Chapter 20
M y stomach grumbles as I step off the elevator, garnering me two looks and a giggle from a little girl.
I throw her a wink and then head for the sandwich shop off the lobby of the hospital.
I missed breakfast this morning, having run out of time after my run, and now I’m paying the price for it.
All around me, kids and their parents are coming and going.
Some looking miserable or anxious or scared, others laughing and smiling.
The large ball sculpture pings and dings and moves and I can’t help but smile as I catch a few of the kids marveling at it.
It is pretty awesome.
When I originally set out to be a neurosurgeon, pediatrics wasn’t high on my list of subspecialties.
But then I got shot by a father who was scared of his family being deported when I tried to help a mother who would do anything for her child.
Needless to say, my perspective on a lot of things changed and my life hasn’t been the same since.
Once I went back alone to Minnesota, without Raven or my heart with me, I threw myself into medicine.
More than I ever had. I convinced a pediatric neurosurgeon to let me pick up hours with her and by the time my residency was up, I had specialized in both pediatric—ages twelve to sixteen—and adult neurosurgery.
Because my goal, my vision goes far beyond this.
Yet another embarrassingly loud grumble, and I practically groan out an orgasm when I spot the café and realize there’s no line.
Only I’m immediately stopped in my tracks by my boss, Dr. Alvin Grosspotter, who the majority of my patients either call Dr. Harry Potter because of his English accent or Dr. Grosspooper.
It’s usually the second one and I’d be lying if I said the residents here didn’t refer to him as that too.
“Luca. Brilliant. I’ve been searching for you all morning.”
He also has one of those posh accents that almost seems overly exaggerated since I’ve traveled to England several times and know several English people—including Raven’s father—and none of them speak the way this guy does.
“Yeah, Alvin, just heading to grab a quick bite between surgeries.”
“And I won’t keep you, but I wanted to mention… you applied for the Treesprite Grant, yes?”
I shift my stance, glancing longingly over his shoulder back at the café. Dammit, a line is forming by the second. I turn back to him. “Yes. As did every neurosurgeon in the world, right? Why?”
“Because I received an email this morning from them, informing me you’ve been placed into the top twenty of potential candidates.”
My eyes shoot out of my head cartoon style as my heart picks up an extra beat. “I’m sorry. Did you just say I made it to the top twenty ?”
He chuckles, giving me a knowing grin. “I did indeed.”
I stare blankly at him for a moment as I run this through my head.
Because that goal, that vision I was just speaking to…
yeah. The Treesprite Grant has one winner every two years.
One year is spent somewhere in either Middle or South America.
The other somewhere in Africa. The location changes with each new grant term and this time it’s a remote village in Brazil and one in Ghana.
The point is to go out into the communities and provide free healthcare to people who otherwise wouldn’t have it.
Neuro healthcare at that. They also help local clinics and hospitals to improve care and teaching.
It’s highly competitive. Highly coveted.
And legit, one person every two years gets it out of every single neurosurgeon and neurologist in the world who applies, and let me tell you, everyone applies.
It’s the equivalent of winning the lottery on a global scale.
You buy a ticket, knowing you likely won’t win.
But I started applying when I was still a resident, knowing they wouldn’t pick me, but wanting the board to know how serious I am about this.
It’s no joke to me. Not some ego-trip, tossing my hat in the ring type of deal.
I was shot because that family was afraid of accessing healthcare. It shouldn’t be like that. For anyone. And if I can help deliver and educate and enhance healthcare for those who need it most…
Which gives me a second round of pause.
“Are you telling me I have a one in twenty shot of getting this?”
“Yes. And think of the publicity for not just you, but for the hospital.”
But when he says that, all I’m hearing is Abbot-Fritz.
I’m only a second year attending. They saw my last name and that’s why I’m even in the running.
It sucks as much as it’s incredible. Welcome to my life.
Never knowing if something you’re getting is earned or gifted because your family name is famous and you’re worth a bazillion dollars.
But…
“Wow.”
That’s where I end because something catches my eye. Or should I say someone? Nope, there are two people who catch my eye. The first is my brother, Kaplan. The second is the stunning raven-haired beauty sitting across the table from him.
