22. Chase
Chase
Logan whistles when we pull up to the gate at the bottom of Dr. Porter’s driveway.
“Christ. This guy is fucking loaded.”
“He should be,” I reply. “He’s single. Never been married or divorced. No kids. And he works his balls off. People have no idea how lucky they are to have him in this area. Trauma cases get medevaced to him from all over the country. It’s insane.”
“Well, I wasn’t nervous about being the dumbest person in the room before, but I certainly am now,” Logan chuckles as he pulls through the iron gates.
“Hey,” I say, turning in my seat to face him. “You’re not dumb. And you’re definitely not the dumbest in the room. Jackson’s going to be here, remember?” I tease.
“Oh, do I get to meet the lovely soon-to-be Mrs. Can’t Change a Trash Bag, too?”
I snort.
“Yep.”
Logan parks behind an old Toyota Camry, and we climb out of the truck. As soon as we’re inside, I move a little closer to him. I’m not sure when he became my security blanket, but even I’m overwhelmed in Dr. Porter’s opulent home.
Speaking of, the man himself comes around the corner looking like the millions of dollars he’s worth in a gray pinstripe suit, his jawline bare, his scent perfectly masculine…and rich.
“Dr. Matthews, I’m glad you could make it,” he says, shaking my hand before inclining his head toward Logan.
I don’t miss the way Dr. Porter’s eyes rake over him, and I can’t tell whether he’s checking him out or sizing him up, but it makes me shift uncomfortably.
“Dr. Porter, this is my friend, Logan,” I say, placing my hand on the small of Logan’s back in a protective manner. His tattoos aren’t visible—not that I think Dr. Porter would mind—but he has his earrings in, and my mentor is not trying to hide the fact that he’s intrigued by my guest.
Something about his perusal makes me want to shield Logan with my body.
“You look different out of your flight suit,” Dr. Porter finally says, allowing me to relax a little.
Of course. He recognizes Logan from the hospital, since Logan delivers a lot of trauma cases.
Logan chuckles.
“I look a lot better with the helmet on. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s all mine,” Dr. Porter replies with a knowing smile, and I swear to God his voice just dropped an octave. “Please help yourselves to drinks. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. I look forward to hearing more about your experience flying for Boston, Logan.”
“Of course,” Logan replies, shaking the man’s hand a second time.
Once Dr. Porter is out of earshot, I turn to Logan.
“What in the holy-fucking-hellballs was that?!” I whisper-yell.
“What was what?”
“You two were flirting!”
“We were not,” Logan says, but the color rising up his neck tells a different story. “He is a total fucking smokeshow, though. I don’t know how anyone concentrates in the OR with that man lurking around, barking orders.”
“Ohmygod, stop,” I plead, making Logan chuckle.
“You know,” he says, nudging me with his elbow, clearly enjoying my discomfort, “I’ve heard the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
I can’t stop the image from barreling into my brain like a brakeless tractor-trailer as it hauls ass down a mountain. I’m so startled by it that when I open my mouth, I say the stupidest thing possible.
“You bottom?”
Logan doubles over in laughter, drawing unwanted attention our way. Dr. Porter is among those eyeing us.
It isn’t until he straightens up and looks at me that I realize how rude that question was. It’s none of my fucking business.
“I’m sorry, that was out of line,” I apologize quickly.
Logan shrugs a shoulder, clearly not offended.
“Maybe from someone else.” He huffs a laugh. “And no, I don’t generally bottom, but that’s mostly because everyone I find myself attracted to already claims the spot. It’s been a while for either, so I guess there’s a chance things may have changed, but I’m open to both roles.”
Before I can respond, a light touch lands on my arm, and Sarah’s familiar voice fills my ears.
“Hey, Chase. You clean up well,” she compliments, handing me a glass of champagne.
“Sarah,” I say, greeting her with a nod. “You look lovely as well.”
Women in medicine are built differently. Sarah would never swoon; she has far too much pride and dignity for that. Instead, she gives me a demure smile and a thank you before adding, “Who’s your friend?”
“Sarah, this is Logan. He’s one of the Life Flight pilots.”
Her eyes brighten at this news.
