4. Trevor
Chapter 4
Trevor
T he salty breeze whips through my hair as I push myself along the marina's jogging path, my feet pounding a steady rhythm against the pavement. Dawn's soft light shimmers on the water, painting the world in hues of pinks and golds. My muscles burn pleasantly, a reminder of the grueling shifts I've pulled at the hospital this week. But my mind is on something else…someone else.
It's on her .
Brooke.
I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips as I relive our encounter at Hooplas last night. The way her emerald eyes lit up when she laughed or how she leaned in close to be heard over the crowd.
"Get it together, Jacobs," I mutter to myself out loud, shaking my head. But the memories keep flooding back.
"So, Dr. Jacobs," she'd said, a playful glint in her eye. "What's your professional opinion on the age-old debate: pineapple on pizza, yes or no?"
I laughed, caught off guard by her whimsical question. "As a medical professional, I'd have to say... absolutely yes. Vitamin C is crucial. "
Her responding giggle had been music to my ears. "A man after my own heart. Though I'm not sure how much vitamin C survives the cooking process."
"Ah, but the placebo effect is powerful," I'd countered with a wink .
Now, as I jog past the rows of bobbing boats, I find myself wondering what other surprises Brooke might have in store. She wasn't just beautiful – though God, was she ever. There was a depth to her, a quick wit that kept me on my toes in the best possible way.
I slow my pace, wiping sweat from my brow as I near the end of the path. My body craving rest, but my mind is alive with possibilities. For the first time in ages, I feel a spark of something beyond the day-to-day grind of the hospital.
"Maybe it's time to take a chance," I muse aloud, surprising myself with the thought. What’s the worst thing that could happen?
As I turn back towards home, I make a mental note to give Brooke a call later. My heart races a little faster, and I'm pretty sure it's not just from the run.
The cool morning air nips at my sweat-dampened skin as I round the final bend of the jogging path. My feet slow to a stop, and I take a moment to catch my breath, hands on my knees. My thoughts drift back to Brooke again, and I can't help but chuckle. “God, Trevor, you've got it bad already," I mutter, shaking my head. It's been less than 12 hours since we met, and here I am, contemplating when to call her.
I pull out my phone, her number taunting me from the screen. My thumb hovers over the call button, but I hesitate. It’s too soon, right? Definitely, don't want to seem desperate.
The internal debate rages on. Part of me – the part that's used to making split-second decisions in life-or-death situations – wants to throw caution to the wind and dial her number right now. But another part, the one that's been burned before, urges caution.
Since when did dating become more complicated than a quadruple bypass? I laugh to myself, pocketing the phone.
As I stand there, caught between desire and hesitation, I realize something. For the first time in years, my mind isn't filled with thoughts of patients, trauma, or my next shift. Instead, there's a flutter of anticipation in my chest that I can't quite shake.
The steady slap of footsteps on pavement behind me interrupts my reverie. Before I can turn, a voice – achingly familiar – cuts through the morning air. The sound of her voice sends a chill down my spine. I take a deep breath, steeling myself before I turn to face her. As I do, I'm struck by how little she's changed in the last two years. Those piercing gray eyes, the cascade of black hair – it's all too familiar.
"Trevor! Fancy seeing you out here."
My muscles tense involuntarily, the peaceful moment shattered. I plaster on what I hope is a neutral expression.
"Vivian," I manage, fighting to keep my voice level. "What are you doing here? I didn't know you were in town." It's been years, but the effect she has on me hasn't changed a bit.
She smiles, that same self-assured grin that used to make my heart race. Now, it just makes my stomach churn.
"Oh, you know me, Trevor. Always chasing the next adventure. I’m a traveling nurse now and landed a three-month contract at Hibiscus Harbor Hospital," she says, her voice dripping with confidence. "This adorable little town seemed like the perfect place for a... change of scenery." She waves her hand in the air.
My stomach drops, and I struggle to keep my face neutral. Three months. Ninety days of potentially running into her at work, in town, on this very jogging path. The peaceful morning I'd been enjoying shatters like glass. I can't help but notice how she emphasizes those last words, her eyes never leaving mine. It's classic Vivian – every statement a challenge, every interaction some sort of game.
"That's... quite a coincidence," I manage, my mind racing. Did she know I was here? Did she seek out this contract specifically? I wouldn’t put it past her if she did.