What the absolute motherfuck is Kaplan doing eating lunch with my girl?
He must see me because he smirks right at me before turning back to her and saying something. I stare. I watch. I clench my fists as he throws away the remains of her lunch and helps her up with his hand. Why is he touching her?
What the fuck is going on?!
“Luca, did you hear me?”
I flash back to Alvin just as Kaplan and Raven leave the café, his arm over her shoulders. He spins her around in his arms, cups her face in his hands, and says something that has her hugging him. HUGGING HIM!
“Luca!”
“Yes. Great. Awesome. I’m beyond excited.”
I turn back to Raven and Kaplan just in time to see him kiss the top of her head and then she blows him a kiss as she walks away.
I’m done. Toast. Never in my life would I have expected this.
Alvin Grosspooper is still blathering on but who gives a fuck?
It’s not like I’ll actually win the Treesprite Grant.
Kaplan is walking toward me, all smug grins and knowing smirks until he’s just about to pass me and throws me a wink.
My head flies around just as Raven exits the building.
“If you’ll excuse me, Alvin, I have to be going.”
And with that, I bolt past my boss, straight for the exit, and out onto the street. My head whips left and then right and then left again, and I spot her, hunched into her large black coat that matches her hair as she fights the Boston November wind.
Before she can escape, I race after her and grab her arm, hauling her into an alley and slamming her into the wall. She’s riled and fiery and full of hate I intend to play around with. Because fuck all if I’m not just as mad.
“What are you doing in my hospital? With my brother?”
She gives me some back and forth. But it comes down to one thing…
She lets me kiss her.
That is until she pushes me off. “You wanna know so bad, go ask him yourself. I have to get to work.”
She attempts to shove me away. To run. But once again all those cautionary directives about patience and keeping my dick in my pants are like balloons of wasted, hot air.
Instead of attempting to play the game where I automatically lose, my hand grasps her arm and I yank her back, slamming her body straight into mine and then back against the wall.
My face gets right up in hers. “Oh no, Little Bird. You’re not going anywhere just yet.”
“Fuck you, Luca. You ruined us. Years ago, so I’ve moved on.”
“Bullshit you have,” I spit, my hand gripping her hair by the roots, forcing my face right in hers. “You couldn’t have moved on because I never did. I never did, Raven. It was impossible. How could there be any other woman when you were all I could think about?”
“Bullshit! You fucked those other women!”
“I never touched any of them!” I scream. “You, Raven. Fucking you! Do you not get that? Do you not see? Do you not understand all that I risked? All that I gave up so you’d have the goddamn world knowing I could lose everything? I haven’t been with anyone since you!”
“I’m not yours anymore,” she cries.
My mouth hovers over hers. “Little Bird, you’ll always be mine.”
My lips crash onto hers, devouring her, holding her captive as I consume her inch by inch, morsel by morsel.
“You are inked on my body. Penned on my soul. I fucked up and I hurt you and I’m sorry, but don’t pretend you don’t need me as much as I need you.”
Her hands dive into my hair, ripping as hard as she can at me and yes !
Give me all the pain, Raven. All your hurt.
My teeth scrape along her bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth before I turn my head, deepening our angle.
The taste of her mouth has me groaning, rocking the steel pipe in my pants into her like a teenager with no self-control.
I’m an addict who has gone four years without a fix.
This woman drives me crazy. It’s not enough to just possess her. I need to own her.
Our tongues thrash, fighting. She climbs up on her tiptoes, trying to get closer, but there are too many barriers between us.
Unzipping her coat, I press my chest against hers and she moans when she feels how hard I am.
She’s wearing a black dress and I hike her leg up my hip so I can grind right into her pussy.
“I fucking hate you.”
“I know,” I pant into her. “But you want my cock more than you hate me.” My hand slides up the stockings on her legs and when I find lace along her thigh held in place by satin straps, I groan, ripping my lips from hers.
“Thigh-highs? Garters!” My hand climbs higher and Christ, her panties are the tiniest scrap of lace that barely covers her.
“I bought you these, you little tease. You were wearing this while having lunch with my brother?”
She has to know how much that infuriates me.
“Yes. And I’ll be wearing them all through rehearsal this afternoon too.”