by Lauren Runow
“I’m impressed. Still can’t believe I got your name wrong. First time that little game didn’t work out for me fully. Please tell me Angie isn’t your real name. Give me some kind of hope.”
I close my eyes, smiling but nodding my head slightly. “Okay, I’ll give you that. Angie isn’t my birth name. I legally changed it years ago.” I can’t believe I just told him that. No one here in San Francisco, or hell, in California, knows that Angie isn’t my real name. For some reason, I felt comfortable enough in this moment to admit it.
“Okay, I feel a little bit better now, like I’m not a complete failure at my own game. But how did you know mine?”
“I was already trying to guess what it was before you even spoke. I guess I like to play little games, too.”
He laughs. “That doesn’t answer my question, though.”
“I looked at what you were wearing, how you walked, your body type, the fact that you carry a Vans backpack instead of a briefcase.” I pick up his backpack to prove my point. “Then, just like you, I paid attention and took a gamble. I guess you can say I’m good at reading facial expressions. You gave it away when your eye twitched slightly after I said Cole.”
“Nicely done. You just might be cut out for this lawyer thing after all. So do I get to know your real name?”
I shake my head. “Nope, sorry. To you and everyone else, I’m Angie.” I start to walk away but look over my shoulder. “No offense, though.”
I hear him chuckle as he says, “None taken. See you Wednesday, Mrs. Smith.”
I turn back again, giving him a quick smile before saying, “It’s miss.”
Chapter Two
Carter
“You did not beat level ten on Super Mario Brothers,” I say, throwing my arms up in mock disbelief, challenging Kyle, the eleven-year-old boy standing in front of me in the hospital rec room.
“I did! Look.” He demands my attention toward the screen mounted high on the wall inside the playroom within the hospital.
“But you said that was impossible just a few days ago.” I grab the beanbag from against the wall and sit next to him. “Show me.” I nudge him with my shoulder.
I watch as he takes a serious game-playing stance, eyes glued to the screen, moving the controller up with every jump his character makes.
Seeing the enjoyment on his face lights up that dark spot in my heart. Working at UCSF Medical Center has changed me, both for the better and the worse. Seeing the fight in this kid’s eyes keeps me going every day. Even when he knows his life is limited, he keeps a good attitude and plays, knowing that today might be the last if he doesn’t find a donor soon.
After I sit with him for a few minutes, I nudge him again. “Hey, any chance I can get you to your room for a quick exam?”
He lets out a deep sigh. “Do we have to?”
“It’s either with me while I’m on duty or who you refer to as Nurse Ratchet,” I reply, tilting my head in question.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he says, acting all official. “You race me in Need for Speed, and if you win, you can examine me.”
I squint my eyes in his direction, trying to appear intimidating as I say in a villainous voice, “You’re on.”
He hands me a remote, and we get down to our game. The cars fly around the track as the police try to catch us. He knocks me off the track, but I steal the wrench he needs to fix his car.
We’re on the last loop, and I purposely throw the game by missing my turn and running hard into the wall.
As he crosses the finish line, he jumps up, throws the controller on the ground, and screams, “Woohoo,” as he runs around the room. “I just beat Dr. Donovan!”
He’s high fiving the other kids and parents as he runs the length of the room, and I stand up, knowing this is probably too much, and he’s going to crash soon.
I was right.
His face goes pale, and I race over to him.
“Hey, bud, enough celebration for today.” I pause to look into his eyes, making sure he’s okay before continuing, “Didn’t your parents ever teach you it’s not nice to gloat?” I tease, trying to ease the situation and not make a huge deal so he can enjoy his moment.
I walk him to a wheelchair and guide him into the seat as he says, “You lost fair and square. Now write it.” He points to the board at our running tally of games and winners.
I don’t throw every game, just ones I can tell need to happen. This poor kid is not doing well, and I want him to have better days in any small way I can help. Medically, this is our last hope, so yeah, I let him win a game here and there.
“Come on, can I walk you back to your room?” I ask, leaning down so I’m eye to eye with him.
“But I won! No exam needed,” he fights back.
“Yeah, well, next time, don’t run around the room, and I won’t force the subject. You and I both know you might have passed out there in the end, and now I’m forced to play the doctor role.”
“Damn doctor,” he deadpans.
I eye him, questioning his use of language.
“Damn is not a bad word. I hear my dad say it all the time,” he states matter-of-factly.
I laugh while starting to roll his chair, disregarding his statement and guiding him back to his room to check his vitals.
These kids have become my life. I never planned on being a pediatric oncologist, but when the residency at UCSF came up, something called to me, so I applied. When I got in, I knew this was where I needed to be.
Becoming a doctor was a dream of mine for years, and when I got a scholarship to UCLA, I knew all my dreams were going to come true. It was the opportunity of a lifetime to get out of our middle-of-nowhere town and make something of myself.
Living in San Francisco is so different than the small Minnesota town I grew up in. It took a little getting used to, but I’ve grown to love it here. Well, I guess I should say I’ve grown to love the hospital. Outside of here, I don’t have much of a life, just my one friend, and my one hobby. That’s enough for me.
