Chapter 7
I t’s mornings like this, that I wish dawn came with amphetamines. I drag my lifeless body out of bed, peering out at the still navy-blue sky. I’ve slept in the guestroom here before countless times, but this is different. Suddenly this room is my new home away from home.
Home. What the hell is that anyway?
I can’t go home.
I can’t look at my former fiancé.
At least not without being arrested for murder one.
But it’s Monday. Robot stage IV endometriosis day. I’ve studied this case inside and out. Learned all the techniques. My hands are itching to get going and I know, I fucking know, I’m going to slay this surgery. Because it’s what I do best. Medicine.
Who needs love when you have passion in your careers?
I shower, slip into a pair of scrubs that Carter brought me, ignoring the fact that he packed dozens of matching bras and panties, and walk out into the kitchen.
Carter is leaning against the island, his dark brown hair damp from the shower and he’s wearing matching light blue scrubs to mine.
He’s drinking coffee out of a mug that says , I like my coffee on the dark side , while reading something on his tablet and munching on a piece of toast.
Carter Fritz does gimmicky mugs? Didn’t see that one coming.
“Nice mug.”
He takes a sip right on cue. “Ten guesses who got it for me.”
I only need one. “Luca.”
He shoots me with his finger. “You got it. He also got me one with baby Yoda on it that says Small But Mighty.”
Luca is one of his older brothers. A twin but night and day from his counterpart, Landon.
You’d never, and I mean ever, know that Luca was a closet Star Wars nerd if you weren’t on the inside.
Luca is the sexy bad boy player you read about in your romance novels.
A total heartbreaker. Just ask the woman he left behind.
“Can I have that mug?”
Carter smirks. “You don’t want the one where the handles are actually Princess Leia’s buns?”
“Are we talking ass cheeks or hair?”
Carter chokes on his sip of coffee. “Hair. Fuck.” He wipes his chin with a napkin. “Drink this.” He pours coffee into a random, totally un-nerdy mug before sliding it in my direction. I’m insanely disappointed. “Are you ready for the case this morning?”
“No. I spent all night filing my nails before polishing them hot pink and sprinkling them with matching glitter. If I chip one during this surgery, I might go postal.”
“Are you okay?”
I grin, taking a sip of my coffee, leaning casually against his island. I am so not okay. I’m living with Carter Fritz and my fiancé is a cheating swine of a man. “Perfect. Right as rain.”
His dark eyes fly up to mine like he’s calling bullshit, but then he gives me a smile that elicits butterflies in women the world over. Myself included. Not the best reaction to have to your new roommate especially when vulnerable is your new middle name and playboy is his.
“You look it.” I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not, but I don’t get the chance to ask as he throws something at me that I instinctively catch. “It’s an extra key fob to use with the code for my condo so you don’t have to bother the doorman every time you want to come up.”
I blink at him, at a loss for words. “Does this mean you’ll allow me to have gummies in the cabinet instead of hiding them in my room?”
“No. Never.” He cringes with an exaggerated shudder. “If I see anything resembling a gummy bear or worm in this kitchen, I’ll kick your pretty ass out onto the streets.”
Pretty? I wasn’t even sure Carter Fritz knew I was female. And simply because I’m a wounded bird, I preen at that. Annoying flutter in my belly and all. That’s all that is. Nothing more. The fact that he looks like a Roman god, all tall, muscular, and gorgeous, has no effect on me whatsoever.
“Thank you,” I say softly with a smile I’m conflicted over. “You really came through for me, Carter. It’s weird being here with you since ninety percent of the time we’re together we’re at work and you’re yelling at me, but I’m so very grateful.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you’ll treat this place as your home and use it for however long you need. Don’t feel like you need to rush out on my account.”
I resist the urge to hug him, but it’s not easy. Knowing he’s genuinely good with me staying for however long I need to clear some of the headache that’s been plaguing me since I mistakenly showed up on his doorstep.
“Are you hungry?”
I shake my head. “I’ll eat after surgery. My stomach is still a mess.”
His eyes lock with mine. “You’re going to be okay, Grace.”
“I am,” I agree, even if I’m not sure I mean it just yet. I’m hurting and raw and beaten down, but I’m not broken.
“You ready to get in then? We have a surgery waiting for us to kick its ass.”
“I’m ready,” I say, my smile spreading, probably to creepy decibels.
Carter takes the coffee I haven’t finished and pours it into a to-go mug.
He does the same with his and then we’re out the door together, walking the blocks to the hospital in subdued darkness.
We prattle on about work, our surgery, and I’m glad we can still be us after waking up and seeing him first thing, or sharing his space could be strained and awkward.
Typically, I run into work, but until I get myself into a new routine, I’ll have to find a new way to exercise.
I need exercise like I need air, coffee, and practicing medicine.
But more than that, exercise is essential to keeping me neurologically balanced.
I was diagnosed with epilepsy at the age of five.
A condition that grew infinitely worse once I hit puberty.
I was having multiple seizures every month right before my period.
It became like clockwork. Those improved dramatically when I started on Depo-Provera shots.
