Forward Page 2

“Look at me, Lara.” I do, but only because he never calls me Lara. “I want you to come with me.”

  “What?” I shriek in a high-pitched, shrill tone. I couldn’t be more shocked than if he told me he was going to jail. I did not expect that to follow him telling me he’s moving to England for a year. I figured he’d give me the whole, we can make it work speech.

  But move there with him?

  Even if for only a year?

  I just don’t know.

  “I want you to come with me. It’s only for a year,” he repeats, “and I don’t leave for another month.”

  “A month?” I ask incredulously. “You’re leaving me in a month?” I look down again, because I’m getting closer to those tears I promised myself I would never spill over a man again.

  Tom cups my face with his hand, drawing my eyes back up to his and running a thumb across my cheek. “We’d only be apart until you graduate in May, then you could join me there.” He lets go of my face, intertwining our fingers as he pulls our joined hands up to his lips again. “I’d also like for you to come out to visit for your spring holiday.” He’s softly kissing my fingers again, a shy smile peeking out from behind our hands.

  “Seriously?” I shake my head a bit bewildered. “Wow, I don’t know what to say.” I really don’t. I don’t know if I want to move to England, even if it’s only for a year. I have my apartment, work, friends.

  I have a life here.

  There I would only have him.

  Nurse practitioners are a new position in Europe, one that is not as well defined as it is here. It really doesn’t transfer from country to country. And I have no idea how to get licensed as a registered nurse there—if that’s even possible to do. It’s also a huge commitment to Tom. I assume we’d be living together there, but then what? Is that it? Do we move in together just like that? What if it doesn’t work out?

  It’s too much to think about.

  “I see your wheels spinning.” He kisses my hand again. “Settle down. There is a lot to discuss.” I nod, agreeing with that, because as the seconds tick by my questions only multiply. “I know I just sprung this on you, but I’d really fancy you coming with me. I love you and I don’t want to lose you,” he says this in earnest, and honestly, the offer is tremendous.

  “Would we live together? What about my job? What about my apartment?” My voice is getting more frantic with each question.

  Tom chuckles, his eyes sparkling. “Yes we would live together.” How is he so calm? He raises an eyebrow at me, clearly not willing to forget my last meltdown over the subject. “The company has let me a flat for the year, so you wouldn’t have to worry about paying for any of that. As for a job? You wouldn’t have to work.” I scrunch my nose at that.

  I’ve worked too hard to get where I am just to stop working. Does he think I’m going to be a kept woman or something? What the hell will I do with myself if I don’t have a job?

  “We could look into that if it’s something you want. You could rent out your flat here temporarily or . . . permanently,” he throws the last word in quietly. I know what he’s getting at, but can also tell he’s trying not to completely overwhelm me all at once.

  “But–”

  He puts his hand to my mouth to stop me.

  “We’re here. Let’s go in and chat some more about it. Yeah?” I nod, taking his outstretched hand and exiting the car. The cold air is welcome on me, clearing my head. Part of me wants to run from him as fast I can. I need distance to think this through.

  I don’t run from him, though.

  I know what that feels like, and I would never return the favor.

  “You’re very clever, you know? Bringing me to my favorite restaurant to drop this bomb on me.” I glare at him. He chuckles and pulls me closer to his side, kissing the top of my head.

  I wordlessly follow him inside the cozy cafe. This place brings me comfort. He knows this, which is no doubt why he picked it for tonight. Smart bastard. He knows me as much as I let anyone know me.

  Tom deserves someone to love him with their whole heart. He’s an amazing man. I love him and I’m happy with him, but is it what it should be? The thought of losing him makes my chest ache. That’s a good sign, right?

  London would be the adventure of a lifetime. I mean, when will I ever get the opportunity to live abroad again? Probably never, so why not take this chance with the man I love?

  The man who loves me enough to want me there with him.

  I have a million questions, all of which I know he’ll answer. He wants the next step, even if I’ve been dragging my heels about it. I pull his hand back to me, stopping us before we even get to our seats. He turns, looking at me expectantly. “Can I think about it or do you need an answer now?”

