The Edge of Reason, page 5
I snort. “Probably when we’re both reincarnated into our next lives and we’re stuck in an apocalyptic-like situation, à la Terminator, and the fate of the world rests in our hands.”
“It’s a shame, darlin’, but if you won’t marry him, Jamie over there is anxious to see you.”
Drew visibly stiffens. “Why would Jamie care if Margot is here?”
His mother scowls at him like she’s about to smack him upside his head to knock some sense into him. “Because he’s single and she’s single and you’ve let us all know that you’re just friends.”
“She’s not dating Jamie, mom,” Drew interjects with a sharp tone that’s so unexpected my eyes widen.
Why would he care if I date Jamie? It’s not like they’re all that close or I’m a bad person spreading STDs throughout the community. Jamie is a year older than me, handsome as the devil at night, and single. Maybe Drew’s concerned that with my track record with men, dating his brother is a recipe for disaster?
I don’t know, but I don’t argue it either.
“That’s for her to decide, boy,” his mother snaps back. “You haven’t leapt at your chance after ending things proper with Aria.” Drew growls, growing more agitated by the second. Anna throws her hands up. “I liked her. I right did. But that girl was all ambition. Too interested in her art to mind her man.”
I pinch my nose up at that. I don’t like that assessment of my friend. Yes, Aria paints her heart onto every canvas and sometimes that takes days or weeks to create perfectly. But she worked at her relationship with Drew. Him? Well, I don’t know. He was expectant and arrogant with her. And why isn’t the man supposed to make sacrifices for it to work? Why only the woman?
“That wasn’t our problem,” he declares, in a rare moment of truth about Aria. “Aria is extremely talented. She should work hard and spend long hours doing it. She didn’t have to mind me. It was my mistake assuming she would, and I was wrong to do so.”
“Well, in any event, she didn’t balance you out either.” That might be true. “Your ambition is like none other, Andrew, and hers was too. You are both too serious with not enough fun between you. I love women who work for their livelihoods. It should never just fall to the man to provide. That’s shit.” I stare googly-eyed at his mother because she’s speaking gospel at this moment. “A woman is to work hard, and so is her man, but they have to balance each other out. You and Aria never found that. That’s why you fought and eventually ended. You and Margot,” she points a stern finger at me, “balance each other. You work as a team.”
She was my hero until she got to that last point.
This whole me and Drew thing has become a runaway train destined for hell with me sitting in the conductor’s seat behind a broken switch. I’m helpless to stop it, waiting for the inevitable crash and burn.
Doesn’t matter people’s thoughts on me and Drew, I decide. They’re just opinions. Comments with no foundation or legs to stand on. Drew’s not the least bit interested and I’m now a vestal virgin, pious and virtuously anti-men.
“Stop, mom,” Drew begs.
Of course, she doesn’t. She’s a stubborn Irish woman with a point. “Couples cannot work if there is no give and take. I’ve never met a man who works as hard as you do and if your lady works equally as hard, it will never work.”
I wink at her, though her comment is crazy sexist and a bit of a contradiction to everything she was just saying.
“Then you don’t want me for him, Anna. I work two twelves and two tens and that’s without any extra shifts, which I frequently take. I also work all hours of the day and night. I am a nurse on a mission with no end in sight.”
“Yes, my girl.” The crazy bitch smacks my cheeks. I freaking love her, despite her somewhat antiquated opinions on the male/female dynamic. “But you work with him. You’re his yin and he’s your yang. You work as hard as he does, but you counterbalance each other.”
She glances over at Drew with a sly smirk. He’s all hard lines and sharp contours. He’s rigid and unrelenting and…angry? I don’t know. He’s something alright. She turns back to me, a gleam in her eyes I can’t discern.
“But with Andrew’s life choices, Margot, and you being so beautiful and available and young, Jamie is a much better fit for you. More age appropriate. More fun. He’d be good to you, Margot. Treat you like a princess.” She winks at me and I do my very best to maintain my smile.
