“I fucking snapped it back into place, my friend,” I say.
Summer holds her hand up, her smile lighting up the room. “High five?” I laugh again and slap my hand against hers. She smiles and sits down next to me, leaning over to whisper in my ear. “Has he... kissed you? Like he did that night? You can’t hide it from me. I know he never got over you.”
“He never had anything to get over. That’s all it was—just one kiss.” Summer winks and opens her mouth, likely to give me more shit about Josh coming back around. But before we can talk anymore, our pagers start going off.
“Shit,” she says. “Come on, let’s go.”
“But you’re about to go home, right?”
“Nope, just starting. You’ve got sixteen hours to answer questions about Josh and I swear—” The pagers buzz again, and Summer pulls me up. I sigh, and she marches me out of the door and down the hall like I’m her personal wind-up toy. “I’ve got a bad feeling I know what this is about, since I think it’s Marcy who’s paging us in particular.”
“Crap. Summer, you know I don’t do fighters. Marcy knows it too.”
“You’ve got an area of expertise that Marcy already knows about. And we’re also not going to go mouthing off to the police—”
“The police? What the hell? I’m training to be an OB, and I keep getting pulled into this bullshit. That’s what I get for coming to a tourist hospital.”
“Yes, it’s what you get.” She pushes me down the hall and straight toward trauma room ten, where the head resident always stashes the boys from Frank’s club. I’ve studiously avoided Marcy’s calls to stitch up fighters since I got back to town, and it’s been quiet on the fighter front for the last few weeks—probably since Frank told them to stay away. My stomach drops, and I think of Josh, bruised and beaten, cradling his left arm even as he fell to my floor.
“Plus, is this really my ‘area of expertise?’”
“Sneaking around and getting a fighter stitched up? If the shoe fits... Didn’t you used to do that for Josh when you were home from nursing school?”
“I was stupid to do it then, stupid to do it now.” I flush again at the mention of his name, the memory of his lips crisp in my mind. All those nights when I helped him, stitched him up, got him ready to go back to the club—wasn’t I just sending him back into the fire? Was I doing the same thing now? I stop in my tracks, and Summer has to push me to the door of trauma room ten. When I walk inside, I’m transported back in time—before us sits a kid, not much older than eighteen, if that. He has a laceration on his cheek bone, a cracked and bloodied nose that’s likely broken, and the telltale marks of razor blade cuts along his forehead and upper torso.
Summer picks up the kid’s chart. “What do we have here? Looks like we’ve got a fighter, right? What’s your name, kid?”
“Cole,” he says and looks down to the gash on his arm.
“Are you eighteen, Cole?” I ask as I check his vitals. The kid nods, though I’m not sure if I believe him. It’s not like he’s going to provide ID, and the very fact that he’s at the hospital at all tells me that he doesn’t have another option, no parents to go home to. He’s likely one of the runaways that Frank coerced into fighting for him, racking up mythical “debts” that never seem to end. It was one thing to be a pro fighter. It was something entirely different to fight in Frank’s cage, without hope of a future, likely addicted to some drug or juiced to hell on steroids. When I look at Cole, I see a younger version of Josh looking back at me—the kid who ran away from home, the kid seeking glory that will never be real.
“All right Cole, let’s take a look at what you need.” Summer touches his arm tenderly, looks at the bandages slapped on in the emergency room. My guess is that Marcy got him the hell away from the E.R. as soon as she could. Word has probably spread that police are coming around—but it’s not the police everyone is afraid of, it’s Frank. Summer looks at the kid’s nose, touching it gently on the side. Cole doesn’t even flinch, his shocked gaze locked on the wall in front of him.
“The nurse got you the good drugs, right Cole?” I ask. Cole nods and looks at me, but it seems like he’s looking through me instead of at me.
“I’ve seen worse,” I say, looking at Summer. “But we need plastics to take a look at his nose. I don’t want to touch this—”
“You got Josh’s shoulder back into place,” she says. “Why not this? It’s just a nose. We can’t have other doctors snooping around. Marcy trusts us. Her brother fights for Frank. We have to get Cole here stitched back up.”
“So we can send him on his way to get beat up again? I think it’s about time we inform the authorities—”
Summer cuts me off. “And risk Josh getting hurt—or worse?”
“Why would Josh get hurt if we tell the police?” I stare at Summer for a second, my brain not quite computing what I’m hearing. “I don’t even understand why we’re supposed to keep them away.”
“Because,” croaks Cole, “Josh is the one who’s getting us out.” Summer and I both look at Cole. My eyes go wide, and Summer glances at me, quickly looking away. Cole’s eyes move slowly between the two of us. “You’re his sister, right?”
“Stepsister,” I say. Summer sighs, so small I can barely hear it, but I know what she’s thinking.
“Yeah, he talks about you,” says Cole. His eyes move back to the point on the wall.
