Asystole After Midnight

1. Logan

Logan

Come on, Logan, I think to myself. Get it the fuck together. This guy is hot and willing, and your dick is going to fall off purely out of spite if you don’t stick it in someone soon!

I squeeze my eyes closed, desperate to shut out my own mental lashing and just enjoy Jack’s mouth on me as he sucks my cock enthusiastically.

But after five agonizingly long minutes, I’ve still got nothing.

Not a single sign of life.

My dick has flatlined and needs the paddles.

Gently pushing Jack back by the shoulders, I scrub a hand down my face.

“Look, man, I’m really sorry. It’s definitely me, not you. Your cock-sucking skills are exquisite. I’m just broken.”

Jack looks up at me from his knees, his long eyelashes caressing his cheeks when he blinks.

“There’s no pressure here. Whatever’s on your mind, just go with it. Give in to it,” he says with a shrug, clearly not bothered by my lack of a response to all his hard work.

I snort.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

Jack gets a devious twinkle in his eye and says, “What could it hurt? Just pretend I’m him.”

My eyes widen at the way he so easily identifies my struggle, causing Jack to laugh.

“Oh, please,” he scoffs with a wave of his hand.

“We met on a hookup app, not a dating website or something geared toward people looking for long-term relationships. That haunted look in your eyes—not to mention your petulant dick—tells me you’re having trouble moving on, and since I want to get railed to within an inch of my life, let’s help each other out.

” I stare as he continues talking. “Close your eyes, picture his face, call me by his name, and fuck me.”

With a clenched jaw, I nod once, knowing it’s twisted, but Jack seems on board, and honestly, what have I got to lose?

Not Stone. He was never mine in the first place.

“Is this guy’s voice lower or higher than mine?” Jack asks, causing me to crack one eye open.

Just how far are we taking this role-play? I silently wonder.

“A little lower,” I hear myself respond.

Instantly, Jack’s moans become deeper, but they’re still all wrong. Not his technique. His technique is great, and I actually hate myself for not being able to get hard right now, but even though I can picture Stone’s face, I know that’s not who’s in front of me.

I’m not who he wants, and I never will be.

It’s been four years since I fled Ricochet Ridge and the man who embedded himself under my skin. Pathetically, the knowledge that he chose his stepbrother over me continues to fuck with my head. I may have moved away, but I certainly haven’t moved on.

I scoot back on the couch in Jack’s living room, effectively pulling my cock from his mouth…again.

He purses his lips at me and sighs.

“Well, it was worth a shot,” he says as he slaps his slacks-clad thighs and stands. I never even took his shirt off.

“Again, I’m really sorry,” I say, meaning every single word.

“I know,” Jack says before offering some unsolicited advice. “But you’re going to keep disappointing yourself and your dates until you figure your shit out. So do us all a favor and don’t swipe right until you get over this guy.”

Jack’s not being an asshole. He’s just being honest. And I like him all the more for it.

He leans in until his mouth is pressed next to my ear.

“And when you get there, I hope you call me first. I’d still love a chance to see the rest of this ink.”

Despite my best efforts, it looks like I’ll be spending another night alone after all.

Fucking Stone Addario and this toxic crush.

“Hey, Kirkland,” the flight nurse calls as she climbs out of my helicopter while I pull my helmet off and shut the bird down. Looking over my shoulder, I let her know she has my attention. “Nice flight,” she says with a sincere smile.

“Thanks,” I say with a nod of my head, choosing not to point out that there’s hardly any wind, it’s sunny, and forty-five degrees, meaning a monkey could fly a chopper in this weather.

It’s actually pretty boring most days, but I guess as a form of critical care transport, the flying should be boring since everything else isn’t.

After four years here, I’ve only had a handful of instances where I felt like what I did truly mattered, and it’s something I struggle with after all the high-stakes flying I’ve done in the past.

After finishing my post-flight check, I fist-bump Kate, making her shake her head and roll her eyes.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re such a bromo,” she snickers.

“The fuck is a bromo?”

Kate grins widely.

“You know, a gay gym bro? A homo bro…a bromo.”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I say with a laugh, but then another thought occurs to me. “How’d you know I’m gay?”

It’s not like I advertise, and I own zero pieces of clothing with a rainbow on them—no offense to those who do. Yellow, orange, and pink just clash with my skin tone.

“Because you’re hot as fuck.”

I sputter a cough.

“What? That makes no sense.”

Kate just shrugs her shoulder, completely unbothered, as she continues counting inventory after using half of it on our flight back to the hospital to stop the bleeding from our last patient.

“It makes total sense. You’re hot as fuck, you have sick ink, and you’re a helicopter pilot for fuck’s sake. Who doesn’t want to hit that?”

“Is there a point to this rambling?”

“My point is, you should be the biggest playboy out there, but you never flirt with any of the staff. No matter how much they come on to you, you haven’t so much as dipped your eyes to my tits once, and you never say a single word about the people you’re hooking up with.”

“Maybe I took a vow of celibacy,” I offer.

“Or maybe you’re gay and think people will judge you.”

This pulls a genuine laugh from me.

“While I appreciate your creepy observation of my habits, I haven’t been in the closet since I came out of it at the age of twelve. So, yeah, you hit the nail on the head, but I’m not ashamed of it. I just keep my cards close to my chest… but you do have great tits.”

I send her a wink and head inside to wait for the next call.

As I open the door on the roof that takes me back to the main body of the hospital, I’m struck again by how hospitals are the most depressing fucking places on Earth.

I mean, people are here because they’re already suffering.

Why add insult to injury with these bland, dirty, beige walls and fluorescent lights?

