Chapter 14 Brielle
Control, Halsey
The rubbery feel of the hospital gloves slides against my skin before I dispose of them into the garbage can. It’s been a long shift and I’m desperate for sleep.
I wonder how long I can sustain working so many hours within the week, but I must to reach my goal and get out of this country for a fresh start.
Leaving the patient’s room, I nearly run into a towering body within the hallway.
Hands grasp my shoulders as I revolt.
“Whoa. It’s all right! Sorry to give you a scare. I wanted to stop by and see if I could still request your presence for dinner tomorrow night?” Dr. Brendon asks with a warm smile .
I reply with a polite smile, crossing my arms and giving a small nod. “Of course.”
He nods in reply. “Good. I was going to be very cross with you if you couldn’t make it.” He gives a small chuckle that provides an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Before I turn to finish up my patient care, I hear a smooth, icy voice behind me.
“I suggest you get your sticky hands off my nurse.” Everett’s voice trails over my skin. The unease that squirmed within me melts as I lean toward his words. My breath catches as I peer up to find Dr. Brendon narrowing his blue eyes as they fill with malice.
His hands grip my shoulders harder .
My features turn to confusion, for I find the gesture unnecessary, and it reawakens the unsettled feeling in my stomach. “Dr. Brendon—”
He cuts me off. “Last time I checked, she is our nurse at this hospital. So her responsibilities lie here first.” He tilts his head arrogantly.
This pissing contest immediately becomes annoying.
I slowly raise my hand to wrench the grasp of Dr. Brendon’s fingers off my shoulders as Everett states, “Well, fun fact, Dr. Brendon. I own this town.” Everett now stands next to me, fixing the cuff of his tweed jacket.
“And I own this hospital. So she works exclusively for the Adders, and technically you work for me. So get your fucking hands off her.”
Before I can get Dr. Brendon’s hands off, he whips them off my shoulders and begins to point at Everett.
“You know, you and your family are so fucking pompous,” he states, his eyebrows narrowed, pointing his finger an inch from Everett’s chest. Dr. Brendon’s clean crisp scent and white physician’s coat and Everett’s dark tweed jacket and black button-up shirt with matching trousers contrast the light and dark personas standing before me.
Everett looks at Dr. Brendon’s pointed finger then gazes at his face, unamused. “I suggest you control your finger, before I shove it up your ass,” he calmly states.
Dr. Brendon’s mouth gapes.
Everett turns toward me, his hooded eyes peering into my soul, sending shivers down my spine. My skin prickles, anticipating his words, his next movement.
A dark, violent part of me envisions him punching Dr. Brendon in the throat and claiming me.
Jesus .
What is wrong with me ?
“Go to dinner with me instead of him,” he asks politely, ignoring the fuming Dr. Brendon beside us.
“No!” Dr. Brendon shouts like a toddler about to have a toy taken away from them, his hands crossed against his chest.
To try to diffuse the situation and keep peace a priority I offer up, “I already made plans with him, but I am able to meet you for dinner this weekend?”
Everett’s facial expression falls into a scowl.
“No. Tomorrow,” he demands. Now I’m even more irritated.
Dr. Brendon interjects, “Clearly she wants to go to dinner with me and only feels obligated to go to dinner with you.” Everett’s eyes flash toward Dr. Brendon and I can only imagine the various scenarios he has just imagined, of violently preventing Dr. Brendon from speaking.
His eyes gaze upon me again. “I have a work function I must attend this weekend.” As he explains, longing and sorrow fill his eyes, as if he is begging me not to go to dinner with Dr. Brendon.
I cock my head to the side as I hear Dr. Brendon sneer, “Well then. Clearly she isn’t a priority for you .”
Everett slowly turns to stare at him. “Don’t put your fucking hands on her,” he demands, his nostrils flaring as he turns to leave the hospital wing. With each long stride he takes, my heart pulls toward him as if tethered by rope. I don’t want him to leave.
Then Dr. Brendon shouts in Everett’s direction, “Only if she asks!”
Other staff within the hallway cease what they are doing to turn and look at Dr. Brendon and me, then back at an Everett as he storms out of the building.
I shake my head with displeasure as I make an excuse to leave Dr. Brendon and finish my shift.
My heart pounds within my chest as I get dressed for dinner with Dr. Brendon. I clearly have no idea what I’m doing.
What do I even speak about during dinner? Work ?
Peering down at Piggy, I spy the tip of his tail calmly wagging back and forth as he sits, staring at me.
“What do you think? Too boring?” I ask him, gesturing at my clothes and wishing he could reply. His yellow eyes just gleam up at me, almost as if he is amused by my tiny conversation with him.
“Maybe I should call it off? I’m under the weather, yeah? We could stay in and have a cuppa. Just you and me?” I state. Pig’s whole tail wags back and forth in approval, until I hear a loud knock on the door. I startle as Piggy runs down the steps, patrolling the door.
Making my way down the steps, I control my breathing, trying to calm my nerves.
