by Steph Nuss
He ran out of the kitchen, and Julia and I chuckled to ourselves quietly.
“See,” she said, elbowing me, “you already have the perfect ice breaker topic to discuss with Max: superheroes!”
Ha! I shook my head with a smirk. “There are already too many damn superheroes to keep up with, I don’t need a guy who acts like one, too!”
***
On Saturday night, I was home alone in my Greenwich Village apartment that overlooked Washington Square Park. When I’d initially started looking for a place to live in New York, I’d thought about buying a penthouse. I could afford it, but I knew I didn’t need the space. I traveled so much for my job that I couldn’t commit to buying a house yet. The three-bedroom, three-bath apartment I rented now was equipped with state-of-the-art, stainless steel appliances, stellar views of the city, and a private rooftop lounge area. It was just enough space that when my parents visited the city, they stayed here instead of a hotel. That was another reason I hadn’t turned the place into a bachelor pad. The Barrs had given me a home when I needed one, so I outfitted my home in a way that welcomed guests. I personally didn’t do it; I’d hired an interior designer to come in here and work her magic. Comfortable furniture decorated the living room, with a flat screen TV mounted above the fireplace. I even had a dining table off to the left of the open concept kitchen, even though I almost always ate in front of the TV. A large gray area rug covered the solid oak floor, and throw pillows and blankets adorned the couch and recliner. I thought it was ridiculous to decorate the furniture, but the design lady cost a pretty penny, so I left her shit alone. In fact, I hadn’t touched or used most of the stuff in this place. Someday, I’d love to own a place like Harper’s, with enough space to raise a family and maybe even have a dog running around.
That was the goal anyway.
After a quick dinner of macaroni and cheese, I’d resigned myself to staying in the rest of the night. I’d finally worked up the courage to call the director of Secret Warriors 2. Dan Hagerman was a newcomer in Hollywood, but his talent as a director made it seem like he’d been doing the job for years. I’d gotten along with him well, but I’d watched him put some actors in their place. He didn’t tolerate any shit on set or off—another reason I’d put off contacting him about my community service hours.
I was possibly going to piss him off.
“What do you want, Waters?” he asked, answering my call.
“Dan!” I exclaimed nervously. “How have you been?”
“Great,” he deadpanned. “Seriously, what do you want? We’re not best friends, so I know you didn’t call to shoot the shit.”
I wonder who thought of shoot the shit.
“Waters, you’re wasting my time.”
I cleared my throat and continued. “Um, I was just calling to see exactly when we were supposed to start shooting?”
“Supposed to?” he questioned, his tone gruff. “We start shooting on the first of July. Why? Please don’t tell me you got more hours added to your community service, because I swear to God, Waters, I will find someone else to replace you. I have several people’s schedules I’m working around here.”
“No, no,” I urged, shaking my head. I pulled my iPhone away from my ear and opened the calendar app. I’d be a few days shy of completing my hours by the time we were supposed to start. Crap! “I didn’t get more hours added. I just wanted to make sure I’d have my hours completed by the time we were ready to start shooting.”
He sighed. “And will you?”
“I-I’ll be a few days shy of completing them.”
Silence greeted me on the other end of the call, and I prayed he’d offer to push it back a few days. I’d understand if he couldn’t, but that just meant I’d need to find a way to earn more hours.
“Max,” he said, his voice clear and resolute. “I can’t push the start date back. I have the whole cast and crew to think about, and they all have schedules they have to stick by. I also have a wife nagging me for a summer vacation. So, there’s no way I can push the date back, even a couple days, just for you. I hope you understand that.”
“Of course,” I said, resting my head on the back of my couch. Everything he said made sense, and I respected Dan for that. It was what made him a good director. He didn’t focus on just the main actors of the movie, he thought of the whole cast and crew. “I’ll figure out a way to earn some more hours, so you don’t have to replace me.”
