The One Real Thing
Page 56
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That grin hit me low in my belly.
It was starting to do that every time.
“You grow up somewhere like here and I like to think it gives you good values, makes you a better kind of person.”
“From what I’ve seen I would say so,” I said. “You have all charmed me.”
“And thank fuck for that,” he said forcefully.
I crossed my legs under the table at the heat in his eyes, and that smolder in them only darkened at whatever he saw in my own.
“Idyllic, then,” I murmured, a little dazed from the intensity of the rush of desire pumping through my veins.
“What?” he murmured back, still staring at me like he wanted to devour me.
“What?” I said as my thoughts grew increasingly lust fogged. I suddenly had a vision of him throwing the table between us across the room like Superman, and then scooping me up in his arms and hurrying me home to his bed at the speed of light.
Oh boy.
“Idyllic?” he said, pulling himself out of the sensual moment and thus pulling me, too. “Yeah. This place is pretty idyllic for a kid.”
I nodded and recrossed my legs.
Cooper’s eyes narrowed on my body. “You okay there?”
I knew by the purr in the back of his throat that he was plenty aware I was not “okay.” “Fine,” I lied.
He smirked and looked down into the coffee mug. “Tell me about medical school.”
“You weren’t done telling me about Hartwell.”
“Tit for tat, Doc. You tell me something, I’ll tell you something.”
That sounded fair. “Okay. Medical school was grueling. My medical residency was worse. Working twenty-four-hour shifts is pretty hard.”
Cooper winced. “Twenty-four-hour shifts? Are you kidding?”
“Nope. Once you hit second year you’re legally allowed to do twenty-four hours. It’s hard-core.”
“How did you cope?”
“Adrenaline mostly. Most people who are cut out to be surgeons . . . I think that’s what gets them through it. And mixed in with the high you get from saving someone’s life is that feeling of power. We can’t always control life or death, but we can do our damn best to. And that’s what it’s like being a surgeon. It’s taking back a little of that control. The high is phenomenal. It’s even better when you get to tell a patient’s family that the person they love is going to be okay.”
“But equally shitty to tell them the opposite.”
There were actually no words for how shitty that was. I would always remember the first surgery I’d participated in as an intern when the patient died on the table. I was with the attending surgeon when she told the family. On top of the overwhelmingly raw grief that emanated so powerfully from them that I couldn’t escape feeling it, I couldn’t see past the look in their eyes . . . this angry disappointment in us that went beyond any description.
It had never left me.
I tried to compartmentalize it, and the deaths that came after, in order to do my job. I just couldn’t. I could handle giving a patient bad news, knowing the person could still fight to survive or, selfishly, knowing I wouldn’t have to be there to see it if he or she lost that fight. But watching a patient die and then telling the loved ones that the person was gone started to wear on me. And that was when I knew I couldn’t be a surgeon. Even if the good days far outweighed the bad, it was the bad days that haunted me long after.
Cooper saw the answer in my eyes.
I changed the subject. “A growing-up-in-Hartwell story,” I prompted.
He immediately went with it. “You want to hear about the time I held up Lanson’s grocery store?”
Shock ran through me. “What?”
“I was eight and my gun was a toy.”
I laughed. “Oh, my God.”
“My mom regretted letting me watch that marathon of western movies, but old Jeff Lanson got a laugh out of it. Thankfully.”
I laughed harder, imagining a cute little version of Cooper holding up the supermarket. “What happened?”
We sat there for the next few hours, exchanging stories, until my eyes started to grow heavy.
“Come on, Doc, we better get you home. You’ve got an appointment with Anita in a few hours.”
Oh, crap. I’d forgotten about that.
After Cooper had locked up the bar, he walked me back to the inn along the darkened boardwalk. The whole way there I had my head on his shoulder. He held up my tired body with his arm around my waist and I held on with my arm around his.
It felt easy and right.
And so goddamn beautiful I could have cried.
To cap off the best night I could remember in a long time, Cooper brushed his lips over mine to say good night. Just a whisper of his mouth, a tease of the taste of him, and that touch zinged through my blood.
“I’ll check in with you in a while.” He whispered his promise against my lips.
There was so much emotion rising up out of me that it got choked up in my throat and I couldn’t speak. I could only nod, hoping he saw everything I felt in my eyes.
And, judging by the small, sexy smile he gave me, he did.
FOURTEEN
Jessica
Less than fifteen minutes before, I’d been exhausted, splashing cold water on my face and downing coffee to feel just awake enough to see Archie’s partner, Anita.
The previous night had been worth the lack of sleep, though.
The last time I’d sat all night and talked with someone had been with my college roommate, who I lost touch with when we went to separate graduate schools.
