by Deja Voss
It takes everything in me not to just fire her right now. Get her out of my life and the whole bag of shit that she carries with her. It would be a dumb move, but a historically typical one in terms of how we operate.
“You’re not taking this out on me. You pushed me and pushed me to hook you up with her, and I didn’t for a reason.”
“That has nothing to do with this,” I lie. “Don’t be a bitch towards me in front of the customers. I write your paychecks.” I turn to walk out, but my blood is boiling. “You fucking knew. You should’ve told me so I could’ve at least kept my old man under control.”
“Yeah well, I also knew that you put a gun in your mother’s hand so she could kill herself. I knew you burned down the bakery on Front Street with the guys because they didn’t pay you protection money. I knew you fucked your way through every dirty birdie in the tristate area. And I’ve known you less than a year. Do you think I told her any of that? Furthermore, do you think she still would’ve been happy to jump in bed with you after I told her any of that?”
She wraps her arms around me and hugs me in a comforting embrace. I know she’s a real friend, willing to call me out on my bullshit, but I’m not trying to be a rational person right now. I’m trying to get back to my Misfits roots.
“I’m sorry. You’re both good people who deserve to be happy. That’s the only information I was responsible for relaying. The rest was up to you.”
I pull away from her, staring down at her with condescension.
“You think I’m a good person? That’s where you’re wrong. I come from a long line of evil, Olive. I did a pretty good job of hiding it because I had that dumb friend of yours wrapped around my dick in no time flat. I’m not a nice guy. She got what she deserved and I got what I wanted.”
At least that’s what I’ve been trying to convince myself for the last month. As many times as I say it out loud, I know it’s not true. The more I say it, the dumber it sounds. It’s not me, not my words, just a bunch of shit my father would spew without a second thought. But my mother was right all these years ago, this is who we are meant to be. Women like Sloan don’t belong anywhere near these Mountain Misfits.
“You know I see right through that shit,” she says.
“You want me to prove it?”
“I want you to park your ass at this desk and get the bills caught up. I don’t want you to lose your liquor license because you’re trying to have some sort of pissing contest with me. I always win, Gavin. Now don’t come out of here until you’re done.”
She slams the door behind her, before I can get in another word. She’s going to make some lucky guy really miserable someday. I thought I’d been doing ok keeping up with everything that I needed to do around here, but the stack of envelopes sitting on the desk tell me otherwise.
Who cares if I don’t pay the bills? Who cares if we have to close this place up permanently? It would be a perfect excuse for me to go up on my mountain and never come down. I’d never have to see Olive again. I could just forget this part of my life even happened and go live out my destiny.
I hunch down over the desk and pull up the bank account on the computer screen. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch that picture of my grandfather and the club, back in the day—these smiling bearded outlaws and their bikes, and me propped up on his shoulders.
I don’t come from a line of evil. My dad is the anomaly, not the norm. Maybe it skips a generation. His smiling face staring back at me is enough to take the edge off, put me back in my right mind, push me back into that place where I need to do right by my club and my men and the people who rely on me. I can’t let this place close down. What would happen to Ollie? What would happen to our legacy?
I tear through the envelopes and quickly get things caught up.
When I walk out into the barroom all eyes turn to me. I walk up to Brooks and put my arms on his shoulders.
“I’m sorry for being a huge dick,” I say.
“Like today, or our whole lives?” he laughs.
“Olive, listen,” I start.
“Gavin, stop,” she says. “I don’t judge you for your friends’ actions, you don’t judge me for mine. We have a business to run here. I’m sorry that she hurt you. She’s obviously still got a lot of shit to unpack. Have you tried talking to her at all?”
“No,” I tell her. Sometimes it’s easier just to let things go. As bad as it hurts not having her in my life, the sting of her words is even more. The person she thinks I am isn’t the person I want to be, and if she can’t see that, then it can never work out. “Girls like her and guys like me don’t have any business with each other. It was fun while it lasted.”
All she offers me is a thin smile. She sighs and stares down at her feet.
“Are you going to cry?” Brooks asks her, his face turning serious.
“Nah,” she says. “But I know exactly how you feel, Gavin. It’s just fucking hard to admit it to myself.”
Chapter 32
Nine Months Later
Sloan
Olive walks into the 24-hour diner in sweatpants and a hoodie and makes her way over to the table. I’m already two cups of coffee deep.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says as I stand up to give her a hug. “You look like shit. Are you eating?”
“I’m fine,” I mutter. The bags under my eyes probably speak for themselves. The past few weeks have been rough. Finishing up my fellowship hasn’t been nearly as satisfying as I anticipated. While I used to relish my routine of work, eat, and sleep, now I just feel like it’s worn me down into basically just a walking talking shell of a corpse, with no real inspiration or motivation other than getting through the next day.
“Did you order yet?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“Three more days,” I tell her, a thin smile forming across my face. Three more days and I will officially be a trauma surgeon. My boards are passed and I just have to finish up my fellowship. I had always pictured my graduation celebration would be more champagne and stilettos than milkshakes and truckers, but I don’t have it in me right now. Nothing in my life feels like a celebration. More like an arranged marriage.
