Chapter 11

The day had bled into nightfall, purple and blue streaks in the sky, melted from the moonlight. It was a full moon tonight, brightening the night, casting the world in its glow, expanding to include Wes. He slept there in my bed, the moonlight bathing his tanned skin through the window, making him look almost ethereal.

I leaned against the doorway and crossed my arms, smiling as I watched him sleep. It had barely been three weeks since he’d first set foot into my apartment, and it already felt like he’d made his home here.

Out of convenience, most days Wes would come straight to my apartment after his shifts at the hospital. I’d given him a key, and he used it often enough to warrant me making room for him in my closet. Some of his hospital scrubs hung there, along with his t-shirts and in my drawer were a few pairs of his jeans and boxers. He had a toothbrush, shampoo and a shaving kit in my bathroom.

It was almost like we lived together. We’d known each other a month. A month. Everything was moving fast, but Wes always grinned when I pointed it out, saying, “What do I always tell you, Celie? Fast is our speed.”

Ugh, don’t call me that, I found myself thinking.

I walked over and gently brushed his hair back from his face with my fingers. He didn’t stir, but I hadn’t expected him to; he still slept like the dead. It took me a moment, but I realized that I’d just been affectionate without being prompted. It scared me a little.

I decided to go make some dinner if only to get out of that room and escape the reality of my feelings. Foster kids know not to get their hopes up. People don’t actually want you, even when they say they do, even when they promise. I had no business getting close to anyone, and yet...

Maybe a delicious salad would make me feel better. I was halfway through cutting up romaine hearts when I felt someone embrace me from behind. I looked over my shoulder and found a sleepy-looking Wes. He kissed my cheek.

“Go back to bed.”

He shook his head, making me sigh and put down the knife. I turned around and melted into his embrace. Ugh, why was he so warm and comforting? I normally would’ve run from this type of situation. I didn’t do the whole relationship thing. My worst fear was co-dependency.

And yet here I was, leaning my head against his chest, listening to the thump of his heartbeat. It was a rhythm that could’ve matched my own heartbeat.

“How do you feel about kids?” he asked me randomly.

I leaned back to look at his face. “I don’t really like them much,” I said.

“Then you must be on birth control.”

“I am.”

“You never clarified, so I wasn’t sure.”

“You came inside me even though you weren’t sure?”

“Nothing would please me more than tying you down with my baby.”

“Wes.”

“I’m kidding,” he said, laughing. “I figured you were on the pill.”

“You’re not funny.”

“That’s what you keep telling me,” he said, grinning. “So, do you ever want kids?”

“No, never,” I said, sudden fear washing over me. I’d been hoping to put off this conversation for as long as possible. This typically tended to be the deal-breaker talk.

“Good,” he said. “I don’t either.”

What?

“I-I thought you said you liked kids,” I stammered. He couldn’t be serious.

“I like them, yeah. One could even say that I love them,” he said. “But I’m a surgeon, Celine. I don’t have time for a family. I wouldn’t want to be the kind of father that’s never around for his kids. That’s just not me.”

“That’s a relief,” I said, sighing. “I thought we were about to break up.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he said. “If I’d wanted them, I would’ve given up kids for you.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You’re so full of shit, Wes.”

“I’d even give up marriage.”

“Good, because I don’t want one of those either.”

Wes stilled, his smile fading.

“I’m sorry babe, but we’re going to have to break up. That’s a deal-breaker.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said, catching the twitch of a smile on his lips. I ducked under his arm and made my way to the fridge, pulling it open to search for the salad dressing. Wes watched me from where he stood, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at me like I’d plucked him the moon.

I tossed the salad, and Wes got us some bowls and forks. We ate together in the kitchen, standing there and talking about our day, about the call center and the hospital, and you’d be surprised how similar it all was. High-stress environments with difficult people and difficult situations. That’s what we dealt with.

When Wes leaned over and stole a cherry tomato from my bowl with his fork, I flinched, but the feeling passed almost instantly. Ten years ago I would’ve cowered or snapped, depending on my mood. I used to be familiar with hunger. People taking food from me? I’d been familiar with that, too.

But it wasn’t ten years ago. It was now.