It was starting to do that every time.
“You grow up somewhere like here and I like to think it gives you good values, makes you a better kind of person.”
“From what I’ve seen I would say so,” I said. “You have all charmed me.”
“And thank fuck for that,” he said forcefully.
I crossed my legs under the table at the heat in his eyes, and that smolder in them only darkened at whatever he saw in my own.
“Idyllic, then,” I murmured, a little dazed from the intensity of the rush of desire pumping through my veins.
“What?” he murmured back, still staring at me like he wanted to devour me.
“What?” I said as my thoughts grew increasingly lust fogged. I suddenly had a vision of him throwing the table between us across the room like Superman, and then scooping me up in his arms and hurrying me home to his bed at the speed of light.
Oh boy.
“Idyllic?” he said, pulling himself out of the sensual moment and thus pulling me, too. “Yeah. This place is pretty idyllic for a kid.”
I nodded and recrossed my legs.
Cooper’s eyes narrowed on my body. “You okay there?”
I knew by the purr in the back of his throat that he was plenty aware I was not “okay.” “Fine,” I lied.
He smirked and looked down into the coffee mug. “Tell me about medical school.”
“You weren’t done telling me about Hartwell.”
“Tit for tat, Doc. You tell me something, I’ll tell you something.”
That sounded fair. “Okay. Medical school was grueling. My medical residency was worse. Working twenty-four-hour shifts is pretty hard.”
Cooper winced. “Twenty-four-hour shifts? Are you kidding?”
“Nope. Once you hit second year you’re legally allowed to do twenty-four hours. It’s hard-core.”
“How did you cope?”
“Adrenaline mostly. Most people who are cut out to be surgeons . . . I think that’s what gets them through it. And mixed in with the high you get from saving someone’s life is that feeling of power. We can’t always control life or death, but we can do our damn best to. And that’s what it’s like being a surgeon. It’s taking back a little of that control. The high is phenomenal. It’s even better when you get to tell a patient’s family that the person they love is going to be okay.”
“But equally shitty to tell them the opposite.”
There were actually no words for how shitty that was. I would always remember the first surgery I’d participated in as an intern when the patient died on the table. I was with the attending surgeon when she told the family. On top of the overwhelmingly raw grief that emanated so powerfully from them that I couldn’t escape feeling it, I couldn’t see past the look in their eyes . . . this angry disappointment in us that went beyond any description.
It had never left me.
I tried to compartmentalize it, and the deaths that came after, in order to do my job. I just couldn’t. I could handle giving a patient bad news, knowing the person could still fight to survive or, selfishly, knowing I wouldn’t have to be there to see it if he or she lost that fight. But watching a patient die and then telling the loved ones that the person was gone started to wear on me. And that was when I knew I couldn’t be a surgeon. Even if the good days far outweighed the bad, it was the bad days that haunted me long after.
Cooper saw the answer in my eyes.
I changed the subject. “A growing-up-in-Hartwell story,” I prompted.
He immediately went with it. “You want to hear about the time I held up Lanson’s grocery store?”
Shock ran through me. “What?”
“I was eight and my gun was a toy.”
I laughed. “Oh, my God.”
“My mom regretted letting me watch that marathon of western movies, but old Jeff Lanson got a laugh out of it. Thankfully.”
I laughed harder, imagining a cute little version of Cooper holding up the supermarket. “What happened?”
We sat there for the next few hours, exchanging stories, until my eyes started to grow heavy.
“Come on, Doc, we better get you home. You’ve got an appointment with Anita in a few hours.”
Oh, crap. I’d forgotten about that.
After Cooper had locked up the bar, he walked me back to the inn along the darkened boardwalk. The whole way there I had my head on his shoulder. He held up my tired body with his arm around my waist and I held on with my arm around his.
It felt easy and right.
And so goddamn beautiful I could have cried.
To cap off the best night I could remember in a long time, Cooper brushed his lips over mine to say good night. Just a whisper of his mouth, a tease of the taste of him, and that touch zinged through my blood.
“I’ll check in with you in a while.” He whispered his promise against my lips.
There was so much emotion rising up out of me that it got choked up in my throat and I couldn’t speak. I could only nod, hoping he saw everything I felt in my eyes.
And, judging by the small, sexy smile he gave me, he did.
FOURTEEN
Jessica
Less than fifteen minutes before, I’d been exhausted, splashing cold water on my face and downing coffee to feel just awake enough to see Archie’s partner, Anita.
The previous night had been worth the lack of sleep, though.
The last time I’d sat all night and talked with someone had been with my college roommate, who I lost touch with when we went to separate graduate schools.