Drew shifts closer to me, angling between me and his mother almost possessively. “No. Absolutely not,” he barks. “Margot and I are just friends and she’s absolutely not dating Jamie or any of my brothers for that matter. End of story. Please stop hounding her to be more with us.”
I inwardly frown, unable to comprehend why he’s so adamant.
“We’ll see about that,” she continues undeterred. “Jamie certainly has his eye on her.”
She smiles like a woman working all kinds of evil spells for me and her sons.
Someone has to stop her.
“Oh,” I exclaim, scanning the room like I’ve never been here before. I slap my chest in utter bewildered surprise. “Is that karaoke?” It’s new. I knew they were getting one because Drew’s brother Connor told me it was coming. “I love karaoke. Can I sing on it?”
Drew throws me a grateful look. Anna shines like the top of the former Chrysler building, and if I were Little Orphan Annie, I’d be rocking this place down to the ground. As it is, my musical talents are lackluster at best. But no one cares. Drunk Freddy in the corner and drunk Nolan, Declan, and Shane don’t either. I’m improvising their names, but you get the point.
This bar hasn’t seen action in a decade at least.
“Sure thing,” Anna says with a warm smile. “Then we’ll eat.”
“Get your pretty ass over here, Margot,” Drew’s middle brother, Aiden, bellows out. His other brothers, Jamie and Connor, are gleaming widely at me, far too enthusiastic for what’s to come.
They’re all a hot bunch of men.
That said, if we were polling handsomeness in this bar, Drew would win hands down. He’s the one with those crazy intense gray eyes and thick, naturally wavy brown locks that with the right amount of pomade turns into sexy man perfection. He also has those cheekbones chiseled by God on a Monday when he was serious about his work. Nowhere even near his next day off. No, that dude was hard at work when Drew was perfected. His godliness is like none other. Body and face align to fuck up women all over the greater Boston area.
But his brothers aren’t so bad either. I mean, if their caliber of hot had a pain scale, theirs would be a solid 7-8 instead of Drew’s 11-12/10.
So I skip over to them, giving them each a big squeezy hug and then hop on the makeshift stage where their nineteen-nineties karaoke machine resides and pull up an old-school favorite.
“Oh baby, baby,” I start and catch sight of Drew choking on his Guinness before his eyes narrow in on me. I throw him a wink and continue on with Britney’s greatest, “Baby One More Time”.
I was barely out of diapers when this song first came out, but I sang it when I was in middle school for a talent show, and I rocked it awesome then. Much to the mortification and outrage of my mother who grounded me for four months following it. That’s a whole other story.
I continue to sing, trying to throw out a few Britney dance moves. Drew maintains his angry bear grimace the entire time. His brothers holler and shout, cheering me on like I’m the stripper from their naughtiest fantasies. I love them for it considering I’m a joke in Harry Potter gear.
The song ends, and Jamie meets me at the edge of the one-step-up stage, his blue eyes practically glowing with delight as he hands me a double of some Irish whiskey.
“Drink it, babe, and get down here and onto my arm. Our man, boring-as-fuck, couldn’t keep his pissed-off eyes off you. I don’t think he appreciated your rendition, but I loved it.”
I bellow out a laugh, taking the whiskey and downing it like an Irish bride on my wedding day. I hate whiskey. Like to my soul, hate whiskey. But that’s what he gave me and I’d rather drink this crap than be rude to him. He possesses too many of those adorable boyish dimples to be rude.
“He just doesn’t understand the power of karaoke Britney.”
“Still, it wouldn’t kill him to pry the large stick out of his ass and have some fun. Stop being so serious and stiff all the time. He’s a big-time doctor; I’m sure he could manage to wiggle it free somehow.”
I sigh. His family really is hard on him. “Drew’s a lot of fun. You guys should cut him some slack.”
