Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Helen
It’s just past two a.m. when I stumble through the front door of my condo.
I have no recollection of driving home. No memory of riding the elevator up to my floor.
After leaving Dr. Reynolds’ office, the night is a blur.
It’s like my brain went off-line, overwhelmed by the cost of my actions, by all I’ve lost. Only one thought kept me going, putting one foot in front of the other.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry.
Don’t cry.
Just hold it together until you get home.
Home now, the tears I’ve been holding at bay hit me all at once.
I clamp my hand over my mouth, trying to hold back the emotions that threaten to pull me under.
It doesn’t work. A strangled sob breaks free, raw and ugly, as I rush for my bedroom, barely noticing the human-shaped lump on the couch in front of a muted and flickering TV.
Teddy.
I’d almost forgotten about him.
In my room, I turn on my bedside lamp and fling myself onto my bed.
Shoving my face into my blanket, I will myself to disappear.
My chest heaves, breath coming out in sharp, broken gasps as I sob.
The fabric must not muffle the sound enough, because there’s a tentative knock on my door followed by a quiet, “Helen?”
Hoping he’ll go away, I squeeze my eyes shut and don’t answer.
“Helen? You in there?” he asks, louder this time.
“I’m f—fine,” I say, my throat so tight I have to force the words out.
“What’s going on?” The door rattles like he’s pressing against it.
“Nothing. Go—go away.” A shuddering breath hitches in my throat, too sharp, too loud. I can’t stop crying.
“I’m not going away. What happened?” he asks, his voice sharp.
I’ve lost everything. That’s what’s happened. This is all my fault. My dumb decision. My mess and I can’t handle it, not with everything else going on, is what I think, but my body trembles as I gasp for air, unable to answer.
Who am I, if not a doctor?
“Open up,” demands Teddy.
I respond with a petulant, “No!”
“I swear to God, Helen, if this door is locked, I’m kicking it down,” he says, as if he’s forgotten all about his broken leg.
I have two seconds to wish that I had locked it before the doorknob twists and Teddy comes bursting into the room.
His cast scrapes against the hardwood floor as he limps to my bedside and looks around frantically, like he expects an intruder to be there, someone he can fight.
“Helen?” His voice is softer now, pitched low with concern.
I press my face to the mattress. If I don’t look at him, he’ll leave.
He doesn’t.
Instead, gentle hands grip my shoulders, turning me to him.
The bed dips as he sits next to me. Sliding his body under mine, Teddy shifts me until my head rests on his chest. His very naked chest. He’s only wearing boxers.
I stiffen, my mind scrambling at the unexpected contact.
Usually, I don’t like to be touched, and I especially don’t like to be comforted.
I’m like a cat. I’d rather slink away and lick my wounds in solitude, a trait that has always frustrated my naturally affectionate mother.
I’m surprised when I don’t pull away but instead stay frozen in place, holding my breath.
Teddy runs a slow, soothing hand up and down my back, the rhythm hypnotic.
Gradually, I relax into him, letting his warmth seep into me, taking comfort in the steady in and out of his breathing under my ear.
I don’t understand how he does this to me, makes me act outside of my usual responses.
It was the same way when we slept together.
I’m the last person in the world to have a one-night stand, but he made it seem so natural that for once I didn’t overthink it.
“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” I mumble against his skin, resisting the sudden irrational urge to lick him because, even though I’m miserable, my body doesn’t seem to care. It’s more than happy to be close to him.
“I tried to go to sleep but couldn’t so I went to watch some TV. Guess I passed out on the couch.” His fingers lightly trace my spine. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying,” I say while tears pour down my face.
“Yeah, right.” To prove his point, he swipes a slow thumb over my cheekbone, then holds it up so I can see the tears that glisten there. “You must have a leaky ceiling I don’t know about.”
“Crying is stupid,” I tell him, a belief I hold firmly. I’ve never seen the point of getting too emotional. It seems like a lot of energy expended for very little return. If you have a problem in life, then you should attack it head on—that’s always been my approach.
“No,” he says simply. “It’s not.”
I pull back enough to catch his gaze. My vision’s blurry, but I see enough to make out pale blue eyes and brown eyelashes tinted golden at their ends like he’s been out in the sun. “What would you know about it?”
He gives me a small, sad smile, one with no warmth. “When I was twelve, I watched my dad die in front of me. It took six months for the colon cancer to eat him up and during that time there were buckets of tears in my house, a river of them. So yes. I know a thing or two about sadness.”
That shuts me up real quick. Guilt digs its claws into me. How could I have forgotten everything Teddy and his family have been through? How selfish could I be, focusing only on my pain and forgetting that, even though this suspension is world-ending to me, there are worse things that can happen.
Teddy’s still talking. His breath stirs the hair on my forehead.
“During that time, I learned there are different types of criers. Gwen, she’s a private crier, like you.
She used to hide in her closet with the door closed so no one would hear.
