Asher #2
I shake my head at Gabriela because owning praise always feels weird. “Nah. She was just glad she didn’t have to do that in
front of any of my awkward partners.”
“And humble, too.” She rubs her teeth along her bottom lip. “You— Doctor Foley, would you like to go to dinner with me this
weekend?”
Ah. Okay. Deflect.
“Yeah, girl.” I give her my biggest grin. “Let’s get some folks together.”
“No.” She turns to face me, hands clasped tight in her lap. “I meant just you and me.”
My smile dims. “Oh. Um—”
“I thought— I thought maybe you had a girlfriend, but I heard you don’t, and—” She takes a breath. “I know others have asked,
and you always make it a group thing, but I’m interested in having dinner with you. Just you. I think we could be . . . good.”
She really thinks that? Why? No, it doesn’t matter why. I work with her, which means it’s a no.
I lower my voice. “You’re a resident.”
“It’s not against the rules, Doctor Foley.”
I spin my chair and take her hand. “You aren’t even comfortable enough with me to call me by my first name. You barely know
me.”
“Asher.” She swallows. “I know you’re kind. Funny. I know the way you are with your patients. I know you’re generous with
your friends. I know enough to know that I want to know more. If you’re interested.”
Her bravery finally fails, and her dark-eyed gaze drops to my knees. Lustrous black hair falls around her face.
She’s quite pretty. I’ve tried not to notice this when we work together, but it’s glaringly obvious right now, especially with the blooming rosiness in her cheeks.
For a split second, the memory of Jocelyn gazing up at me in that field of flowers flashes before my eyes, ringing like a gong in my head.
She was devastating in that white dress.
Just a friend, though. She doesn’t matter.
Gabriela, on the other hand, is interested. So . . . now what? Say we go on a few dates. I find her charming and lovely and
decide she’s everything I’ve ever wanted. She likes me for a little bit, then decides I’m not serious boyfriend material and
dumps me for Dr. Dillhole down the hall.
Then we have to see each other every single day. Ugh. Been there, done that. Won’t do it again.
I squeeze Gabriela’s hand. “It’s not that I’m not interested. There’s a reason I always make it a group thing. I have my own
rules about dating coworkers, Gabriela.”
Her gaze shoots up to mine. “Really?”
I nod. “I don’t date at work.”
“Right.” She spins back to the computer, eyes bright. “Sorry I asked.”
And I’m an asshole. She offers something real—exactly what I’m searching for—and I say no. Why? Because I work with her? Is
that stupid?
I reach for her but stop short of touching her. “No—you don’t—”
“Doctor Foley?” Jocelyn says from the doorway. “Can I talk to you about your patient?”
Huh?
She motions with her head, so I follow her toward the OR. “What’s up?” I ask.
She says nothing until we’re alone inside the double doors of the sub-sterile OR hallway, the antiseptic stench of chlorhexidine
wafting around us. “You were about to make it worse.”
Um. “You heard that?”
She nibbles her lip. “I—might have been eavesdropping a little bit.”
“Ugh.” I fall backward against a wall and scrub my face. Gnawing stomach pain returns. “Awkward. I’m such an asshole.”
“You’re not, but you were about to start qualifying, and that would’ve only made her feel worse.”
“Is it a stupid rule?” I drop my hands. “She said all the right things. Is it dumb to say no just because we work together?”
“I—I don’t know, Ash. Dating coworkers can be tricky . . .”
“But am I shooting myself in the foot?” I dig my hand into my hair and pull tight. “I’m so tired of being alone.”
Funny how easy it is to say to her now. The first time, here in this same hallway a few weeks ago, it stung like ripping barbed
wire out of my skin. Now it’s freeing. Joss is the best sounding board ever.
But she’s got her fingers on her angel wing earring, fidgeting. Have I upset her?
“I—I don’t know if I’m the best person to answer that question,” she says.
“Why?” I push off the wall. “You know me best. I want something real. Am I stupid to limit myself?”
Her gaze touches on me, then flits away. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
“But not definitely?”
“I don’t know how it will turn out, Ash.” She paces away from me. “And it’s hard for me to put it in perspective. Relationships
terrify me. The potential pain outweighs any good. But you—you’re not like me. You have to weigh the risk yourself.”
It takes me a moment to decrypt those words, but I snag on a single part. “Potential pain?”
She grips her elbows, and in that moment she looks so small. So brittle. I’ve never met Brittle Joss. I didn’t know she even
existed.
“Yes, pain.” Her voice wavers as she speaks, like the words are hard to say. “Okay. I’m going to tell you something about me that I
don’t ever talk about.”