“Oh, so Dr. Porter invited you? You two didn’t come together?” she asks, clearly relieved.
Logan licks his lips and flashes me a smile, clearly curious to see how I’m going to answer this.
“No, we did come together. Logan is also a friend of mine.”
“Mmm,” she hums. “No Kendra for the holidays?”
Hearing my girlfriend’s name sours my mood, and I give a curt “No” as an answer.
“Well, I’m glad you came anyway. This place is incredible, huh?” Sarah asks, obviously changing the subject based on my tone.
My skin starts to itch the more she watches me.
“It really is,” I agree before placing my hand on Logan’s back once again to steer him toward my other co-residents for introductions. “If you’ll excuse us, we’re going to make the rounds.”
“Of course,” she says, waving her champagne flute toward the others.
As soon as we turn from the entrance hall into the formal living room, I set the champagne flute down. I’ve never been a fan of the bubbles.
Guiding Logan around the room, I introduce him to everyone and relearn all my co-residents’ spouses’ names.
Logan fits in so easily, making everyone laugh and understanding most of the jargon these boneheads can’t help but use in every fucking conversation.
Logan asks all the right questions and has answers for all of theirs.
Before long, we’re summoned for dinner. The table is so huge, all twelve chairs fit easily with five along the sides and one at each head, accommodating our party and their plus-ones. Only half of our group is here tonight since the other half is on call at the hospital.
To my dismay, Sarah finds herself in the chair next to me, forcing Logan to the end directly opposite Dr. Porter, who raises his glass in a toast as a hired server moves about quietly.
Chatter happens easily, and multiple conversations are happening at once around the large table, but I can’t help but notice the way Dr. Porter keeps drawing Logan into his conversations, or the way he pays attention to Logan without blinking whenever Logan speaks. Everyone is riveted by the pilot.
I mean, they should be, but I wasn’t expecting to have to share tonight.
Picking up on the same vibe, Sarah places her hand on my thigh and leans in to whisper, “Looks like Dr. Porter’s highly interested in your friend.”
Sweat breaks out along the nape of my neck.
I don’t want Sarah touching me.
I hate that Kendra and I are fighting.
And I have no fucking clue as to why I’m feeling possessive over Logan.
Sliding my chair away from the table—and Sarah’s hand—I politely excuse myself and ask for directions to the restroom.
I do my best to follow them down a dark hallway. The door to an actual fucking library stands ajar, and I can’t help but peer inside at the stone hearth and real chimney. It’s dark in there now, but I bet when a fire is going, it’s the coolest room in the house.
Finally arriving at my destination, I plant my hands on the edge of the sink and hang my head.
I’m exhausted, just like everyone else here, but unlike everyone else here, I don’t have a great support system.
My best friend in the whole world is two time zones away.
My girlfriend is pursuing her own dreams eleven states below me.
My parents only call to check in once in a blue moon, and then it’s only to make sure I’m taking residency seriously—as if there’s any other way to take it—and I’m so busy, my only friends are my coworkers, which probably isn’t healthy.
Except for Logan.
Which explains why I’m not thrilled that Dr. Porter is hogging all his attention tonight. That realization makes me feel somewhat better. Like, I’m not going crazy.
Maybe after dinner, I can show Logan the library and just have a second to breathe.
Returning to the dining room, I squeeze the back of Logan’s neck gently in a friendly hello, needing to touch him.
He turns and flashes me a smile.
I notice his jacket has come off and his shirtsleeves are rolled up his forearms, revealing his ample ink.
Which, apparently, is the topic everyone wants to discuss.
“They’re nothing, really. Just a kid’s rebellious phase drawn in permanent marker,” Logan says, brushing them off.
That’s not what he told me.
The tightness in my chest loosens a little, knowing he’s comfortable enough to tell me the truth behind the images, but not everyone is privy to that knowledge.
After dinner, Dr. Porter gives everyone a tour of his home, and just like I suspected, Logan is enthralled with the library.
Unfortunately, so are a few others.
We dutifully follow Dr. Porter around his mansion, and I have to admit that, while the tour is pretty cool, what I notice more than anything is how empty it feels.
This is so much space for one person. Maybe that’s what it takes to protect your peace when you get as well-known as he is.