My mom, she’s a quiet crier. She’d cry without making a sound while she gathered together our backpacks and lunchboxes in the morning.
Sometimes we’d be in the middle of dinner or playing a board game and I’d look over to find her face tear-streaked but silent.
My brother Brandon, he’s not a crier. Never saw him shed a tear.
Not while we watched my dad wasting away, first losing his body and then his brilliant mind.
Not during the funeral or during the lean years afterward while Mom struggled to make ends meet.
” A long sorrowful pause, followed by a fierce whispered, “Sometimes I hate him for that.”
I’ve been so focused on Teddy that my tears have slowed. “Wh—what kind of crier are you?” I sniffle, really wanting to know.
His humorless chuckle lifts my head and drops it back onto his firm chest. “I’m messy,” Teddy answers. “Red eyes, snot everywhere, sound like a dying cow. That sort of thing.”
“I’m sorry about your dad.” My voice is hoarse, rough from emotion. “Gwen told me about how he was only forty-five. It must have been such a shock.”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “We weren’t prepared, had no idea he would go so fast.” There’s a tone of finality in how he says that, like he’s done talking about it. I realize then that he only told me about his dad because I needed the distraction.
“Why are you crying, Helen?”
I push against him to half-sit up, my fingers fisting in the blanket. “I g—got in trouble at work.”
God, it’s humiliating to say that out loud.
“What kind of trouble?” He tilts his head to the side. His hair is sleep rumpled, but his gaze is sharp. He studies me with quiet intensity.
I hesitate, unsure if I should tell him the truth. Teddy will feel awful if he knows he’s the reason I’m suspended. He’ll blame himself when the fault is all mine. I can’t have that on my conscience. Still, I don’t want to outright lie to him. I settle for something in the middle. A half-truth.
“There was this patient, a guy. He wasn’t mine, but I took him from another doctor and now I—I’m.” Tears well in my eyes. “I’m suspended for a couple of months while the hospital looks into it.”
I grip Teddy’s upper arms and squeeze. “I helped the patient. At least, I hope I did.” I wince, waiting for Teddy to call me out, to demand to know who this mysterious patient is.
He eyes me carefully. “A guy, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Anyone I know…” He trails off like he’s hoping I’ll fill in the blank.
I shake my head, refusing to take the bait. “It’s just that I love my job.” The tears come rushing back. “Now what’ll I do?”
Teddy pulls me back to his chest and makes soothing noises as I cry all over again. “It’ll work out, Helen. They’d be crazy not to take you back.”
“I can’t do anything else,” I wail. “I have no other skills.”
“Sure you do.” Teddy shifts under me, getting into a more comfortable position. He drags his cast up onto the bed so he’s lying with both legs on the bed. “There must be something. What do you like to do besides the ER?”
“Nothing,” I say truthfully.
“How about hobbies? You like to dance?”
A flashback of us dancing together at Gwen’s wedding, then later at the club in Chelsea.
How sweat slicked our skin. How Teddy made me laugh.
How free I felt. That night had reminded me of how much I loved to dance.
My mom, a dancer herself, had put me in classes when I was a toddler.
It was a part of me that I’d forgotten in my years of studying for medical school and later residency.
I’d traded in my ballet slippers for a stethoscope and never looked back until that night with Teddy.
The one that ended up with us in bed together… like we are right now.
I freeze, cataloguing how my knee is draped over his thigh. How his collarbone is nestled under my ear. How my hand is splayed across his chest.
Oh shit.
One day.
We couldn’t make it one day without touching each other.
What would Gwen say if she saw us? What would the hospital say if they found out the man I’ve claimed I barely know is half-naked in my bed right now?
This is so not good.
“Hey, you okay?” Teddy asks, immediately sensing the change in my mood.
No. Not okay. I’m not okay.
Too much. This is too much. I don’t do this comfort, closeness, any of it.
My heart jackhammers against my chest as my entire body goes rigid. Panicking, I fling myself away from him, scooting over to the other side of the bed so no part of us touches. The distance between us stretches wider than the ocean outside my window.
I force out a shaky, “I’m fine. We should go to sleep. Sorry for bothering you.”
A long beat of silence. I keep my eyes on the wall, counting the tiny imperfections in the paint, willing myself not to look at him, but still, I can feel the weight of Teddy’s gaze, evaluating me.
I get the sense that he sees way too much, and it makes my skin prickle.
With a slow exhale, he shifts, his movements stiff as he grabs for his crutches.
He stands, then clomps to the door, where he pauses.
He doesn’t look at me when he says it, but his voice is rough. “You’re never a bother, and, if you need me, I’m here.”
Something tightens in my chest at his words.
I open my mouth to tell him I don’t need him or anyone. That I can handle this on my own, just like I do with everything else. All the stress in my life. Work. Everything that’s going on with my mom.
All I manage is a whisper. “Teddy…”
He waits, just for a second.
But I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything at all.
With a short nod, he turns and leaves, the soft thump of his crutches fading into the quiet.