Corporate slogans are affixed to the doors in an effort to invoke a sense of pride, but who could feel great about the monochromatic, antiseptic-smelling monotony of this place?

I burst through the final door on my way to the cafeteria, lost in thought, when I slam into someone. Instinctively, I reach out, grasping their shoulders to steady myself more than the brick wall I just hit.

“Shit. Sorry. That’s my bad,” I say, quickly registering the scrubs.

I understand wherever this person is headed is far more important than the honeybun I’m racing toward.

An easy-going laugh with a hint of familiarity fills my ears.

“No worries, man. It’s all g—Logan?” Chase’s face breaks into a wide smile as he pulls me in and claps me on the back. “How the hell are you?”

Chase Matthews and I met four years ago on one of the worst nights of my life.

His too, if I’m being honest. While we waited for news of our friends, he and I discovered we were both moving to Boston that coming summer, but I knew, even then, I’d never use the number he gave me.

Chase would only serve as a reminder of what I’d lost, and I was looking for a clean break.

When I run, I run far and fast, severing all ties.

This time, however, it seems no distance or amount of time will bring the healing I need.

It’s been four years, and I’m still being suffocated by my unrequited love for my old boss.

The stepbrother he chose over me happened to be Chase’s best friend, and even with three degrees of separation or whatever, seeing Chase after all this time still feels like a knife to my chest, and my heart falters from the blow.

“Dr. Matthews,” I say, nodding at his badge. “Congratulations.” The last time we spoke, Chase had just been accepted into medical school.

Looks like he made it through.

Chase’s friendly smile only grows larger.

“Thanks.” He looks at me and rubs a hand across the back of his neck, the lines at the corners of his eyes giving away his fatigue.

“Hey, I’m sorry I never reached out,” he says, his shame written clearly on his face.

“Classes kicked my ass from day one, and I quickly realized it was going to have to be all or nothing for the next four years.”

“It’s alright,” I say, putting him at ease. “Phones work both ways, and I didn’t use it either.”

An awkward silence descends upon us in the hallway, but Chase doesn’t let it linger long.

“Well, uh, I need to run, but my number’s still the same if you want to grab that beer or something.

I matched here for residency, so I’ll be sticking around for another five years.

Would be cool to have a friend outside of the same twelve people I see day in and day out.

Maybe we can finally squeeze one in during that time frame,” he adds with a laugh.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” I lie.

Get real, a voice immediately says in my brain. You’re never going to take him up on that offer because you don’t want to think about what he reminds you of, you selfish bastard.

I watch Chase’s broad shoulders retreat before he turns right, disappearing from view.

When I finally get home that evening, I eye the pile of laundry spilling from the basket onto the floor of my tiny closet and know that’s first on my to-do list. I’m a neat freak.

No matter how tired I am, I can’t relax until everything is in its place.

I work seven days on with twelve-hour shifts and then have seven days off.

During my on weeks, it would be extremely easy to let my dishes get out of control, allow my laundry to run rampant, and eat nothing but frozen meals and restaurant leftovers.

But most days, I’m already teetering on the edge of depression.

If I were to let myself live in squalor, I’m afraid I’d enter a place so dark I’d never be able to escape.

Changing into something more comfortable, I get to work tidying up my space.

As soon as my tiny, sparsely furnished box of a condo is gleaming, with the dishwasher humming, the washer running, and the floor vacuumed, I flop onto the threadbare couch and begin mindlessly scrolling through social media posts on my phone until it’s a respectable hour to go to bed, when suddenly, a friend suggestion pops up.

Chase Matthews.

I click on his profile because, apparently, after killing the cat, Curiosity is now coming for me, too.

Chase’s profile picture is him in a rock-climbing harness, cheesing big for the camera as he traps his best friend Hanlon in a headlock.

Chase’s red hair is the deepest shade of crimson I’ve ever seen on a human.

His smile is insanely bright against the tan freckles on the bridge of his nose, and I have to admit, he’s oddly attractive, which is not something I ever thought I’d say.

I have a type, and Chase Matthews isn’t it.

In fact, he couldn’t be further from the scowling, dark-haired, dark-eyed, lean-bodied man who continues to threaten my sanity even after all this time.

Against my better judgment, I continue scrolling through Chase’s pictures when a ping alerts me to a new notification.

Opening it, I groan.

Chase Matthews would like to send you a message.

Begrudgingly, I click Accept.

Chase

You know this app notifies you when people click on your profile, right?

Nope. I did not know that.

Can’t a guy do a little light-hearted stalking without the whole world knowing? Geez.

Logan

Yeah, of course I did. It suggested you as a friend. Weird, since that probably means it knows I ran into you today.

Chase

Just think, if we go out for that beer, you can get to know the real thing through actual conversation instead of lurking in the shadows

The winking kissy-face throws me.

Is he flirting with me?

I’m pretty sure Chase is straight. But even if he isn’t, no fucking way am I touching that with a ten-foot pole. Not that it really matters, since I can’t seem to get it up for anyone anyway.

I close out of the app without sending another message and throw my phone to the other end of my couch. With no intention of grabbing that beer, I feel bad leading him on.

Chase is a nice guy—despite his questionable choices in friends.

Dragging my ass off the couch, I take a shower, resolving to watch my melancholy attitude swirl down the drain.

It’s been two months since I tried hooking up with Jack, and I’m no closer to being over Stone, but something has to give.

I don’t know what to do other than fake it ’til I make it.

So, when I get out, I make a new profile on yet another hookup app.

It’s time to get my body back in the game, even if my heart isn’t in it.