“Cole, this is important,” I say. “What’s Josh doing?” I look to Summer. “And why might he get hurt?”
“He’s getting them help,” Summer says. “Especially the young ones. Frank thinks Josh is itching to get the police involved. They’ve come to blows a couple of times.” She puts her hands on Cole’s shoulder. He looks at her and smiles weakly. “I thought you knew—I thought he’d tell you.”
“He got me clean needles,” Cole says. “And he helped me get off the steroids last year.”
“I can’t believe—”
“Believe it,” Summer says. “Why’d you think he still kept in touch with me? He told me not to tell you when you first got back, but seriously, I thought he would. I don’t know why he wouldn’t.” The pieces start to fall together in my mind, and my stomach drops. I knew Josh’s plan was foolhardy, likely idiotic, more than a little dangerous. But dismantling Frank’s system was dangerous.
“Well, okay,” I say. My nerves are rattled, that wired feeling coursing through my body again. “Cole,” I start, “Can you tell us what happened?”
“Frank had me fighting up a class.”
“Same thing with Josh,” I say. “Is that what he’s doing now?”
“Yeah, he said it makes for a good fight, said he’d pay me good if I won,” Cole says.
“But you didn’t win?” Summer asks. She starts cleaning the gash on Cole’s arm and goes through the same song and dance I did for Josh a week ago. Cole shrugs. I sigh heavily and take out a pen light. Sitting down on a rolling stool, I move my ass in Cole’s direction. I flash the light in his eyes quickly, trying not to let my thoughts go back to Josh and the madness he’s getting himself into.
“Follow the light, Cole.” His pupils dart in the right direction. Gently, I put my fingers on the bridge of his nose. “It’s broken, my friend. But you already knew that.” I turn to Summer. “You got anyone you trust in anesthesia?” Summer shakes her head. “Get me a local. We’re doing this old school.” Cole’s mouth drops open for a moment, and Summer squeezes his hand. I walk to the sink and scrub up while Summer fixes a syringe.
“We ready?” I say. Cole shrugs again, and Summer shoots the kid up with lidocaine, more or less in the right places.
“We’re good, Nat,” Summer says and stands back.
“All right,” I say, “We’re going to all count to three together, and then I’m going to get your nose back into place. I’ve done it for Josh twice before, so I think we’re gonna be able to handle this one. Maybe.” Cole quivers and grips Summer’s hand. “All right... here we go. One...” I st
art.
“One,” Cole echoes. “Two...” I place my palms on either side of his nose and crack it hard.
“Oh fuck!” Cole shouts. “That wasn’t on three! Goddammit!” The blood starts to flow from his nostrils, and I hand the kid some gauze.
“Did the same thing for Josh. He never remembers that I go on two. He’s expecting one or three.” Cole smiles weakly. I feel the sides of his nose and he winces. “Good enough for government work,” I say.
“Don’t listen to her. It’s all good, Cole,” Summer says. “You’ll be fine.”
“Summer, you get the bridge of his nose until it stops bleeding.” Summer nods, still smiling, and grabs the bridge of Cole’s nose, probably harder than she should. I step back and take a look at my handiwork. The nose is more or less back in place, enough that we can get sutures in. I stitch up the cut at the top of his nose.
“That’s as good as we’re gonna get without any involvement from plastics.”
“I don’t need any more doctors knowing about this,” Cole says.
“We know. It’ll be okay. You got anywhere to stay?” Summer asks.
“Josh has me at a place with a former fighter. He’s taken in a few people,” says Cole. I nod, and I wonder why Josh hasn’t shared any of this with me. He’s been living in my house for a week, but as he pointed out to me today, he hasn’t even talked to me—not until today. And today, he had me distracted. There was no chance for any of this, but I wonder if he would ever tell me, if I was just a stop along the way, a place to ride out the storm in safety. I purse my lips together and pull my gloves off, my mind filing through the things Josh has told me.
There’s the big fight, with press, and recruiters, and people who book fights that aren’t dirty. He wants the money. That piece doesn’t surprise me, given Josh’s personality. Which is what? Do I really know anymore?
“Earth to Natalie,” Summer says. “You’ve gotta get to the E.R. for your shift.” She places a cool washcloth against Cole’s head and murmurs to him that it’ll be okay. For the first time, there’s a look in the kid’s eyes that accepts that it might just be okay.
And does Josh really have anything to do with that? Is the man itching to leave my apartment—to train, to recklessly damage his shoulder in the name of winning—a person I don’t even know anymore? The Josh I knew had his moments... but he was far more interested in women, and in booze.
I idly clean up while Dr. Summer tends to Cole like she’s a nurse. I roll my eyes. Our old candy-striping days are still part of us, no matter what our titles are now. Summer is thinking of specializing in pediatrics. I know she’s good with kids, but I hadn’t seen her with a teenager before—she’s like the abused kid whisperer. I guess all of our talents take us different places, places we weren’t sure we’d end up no matter how hard we tried.