“Good,” he said, relief evident on his end. “I didn’t want to have to worry about that on top of everything else. Plus, your replacement is bigger than you and it would be harder to size him down with the computers. It’s always easier to add muscle than take it away.”
“Ha ha,” I retorted, shaking my head. “You don’t even know anyone bigger than me who’s a better actor.”
“The Rock.”
“Okay, he is bigger than me.” I admitted, laughing. “But he’s not a better actor!”
“Eh, I don’t know,” Dan said, doubtful.
“Forget I called.”
He laughed. “See you in six weeks, Waters!”
We hung up, and a new wave of dread washed over me. Now, I had to figure out how to ask Whitley for more hours without sounding like a selfish asshole who just wanted to get back to work. Community service had been good for me thus far, and I looked forward to the next few weeks. But she lived for it. She probably woke up every day excited to come to work. She inspired the rest of the volunteers to enjoy it, too.
I just hoped I could make her see that I was one of the many she’d inspired.
Chapter Five
It was eight the following Monday when Sophie and I were starting our workday, which meant we were preparing paperwork and making sure the volunteers were all assigned to patients. Most of the volunteers weren’t here yet and we rarely had any other hospital staff visit our office—unless they either discharged a patient or the patient passed away—so when we heard a knock on our office door, we looked at one another in worry.
Sophie reached for a Kleenex, preparing herself as she muttered. “Please don’t let it be about a patient.”
“Come in!” I said in a shaky voice.
Max peeked his head into our small space, and Sophie’s anxiety immediately vanished.
“Max!” she exclaimed, waving him in. “What’s up?”
He smiled politely and closed the door behind him. “I was just wondering if you two had a second. I needed to ask you about my service hours.”
“Sure!” She relaxed back in her black executive chair and crossed her legs as she gave him her full attention.
My God, Sophie, I thought, mentally rolling my eyes at her. She went from worrying about a potentially dead patient to fan-girling over him in less than five seconds. Clearly, her morals left the office the minute Max opened the door.
“What about your hours, Max?” I asked skeptically, swiveling my chair toward him.
He took a deep breath and exhaled before leaning against the edge of Sophie’s desk.
Great. She’ll probably never clean that edge now because he sat on it.
“I was wondering if I could come back in the evenings to volunteer,” he started, eyeing both of us nervously. “The next film I’m in starts shooting in about six weeks, but I can’t go back to work until my community service is completed. So, I was hoping I could pick up some more hours either here at the hospital or somewhere else that welcomed volunteers.”
My blood boiled with his words. He’d barely been here a week, and already he was trying to find a way to get his service hours finished faster so he could get back to work. People were dying in this hospital, and he was more concerned about filming some movie.
Standing from my seat, I started to pace a small circle into the carpet of our office.
Sophie peered over at me out of the corner of her eye. Knowing I was on the cusp of exploding, she answered, “Well, unfortunately, the hospital’s volunteer services end at five o’clock on weekdays.�
��
“I’m open to volunteering on weekends, too,” he interjected.
She pursed her lips together and shook her head. “Volunteer services are only opened to registered nurses on the weekends.”
He nodded and then asked, “Whitley, would you happen to know of any other places in the city needing volunteers?”
His question stopped me in my tracks, and I turned on my heels to face him. He actually appeared hesitant, like he knew he’d poked the mama bear, the director running this place. His top teeth bit into his soft, pink bottom lip as his blue eyes stared back at me timidly. His uneasiness made me feel more confident. He knew he was on my turf in here. I closed the distance between us and came face-to-face with him.
“I’m sorry,” I snapped, shaking my head. “I’m still stuck on the fact that you’ve been here a week, and you’re already trying to figure out how to speed up this process. You’ve been helping sick people. Adults and children who may never leave this hospital. But you’re more concerned about your job, about filming another movie? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“I know how it sounds,” he said in a discouraged tone.
“Do you?” I pushed, never taking my eyes off him.