Curiosity rages to life. Is she about to tell me the deep, dark thing? Here in this sterile hallway?
“There is a reason I don’t get close to people, Asher. The truth is, I’m terrified of loss. I’ve lost so many people, and
I live in constant fear of someone else I love dying. To me, any human relationship just provides more opportunity for pain. It’s why I try not
to love people. Death is uncontrollable and it tortures the living.”
Whoa. Torture?
“Joss—”
My voice echoes against the tile, but I’m unsure how to continue. I mean, I know she lost her parents and brother, but she’s
definitely not told me about every person she’s buried. This is way more profound than I thought. Ali is likely the only one
who knows the full story. But Joss never shows it. Never talks about it. Any quips she makes are succinct, the subject rapidly
changed.
I’m damaged.
I had a nightmare.
I like to play chicken with my fears.
I lose everyone.
Life’s short and everybody dies.
It makes sense that she’d have trouble strengthening ties out of fear of loss, but this .
. . This has affected her deeply. Intensely.
The evasion from intimacy, the elusion of attachment, the habit of shifting the conversation if it ever drifts too deep.
This is the reason, isn’t it? Somewhere down in my gut, the realization hurts. Not acid this time. Ice.
“So I can’t be the one to answer these questions for you,” she says. “My perspective is too fucked up.”
I almost laugh because fucked up is such a mild way to describe it. But I don’t laugh because, right now, laughter would be cruel, and even I can rein it
in when I need to. “So, you’ll just never love anyone ever again because they might die?”
She covers up her wince with an absurd chuckle. “Pretty much. Sounds weird when you say it like that, though.”
“Jocelyn—”
“The last guy I was in love with died.” She hugs herself tighter. “So yeah. Relationships and I are— I think I’m cursed.”
Her last boyfriend died? Jesus, no wonder she’s so guarded. This is definitely the deep, dark thing. She practically shrinks on herself talking about
it. Look how fragile she’s become.
But just because something’s fragile doesn’t mean it will break. She’s let fear drive her existence since her parents died.
If she can force me to face my demons, then I can do the same for her.
Though I think this might take some finesse.
“You are definitely not cursed,” I say. “And if you are, I’ll break it. I’m a superb curse breaker. Best of the best.”
She snorts and wipes her face, where a lone tear has fallen. I hate that tear. Want to do bad things to these beliefs of hers
that caused it. I wonder if this is how she felt that night I spilled all my worst beliefs over FaceTime.
“You could probably charm a curse away,” she says.
“Probably.” I take a couple steps closer to her. “So . . . what you’re saying is, on the off chance that Gabriela dies someday, I should definitely not go out with her.”
With a small grimace, she shakes her head. “That’s idiotic, isn’t it?”
“A little, yeah. You should really think about that, Joss. For yourself.” I dip my head, trying to catch her attention, but
she won’t look at me.
She stares around us—at the sterile white walls, the silver scrub sinks, the empty ORs. “We have got to stop having these
serious conversations in here.”
I smile. “What, the sterile ambiance doesn’t do it for you?”
She lets out a small laugh, then sobers. “Sorry. I don’t know how I made this about me.”
“You didn’t—”
But she interrupts before I can continue. “I think the only way to not be alone is to just . . . do it, Asher. So maybe you
should take the opportunities presented to you and not worry so much about whether they come at work or somewhere else. If
you don’t want to be alone, then take the risk. If the risk outweighs the benefit, then don’t do it. And if you choose not
to try with her, then at least you have another snapshot for your collection—she is a girl who’s taking you seriously. Either
way, you’re winning. And you’re definitely braver than I am.”
Aw.
For someone with such a cynical outlook, she’s great at finding the silver lining. But her guarded stance . . . that single
tear . . . the little hitch in her breath . . . Everything about her is screaming Give me comfort!
Adorable, nonsensical woman.
Despite my misgivings, the crush rears its head. I’ll have to smash it back down later, but I can’t think about that right now. My problems disappear into the background. “I’ll contemplate Gabriela’s risk-reward ratio some other time. You—you need a hug, Joss.” I open my arms. “Can I?”
She huffs and stamps her foot in a What took you so long? gesture. Her expression crumbles, and in a single instant, she’s crying. “Duh. Yes, please.”
Her tiny arms slide around my waist, and her face rests against my chest, mascara-laden tears soaking into my scrub top. My
chin fits over the top of her head.
So tiny.
So sad.
Girl needs a day off and a bubble bath or something.
“I’m sorry I keep making you cry,” I say.