Vivian laughs, a sound that used to make my heart race but now it sets my teeth on edge. "Isn't it just perfect? It's like fate brought us back together."
I resist the urge to snort. Fate had nothing to do with it. As she chatters on about the contract and how excited she is to work at Hibiscus Harbor Hospital, my hospita l, memories flood back unbidden. The constant stream of texts and calls during my shifts, the accusations when I was too tired to go out, the way she'd show up unannounced at the hospital...
"...and I thought, why not? A change of scenery might be nice," Vivian's rambling, snapping me back to the present. She takes a step closer, and I catch a whiff of her familiar perfume. "Plus, I've missed you, Trev. Haven't you missed me, even a little?"
“Not really.” How do I tell her that the only thing I've missed is the peace I had before I ever met her? Inside, my mind is racing. What are the odds she'd end up here, in this small town, on this very jogging path? The rational part of me knows it could be a coincidence, but experience has taught me that with Vivian, there are no such things as coincidences.
As we stand there, the peaceful harbor behind us a stark contrast to the tension between us, I can't help but think of Brooke. The easy conversation, the genuine laughter – everything that's missing from this interaction with Vivian.
My throat tightens as I search for a diplomatic response. "Vivian, I?—"
She doesn't let me finish, her gray eyes glinting with determination. " Listen, I know things ended... messily between us. But that was years ago. We've both grown, right?"
I nod stiffly, though I'm not sure she has. My fingers twitch, itching to check my phone, desperate for an excuse to escape this encounter, but I know from experience that trying to dodge Vivian only makes her more persistent.
The scent of her shampoo—coconut and something floral—washes over me, bringing back a flood of conflicting memories. "We should catch up some time, you know? Grab a drink, talk about old times."
My mind races. How do I shut this down without setting off her temper? I can already see that familiar glint in her eye, the one that says she won't take no for an answer.
"I don't think that's a good idea," I start, but she cuts me off with a light touch on my arm.
"Oh, come on, Trev. For old times' sake? I promise I won't bite... unless you want me to." She winks, and I feel my stomach twist.
I take a deep breath, stealing myself. This is going to be a long three months.
I shift back slightly, trying to create some distance between us without being too obvious. The salty breeze coming off the marina offers a momentary reprieve from the tension.
"I think we need to just be professional with each other," I say, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. "It's been pretty busy at the hospital lately." I hope she'll pick up on my reluctance, but I know better than to count on it.
Vivian's lips curl into a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh, come on, Trev," she purrs, her voice dipping into that familiar, flirtatious tone that sends an uncomfortable shiver down my spine. "You can spare a little time for an old friend, can’t you?"
I hesitate, my heart racing as I weigh my words carefully. Vivian's expectant gaze burns into me, and I'm acutely aware of how insistent she can get when she wants something. The gentle lapping of waves against the marina's edge fills the silence between us, a stark contrast to the tension in the air.
"I don't know, Vivian," I finally say, my voice low and measured. "Things ended... the way they did for a reason." The words hang heavy in the salty air, and I hope they'll be enough to deter her.
But Vivian just laughs, the sound light and dismissive. It's as if our breakup was nothing more than a small bump in the road, a minor inconvenience easily forgotten. "Oh, Trevor, don't be so serious," she chides, her eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and something darker. "We had some good times, didn't we?"
Before I can react, her hand reaches out, fingers lightly brushing against my arm. The touch sends an involuntary shudder through me, memories of our tumultuous past flooding back in an instant. The moment her fingers graze my skin, my muscles tense reflexively. Every nerve in my body screams at me to retreat, to put as much distance between us as possible. Those "good times" she mentioned? They flash through my mind in a series of unsettling snapshots.
I remember the incessant buzzing of my phone during critical surgeries, Vivian's number lighting up the screen again and again. The memory of her icy stare when I chose to grab a beer with my colleagues after a grueling shift instead of rushing home to her. The way she'd hover near the nurse's station, ostensibly to chat but really to keep tabs on my every move.
"Vivian," I say, my voice tight as I gently but firmly remove her hand from my arm. "We have different memories of those times."
Her eyes narrow, that familiar spark of defiance flaring up. "What do you mean? We were perfect together."
