“Nice mug.”
He takes a sip right on cue. “Ten guesses who got it for me.”
I only need one. “Luca.”
He shoots me with his finger. “You got it. He also got me one with baby Yoda on it that says Small But Mighty.”
Luca is one of his older brothers. A twin but night and day from his counterpart, Landon. You’d never, and I mean ever, know that Luca was a closet Star Wars nerd if you weren’t on the inside. Luca is the sexy bad boy player you read about in your romance novels. A total heartbreaker. Just ask the woman he left behind.
“Can I have that mug?”
Carter smirks. “You don’t want the one where the handles are actually Princess Leia’s buns?”
“Are we talking ass cheeks or hair?”
Carter chokes on his sip of coffee. “Hair. Fuck.” He wipes his chin with a napkin. “Drink this.” He pours coffee into a random, totally un-nerdy mug before sliding it in my direction. I’m insanely disappointed. “Are you ready for the case this morning?”
“No. I spent all night filing my nails before polishing them hot pink and sprinkling them with matching glitter. If I chip one during this surgery, I might go postal.”
“Are you okay?”
I grin, taking a sip of my coffee, leaning casually against his island. I am so not okay. I’m living with Carter Fritz and my fiancé is a cheating swine of a man. “Perfect. Right as rain.”
His dark eyes fly up to mine like he’s calling bullshit, but then he gives me a smile that elicits butterflies in women the world over. Myself included. Not the best reaction to have to your new roommate especially when vulnerable is your new middle name and playboy is his.
“You look it.” I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not, but I don’t get the chance to ask as he throws something at me that I instinctively catch. “It’s an extra key fob to use with the code for my condo so you don’t have to bother the doorman every time you want to come up.”
I blink at him, at a loss for words. “Does this mean you’ll allow me to have gummies in the cabinet instead of hiding them in my room?”
“No. Never.” He cringes with an exaggerated shudder. “If I see anything resembling a gummy bear or worm in this kitchen, I’ll kick your pretty ass out onto the streets.”
Pretty? I wasn’t even sure Carter Fritz knew I was female. And simply because I’m a wounded bird, I preen at that. Annoying flutter in my belly and all. That’s all that is. Nothing more. The fact that he looks like a Roman god, all tall, muscular, and gorgeous, has no effect on me whatsoever.
“Thank you,” I say softly with a smile I’m conflicted over. “You really came through for me, Carter. It’s weird being here with you since ninety percent of the time we’re together we’re at work and you’re yelling at me, but I’m so very grateful.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you’ll treat this place as your home and use it for however long you need. Don’t feel like you need to rush out on my account.”
I resist the urge to hug him, but it’s not easy. Knowing he’s genuinely good with me staying for however long I need to clear some of the headache that’s been plaguing me since I mistakenly showed up on his doorstep.
“Are you hungry?”
I shake my head. “I’ll eat after surgery. My stomach is still a mess.”
His eyes lock with mine. “You’re going to be okay, Grace.”
“I am,” I agree, even if I’m not sure I mean it just yet. I’m hurting and raw and beaten down, but I’m not broken.
“You ready to get in then? We have a surgery waiting for us to kick its ass.”
“I’m ready,” I say, my smile spreading, probably to creepy decibels.
Carter takes the coffee I haven’t finished and pours it into a to-go mug. He does the same with his and then we’re out the door together, walking the blocks to the hospital in subdued darkness. We prattle on about work, our surgery, and I’m glad we can still be us after waking up and seeing him first thing, or sharing his space could be strained and awkward.
Typically, I run into work, but until I get myself into a new routine, I’ll have to find a new way to exercise. I need exercise like I need air, coffee, and practicing medicine. But more than that, exercise is essential to keeping me neurologically balanced. I was diagnosed with epilepsy at the age of five. A condition that grew infinitely worse once I hit puberty.
I was having multiple seizures every month right before my period. It became like clockwork. Those improved dramatically when I started on Depo-Provera shots. But it took me until the age of nineteen to learn how to keep my seizures in good control and until twenty-four for me to fully get my ass in gear and make all the necessary lifestyle changes. Managing my epilepsy is something I’m fortunate to be able to do.
Many with epilepsy aren’t as lucky and despite medications and lifestyle changes, continue to have uncontrolled and unpredictable seizures. Just because I’m epileptic doesn’t mean I let it define me though. I live my life how I want, I just don’t do it stupidly.
Carter sips his coffee, obnoxiously and uncharacteristically quiet as we enter the building. We make our way up to the surgical side of the labor and delivery floor and then without a word, Carter strolls off. Just any other morning. Me, his resident; him, my attending. I head for the locker room to get rid of my stuff. Carter has an office. I don’t. Hashtag, job goals.
Once my stuff is stored, I walk over to the nurses’ station in the back of the pre-surgical area to check the OR schedule when Dylan, my intern approaches me with a big beaming smile.
“You should have told me.”
I blink at him. “Told you what? About the case this morning? I did. You’re scrubbing in to watch.”
He rolls his dark eyes at me. “No, girl. That it’s your birthday. Or is it your anniversary?”
“Huh?” I reply with a small laugh. “My birthday is in two weeks.”
“Then what’s with the flowers?” He points over to the opposite end of the nurses’ station and sure enough, there is the biggest bouquet of long stem red roses I’ve ever seen. “They just arrived for you like ten minutes ago. I assume they’re from Tony, so it’s your anniversary then? I had to bat fierce bitches away from grabbing the card like I was playing Whac-A-Mole.”
I stare at them for a moment. They’re beautiful. Stunning really, but also… generic.
Thoughtless while being thoughtful at the same time.
I had gone all morning not thinking about him. And with one stupid bouquet, everything comes flooding back. His texts, begging me to forgive him. To call him. To give him another chance. That woman’s words to her friends. The things he did to her that he’s never done to me. The other women I don’t even know about.
“It’s not my anniversary,” I whisper as I push past Dylan over to the flowers. The fragrance of the roses hits me as I get closer, peppering the air with their sweetness. Flowers are not allowed in this part of the hospital. The scent can make people coming out of surgery and off anesthesia nauseated and since the pre-op area and the PACU are connected, I lift the heavy as sin glass vase and carry it back into the staff lounge—because again, no freaking office of my own.