I toss my gloves in the medical waste bin, waving at Summer before I shove the door open and walk down the hall to the E.R. It’s going to be another afternoon of dipshits, tourists and townies who come in with injuries from surfing or from partying too hard.
I float through the remaining hours of my shift, thinking of Josh and his plan as I trudge through the many sets of stitches, the broken arms, and the bouts of stomach flu. When I’m done, there’s a fluttery feeling in my stomach. I pause in the locker room as I strip out of my scrubs and put my baggy t-shirt and leggings combo back on.
Maybe I should borrow some makeup from Summer. Or hell, maybe I should buy a dress or something. I pull my hair up into a bun and look in the mirror, and then I let it fall back down over my shoulders. From a brief glance in the mirror, I see the dark bags under my eyes, the sallow look to my cheeks. I turn and look at my ass, wondering if Josh has noticed I’ve put on weight. Again, I think of the kiss—that consuming moment where I melted into him. If I hadn’t come to the hospital, I’d be in bed with him right now. My eyes pop open.
“I wouldn’t... would I?” I say to myself as I pick up my bag and walk out to the front entrance of the hospital. When I get to my car, I still don’t have an answer for my question. I’m usually patient, slow to act, thoughtful... but there was something about that kiss that made me want to throw caution to the wind.
As I drive across the causeway, the starry night sky opens up before me, rich with possibility. If Josh can be a new person, maybe I can be too. By the time I get home, the promise of dawn is on the horizon, and soon the red sun will be reflecting over the water. It’s not yet September, so the nights are still short, which is a blessing for doctors and nurses everywhere. I stumble up the steps, and the fluttering in my stomach becomes more intense, more present.
The hype of energy builds and builds in my body until I feel like I’m about to explode. It’s not all anxiety either—there’s heat gathering between my legs, a gentle pulse of need that I’ve denied for years. I stand in front of the chipped green door for a second, biting my lip before putting the key in the lock. Slowly, I turn the key... and it sticks. The door is already unlocked, and I push it open, my heart beating hard. I walk into the darkened house, expecting to see Josh draped over a chair in the background. But there’s nothing. Beatrice appears at the doorway of my bedroom and meows loudly, padding over to me and pushing her nose against my leg. I walk over and peer into my bedroom, Beatrice on my heels. I look down the hallway, but it’s empty and dark.
“Josh? You here?” My voice echoes through an empty home. I look around, and my heart drops. The surfaces of the coffee table and the kitchen tables are bare. There are no notes left, no explanations.
“Fucking asshole,” I mutter as I slump down onto the sofa. I bury my face in one of the cushions. It still smells like Josh from his nights sleeping here. My body pounds and pulses as I take in his scent. Tears come to my eyes and roll silently down my cheeks. I lie there for a long time and drift off into a fitful sleep.
When I wake, I sit up and wonder why I’m not angrier, why I’m just sad. I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me.
“He must have had a reason to leave,” I say to Beatrice. She’s curled up on top of my hip. Since Josh arrived, she’s refused to sleep with me, opting instead for the nook behind Josh’s legs. I guess she’ll have to settle for me from now on. I scratch Bee’s head and listen to her purr, again going over the parts of Josh’s plan that he shared with me. “He wouldn’t go without...”
But he would. And he did.
I close my eyes again and try to work up the anger I should feel. But instead, I sense the beginnings of worry in my chest, a pang of concern gnawing at my insides.
I get up and go through the motions of the day, but a part of me feels like it’s missing, like something essential has been amputated. I wipe down the tables where Josh left crumbs of yesterday’s breakfast, and I vacuum each room twice. Still, I feel drawn to Josh—to the gym, where I know he is. No amount of cleaning covers that desire, that pull I’ve felt since he arrived. But there’s a real life I’m living, a career I need to tend to, pieces of my life I need to put together before I can leave this place.
And if I leave, Josh will be left here, fighting his own battles.
Maybe that’s best for both of us.
I get out the Windex to start wiping down the windows, but instead, I stand in the middle of the living room for minutes—I don’t know how long exactly—and I wonder what the point of leaving would be, if my heart is drawn back here again and again, washing up on these shores without my permission.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
My heart beats hard as we ride along to the gym. I find myself wishing I was in Nat’s beat-up civic, heading out of this town once and for all. Instead, I’m in Ash’s pick-up truck. It smells like cigarettes—the one vice that Ash still sticks to. He says it helped him through rehab, that smoking saved his life even if it might one day end it.
“I owe the cigarette company a debt, Joshie,” he’d said when I first met him at Frank’s club. It was the day after I’d beaten up the kid, and I was hiding out in the
back of Frank’s gym, angry and undone.
Long Shot: An MMA Stepbrother Romance Page 12