Grace
NOVEMBER, YEAR 2
My mind swims through the muck of my subconscious as a thump jostles it awake. Nights this month have worn me down. The fluttery anxiety at seeing Julian every shift change keeps me frazzled and on edge. Now that I’ve admitted to myself that I like him, I don’t know how to act around him.
The last time I felt this way…
Yeah.
It hadn’t ended well.
If I could, I’d shove this heat and longing for Julian aside, force its brightness into shadow. Instead, it only grows stronger. Each lingering glance, every small touch, they glow in my skin like sunlight.
The persistent urge to touch him. The constant awareness of him. Well, my sleeplessness isn’t only work-related.
Say it, and I’ll be there. Whatever you need.
Did he really say that this morning? Did he mean it?
The pounding on my door finally jolts me awake.
“!”
I sit up, blinking at the darkness beyond the window. My phone tells me it’s 6:45 p.m.
“, are you home?”
“Julian?” I call.
“Yeah.” A silence passes, and a final thump rattles the door. “Can I talk to you?”
I hop out of bed and dart into the bathroom. “Hold on. I was asleep!”
He’s silent, so I pee and brush my teeth at the same time, then lament my bedhead and pj’s. At least they’re the cute set—black shorts and tank with little gold stars.
With a swipe of the deadbolt, the door swings inward, pulling in a gust of cold air that snakes around my bare legs, raising goose bumps. Julian stands at the threshold, hands braced on either side, head bowed. He’s still in his Vincent scrubs, without even a jacket to protect him from the elements, and when he lifts his eyes, I’m struck by the hurt lurking in their depths.
“What’s wrong?”
He swallows. “Can I come in?”
I allow him clearance. He moves to the middle of the living room, staring at the floating shelves above the couch, full of unlit candles.
“Julian?” I touch his elbow.
“Remember that patient from the ICU this morning?”
“Yeah. What’s wrong?”
“The language barrier… We were wrong about the miscarriage.” That dead tone to his voice laces shards of ice through my veins. “She had a home birth. The baby was delivered, but whoever delivered her didn’t deliver the placenta.”
Oh, that’s why her ultrasound looked so weird. Duh.
“She delivered the baby four days ago , . Perfectly healthy baby girl.”
My mouth drops. “She had a placenta inside her the whole time?”
His head dips. “We got it out. Smelled awful. Got her to the ICU. She started bleeding. Took her back to the OR. Bled out five liters before we took her uterus. But she was bleeding from everywhere by that point.”
Oh no. I see where this is going, and a deep ache wakes in my chest. He came here for comfort, didn’t he? Something bad happened, and he came straight to me. As he continues speaking, my arms slide around his neck, and I compulsively inch closer to him. I want to hold him, squeeze him until that hollowness disappears from his eyes. His stiff hands settle on my waist, and his gaze meets mine, utterly lost.
“She coded on the table,” he whispers. “We tried to bring her back for an hour. Scarlett called time of death at 5:02.”
“She died ?” I can’t believe what he’s saying. The woman was sick when I left, but stabilizing, and now she’s dead. Humans are so fragile. It’s terrifying.
Who left a placenta in her for four days? That person is a murderer!
“She died,” he says, voice flat. “The dad brought the baby before she started bleeding. A perfect baby girl.”
His eyes slide shut when he finishes speaking.
“Oh, sweetie.” I move closer. “I’m so sorry.”
He hums deep in his chest.
“The baby’s healthy, right, Julian?”
He dips his head, resting his forehead on mine. “Yeah.”
“At least there’s that. A healthy baby.” I nudge his nose with mine.
“Without a mom.” He pulls tight on my waist and his breath hitches. “I never told you why I chose OB-GYN, did I?”
I shake my head.
“My dad died when I was two, so it was always just Mom and my sisters. We’re all really close. When I was fifteen, she almost died when her gynecologist wouldn’t listen to her. Nearly bled to death before they took her uterus. And I was fifteen . I would have had fifteen years with her. That baby had four days. What if I’d just interviewed the patient more, ? Really listened to her. Would I have caught something that could’ve changed this?”
