at home, Jack. I have tons of clothes, so wear whatever you want until we can get you your own stuff,” Dr. Aldridge says.
I look over at him as he slips out of his lab coat and tosses it over the back of the sofa. “I don’t know how I’m going to thank you for this, Dr. Aldridge.”
He smiles softly and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. And call me Warwick, yeah?”
“Warwick, right, okay,” I murmur quietly.
Just then the door opens and the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen in my life flies in through it. She looks to be biracial and is super short; well, at least compared to my six two, she is.
“Where is he? Is he here?” she squawks as her eyes dart around the apartment.
They finally land on me and widen. Her hands come up to cover her mouth and nose as she gasps. Her face crumples, and she starts for me, her arms reaching out to me. She cups my face in her small hands and looks me over, her eyes flitting across the cut on my cheek.