14. Chase
Chase
It’s only Tuesday, and I’m getting my ass handed to me. I’ve been behind since six a.m. I’m due in the OR in ten minutes, but I haven’t finished dictating from rounds, and I still have an entire in-basket of messages to answer.
I’d wallow in self-pity, but there’s no time.
As I’m racing to the OR, Jackson falls in line next to me.
“Hey, man. Can we talk?” he asks.
“Now’s not a good time. I’m about to scrub in with Fetterman, and I’m already stressed as it is.”
“Okay, sure. I just…you haven’t been home in like three days, so I was just making sure we were cool.”
“Yeah,” I say noncommittally. “I’m just crashing with a friend. But I really need you to clean your shit up before I come back. Like, clean out the fridge, take out the trash, and Lysol every surface in that place.”
Jackson rubs the back of his neck.
“Yeah, I hear you. But um, I was actually wondering…is, uh, is there any chance you could crash with your friend, like, permanently?” he stammers.
I come to an immediate halt. This fucker moved in with me at the start of the year, not the other way around.
“Are you serious right now?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, still rubbing the back of his neck. “We just found out my girlfriend’s pregnant, and there’s no fucking way I can afford a place close to the hospital and the cost of a newborn on a resident’s salary.”
“The fact that you didn’t wrap it up isn’t my problem, Jackson. That’s my apartment you’re kicking me out of.”
“I’m not kicking you out. And I know it’s yours. I just…never mind. I don’t want to make you late.”
I watch Jackson retreat down the hall for a moment before sprinting for the scrub sink.
Would Logan let me stay? Do I even want to? His place is nice, and I’ve actually been pretty comfortable there, never having to worry about what I’m coming home to. My parents’ rules suddenly make more sense, and I’m glad I’ve followed through with their stipulations.
I table the rest of my thoughts for later because as soon as I push through the doors of the OR, nothing else matters except the body of a twenty-something-year-old male who has a deep gash in his side.
It smells like iron and Betadine, and it takes every ounce of brainpower I possess to compartmentalize and focus on the objective tasks that need to be performed, but it doesn’t work.
I didn’t have a chance to eat this morning because I was trying to leave the house quietly so I didn’t wake Logan, since it’s his off-week.
Plus, I haven’t contributed to the groceries or anything yet.
By the time the case ends, I’m light-headed, and my hands are starting to shake and grow clammy.
Upon exiting the OR, I collapse into a chair in the physician’s lounge, knowing there’s more work to be done, but needing a minute to myself.
“Chase?” Logan’s voice pulls my head from my hands.
“Hey. What are you doing in here?” I say, trying to recover even though I have no excuse for the sweat dotting my brow.
He holds up a plastic container, but I can’t see inside.
“I brought lunch. For you. Um, I know you didn’t eat breakfast because I wasn’t missing anything in the fridge or the pantry, and I’m sure the hospital food gets old after a while. Not to mention, even a quick trip to the cafeteria takes time you usually don’t have.”
“You made me lunch?” I ask, totally bewildered.
“Uh, yeah, but it’s no big deal. I mean, I have to eat too, and cooking gives me something productive to do. I freeze a lot of it so I don’t have to cook during the busy weeks. It’s labeled, and I was just going to leave it in the fridge, so here.”
He’s rambling like I do.
“Thank you, Logan. I really appreciate it.”
He shrugs. “Like I said. It’s not a big deal.”
I hold out my hand to take the container, but it’s still shaking from my system reset.
“You okay? You actually look a little pale,” he points out.
“Just repaired a perforated colon in a twenty-year-old. Guy got mugged while he was getting gas.” The next words I speak are brutally honest, and they’re spoken without my permission. “Most days I fucking hate this job.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever said it out loud.
“Here,” Logan says, handing me a can of soda from the snack bar behind him. “You look like you’re two seconds away from needing the crash cart.” As I’m taking a sip, he adds, “Luckily for you, though, I’m an expert in CPR.”
I snort, damn near choking on the carbonated beverage.
“Thank God for that,” I deadpan right as my pager starts blaring in the silence.
A lot of people think it’s strange that the residents still use them, but we have one pager that rotates between us.
It would take a lot longer for someone to look up a schedule and see who’s on call and have to find that number than it does just to have one number memorized.
The number never changes, but the person who carries the pager does.
“Shit. I gotta go.”
“No, you have to make a call,” Logan corrects, opening the container of food. “You can eat and talk at the same time. I know, because I’ve seen you do it,” he says with a wink.
Something about the gesture sets me at ease. Like it was just human enough to remind me that I’m allowed to have feelings about the toll this job takes. It also brought a small amount of much-needed levity to my psyche.
“Okay,” I agree, dialing the number and placing the phone on speaker before picking up the fork.
When the voice answers, I reply.
“This is Dr. Matthews with gen surg returning a page.”
“Dr. Matthews, just who I was trying to reach. This is Tanisha Long, RN, peds oncology. I have a patient who says you’re supposed to—”
“Oh shit! Tell her I’ll be right there.”
I hang up the phone, shove another forkful of whatever this creamy, delicious meal is into my mouth—truly disappointed that I won’t be able to finish it.
“Logan, I’ve got to go, but can I have the rest of that for dinner tonight? It’s really fucking good.”
“Yeah, sure. No problem.”
Before I think through my actions, I walk back to Logan and pull him in for a hug. It’s not until his arms wrap around me that I realize I’ve gone a long time without being hugged, and the embrace feels really good.
While I still have him trapped against me, I ask, “Any chance you’re up for some cuddling tonight? This feels nice.”
His snort of hot breath hits my neck.
“You and your cuddles.”
“I know. It’s probably not normal, but it totally should be,” I confirm, missing the way Hanlon and I used to platonically drape ourselves across each other during a movie.
Touching and being touched just feels nice, and I don’t think men let themselves experience it enough. Especially from another guy.
The strong grip of a man can be comforting in a way the delicate hold of a woman isn’t.
Like with Kendra, I’m always the protector.
I’m always on alert. Always strong. My guard never fully comes down because she couldn’t manhandle me if she needed to…
if I lost control… if I needed to let loose every now and then.
And, fuck, letting go every once in a while sounds nice.
I don’t realize my fingertips are burrowing into Logan’s back until I feel him press into me harder, trying to escape my bruising force.
When he speaks, his voice is strained.
“If I promise to cuddle later, will you loosen your grip?”
“Sorry,” I say with a small smile.
“Go take care of whatever you need to take care of, and I’ll take care of dinner when you get in tonight, okay? If you’re not too late, we can even bro cuddle while we catch the game or something.”
I smile because he just assumed I’d be staying with him again.
But the joke’s on me because I was already planning on it, wasn’t I?
Maybe being roommates with Logan would be pretty cool after all.
“I’m holding you to the cuddling,” I tease, looking forward to it already.
“Go,” he says, pointing to the door, shaking his head.
But he’s smiling too.