“She didn’t speak English, Julian. I tried the language line, and they had no one with her dialect.”
“I know.” He sighs. “It’s just—today was a terrible day.”
“I’m so sorry.” I’m flush against him now, trying to soothe him, the heat of his body pressed to mine from chest to knee.
“It was a terrible day, and after it all happened, I kept thinking that if I could make it home, make it here, to you, everything would feel just a little bit lighter.”
My skin synchronizes to his heartbeat as I slide my arms more snugly around his neck. “Lighter?” I put a playful lilt in my tone. “Aren’t I the bane of your existence?”
“No.” His nose slides along the length of mine, and my eyes flutter closed. “I should have told you a long time ago. You’re a prison I don’t want to escape. You’re like drowning in paradise.”
Whoa. Really?
He’s so close, the graze of his lips as he speaks sends shivers across my skin, diffusing liquid heat beneath.
I stand at the edge of the unknown, and my voice grows breathy. “That sounds…painful.”
Voice deep, almost slurred, he says, “Nothing hurts when I’m with you.”
Does he really think that? After all these months of vague flirtation, he finally reveals these are the thoughts that prowl in his mind?
These aren’t the words of a man who thinks I might be fun to bang. These are the words of a man who cares, who wants me , not just my body.
His hands tangle in the back of my shirt, clenching the fabric. “—”
The faint brush of his lips near mine rouses the heat simmering for him into a full boil. Patience snaps, and I graze my mouth over his, soft and warm and waiting. His body tenses against mine before one hot gifted hand cups my jaw, thumb beneath my chin, and he kisses me.
A flood of pleasure breaks through all thoughts of restraint, and I tighten my hold on his neck, rising to my tiptoes to get closer.
Magic sparks between us, and streams of twinkling stars illuminate my insides. His tongue touches mine, teasing, and I’m lost. I cling to him so tight that my toes barely touch the floor. Sliding into my hair, that hand of his massages the tiny muscles of my neck, eliciting a weird humming from my chest.
A dark chuckle answers, and he deepens the kiss, bringing us so close together that the clothes between us are an unbearable nuisance.
“God, .” His lips slide over my cheek, teeth catching my ear. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmm-hmm.” He sucks on my neck, a sensation that spirals between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together and squirm against him.
His lips find mine once more, urgent, faster. His hand drops to my ass, squeezing us together, and the hardness of him presses into my lower belly, impossible to ignore.
OMG.
He wants me.
This charming, intelligent, kind man wants me.
I could tell him to take me to the bedroom, and he’d do it. He’d lay me down, and if this kiss is any indication, he’d probably give me the best sex of my life.
And I’d probably be the worst of his.
It’s like fucking an ice queen.
My fingers spasm at the memory, and I pull my lips from his, pressing slower, soothing kisses over his jaw, letting my mouth sink against his throat. A deep hum rumbles there, but he takes the hint and loosens his grip on me. I slide until my feet are flat on the floor and I’m staring into impossibly dark eyes, a flushed face, a hungry expression.
I rest my palms on his chest, separating our bodies by a crucial few inches. “This probably isn’t a good idea.”
He makes a face like he disagrees, all pinched eyebrows and twisted mouth.
“I’m—” I drop my gaze to his chest. “We aren’t—”
“What? We aren’t what?” His voice is rough and dark.
“ I’m not—” I rub my nose, ignoring my body’s insistence that I want him, that it doesn’t matter if I’m bad at it because he won’t care. He’ll use those talented hands to teach me about pleasure I’ve only read about.
But what if he does care?
That familiar anxiety thrusts a hand in my chest and twists, tightening all my nerves to maximum tension.
“Ready,” I say. “I’m not ready.”
He dips his head, like he’s trying to see past my mask of calm. “Do I—should I apologize?”
My eyebrows pull together. “You did nothing wrong.”
“Then why do you look like you’re about to freak out?”
“I’m—I’m not.” I reach out, then drop my hands again. “That was unexpected.”
He tilts his head, dark gaze traveling over my pajama-clad body before he takes my wrist and tugs gently. “Was it?”
