Chapter Two
Donovan
I take my fiber, PrEP, then do my morning stretches. It’s early, but I’m used to it because of my work hours.
Despite the fact that I’ve never been into sports and I can’t say I love exercising, it is something I try to do now—the exercising, not the sports.
Now that I’m in remission and have been for years, I try to take care of my body that way.
I hit a growth spurt right out of high school and finally have some meat on my bones now.
I’m not Mister Muscles or anything, but I’m proud of the progress I’ve made.
When I was dating Malcolm—my one and only ex who also happened to land me in the Jilted Exes’ Club—he used to make snide comments about my morning stretches, telling me how they didn’t actually do anything and making me feel silly about them.
I look back at it now and wonder how I ever let myself get wrapped up in him, how I missed the signs that he’s an asshole who treated me like shit and made me feel bad about myself.
I wish I’d listened to Eric about him, but in the beginning, he played the part more, made me feel special and wanted when no one other than Eric had ever made me feel that way.
I shove Malcolm out of my head, finish my stretches, then head for the shower. Once I’m in my scrubs, I grab one of the breakfasts Eric helped me prep and pop it in the microwave.
I’ve never been much of a cook—something my dad playfully teases me about.
He’s always been the cook at home, even when he was busy.
He learned from his mama, his favorites being traditionally Southern meals that use a lot of oil and are delicious as hell.
He was born in Tennessee. His mama had the only Black-owned restaurant in their small town.
My dad had left when he turned eighteen, wanting to be out West. It’s where he met my mom.
We don’t speak to her family. They didn’t like her being with a Black man, and she told them to fuck off, but we do try and go see our family out in Tennessee whenever we’re able.
Eric cooks differently from my pops, but it’s good in its own way. I scarf down my breakfast, pack up my lunch, then head out the door. We’re the trauma hospital on call today, so it’s sure to be busy.
I’m in my car when my phone buzzes. I smile, knowing who it is.
Eric: Have a good day at work!
I wait until I get to a red light to reply.
Me: You too, babe.
“Thank God you’re here,” Perlie, one of the nightshift nurses, says to me when I arrive. The emergency department is already hectic—a patient screaming in one room, beds filled in the hallway, all the nurses running around.
“I’m suddenly wishing I was off today.”
“Baby.” She runs a hand over her buzzed head. She’s in her sixties and knows her shit. She’s one of my favorite nurses from the night staff. “You have no idea.”
I get report from another nurse, then send a quick text to Eric.
Me: Gonna be busy today.
Eric: Need me to come over tonight? Make dinner or pamper you?
I laugh. I get that our relationship is confusing to people.
They assume there’s something more going on between us than there is.
I’m not going to lie and say I don’t realize we’re probably too codependent.
God, Malcolm hated it. He used to tell me all the time that Eric was possessive of me or that he took advantage of me, never willing to see that the friendship Eric and I have is more give and take than anything he’d ever shared with me.
Me: Nah. I’m good. Hang out with Ana.
I add a winking emoji.
Eric: I was with her last night.
I frown, but before I can think about it much, my name is called, so I shove my phone into my scrubs and get to work.
The day is busy, just like I knew it would be.
I hate to see people sick or hurt, of course, but I love taking care of people, helping to make them feel better.
Nurses and doctors were my superheroes when I was young—them and my physical therapists.
Even when I was hurting or frustrated, I always knew they were doing their best to find all the answers they could for us.
The nurses would spend so much time talking to my parents, letting them ask questions, holding my hand when my parents couldn’t be there.
I always knew that’s what I wanted to do.
My house feels quiet when I get home, and I consider messaging Eric to see if he still wants to come over.
“No. Don’t do it. Don’t depend on Eric so much,” I tell myself.
Friends are still something I don’t have a lot of, and I still work hard to make sure Eric never feels tied down by our friendship because the truth is, my favorite place to be is and always will be with him.