I’ve heard people will send letters, emails, and make phone calls to the hospital, begging for him to take their cases or those of their loved ones.
Some have gotten pretty aggressive in their desperate attempts.
I’m insanely curious about Dr. Porter’s story, but decorum and the power discrepancy between our positions prevent me from asking.
After the tour, we settle into smaller groups. Games of poker are played, dessert and liquor are served, and one couple leaves before midnight because their babysitter is in high school and has a curfew of eleven.
As we approach midnight, Dr. Porter—Declan—is deep in conversation with Logan and two of my co-residents. The wives who are present are chatting by the fireplace in the library, where I was pretty certain we’d all end up, and I’m pretending to be interested in whatever Jackson’s droning on about.
If Dr. Porter is into dick, and Logan’s looking for a way to forget Stone ahead of the new year, I certainly don’t want to interrupt…
But I don’t want to watch it happen, either.
So, when there’s an acceptable opening for escape, I take it, grabbing my heavy coat and a bottle of bourbon from one of the drink carts before taking a seat on the gothic-looking front porch.
The stone structure is adorned by two huge pillars supporting the overhang, and it feels like Morticia Addams may walk through the door any minute. All he’s missing are some gargoyles and a turret, I think to myself, taking a swig straight from the bottle like I’m at a frat party.
Unsure of the time, I silently hope the new year starts without my knowledge. It’s supposed to be this fresh start for amazing things, but recently I feel like I’m moving backward.
The front door opens behind me as I’m mid-gulp, making me feel guilty. I’m being a terrible guest, and Dr. Porter’s probably not expecting to have to babysit one of his residents tonight… nor is he probably expecting said resident to also be a thief.
“I’m sorry, I just needed a bit of—”
“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you,” Logan says, taking a seat on the top step next to me.
I wholeheartedly ignore the flap of butterfly wings now present in my stomach. Before I can get any crazy ideas, I attribute the fluttering to the alcohol, even though a lot of pieces are starting to fall into place and I know the bourbon isn’t to blame for the feeling.
“You and Dr. Porter seem to be hitting it off,” I say, hating the way it comes out pouty. Trying again, I add, “I didn’t even know he was gay.”
Nope.
That was way worse. Definitely poutier.
“Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t,” Logan says. “But as someone who has spent a lot of time looking for the signs of attraction, trust me when I tell you that’s not what he wants from me.”
Logan pulls the bottle from my hands, his fingers grazing my own as he does so, setting it out of my reach on his other side.
“What do those signs look like, then?” I ask.
He studies me for a minute, trying to decide if he should share, but finally, he says, “The same as they do when coming from a woman. Considering Sarah didn’t waste any time putting her hands on you tonight, I’d think you’d be able to recognize them pretty easily.”
I must be teetering on actual drunkenness because Logan sounds downright jealous now.
“So, constantly trying to touch you?” I ask, groping his thigh to lighten the mood.
“That’s one,” he says, his breathing growing heavier.
“Hmm,” I hum, thinking about other ways I can tell someone is into me. “Trying to get you alone?” I throw out.
Logan nods, leaning back on his hands, staring up at the clear night sky.
“Getting jealous when your time and attention are on others?” I ask quietly.
Logan turns his face toward me, his eyes dipping to my lips in the darkness.
“Yeah, that probably counts too,” he whispers.
My heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my fucking chest.
How drunk am I?
When we hear the countdown begin inside, it feels like they’re counting down to something much bigger.
“You gonna kiss me at midnight?” I ask, unable to tell if I’m joking.
Logan must think I’m not, because he gives me a serious answer.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Chase,” he says, looking straight ahead again.
“It’s bad luck, you know,” I tease, feeling empty, but moving closer. I wish I knew what it was about Logan that draws me into his orbit.
“I can’t,” he says so quietly I’m pretty sure I’m not meant to hear it.
I don’t ask again. I don’t even know why I was pressing the issue in the first place, but damn, this is not how I wanted to start the new year.
Three…two…one…Happy New Ye—
“Fuck it. Yes, I can,” Logan says right before he grabs me by the back of my neck, pulls me toward him, and slants his mouth against mine.