“Whitley …” Sophie insisted softly.
Max swallowed hard and broke eye contact with me. “I called the director and tried to get the start date pushed back, but he couldn’t do it. I’m not the only one working on the movie. There are hundreds of other people’s schedules to consider, and it’s selfish of me to ask the other cast and crew to work around my community service. So, yes, I’m asking for more hours so they can rely on me to fulfill the contract I signed. I was court-ordered to serve my hours, not them. They shouldn’t be inconvenienced because of my mistakes.”
Tension enveloped us as I clenched my teeth and held my head high. Sure, his unselfishness toward his coworkers was admirable, but what about the people here? Not once did he mention the people he’d helped in this hospital, and he’d become a favorite among some of the patients—not because of who he was but because of how he interacted with them. He was mandated to be here, so he hadn’t voluntarily signed up to help. But almost all of the people who served their hours here walked away with a renewed outlook, inspired to do more for others.
My stomach ached at the thought of him being able to walk away from here unaffected.
His eyes bore back into mine as he stood. “I know there are people here who may never get to leave again. There are little girls here that I’d drink imaginary tea with every day if it made them feel better. There’s an old man who’s practically talked me into buying a boat just because he had to sell his to pay for medical bills. There’s a teenage boy who will probably never get to live like a normal teenager. So, yeah, I know who I’ve been helping. I know how sick they are.”
Tears welled in my eyes at the mention of each patient I knew on a first-name basis, and I had to look away from him to keep them at bay.
He stepped closer and the deliciously warm, woodsy scent of his cologne wrapped itself around me, causing me to shiver. He leaned down so his lips were a breath away from my ear and said, “I’m not the selfish asshole you want me to be, Whitley. I used to be that guy, but I’m not anymore.”
Internally, I cringed. Was that what I was doing? Was I really hoping he would be an asshole, so it would offset his alarmingly good looks and charm and give me a reason not to like him?
Probably.
That sounded like something I’d do.
“The shelter!” Sophie interjected.
“Excuse me?” Max asked, turning toward her. “What did you say, Soph?”
Behind him, I adamantly shook my head at her and mimicked slicing her neck open with my hand.
“The Eichler Shelter,” she said in an enthusiastic voice, completely ignoring me. “It’s a homeless shelter. They’re always looking for volunteers to help cook and serve dinner every evening.”
“Great.” He peered back at me and I stopped my mimicking just in time to plaster on a fake smile. “Will that count toward my hours?”
Before I could lie and say no, Sophie beat me again. “Yep! You can log those hours with us, too.”
“Perfect. I’ll check it out.”
“You should go on Fridays,” Sophie continued. “Friday nights are when they need the most help. You know, the start of the weekend and all.”
“That makes sense.” He nodded and shot her a wink. “Thanks, Sophie. I really appreciate it.”
She blushed. “Anytime!”
Oh, please!
Max’s lopsided grin greeted me as he reached for the doorknob, but before he left, he leaned into me again and chuckled. “You know, you’re even more attractive when you snap at me over helping others. Congratulations, you’re the first woman to get mad at me for that.”
“You can go now,” I sneered, pushing him away from me.
A real, honest laugh rippled from his chest and followed him out of the office as he left the door open behind him. Repeating his words in my mind, I was unable to move. I couldn’t remember the last time a guy complimented me for feeling strongly about something, or the last time I’d felt such a strong, chiseled chest beneath my hands.
“You’re welcome!” Sophie sang.
I groaned loudly. “Why did you do that? You know Zane and I help out at the shelter every Friday night. I was kind of hoping the two of them would never meet.”
It was Sophie’s turn to roll her eyes at me. “Oh, come on! Haven’t you dreamed of meeting one of your favorite celebrities?”
“No,” I argued, “because my favorite celebrity is dead.”
She sighed. “Oh, really? And who might that be?”
“Princess Diana.”