I think back on the last few months, to all the fantasy kisses I’d invented for us. Staring into his shadowy eyes, spellbound, I whisper, “No.”
His hand at my wrist skates along my arm until his knuckle lands on my jaw, and he slides sparkly pleasure across it. He lifts my chin. “No, it wasn’t. And I kind of want to do it again.”
Breathless, I nod, and his soft lips are on mine again, slow and agonizing. He tastes like that cinnamon gum he favors with the barest hint of black coffee, a heady mixture that has me hunting for more.
On my toes again, I ache to be closer. A raging fire turns my blood to molten gold, hot and lavish and glittering. Our bodies find a natural rhythm, my hands in his soft hair, his splayed across my back.
I break the kiss to nip his jaw and neck, and he digs into the muscles of my back, then dips lower. The tips of his fingers sneak beneath the elastic of my pajama shorts. His skin tastes like salt and Julian, and my mouth finds his pulse, sucking while he murmurs encouragement in my ear.
A growl rumbles in his chest, and he steals my mouth again, harder, hands roaming, skirting along intimate places, but not touching.
He’s staking a claim. I sense it in the way he touches me—no push for more, but no hesitancy, either. It ransacks all my desires. He’s pillaging my body for his own. A frickin’ pirate in the open ocean, chasing the horizon.
We’re writhing. Bound together. Aching. A storm gathering electricity.
My skin is on fire.
I want him.
I need him.
I need release.
His mouth is on mine. My leg wraps around him. His hand sinks into my hair. Mine drops to the waist of his scrub pants, fingers curling around the band.
Panting, he drops his forehead to my shoulder. “I have to stop.”
No, don’t stop.
My pounding heart clangs against my ribs, and I suck in breaths trying to calm it. Is there no oxygen in this room?
His nose brushes my neck. “Unless you’re offering more.”
Ice queen.
It’s a splash of cold water that chills my throbbing insides. It shouldn’t be there, still haunting me, but it won’t stop preying on my insecurities. “I—”
“You’re not ready.”
“Not—not yet.”
A graze of his lips beneath my ear rekindles my nervous system. Tingles chase themselves over my skin.
“I’m patient,” he whispers.
I retract my fingers from his waistband.
“But don’t think I won’t chase you.”
Backing away, I meet his gaze, the darkness alight with desire. “Yeah?”
The no-smile comes to life, and he stares at my mouth. “I’ll chase until you tell me to stop. Present me with a challenge and I shall rise.” The hand in my hair slides out, then holds it back so he can study my neck. He brushes the pad of his thumb over it. “Oops.”
I turn toward the mirror on the wall to find a darkening patch of skin where his mouth had been. I cover it with my hand, and return my attention to his satisfied expression, eyes wide.
He marked me. Like a marauder.
This be mine.
Hoist the colors.
“Thanks for the pep talk.” He brushes a kiss over my lips and steps away. “I have a cold shower to get to.”
DECEMBER, YEAR 2
The story of the four-day placenta becomes instant residency legend. Julian recounts the case in didactics later that week. By then, he’s bottled up his external grief, but in private, he’s still shook.
About a week after the incident, we meet to study at my apartment, creeping closer and closer to each other on my couch as the night progresses.
He caves after an hour and pulls me into his lap, pressing a kiss to my temple.
“Are you feeling better about last week?” I flatten my palm against his chest and nibble on my lip as I study his face, searching for the hurt I know is still in there.
He shrugs. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel better about that. But I’ll get over it. Someday.” His lips move to my neck, and my breath hitches. Pleasure illuminates and sparkles over me before he pulls away to meet my eyes. His desire is written all over his face, open and hungry. I peck a quick kiss on his mouth and scoot off his lap.
Distance. I need distance.
His half smile snags my heart. The life-giving organ skips a beat, then trips over the next several. These ectopic beats disturb me. He’s buried an electrode in my chest. My own personal defibrillator.
“Not ready?” He lifts an eyebrow.
I shiver, heat blazing across my cheeks, and pull my lip between my teeth.