“I know. I’m so proud of you. You think they’re gonna offer you a job?” she asks eagerly. “Or are you going to explore some other options?”
I KNOW they’re going to offer me a job. It’s already been discussed in depth. Dr. Peterman started hinting at it a few months ago, and the board of directors seems to agree that we need two of us at the hospital. In three days, my life will be exactly the same as it has been for the last seven years, except now I will be getting paid.
I thought I would be a lot more enthusiastic.
“Maybe,” I lie through my teeth. I don’t want to have to tell her my actual thoughts on the situation. Not just yet.
She flips through the menu and slides it to the end of the table.
“It’s been so long since I’ve talked to you. You’re like impossible to get ahold of anymore. How are you doing with everything else?” she asks. Part of me was hoping she wouldn’t bring it up, the other part was really dying to hear if she knows anything.
“I’m fine,” I shrug. “Nothing really to report here. Just trying to keep my head down and my nose clean. I’m sorry if I caused you drama at work or whatever, Ollie. You warned me and I fucked up. I hope it didn’t blow back on you.”
She lets out a deep sigh. “I didn’t warn you. I told you everything was going to be ok. Once I saw how well you guys were getting along, I thought you really had something going. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Maybe I was just being selfish for wanting you to be around more and be a part of my life.”
“In a vacuum, it would’ve worked out perfectly. There’s too many moving parts to that machine up there. I’m not one of them. He would’ve never been able to fully love me knowing what I did or where I came from. His family was waiting to rip me to shreds the first chance they had, and I know he has to take their side fo
r the sake of the club.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You never gave him a chance to love you fully. You wrote him off before he had a chance to love the real you and everything that comes with it, Sloan. He’s a really good guy. He would’ve done anything for you. It doesn’t matter what his family says, he knows right from wrong.”
I haven’t cried to her yet, but Lord knows I’ve spilled a ton of tears over the last nine months. I keep waiting around, thinking Olive would be the one who would rip him to shreds for being a jerk and we could just go about our lives as two single chicks who always seem to end up on the losing end of relationships. Instead, she’s been distant and aloof.
It’s been a reality check.
I know I fucked up. I lost the first man who ever really made me feel like myself. Trying to justify letting him go has been challenging. I’ve spent the last nine months grasping at every straw I could possibly use to try and rationalize why things would’ve come crashing down eventually.
“I can’t be affiliated with people like that anyway, Olive. You know how it goes. He’s from a completely different world. I’m a surgeon, for fucks sake. Could you imagine what would happen if I showed up with him at a hospital function? When they ask what he does for a living what am I supposed to tell them?”
“You’re ridiculous, Sloan. That all ya got? You’re better than him? That’s the lamest line in the book. He graduated from college. Gave up law school so he could take care of his family. You would’ve known that if you cared about anybody but yourself. Now he runs one of the most successful businesses in town, but as long as you love each other how is that even relevant? You’re always so quick to remind me of how we ‘came from the same trailer park,’ and now you’re suddenly better than ‘people like that?’ People like ME?”
People are starting to stare in the booths around us, and our waitress is shooting us a look that is less than amused.
“You know what I mean,” I say, immediately putting my foot in my mouth. I know I’m coming across as a brat, but I don’t ever want to hurt her. “I didn’t mean it like that, Olive.”
She looks noticeably hurt. She purses her lips and just shakes her head at me as she begins to stand up.
“I’ve spent our entire friendship putting you on a pedestal, Sloan. Telling you that you have so much going for you, that you’re a good person, pushing you to finish school, standing behind you no matter what choices you make. You constantly drill me to have confidence in myself, that you don’t think you’re better than me, that you would never judge me, but right this second, I think you’re full of shit. You’re just an entitled brat.”
“And you don’t care about anything but dick. I’ve spent our entire friendship watching you jump from guy to guy and trying to keep my mouth shut. Obviously you’re going to take his side. It’s not the first time you picked a guy over me. For all I know, you guys have been fucking since the day we broke up. Knowing your track record, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
I know I’m talking like a crazy person. Internalizing what she’s saying isn’t making this any easier.
“You’re disgusting,” she says, staring into my eyes, grabbing her purse from the stool. “Maybe I’m brutally honest, but you’re just plain hurtful. Just because you hate yourself doesn’t mean you have to drag us all down to your level. Have a nice life with your ‘people,’ Sloan. I’m perfectly happy with mine.”
She storms off, not even looking back, and I make zero effort to stop her.
I one hundred percent know she’s right.
I one hundred percent know I’m just being hateful because I’m mad at myself.
I don’t feel like groveling right now. Just wading around in self-pity. Wading around in my self-created misery just like I have so many times in the past. It doesn’t matter.