I open the door slowly despite my rushing heartbeat. I find Dr. Brendon waiting eagerly. He gives a slow smile and walks toward the door.
But before he can step into my townhome, Pig begins snapping and snarling at him.
Immediately forcing the door shut, I glare down at Pig.
“Hey! That’s not polite, sir! Did Everett teach you to snarl at any man that comes by?” I bark at the dog.
He sits on his rear, posted to the door in an alerted stance, ginger neck hairs raised. He snorts through his nose, awaiting my next movement as I roll my eyes at his dramatic posture.
I crack the door only so I may peek through to respond to Dr. Brendon.
“Hiya, sorry, he is just very protective.” I try to give a nervous chuckle.
Dr. Brendon’s eyebrows raise. “I didn’t know you had a dog.” I follow his gaze down to Piggy.
Pig stares back at Dr. Brendon with a glare of utmost disgruntlement, his amber eyes reminding me of Everett’s.
“All right, let’s go!” I squeeze past the pup and through the open door.
Dr. Brendon takes me to a small Italian restaurant across town. The food is excellent, but the conversation is lacking .
It appears that, though Dr. Brendon is utterly handsome and initially seemed kind, he is a misogynistic narcissist. Most of the conversation—actually, all of it—is dominated by him.
Though it may take me a moment to open up to a new person, I have no opportunity to even discuss whether I like the dish I’m eating.
In fact, Dr. Brendon ordered it for me, something I had not experienced before.
Luckily I’m famished, so all food sounds delicious.
I never expected to eat snails in my life, but he orders something called es-car-goat.
It’s unsettling to feel like I need to eat everything he orders, but his face crinkles if I don’t finish a dish, or don’t nod my head enough times in agreement with whatever he’s saying about his childhood or interests.
He also downs many bourbons, to the point where I lose count, which is slightly unsettling.
He repeatedly tries to reach across the table and grab my hand, but I instinctively lift my napkin to pat at my mouth before he gets the chance.
He’s just a little too much.
Plus, my mind keeps wandering to Everett. Wondering what dinner with him would be like .
Once we finish, I cannot wait to get home and relax in my bed. To take off this polite mask I have plastered on my face so I won’t offend Dr. Brendon in any manner. I need to figure out a tactical way to decline any future dates he may offer.
I realize on the drive back I haven’t let Piggy out for quite some time. Lord, my guilt is going to cause an aneurysm. Thinking of turning down another potential date from Dr. Brendon and poor Pig holding his bladder for a few hours has my head throbbing.
As he stops in front of my house, I swiftly place my hand out for a handshake goodbye, then state, “I’m so sorry I must rush, my dog hasn’t gotten outside for a while. Thank you for the dinner. It was lovely!”
He peers down at my hand, then up to my face in confusion. To hurry the interaction along I reach down and grab his hand for a polite, professional shake, then exit the vehicle.
Entering my home, I find Piggy sitting in front of the door. Undoubtedly anticipating my return. His unamused, disgruntled, wrinkled face stares back at me. Then he pops up from his seated position, wagging his tail and rubbing his gigantic head on my lower leg like a cat. Silly pup.
I’m surprised I took to his company so easily. Now I can’t imagine a life without this big brute. Much like my Adders.
Leading him to the backyard, I open the door and let Pig out.
He runs out to relieve himself, then I admire him as he walks around the yard to sniff, his large form gallivanting in the backyard, yet stop every so often to peer up at the sky.
I’m interrupted by the sound of my front door opening.
I furrow my brow. I thought I locked the front door, but I must have been too concerned with Piggy.
I hear footsteps ascend my stairs as Dr. Brendon’s voice calls out. “Brielle?”
What is he doing? I thought I bid him adieu for the night. I immediately rush up the stairs, finding him atop the steps, peering into different rooms. Swiftly I squeeze in front of him so he doesn’t enter mine.
“Hi, what are you doing, sir?” I question apprehensively.
His slow, sly smile spreads across my skin like a bucket of sticky algae.
I’ve seen smiles like that before.
He gestures between us with his hands. “You know I wasn’t done with our evening, Brielle.” The back of one of his hands glides down my upper arm. “In fact, I was just getting started.”
In a swift reaction, I swat at his hand. I wonder where Piggy is, then realize I left him outside like a moron. Fuck .
Dr. Brendon narrows his brows. “That’s no way to act toward a guest in your home, let alone one who paid for your dinner,” he bluntly exclaims.
My nostrils flare as anger rises within me. “I don’t owe you anything. Please leave,” I demand, a small flame of courage igniting within me.
He laughs at me. “Oh, is that why you’re a whore for those Adders?
Because you like a man to have an edge ?
Push you around? Well, I’ll push you around, honey,” he replies, but before he steps closer to invade my space, I panic, thrusting my arms out toward his torso with so much force I cause him to fall down the stairs.
With each thud I hear, more blood drains from my body. Guilt overflows within me as I stand in disbelief: not only did I stand up for myself for the first time in my life, but I pushed someone down the stairs.