As I listen to Kyle’s heartbeat, I look up into his eyes. They’re slightly glazed over. He’s tired, too tired for a kid who should be running around in the park, playing soccer, and developing his first crush.
A nurse comes in with his daily meds, so I rough his hair around and say goodbye. We exchange our secret handshake; one we developed together a few weeks ago when he wouldn’t even let me examine him.
Sometimes, the sickest ones become the weariest. It took a little while to earn his trust, let him know I wasn’t here to just stick a needle in his arm and turn him into a lab rat.
I care. Maybe I care too much. Who knows.
I write down my notes regarding Kyle’s near-collapse to his checkup and leave it at the nurse’s station. Looking at the large clock on the wall, I see my shift is over. I should get some sleep, but I opt to do one more round and say goodnight to the kids.
My life is great except for the one thing missing. I glance at the inside of my wrist and the reminder of what was once mine.
Chapter Three
Evangeline
Sleep is something that eludes me. I blame it on the curse of being female. I wish I could shut my brain off like a switch but not tonight. One thought leads to the next, and before I know it, I’m wracking my brain, wondering how I got to my current thought only to end up backtracking to how I ended up where I did.
All when I should be sleeping.
Tonight is one of the worst nights because somehow I ended up thinking about him—Carter.
He keeps sneaking into my thoughts ever since the other day when Kaitlyn tagged me in that photo. It’s been ten years since I left my life and started over. I’ve been tempted so many times to search for him, but I’ve always fought the urge. Now that I know he’s out there, I feel like everything’s changed.
I haven’t even turned on Facebook for that reason. I’m terrified to go down that road, relive those memories, reveal those truths.
“Le
t’s get out of here.” I feel his breath against my skin as he whispers into my ear. His hands run down my arms, and he folds them around mine.
I look around the field of open tailgates and all of our friends hanging out, partying under the shine of the moonlight. Kaitlyn gives me a knowing smile before grabbing our friends, Tammy and Liz, to leave us alone.
Carter and I have been together for about a month, and even though he’s leaving for college in a few months, we’ve been getting closer and closer every day. We just get each other. I’m the crazy one who’s breaking him out of his shell, and he’s the calm one who keeps me in line; well, sometimes. We’re quickly learning that we complete one another and bring out the best traits in the other person.
While I may be the outgoing girl, who does and says whatever she likes when the crowd is around, with him I’m…different. I don’t feel like I have to be on at all times. Sometimes it’s nice to sit back and just exist.
We can hang out, just talking for hours. I listen to his stories, and by the end of the night, I’m curled up in his arms, right where I belong.
I like it. I like him.
Turning to give him my full attention, I ask, “What do you have in mind?”
“Me, you, on a blanket under the stars down by the lake.”
“Do you now?” I wrap my arms around his neck. “And you think I’m gonna follow you down there, just because you asked?”
“Will it help if I say please?” He raises his eyebrows as his lips show a hint of a smirk.
My head falls back in a laugh. “You’re too cute. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I do. So, what do you say?” He looks me right in my eyes as he lifts his hand to tuck a stray hair behind my ear. “I don’t want to if you don’t want to.”
“What if I say I want to?”
“Then I say let’s get out of here.” He leans down and meets his lips with mine as he picks me up and slowly walks me back to his truck.
This is it. We’re bringing this relationship to the next level, and when I look back at him, I have no doubt that I’m ready for this. For him. For us.
Fuck me! I rise out of bed and tug on the roots of my hair.
I can’t. I can’t do this to myself.
Not again.
Before I change my mind, I pick up my phone, click on the Facebook app, and delete my account. That part of me is dead. Who I was back then is long gone, and I can never go back.
I walk into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face, waking myself up from the dreams that plague me even when I’m wide awake.
Running my hands down my cheeks, I assess myself in the mirror. The blue eyes staring back at me are from that same girl who fell in love with a boy in the back of a pick-up truck. But the soul behind them is older, wiser…scarred.
I let out a long surge of air from deep within my lungs. I vowed never to lose another moment dwelling on the pain.
With a smile, I look at the new Angie reflecting back at me. The me of today.
“No more dwelling,” I tell myself. “And no more memories.”
“Kamii girl, what you got for me today?” I ask as I walk into her office without knocking. We gave up formalities a while ago, and I love how easygoing she has become. Today doesn’t look like her day, though, and when she looks up tears spill from her eyes. “Why the tears?” I walk faster to her desk and try to comfort her.
“Stupid hormones.” She laughs. “I was looking at the calendar, realizing I’m only a few weeks out, and I don’t have anything ready.”
I’m still shocked to see the huge belly pushing out from Kamii’s little body. I can’t help but smile every time I see her. Not even a year ago she was a workaholic, quiet, keep to herself, kick-ass attorney, and now, she’s everything she never was—except the kick-ass attorney part. She amazes me at every turn.
She’s getting ready for her next case, only this one doesn’t need to be solved, and there’s no owner’s manual attached. I can tell she’s a little freaked out about her baby girl arriving soon, but I know with Preston’s help she’ll do just fine.