She stared at me, her eyebrows raised in disbelief.
“What?” I shrieked. “She did a lot of good for others!”
“She also suffered from bulimia, and she married a prince who cheated on her.”
I countered with a nod. “And despite all of that, she rose above and gave back to those in need.”
“Well,” she started, “I’m sorry you’ll never get to meet her, but you’d be the coolest mom ever if you introduced Zane to one of his favorite movie stars.”
“I think I’m already a—”
“Honey, no,” she quipped, shaking her head. “Only our children can validate our level of coolness, and Zane isn’t here.”
“Ugh!” I closed the door to our office, flung myself back into my chair, and went back to doing paperwork.
Sophie pulled her iPhone out of her purse and laughed to herself. “I can’t wait to tell Julia about this! She’s going to love the part where he said you turn him on!”
I groaned again. “He did not say that!”
“He totally wants you!” she sang as she typed out a text message.
No, he doesn’t!
***
Hours later, I started making my rounds. I routinely visited all the patients enrolled in the Volunteer Services Program, making sure the volunteers were actually doing their job. When I first started, we had a handful of volunteers who thought they could come in here and watch TV with their patient for eight hours a day. Not on my watch. The patients could watch TV whenever they wanted. They needed a friend, someone to take their mind off of the fact that they were in the hospital. So, I liked making sure our volunteers were making their days better. I also liked knowing our volunteers had everything they needed to provide these services such as games, access to Wi-Fi, food, drink, toys, and any other items the patient may request.
Entering the pediatric wing, I felt my heart tighten in my chest. This wing always affected me the hardest. My maternal instincts kicked into overdrive and just wanted to mother all the children here. I could spend all day in this wing, caring for all the tiny humans, which was why I always made it my first stop so that didn’t end up happening.
Joelle Bower was a six-year-old girl undergoing treatment for a tumor found in her temp
oral lobe. She’d been in and out of the hospital since she was two. Both of her parents worked full-time jobs and couldn’t afford to take off with medical bills piling up, so they enrolled her in the Volunteer Services Program to make sure someone was always with her. They’d had reservations at first, as most parents do when leaving their child with a stranger, but I reassured them that my volunteers would brighten Jo’s day. She was our youngest patient enrolled in the program—another reason she was always the first stop on my rounds.
Turning the corner, a smile spread across my face as I peeked into her room. Her favorite stuffed animal sat at her four-top, kid-sized table, with a teacup sitting in front of it. She wore a summery scarf to cover her bald head, and costume jewelry hung around her neck. Seated in another chair at her play table was Max Waters. She’d clipped a pink bow into his short, naturally wavy hair, and had moved on to doing his makeup. A variety of makeup littered her table in front of Max. Charcoal eye shadow covered his eyelids as Jo brushed blush along his cheekbones. Neither of them saw me standing in the doorway, and I tried my best not to laugh as I watched her work her magic on Max.
“Now, do you want a red lip or a pink lip?” she asked, eyeing her lipsticks. “Mom won’t give me a darker shade. She doesn’t think a child needs to play with maroon, but I think you’d look better with a maroon lip.”
“Hmm,” Max contemplated, holding up the red. “Let’s go with the red then.”
Jo made a face and then she shook her head. “If we can’t go dark, we might as well make it look like you don’t have any on. We’re going with the pink.”
“Then why did you ask?” he asked, laughing.
Opening the tube of lipstick, she shrugged and smiled. “I don’t know. Now, hold still.”
She grabbed his chin and diligently applied the color to his lips. Jo’s mom was a senior financial analyst for Revlon. The woman could get makeup samples whenever she wanted, which worked out perfectly for Jo because she loved playing with makeup. She indulged in her daughter’s love for dress-up by letting her play with makeup, but always made sure Jo never used it on more than one person and always threw away the used materials after they were done. Volunteers who spent the day with Jo had to wash their face before leaving the hospital.