  His eyes crinkle a little and I don’t know if my words hurt him or not. “No, dove. Of course you can think about it. I figured you would. It’s a big decision, with many more implications for you than for me.” He runs his fingers down my face lovingly. “Come, let’s sit and talk.”

  I nod, following him to sit at a small table in the corner. I’m thankful for the seclusion, but now I almost feel like there is more pressure on me.

  “As I was saying,” he jumps right in after we’re seated and our menus are handed to us. I don’t need to look. I usually get the same thing. “For me, I get to have you with me. That’s all I want.” His blue eyes twinkle against the flickering candle light. “For you, I’m asking you to change much of your life for a year. I get that. I do. I want you to take the proper time to think it through. We’ll talk about it loads more. I’ll answer anything you ask, but just let the idea sit with you,” he pauses, looking down at the table before meeting my eyes again. “Don’t discount it off hand.”

  I smile at him, reaching out for his hand, which he places in mine without hesitation. “I would never do that.” I squeeze his hand reassuringly. “It’s an amazing opportunity and I want to be with you.” He smiles at that like a little boy and my heart melts. “It’s a lot, and I’m sort of freaking out about it.” I laugh. “Can I just think on it for tonight and we’ll talk more about it tomorrow maybe?”

  “I think that’s a clever idea.”

  I breathe out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you for understanding me so well. And for asking me to go with you. Both mean so much.”

  “I’d do just about anything for you, love.”

  “Good. You can start by feeding me. I’m starved.”

  “Starved, huh?” He looks at my tight-fitting dress. “You look rather fit to me.” I roll my eyes, making him chuckle. “Do you have to go straight into hospital after dinner or can you come home with me for a bit?”

  “I can come home with you for a bit,” I parrot, taking a sip of my water. No alcohol for me tonight. “My shift doesn’t start until eleven.”

  “Brilliant.” He shakes his head with a small smile. “I still don’t understand how you can work all night.”

  “Don’t start, Thomas.” He has this thing where he’s always trying to get me to either stop working, which is just insanity, or only work days. He’s definitely made a comment or two before that he likes the idea of me not working. That aside, not working nights is not usually an option for nurses. Especially nurses who are in school and clinical several days a week.

  He holds up his hands in surrender. “I can’t help it if I would be chuffed to bits if you weren’t working there at night. It just doesn’t seem safe, love. I’d rather have you home in my bed with me.”

  “I know, but I love my job and working nights is sort of a necessary evil.”

  “Things can change.”

  3

  The Emergency Department is crazy busy tonight. Apparently no one has heard of a flu vaccine, because all of New York is here complaining of fever. I’m rushing around, calling out orders and stalking down doctors like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction.

  After dinner I’d gone back to Tom’s for a bit. We’d snuggled on the couch by the fire while
we ate ice cream out of the carton. It felt impossible to leave that comfort to come here, especially after Amara texted to tell me what a nightmare it is tonight.

  I’ve been here for an hour, and I haven’t stopped moving once. My work phone buzzes, and I pick it up, balancing it between my ear and shoulder, as I swab the throat of a five-year-old. “This is Lara,” I answer, as the kid screams and gags while her mother practically wrestle hugs her down for me.

  When I first started working here I would have totally judged this mom. I mean, who takes their kid to the emergency room in the middle of the night for strep throat? But in my three years here, I’ve learned that my judgments are usually off, and that they make me a totally self-righteous bitch. This mom probably works two jobs to pay the bills and feed her family. This may in fact be the only time and place where she can take her sick child in for care. That right there, is why I work here.

  Why I love what I do.

  Why I’m hesitant to just throw caution to the wind and join Tom in London.

