Chapter 8 Margeaux
MAREGAUX
The look of pure horror on his face is vindicating. I don’t even try to conceal my smug grin as the small boy leads me into his hospital room. His light blue gown swallows him, reaching his ankles. At least he’s wearing cool superhero socks.
“I’m Sammy! How did you know where my room is?!” This boy is too cute. He’s small and looks on the too-thin side for his age, and his bright blue eyes make him seem like he’s up for anything.
I watch the color drain from Jon’s face and my mood couldn’t be better.
He knows he fucked up ditching me this morning, and I’m not letting him off that easily.
I didn’t know he was a fucking doctor. That’s certainly a curveball.
Usually, guys brag about things like that, I’m a doctor.
I’m a lawyer. He’s more modest than most.
I can’t keep my attention on Jon for long because this bouncing boy is rattling off a million questions. It warms my heart that I have one fan in this horrible city.
“Well, I simply asked where the coolest kid in this boring place was, and they sent me right here,” I explain, pointing my fingers at the floor between us, which makes this little boy—Sammy—laugh even more.
“This place sucks. I hate being here,” Sammy says, his bright mood quickly dwindling.
I feel like such an insensitive idiot for reminding this kid he’s in the fucking hospital. I don’t know why he’s here. He’s a little small for his age, but nothing seems wrong with him. Maybe he’s just sick with a cold or the Flu, and he’s only here for a short stay.
Jon kneels beside him in an instant. “Hey, Champ. Margeaux is here to visit you. I told her how awesome you are, and she dropped everything to be here today.” Jon glances up at me, begging me to go along with this.
The smallest corner of my heart melts seeing Jon talk to Sammy. He seems like such a natural with kids. Guess that’s why he’s a pediatrician. That’s all the information I got from his ID badge.
“Can we show Dr. J your last match? He doesn’t watch wrestling. And that chair slam into Eva Mendoza’s back was epic!” Before I can answer, he’s diving back onto his bed and grabbing his tablet.
“You hit somebody with a chair?” Jon mumbles to me in a tone that’s similar to a parent scolding a child.
I smack my lips at him and roll my eyes. “Not hard. She’s fine.”
“It was so cool, Dr. J! Eva pinned Margeaux, and then Margeaux got up, and snuck behind her and slammed a chair into her back!” Sammy is talking a mile a minute while acting out the match with his pillow, throwing it down, making crashing noises.
He’s too adorable. He finally remembers he wanted to show Jon the match and starts scrolling through his tablet.
“Here! Watch!” He holds his tablet out for Jon to see, and there it is.
The video of my most recent match against Eva.
I usually cringe watching my match tapes.
I always get so critical, and think about how I could execute a move better, how the choreography could have been different.
“Bam! Chair to the back! Look at Eva go down like a sack of potatoes,” Sammy cheers.
“Do you often hit your opponents with chairs?” Jon asks in the most judgmental tone I’ve ever heard.
“No more than you leave women hanging in locker room showers.”
All of the color drains from his face, his jaw completely slack. I pat myself on the shoulder for effectively shutting him up. Luckily, Sammy is too engrossed with his screen to process what I’m saying.
“She had it coming. The Glam Squad has been our rivals since the beginning. It was time they got the message not to mess with me, or anyone else on Below Zero,” I say crossing my arms, staying in character for Sammy.
“Rrrright,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “I dunno. This seems like dumb high school feuds if you ask me.”
Sammy hits the back of his hand against Jon’s upper arm. “You don’t get it, Dr. J. Keep watching. The next matches get even better!”
Jon looks at me as if I’m some kind of deranged stranger.
He understands I’m in character, right? I can’t just be regular Margeaux around this kid.
It’s one of the first things we’re taught when at training camps—always stay in character when you’re around fans.
Even if they know that matches are planned and choreographed, they come to see you, not the real you.
Still, I hate the feeling that Jon is judging me, or looking down at what I do for a living.
He’s not the first person, certainly won’t be the last.
Sammy and I spent a couple of hours joking around, watching some of my older matches, and talking about life behind the scenes as a wrestler.
Jon sat quietly, observing, listening. He reattached Sammy’s IV, and I made a point not to ask what it was for, or why the boy is in the hospital.
I figured if he wants to talk about it, I’ll listen.
I imagine if he’s sick, he doesn’t want to talk about it more than he has to.
I bet that if you’re living with a disease, or condition, your entire identity circles around that, and people forget you have a personality behind all the medications, and hospital gowns.
It’s safe to say that Sammy is the coolest kid I’ve ever met.
He’s funny—he teases Jon constantly, and Jon just rolls with it.
I join in and tease him about his dorky side part hairstyle, followed by me messing up his hair, which quickly transformed Jon from ‘good doctor’ to ‘Dr. J’.
I like his hair a little messier, less put together.
It goes well with the layer of dark stubble.
My thighs twitch remembering how that stubble scratched me just right when he was kissing me.
Sammy asks for a few pictures with me, and I can’t say no to this kid. I’d give him anything he asks for at this point, and by the way Jon watches after this boy, I feel like it’s the same for him. It isn’t too long before Sammy falls asleep and Jon tells me he usually has to nap around this time.
“That’s the most excited I’ve seen him in a long time,” Jon says, looking at Sammy’s monitor, and jotting some notes in his patient chart. I’ve watched a bunch of medical dramas, and I can’t help but be curious to know why this awesome kid is in the hospital.