But it took me until the age of nineteen to learn how to keep my seizures in good control and until twenty-four for me to fully get my ass in gear and make all the necessary lifestyle changes.
Managing my epilepsy is something I’m fortunate to be able to do.
Many with epilepsy aren’t as lucky and despite medications and lifestyle changes, continue to have uncontrolled and unpredictable seizures. Just because I’m epileptic doesn’t mean I let it define me though. I live my life how I want, I just don’t do it stupidly.
Carter sips his coffee, obnoxiously and uncharacteristically quiet as we enter the building.
We make our way up to the surgical side of the labor and delivery floor and then without a word, Carter strolls off.
Just any other morning. Me, his resident; him, my attending.
I head for the locker room to get rid of my stuff.
Carter has an office. I don’t. Hashtag, job goals.
Once my stuff is stored, I walk over to the nurses’ station in the back of the pre-surgical area to check the OR schedule when Dylan, my intern approaches me with a big beaming smile.
“You should have told me.”
I blink at him. “Told you what? About the case this morning? I did. You’re scrubbing in to watch.”
He rolls his dark eyes at me. “No, girl. That it’s your birthday. Or is it your anniversary?”
“Huh?” I reply with a small laugh. “My birthday is in two weeks.”
“Then what’s with the flowers?” He points over to the opposite end of the nurses’ station and sure enough, there is the biggest bouquet of long stem red roses I’ve ever seen.
“They just arrived for you like ten minutes ago. I assume they’re from Tony, so it’s your anniversary then?
I had to bat fierce bitches away from grabbing the card like I was playing Whac-A-Mole. ”
I stare at them for a moment. They’re beautiful. Stunning really, but also… generic.
Thoughtless while being thoughtful at the same time.
I had gone all morning not thinking about him.
And with one stupid bouquet, everything comes flooding back.
His texts, begging me to forgive him. To call him.
To give him another chance. That woman’s words to her friends.
The things he did to her that he’s never done to me.
The other women I don’t even know about.
“It’s not my anniversary,” I whisper as I push past Dylan over to the flowers.
The fragrance of the roses hits me as I get closer, peppering the air with their sweetness.
Flowers are not allowed in this part of the hospital.
The scent can make people coming out of surgery and off anesthesia nauseated and since the pre-op area and the PACU are connected, I lift the heavy as sin glass vase and carry it back into the staff lounge—because again, no freaking office of my own.
As I set it down on the counter where the microwave and coffeemaker are, I take them in. Perfect. Each and every petal is perfect. He must have spent a small fortune on these. Especially, to have them delivered here at this time. And even though I don’t want to feel anything about this, I do.
Enraged.
Grasping the card in my hand, I pry it free from the plastic fork that was holding it up proudly, and stare down at the white paper unable to open it. I have this big surgery and then a day of delivering babies. I will not allow myself to be distracted with this.
Instead, I slip it into my scrub pocket and do my best to forget about it.
To pretend that it’s not burning a hole in the fabric where it rests, anxious to get at me and ruin my artfully crafted composure.
How dare he? Haven’t I suffered enough at his hand?
Does he truly feel a bouquet of roses will turn my heart back in his direction? Make me absolve him of his sins?
“Nice flowers,” Janet Johnson, a fellow third-year resident and bitch supreme, sneers as she saunters behind me like the room belongs to her.
It might. Her family is loaded. Not quite Fritz loaded, but I know for a fact her daddy paid her way here.
“Did your loser fiancé pick those up at Walmart for you?”
God, she’s such a condescending, entitled scag.
“Actually, the card says they’re from your father to me.”
“You’re such a cheap, useless—”
“Don’t you have a job to pretend you know how to do?” I cut her off, my back to her. I shouldn’t have snapped at her like that, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good. She seriously only got this job because her father has offered up millions to pay for a clinic, focusing on women’s health.
“I heard Carter’s giving you the robot. Does your fiancé know you’re sucking your attending’s dick for favors you don’t deserve and haven’t earned?”
“Uh-huh. Who do you think taught me how to take it so deep?” I smart, rolling my eyes as I do. I spin to face her, trying to get past her when she dips to the side, blocking my exit. “Move, I need to get to surgery.”
She steps into me again as I make another attempt at weaving around her, and seriously, this is not the time or the morning to start shit with me.
“I saw you walk in here this morning with Dr. Fritz. You think you’re his favorite because he knows you.
But I’m better than you in every way. You’re nothing now that I’m here.
Know this” —she juts a finger in my direction— “your time with him is over. I’ll make sure of it. ”
I make a show of rolling my eyes, this time so she can see. This chick is like a bad soap opera with her threats. I swear, every time she opens her mouth, it’s a new rendition of the same song, ever since she started here a few months ago.
“Knock yourself out, Janet. And while you’re at it, thank your daddy for the fun time and the roses for me, would ya? I have a patient to operate on.”
I plow past her without a second thought or a look back. Maybe if she spent half her time learning how to be a good doctor instead of a hateful wench everyone would be happy. As it is Dylan and I, along with the second years, have to pick up the slack from her doing a shitty job.
But right now, I can’t focus on her. Or her threats.
I have enough on my plate and Janet is the least of my problems.