  “Lara, where are you?” Sue yells into the phone. Sue Richards is not only one of the doctors here, she’s also my preceptor for my clinical. She’s my teacher while I finish my training as a nurse practitioner. I work as both a nurse and a student in the same emergency department, which is confusing as hell for everyone, myself included. Most of the staff don’t know if I’m a NP student or a nurse, and I tend to get mixed roles often.

  “I’m doing fast tracks. What’s up?” I tell her as I pull the phone away from my shoulder, covering the mouth piece for a second. “I’ll be back shortly with the results of the swab,” I say to the mom of the five-year-old who looks beyond miserable. The mom gives me a tight smile, pulling her little one closer.

  “We’ve got two traumas coming in and we’re down a doc, that’s what’s up,” she barks at me, but I know her annoyance is at the doctor who called out, not at me. “Can you do sutures? A patient has been waiting for way too long and we’re risking infection.”

  I sigh. I figured this shit would happen tonight. “I’m a nurse tonight. I doubt Louise will let me. I won’t be covered with insurance for that.” I pull the phone away from my ear and ask the patient care assistant, or PCA, to run the rapid for me so I can figure out where I should go next.

  “I already spoke to her and she said she’ll call it clinical hours in order for you to be covered, and you’ll get paid as a nurse. Don’t pull this shit on me, we do this to you all the time.” She yells at someone near her, and I realize that right now, it’s just mean to mess with her. Sue is at the end of her nightly sanity. “We’re desperate tonight.”

  I groan. Could this night get more fucked up? “Right, I’m on it. Where is the patient?”

  “You’re awesome. He’s in curtain five.” She hangs up and I tell Shayla, the PCA, to come find me with the rapid strep results. I walk two curtains down, dodging a transport guy who thinks it’s okay to fly through the halls with a patient on the gurney. It’s not, so I yell at him to slow down.

  “Hey,” Amara yells out to me, carrying a bag of IV fluids and some tubing. She’s hurrying past me, before I can pull the curtain on bed five. “When we get a second to think I need a full report on tonight’s activities.” She’s smiling at me knowingly.

  “Oh my God, Mara, do we need to talk,” I emphasize with widened eyes, making her smile drop a little. “I’m apparently working as a NP tonight, so I’ll catch up to you later.”

  “You better, bitch.” Her smile comes back as she dumps the fluids in Olivia’s hand before walking down to the triage area to call her next patient. I turn, pull aside the curtain to find the chart and meet the patient sitting on the gurney, when my heart stops.

  Literally, I think it just forgot how to beat.

  The only thought echoing in my mind is, can’t be.

  No, it can’t be him.

  It’s not possible. There is just no way. My eyes are playing tricks on me. I’m overtired, and the flipping back and forth between days and nights have finally caught up to me. My body is shaking and I’m dizzy. I realize I’ve been holding my breath the entire time I’ve been standing here, still clutching onto the damn curtain. Before I even know what I’m doing, I walk over to the rolling laptop station in the room to check the patient’s name, because I know this has to be some sick joke.

  It’s not.

  “Lara,” Levi says my name quietly, but he doesn’t sound as surprised to see me as I am to see him. How is he not surprised to see me? I’m reeling over here and he looks. . .like himself. This cannot be happening to me right now.

  Not tonight.

  Not after everything with Tom.

  Just, no.

  “What are you doing here?” I manage, my voice barely a whisper. It’s a stupid question. I know it is, because I see the dressing on his left hand. I know he’s my suture patient, but that’s not really what I’m asking him. I have so many questions and accusations swirling in my brain that I want to yell and scream at him. I don’t know how to process what I’m seeing right now.

  Or should I say who I’m seeing right now?

  He looks different than when I last saw him. Different, yet the same. He’s a man now, whereas before he was a boy. Same dark hair, same hazel eyes.

  Fuck, just looking at him hurts.

  Like a gut wrenching, visceral pain that makes me want to curl up in a ball under the blankets and never come out.

  “I sliced my hand. I need stitches.” He holds his hand up to prove his point. “You work here.” It’s not a question, he says this like it’s an explanation. He looks me up and down slowly, noting my scrubs. “You’re suturing my hand?” I shake my head, turn and walk out of the room, closing the curtain behind me. I walk across the hallway and crash into the nurse’s station.