He reaches toward the coffee table where we’ve left our study materials, dark eyes roaming my face. “Could I seduce you with flashcards?” His long fingers curl around the stack of cards.
A wave of heat crashes and settles low in my stomach, but I cover it with a laugh. “How on earth did you manage to make that sexy?”
He lowers his voice, the half smile growing into a full smile. “Because studying gets you hot.”
I smack his shoulder.
He laughs and sobers. “All right. Teach me about cervical cancer staging.”
* * *
Dr. Chen hovers over my shoulder in the doctor’s OR lounge where I chart at the computer. We had two C-sections today, and I’m glowing. I made no wrong moves, and I finished in a reasonable amount of time. The smile on my face cannot be quelled.
“You did good today, Dr. Rose.”
Chen must be an awful snorer because his CPAP lines have survived the entire morning, leaving indentations over his full cheeks. Glasses still fogged from surgery, he gazes through the mist with kind brown eyes. His salt-and-pepper mustache twitches with a smile.
My throat tightens. “Really?”
“I can tell you’re practicing. Good work.”
A flare spikes my blood, a torrential flood of exhilaration. Julian did this. His help brought me to this moment.
Chen sits beside me and pulls out his phone. “Would you like to see my pictures from Greece? We were there two weeks, you know. Mrs. Chen would kill me if I didn’t show off the pictures.”
I smile and settle in to view the photos. He has dragged his trip to Santorini into every one of my conversations with him of late, but I’ll look at a million pictures of his Greek meals if he’ll shower me with praise like that.
Afterward, he stands and squeezes my shoulder. “Dr. Rose.”
“Uh. Yes?”
“Do the right thing.”
I laugh as he leaves. Do the Right Thing is Chen’s motto, his parting words to all residents at some point or another. Once he’s gone, I whip out my phone.
Me: Good day today!
Mama: That’s great. I love you, honey.
I open the Pit It or Quit It stream.
Me: Chen just told me I did a good job
Me: First time ever
Alesha: Bout time he recognizes your greatness
Raven: That’s amazing, !
Beaming at my phone, my heart jumps to my throat when a hand lands on my shoulder. My head spins toward it, but my heart rate doesn’t slow at the long fingers curled around my arm.
“Congratulations,” Julian whispers beside my ear and kisses my neck.
“Julian!” I swat him away. “Someone will see.”
He chuckles and falls into the chair next to me. Our situationship isn’t defined, per se, but we’re definitely a thing. Dreading the rumors that will spread when we go public, I asked him to keep us on the DL for now. He agreed, but if his increasingly possessive caresses in private are any indication, I’m certain he’d rather I let him ravish me in the dictation room.
The ends of his dark hair curl like duck tails around the blue surgeon’s cap and his glasses strike me right in the stomach. He logs onto the computer, eyes scanning the screen.
I glance behind us. The dictation room is empty, so I graze my knuckle down the line of his jaw. “You didn’t shave.”
The no-smile appears. “Someone kept me up late, but not in the good way.” He swings his gaze to me. “All she wanted to do was study.”
My soft laugh stirs the air between us. “Sounds like a sensible girl.”
He shrugs. “Yeah. She’s worth the wait.”
I check once more to make sure we’re alone, then grab his face and press a long kiss to his lips. When we separate, I allow myself three seconds of staring into his eyes before returning to my computer, and he does the same.
Maxwell enters the dictation room, taking the place beside Julian. “Good work, Santini.”
Julian nods. “Thanks.”
Maxwell nods toward me. “How’s L&D?”
“It’s fine, Dr. DeBakey.”
Julian snorts and scrunches his face, mouthing Dr. DeBakey . I smack his shoulder.
Feet stretched out in front of him, fingers laced over his stomach, Maxwell looks between us. “You two still pretending you hate each other?”
I straighten and face my computer, sticking my nose in the air. “He’s evil incarnate.”
Julian nods. “And she breathes misery with every breath.”
We match glances from the corner of our eyes, suppressing smiles.
Maxwell sighs and stands. “Y’all weird.”