Her words are exactly what I needed to hear to solidify the choice I need to make, and pushing her as far away as possible was a perfect way to do that. When you cut ties with the only person you have left that cares about you, THEN you’re totally free. And that’s really what I need. I’ll never be able to move on from this chapter in my life until I have nothing left to lose, and sitting in this crappy diner all alone, I realize, I really have nothing left.
The tears sting my face, not because I’m sad for myself, but because I hate hurting my best friend. The waitress comes over and drops my check, and I slink out of the diner, head hung low. I walk out into the cool evening air, reality hitting me of how truly alone I am in this world, and it’s all my own doing.
Chapter 33
Sloan
“It’s the big day,” Dr. Peterman says. I’m dressed in the best clothes that twelve dollars can buy from the thrift store, my fitted slacks long enough to cover my worn-out work clogs. I actually styled my hair and put on a professional and respectable amount of makeup. Today we are meeting with the board of directors at the hospital to hear their final decision about bringing me in full-time as a trauma surgeon so I can work side by side with Doctor Peterman until he retires.
I wish I could say I was more excited, but the feeling in my gut isn’t joy. It’s terror and anxiety. The feeling that this meeting could result in me settling for a life I didn’t choose for myself.
Sure the money will be great. I’ll have a chance to help people every day, which has always been my original intention. I’ll have security. I’ll have safety.
I’ll also have isolation, and definitely lots of regret.
“Dr. Peterman,” I barely manage to squeak as we stand outside the boardroom, “I need to talk to you about something.”
“Sloan, relax,” he says. “It’s a slam dunk. You have nothing to worry about.”
“It’s not that.”
Before I can say anymore, the door swings open. I’m greeted with a roomful of the most respected members of the hospital’s board. People who I have spent the last seven years trying my best to appease, trying to prove that I am the best at what I do and that I belong in their program.
I feel dizzy, my knees buckling. Dr. Peterman grabs me under my armpit, propping me back up.
“Dr. Sullivan,” the woman says kindly. “I’ll make this quick, because I can tell you’re anxious. We came to our conclusion and we want to welcome you to the hospital as a full-time trauma surgeon. We would be so fortunate to have you with us.”
I take a deep breath, trying to talk myself out of the decision I’m going to make.
“Congratulations, Sloan!” Dr. Peterman says. “You can celebrate now.”
The grave look on my face doesn’t fade.
“I’m sorry. Everyone,” I say, making sure everyone in the room can hear me. “I’m sorry for wasting your time. I’m going to have to respectfully decline, though.”
“What the hell, Sloan? After all I’ve done for you?” Dr. Peterman says, his voice dripping with disappointment. “Do you understand what a big mistake you’re making? This is career suicide!”
“Dr. Peterman, I’m eternally thankful for everything that you’ve done for me. For pushing me and having faith in me. For teaching me so many things about how to handle a traumatic situation and fix it without thinking twice. For putting up with the pile of baggage I came to you with. I owe you so much. But right now, a big mistake sounds like just what I need.”
“I don’t understand. I thought you wanted this more than anything in the world.” He looks genuinely disappointed, and it hurts my heart to let him down. I will truly miss spending time in the operating room with him.
“I thought I did too, Dr. Peterman, but my world is so small and I need to do something about that. Maybe I have no idea what I want yet because I haven’t experienced it yet. I need some time to figure that out.”
He wraps his arms around me, hugging me close to him. It’s the first time in seven years he’s ever done that and the tears start flowing once again. I’ve never seen him as a human before, just my superior, my idol even. At this very moment, though, he feels more like the fat
her I never had than anything.
“So what’s your game plan, Sloan? What’s your next move?” he asks.
“I’m going to go be indecisive for a while. No game plan. No next move.”
“Well if you ever need a letter of recommendation or you feel like filling in for me while I’m on vacation, let me know. I’ll do my best to pull some strings. I’m very proud of you either way. Putting up with me for seven years through your residency and fellowship was no easy task. Neither is the lifestyle of a trauma surgeon. And you weren’t even getting paid to do it.”
“It was worth it,” I say sincerely. I might not have a dollar to my name, but I do have a lot of letters after it, including MD and F.A.C.S. I’m sure some day they will come in handy. “Well, I better go track down Carol and tell her the news,” I say to him. “I’m gonna miss that woman.” It’s true. She’s the closest thing to a mother I’ve had in years, but she acted more like the cool aunt who would promise not to tell your parents she found your weed as long as you promised to share it with her.
I catch her in the hallway, doing her rounds. She’s absolutely beaming when I approach her.
“Good news travels fast!” she says, hugging me tight. “I’m so glad I get to keep you here with me forever.”
I don’t hug her back. I just rest my head on her shoulder.
“What is this all about?” she asks. “Did they fuck you over? I swear I will walk out right now.”
“No, Carol,” I assure her. “They were very kind.”
“Did you get another job offer somewhere?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“You lost your damn mind, didn’t you?”
“Maybe,” I sigh. “I just need some time to figure out what I want to do with my life. This is really all I know. Is that stupid?”