  “Cara, is there anyone else around who can suture a hand lac?” I plead to the perky blonde nurse behind the counter who is typing away on the computer. My eyes must be wild because she freezes when she looks up at me.

  “Um, no,” she says, shaking her head. “We’re swamped and understaffed. Can’t you do it?” Her eyes are concerned, noting my panic.

  “Yeah.” I turn, not hearing her next question.

  Fuck!

  I run my hands up and down over my face. I can do this. I steel myself, taking huge deep breaths. He’s just another patient. That is my mantra, even if both my body and mind know it’s bullshit.

  I walk the three feet back to his room, pull the curtain, and walk inside. I don’t look at him, I just grab the chart and thumb through it quickly, looking for allergies and medications. They could have changed since I last saw him. I drop it on the counter with a loud thud, before walking over to the sink, washing my hands and drying them with too many paper towels. Sitting down in front of him on the rolling chair, I try not to breathe, because despite the ever present aroma of hospital and sick people, I can smell his aftershave.

  The same one he used to wear.

  The same one I bought for his birthday eight years ago.

  He’s sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, his wounded hand on top of the tray, next to my supplies that have already been set up for me. A minor blessing, considering I usually have to do this myself. Right now, I don’t know if I could handle that. Putting on a non-sterile glove, I remove the blood soaked gauze covering his hand. I peer down at the wound. It’s about an inch long and thankfully not that deep. It won’t require a complicated closure, just simple sutures.

  I can do those in my sleep.

  My fingers glide along the skin of his hand and my heart starts pounding even harder than it was two seconds ago. “Are you allergic to latex or lidocaine?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

  “No, I’m not allergic to anything,” he says this like I should already know. I do, but again, things could have changed.

  I want to yell that at him, but I don’t.

  Leaning in, he’s closer to me, and unfortunately I can’t pull back despite how badly I
want to. I need to stay close so I can see what the hell I’m doing. I nod, still not taking my eyes off of the laceration on his palm. His breath brushes across my face, and fuck my traitorous body, because I feel it everywhere.

  His voice alone gives me chills.

  It always did.

  “How did this happen?” I ask, cleaning the wound. I need to know this as well. I hate having to talk and ask him questions. I hate having to act professional and touch him, even if I am wearing gloves—something I’m so grateful for at the moment, because I know exactly what these hands feel like against mine.

  Soft, but with a few barely-there calluses on his thumbs and middle fingers.

  “Corkscrew gone wild,” he chuckles, his breath brushing my cheek. I shiver. Damn it. I need to get a grip or his hand will look like Frankenstein’s head.

  My brain is going a million miles a minute with questions. Why is he in New York? Does he live here now? Did he know I lived here? Did he know I worked here? Why did he leave me? And of course the worst one of all: Has he missed me?

  I hate myself for going there.

  I went from thinking about moving away with my boyfriend for a year, to seeing the ex-love of my life, all in one night. Today of all days. I hate irony.

  January tenth.

  Exactly seven years ago was the last time I saw Levi.

  “Are you up to date on your tetanus shot?” I ask. “This will sting a bit,” I say as I inject the lidocaine around the wound to numb the skin. I wish I could inject it into my heart and my brain to numb them both.

  I hate him so much. I feel so bitter that he’s here in front of me, and I can’t ask him what I need to know. I still can’t even wrap my mind around the fact that he’s in front of me.

  Why does it feel like it happened yesterday, and not seven years ago?

  “The last one was at least four years ago, Lara.”

  I nod, but in my head I’m shouting for him not to say my name.

  He has no right.

  “We’ll give you a booster then.” I’m proud of myself for being all business. I haven’t looked at his face once since I first came in and saw him. I’m dying to. I want to study it and see what seven years has done to him. I wonder if he’s doing the same to me, but I’m too chicken shit to look up.