I take a deep breath, the scent of salt and hibiscus filling my lungs. It steadies me, reminding me of the peace I've found since our relationship ended. "Look, Vivian," I say, taking a small step back. "I've moved on, and honestly, I think it's best if we keep things... professional between us."
Vivian's gaze locks onto mine, her icy gray eyes narrowing slightly. For a heartbeat, I see a flicker of the tempest I remember all too well. But then, like a switch being flipped, her lips curve into a coy smile.
"Fine," she purrs, her voice dripping with honeyed venom. "I'll let you off the hook… for now ." She winks, but it feels more like a challenge than a flirtation. "But if you change your mind, you know where to find me for the next three months."
My jaw clenches involuntarily. Even now, she's trying to leave the door open, to worm her way back into my life. I force myself to relax, to not give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
She turns to jog away, her black hair swaying with each step. Just as I think I'm in the clear, she tosses a glance over her shoulder. "Don't be a stranger, Trev."
The use of my old nickname sends a chill down my spine. I watch her retreating form, my mind racing. How will I navigate this at work? Will she respect my boundaries? Do I need to report this to HR? The peaceful morning I'd been enjoying feels tainted now, overshadowed by the specter of my past.
The sound of Vivian's footsteps fades, and I let out a long, shaky breath. My muscles, tense from the encounter, slowly begin to unwind. I run a hand through my sweat-dampened hair, feeling the weight of the past pressing down on me.
"Fuck," I mutter, shaking my head. "What a fucking mess."
I turn back to face the water, letting the salty breeze wash over me. The gentle lapping of waves against the dock provides a soothing counterpoint to my racing thoughts. How did I ever get so tangled up with someone like Vivian? With someone so controlling, conniving, and so desperate?
As I stand there, my mind drifts to last night at Hooplas. The warm glow of the bar lights, the faint scent of grilled seafood, and most importantly, Brooke's infectious laughter. A smile tugs at my lips, unbidden.
I close my eyes, picturing Brooke's vibrant red hair and those expressive green eyes. The way she'd listened intently when I spoke, her gentle wit, the genuine warmth that seemed to radiate from her very being.
My hand instinctively moves to my pocket, where my phone rests. Should I call her now? The urge to hear her voice, to ground myself in something real and positive, is almost overwhelming. I hesitate, not wanting to seem too eager or too desperate after only one night of conversation.
"Get it together, Jacobs," I chide myself, chuckling softly. "You're not some lovesick teenager." Still, the memory of Brooke's smile lingers. For the first time in a long while, I feel a spark of something I'd almost forgotten – hope, anticipation, the thrill of new possibilities. "Come on, Trevor," I mutter. "You cut people open for a living. Calling a woman shouldn't be so hard."
I hit dial before I can second-guess myself. The phone rings once, twice, three times. My heart races with each passing second hoping she’ll answer.
"Hello?" Her voice, soft and slightly sleepy, sends a jolt through me.
"Brooke? Hi. It's Trevor. From Hooplas last night." I cringe at how awkward I sound. Maybe I am a lovesick teenager. "I hope I'm not calling too early."
There's a pause, then a warm chuckle. "Hi. No, not at all. I'm just waiting for my coffee to finish brewing. It's nice to hear from you."
Relief washes over me. "I couldn't stop thinking about our conversation last night," I admit, surprising myself with my candor. "I was wondering if you'd like to grab a coffee sometime. Maybe continue where we left off? I’d love to see you again."
As I wait for her response, I watch a seagull swoop low over the water, its cry echoing across the bay. The salt air fills my lungs, and for a moment, I feel light, unburdened by the weight of Vivian's unexpected appearance in my hometown.
"I'd love that," Brooke replies, her voice tinged with what sounds like genuine pleasure. "How about tomorrow afternoon? There's a great little café, Java Hut, in town. I could meet you there around four?"
"That sounds perfect," I say, unable to keep the smile from my voice. "I'm looking forward to it, Brooke."
As we say our goodbyes, I can't help but feel a surge of optimism. Whatever complications Vivian's presence might bring, this – this connection with Brooke – feels like a step in the right direction. A chance at something real, something good.
I pocket my phone and start my jog back home, my steps lighter than before. The memory of Vivian fades, replaced by anticipation for tomorrow's coffee date. For the first time in a long while, I find myself eager to see what the future might hold.