I stole a crouton from his bowl, making him laugh. I’d never in my entire life taken food from anyone. I’d never been close enough to anyone to feel comfortable to do it. Somehow, in the strangest way, I felt liberated.

I felt free—because of a crouton.

“What’s so funny?” Wes asked, watching me in that way that he did, like I was the most fascinating person in the world.

“I stole your crouton.”

“And that’s funny to you? Stealing is a serious crime, Celine.”

“You stole my tomato first!”

“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind,” he said.

“I’m going to retaliate whether you like it or not,” I said placing my bowl on the counter. I reached for his bowl, pulling it out of his hand and setting it down on the counter beside mine.

“Hey—” he began, but I cut him off.

“Shut up,” I said, wrapping my arms around his neck. I pulled him down, my mouth meeting his moments later, and it was fire. His lips made my skin burn, like it was a scarlet fever, red and hot, making my blood pump in my veins, making me delirious. I clutched at him, my fingers closing around his shirt as he picked me up and carried me to the bedroom.

“My turn to retaliate,” Wes said, undressing me quickly. I helped him take off his shirt as he undid his belt. We met on the sheets, our naked bodies touching skin to skin, and the temperature in the room rose by several degrees.

“If this is what stealing a tomato leads to, I’ll have to start stealing your food more often,” Wes said, laughing when I tried shoving him off of me. He descended down, his lips meeting my neck, kissing up my throat.

“I’ll steal everything from you,” he said huskily. “Most importantly, your heart.”

“Impossible,” I said with a smirk. “I don’t have one.”

“But you do,” he said, placing his hand over my chest. “Right here, beneath your sternum, just a little to the left, lies your heart. I can feel it beating strong. You’re a fighter, Celine.”

His words rendered me speechless. The venom on my tongue dissolved; for once in my life, I didn’t have anything to say. I didn’t know how to piece together what I was feeling into words. All I could do was accept him and invite him into my body.

And so I spread my legs and let him fill all my emptiness.

A week later, I saw Wes cry for the first time.

It was late, almost ten at night as I was finally getting home. I unlocked the door, swinging it open and carrying in the groceries I’d bought after getting off work. I settled the bags on the kitchen counter and flipped on the lights, jumping when I caught sight of a figure sitting at the end of the bar.

“Wes?”

He had his head down, but he lifted it, along with a glass of clear amber liquid. His eyes were bloodshot red.

“What happened?” I asked, cutting across the room. He smelled strongly of alcohol.

“Nothing new,” he said, putting down the glass. “I lost a patient on a solo surgery.”

My heart caught in my throat. His patients were all children. A child had died. It was devastatingly tragic news that I almost wished he hadn’t shared with me.

“That’s awful,” I said, unsure of what to do or say. “I’m so sorry.”

He glanced at me, and I had to look away. I’d never witnessed a man this vulnerable before.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked gently.

“Physician-patient confidentiality,” he said. “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.”

“I won’t need a name to understand what happened.”

“I suppose not,” he mused.

I cautiously took a step closer, and he sensed what I was about to do, opening his arms and inviting me into his embrace. I wrapped my arms around him, resting my head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his cologne and that distinctly alcoholic smell that reminded me vaguely of drunken foster parents. I didn’t associate Wes with those people, though. He was only human; they were monsters.

“Talk to me, Wes,” I said in a quiet voice.

“Five year old female, cholecystectomy, cause of death: pulmonary aspiration. It’s not like I’ve never lost a patient before, but this one was completely preventable. I’m angry with myself, Celine. I suspected, but I brushed it off.”

“Suspected what?”

“That her parents had fed her when they weren’t supposed to,” he said almost acidly. “It was a simple elective surgery, I did everything by the book. I explicitly instructed her parents not to give her anything to eat or drink twelve hours before the procedure, but they felt bad about letting her go hungry. She had cornflakes and chocolate milk three hours before surgery. They lied to my fucking face. The reason you’re not supposed to have any food or drink before a surgery is because general anesthesia temporarily stops all reflexes, including the gag reflex. There’s a risk of vomiting if you have food in your belly during a surgery. Guess what happens when you throw up without a gag reflex? It has a chance of entering your lungs and causing you to suffocate and die before the surgical team even knows what’s going on. I—fuck, I should have known. Those parents looked so sketchy—”