“But what about the baby shower? You got a ton of stuff from everyone at the firm,” I remind her.
“I have no clue what to do with all of it. It’s all still sitting in the nursery. I’m a wreck.”
I grab a tissue and hand it to her. “You’ll be fine. Don’t stress. What can I do to help?”
She looks up like a light bulb went off in her head with the best idea she’s ever had, and now I’m scared. I don’t know why I offered to help. I’m happy for Kamii, especially with her past, but I’ve tried my hardest not to get involved in anything related to her pregnancy.
“We don't have anything on the schedule today, do we?” she asks with a devilish grin.
Well, crap. “Um.” I look down at the notebook I’m holding, praying something magically appeared without my knowing it. “Nope, we sure don’t,” I say with a little fear in my voice that I’m trying to hide.
“Yay! We can set up the nursery and have a total girly day.”
Shit. First I see Carter on Facebook and now this? Why is life torturing me this way?
Kamii looks so hopeful. I know I can’t say no, but I don’t know if I can do this.
Looks like I don’t have a choice, though. Not waiting for my reply, she gets up and grabs her purse. “Come on, this is just what I needed today. I guess they call it nesting. I don’t understand all of this, but having you there will be fun.”
I grin, doing my best to fake my excitement as we walk out of her office, grab my stuff, and head to her house. This might just push me over the edge.
Carter
I hate this Throwback Thursday hashtag. If I wanted to relive those days, I would. I don’t need Facebook reminding me of it weekly. That was another time, another world that I’ve fought hard to find again but have never found.
Funny enough, Cole, someone I met years ago when I was trying to find my past, is the only real friend I have now. He was volunteering at the student law center when I went in to research my options. After helping me a few times, we ran into each other at a bar and started to hang out from there.
About a year ago, he brought me into a club—a secret club—that is helping me finally move on from my past.
He’s way more outgoing than I am, and we tend to stick together when we’re there. Not that we’re into each other in that way, it’s just more fun to watch one girl with two guys. The way their bodies react and they lose their minds gets me off more than I’ll ever be able to explain.
And it’s enough for me.
That’s why Club Bridge has been exactly what I needed in my life; the one thing that provides the perfect distraction.
But this picture on Facebook that I can’t seem to get out of my mind is taking everything away from me.
I saw it the other morning, commented, but then shut it as quickly as I could, not wanting to feel the ache I always get when I see her there. There were twelve people in the photo, and of course, only ten were tagged. I’ve looked everywhere for her, but it looks like Kaitlyn hasn’t found her either. I didn’t bother looking at who else was tagged, just saw that the number was lower than eleven, so I didn’t bother.
Against my better judgment, I put on Falling Inside the Black by Skillet. The song has been my go-to when I’m in a funk caused by her. Where women put on sad, sappy songs to listen to, I put on this. It describes my situation so much and makes me feel like I’m not crazy still holding onto all this pain and resentment. Tonight, though, I feel like a complete glutton for punishment, and I do one better than the song—I pull up the photo again. This time, though, I notice there are only nine people tagged now, instead of ten.
The thought makes my insides clench from the unknown. I couldn’t imagine that she’d been tagged and somehow, I didn’t know. It was torture to think I had her that close and hadn’t paid attention.
I start my search all over again. Checking for her name first and
then going through every single one of Kaitlyn’s friends. After an hour, the strain in my neck hurts just as bad as the pain in my heart. I wonder if I’ll ever find her.
Staring at the photo, I wonder how much she’s changed. If it’s anything like I have, I wonder if I’d even recognize her. I’ve changed a lot since that photo was taken. I was still a scrawny, twig of a boy, shocked that my crush for all those years was finally giving me the time of day.
After high school, I grew a few more inches and spent a lot of time at the gym to get my frustrations out. I can easily say I’m twice the size I was then. The mop on my head was longer compared to the buzz cut I sport now, and of course, I didn’t have any of the tattoos then. The one thing that hasn’t changed, though, is the tattoo on the inside of my wrist. No matter how much shit Cole has given me over the years for it, I’d never change anything about it. It’s the only tie I have left to her.
The sight of it catches my attention, and instantly, I close my eyes, taking a deep breath when I’m brought back to that night. It was so perfect. We were perfect. She said we’d be together again, and this tattoo would represent the starting line one day. She winked at me when she said that, and I wonder if she already knew. The thought pisses me off. I stand up, running my fingers through my hair and down my face before grabbing my keys to head out for the night. Thankfully, it’s Thursday, and the club is open.
I only attend on Thursday and Saturday nights. Friday the club has more of a BDSM atmosphere, and that’s not my thing, so I stay away.
I send a quick text to Cole to make sure he’s on his way as well. I don’t have to have him there. I’m just in the mood to blow some steam, and he’s the one who puts all the effort into lining someone up for us. I get to stand back and not talk much but get to participate in the fun.
The women like the mystery of it all, so I run with it. Whatever gets them off, gets me off, so I’m not one to complain.