“Yea? Well, glad I could brighten his day a little. Will he be here much longer?” I ask, hoping to hear that he gets to go home tomorrow. But, judging by how lived-in this room looks, I’m getting the vibe that Sammy isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
“Unfortunately…no,” Jon says, his brown eyes looking down at the sleeping boy. “We’re waiting for a heart transplant. But it’s not looking good.”
And just like that, my heart crumbles to pieces. “He needs a new heart? He seems fine,” I say, refusing to believe this boy is that ill.
“Yea. Like I said, he’s never this excited and high energy. I’m sure he’ll be worn out for the rest of the day.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause him any harm—”
“Are you kidding? That’s what he needed. He just needed to feel like a normal, healthy kid for once. I do my best every day I’m here, but you really helped him today, Margeaux.”
We both become quiet, just the sounds from the monitors, and the rustling from the hallway filling the space around us.
Fuck. I wanted to be angry at this guy for blowing me off after our super sexy and sweaty make out session.
Now, all I want is to find the nearest closet or on-call room—as shown in every hospital drama—and have another intense make out session with this guy.
I mean, I can’t be the only one who feels the intense energy between us, right?
“Well, you’re welcome, Dr. J. Or, should I say, Dr. Jacob?” I tease him. We both give a half-hearted laugh, and the tension breaks slightly. “Seriously though. Your name is Jon Jacob? Like the nursery rhyme?” I ask, flicking his ID badge that he clipped back to his dark red scrubs.
“It’s, uh. A family name,” he says shrugging his shoulders, and brushing his fingers through his thick hair, keeping it messy.
“It’s a cute name.”
“Cute, huh?”
“Mmhm. Cute name for a cute guy,” I say, trying to build the tension back up. I think it’s working when his tongue swipes across his lower lip. He has great lips.
“Margeaux, listen. I have—”
“Oh! There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” A perky, super tiny, honey blonde bounces into Sammy’s room. She automatically throws her arms around Jon, squeezing in the small space between us, not casting me a glance as she smacks her lips to his.
What. The. Fuck?
Jon’s hands go to her bony hips as she keeps peppering him with kisses like a fucking puppy or something. Gross.
“Oh, babe. Who is this?” she asks, looking—no, glaring—at me over her shoulder. I’m easily a foot taller than she is. She should really be careful where she’s throwing those eye daggers.
“Oh, um. This is Margeaux. Margeaux Wild. She’s a wrestler,” Jon explains in a panicked tone, as if his ditzy girlfriend is cuing into the hot sexual tension that was building up before she bulldozed her way through it. “Margeaux, this is Nicolette. My girlfriend.”
“Soon-to-be fiancé,” she juts in, and I notice the disbelief befalling Jon’s face at her comment.
“Uhh. Well…”
“We’re moving in together first. You know, putting down roots,” Nicolette continues explaining smugly.
All of her words are dripping with the subtext of hands off my man.
“Wait. I know who you are. Aren’t you wanted for assaulting Brice Strickland?
Babe! She shouldn’t be here, around sick children.
She’s dangerous!” Nicolette moves behind Jon and pulls him away from me as if I’m about to find a scalpel and cut their throats.
Well, that doesn’t seem like a horrible option for her.
“Relax, Nicolette. Margeaux is fine. In fact, she was visiting Sammy today. He’s a big fan of hers,” Jon says diffusing the situation.
“Yea. And I’m not wanted for anything.” Except, maybe a ride on your soon-to-be-fiance’s cock. “It was simply a misunderstanding and it’s being settled,” I explain even more. I can feel my entire body getting hot. I despise girls like this. People like this. So quick to judge.
“Right. Well, I think it’s time for you to go.
This is a hospital, not a wrestling gym,” Nicolette sneers, turning her perfectly pointed nose at me and looking at my tattoos with disgust. “Besides, Jon is a very important doctor here. He should really get back to his patients, right, babe?” She turns to him, giving him the fakest smile I’ve ever seen.
This girl has gold digger written all over her botoxed face.
I mean, I’m not surprised. This is Paramount. All that matters here is money.
Jon looks at me, then back at Nicolette. It’s the longest three seconds of silence I’ve ever been witness to, and I feel so gross and itchy from it.
“Um. Yea. I do have to check in with a couple of patients,” Jon says.
Nicolette smiles at him, then runs her fingers through his hair, and restyles it into that stupid side part.
“Great. I’ll walk with you, babe. I need to show you this condo I want us to look at this weekend.
You know how to get out, Margeaux? Or should I call security to show you the way?
” Nicolette asks. My body is boiling from the inside.
I wish I could turn into a fire breathing dragon and incinerate her, watch her turn to a pile of charred dust and call a cleaning crew to vacuum her up.
Instead, I give my fakest smile, mindful that Sammy is still sleeping, and I don’t want to make a scene.
“I’ve got it,” I say, walking into the hallway.
I stop and look back at Jon. “I’ll be here for a few more days, Jon.
Maybe I’ll stop by again tomorrow. Visit Sammy again.
” I watch Nicolette’s face morph to one of horror and dread.
“I’ll take your silence as a yes! See ya tomorrow, Dr. J! ”
I wave at them as I navigate my way out of the hospital. The entire walk back to my hotel I yell at myself, repeating the same thing over and over: He has a fucking girlfriend?!