“Nah,” Jamie interjects, taking my hand and helping me off the stage. Out of all the brothers, Drew is the only one with gray eyes. The other three have baby blues. Super cute. A lot sexy. Insanely flirty. Like Jamie right now. Maybe Anna wasn’t just blowing smoke up my ass. Maybe Jamie really is interested. “He’s too fun to rile up.” Jamie eyes me up and down with an appreciative glint. “But you know, his loss could be my gain. What do you say to dinner with me sometime?”
Shit. I didn’t actually expect him to ask me out. I chance a peek over in Drew’s direction. He’s sipping his beer, laser focused on Jamie’s hand on mine. He’s frowning, and I’m not quite sure what to do or say.
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” I tell Jamie honestly.
“It’s a great idea. Especially since King Drew doesn’t know what he’s got with you. Being friends with a chick is for punk-asses who don’t act.” Well, okay then. “I plan on taking full advantage of what he overlooks. You work with him, right? Not for him? He shouldn’t be able to tell you not to date me.”
“I don’t think he cares who I date.”
“But he told you not to date me,” he persists.
Jesus. Awkward much?
I glance up at Jamie, and even though he’s damn adorable and evidently interested, I know, in my gut, I need to tell him no. “I think you’re so insanely great and I love hanging out with you. It’s just Drew’s my best friend and you’re his brother and that can get messy.”
“Or he just wants to keep you all to himself,” he grumbles under his breath. “Fine. I get it. For now.”
We join the others at the bar before heading over to a pre-set table for dinner. I don’t sit beside Drew. I sit in the middle of Connor and Jamie who flirts relentlessly with me. Drew doesn’t say five words all night, mostly because if his brothers aren’t talking over each other and yelling, they’re taking shots at him. Instead he silently broods like a bottle rocket ready to explode.
That’s when things start to get real.
We eat a lot of overly salted food–Drew was right about the congestive heart failure. I accept another double whiskey from Aiden and down it along with dinner.
Why? I don’t know. Because I quit men and yet I still can’t stop them from messing with my mind. From wreaking havoc on my bruised and beleaguered heart.
Julien has officially given up on the calls and decided to switch it up to pleading texts.
But the coup de grace comes from Drew.
He unabashedly stares at me all night long from across the table with a burning ferocity that heats my blood from simmer to boil. I squirm in my seat every time I dare attempt a glance in his direction. I can’t stop it. It’s like a car crash. Tragically alluring and brutal to witness.
All dinner long we play cat and mouse.
Back and forth.
Fire and fuel.
When he smirks at me, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to my insides, I know I’m in trouble. And worst of all, I can’t help but like it.
Six
Drew
* * *
They say timing, luck, drive, and skill are all you need to succeed in this world. They’re right. All of them–especially those last two–are pretty much the story of my professional career. My personal life? Yeah, not so much. But who cares about that right now?
Timing, luck, drive, and skill may be all you need to succeed in this world, but surviving it is a different story altogether. Especially in the hospital. Because inevitably, everyone’s number comes up and nothing can save you from your fate.
Not even the best doctors in the world–like me.
Think I’m arrogant or wrong? Check out Best of Boston Top Docs–yeah, you’ll find my sexy mug listed.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” I say slowly, in a low tone infused with as much sympathy as I can muster. The woman who just lost her husband of fifty years weeps openly and I can’t stop myself from comforting her. Even in my own depressingly limited way. I put my hand on her shoulder and squeeze. “He was a lucky man.”
She raises her dark eyes to mine, her gray eyebrows hit her equally gray hairline. Clearly, she was not expecting that level of empathy from the physician who just pronounced her husband dead. Can’t exactly say I blame her. Honestly, I don’t even know where the sentiment came from.
“He was,” she agrees, suddenly grateful I gave her the opening. That was obviously not my intention. “Father to three girls, grandfather to six.” Her tone shines with pride and I can’t help but smile at that.
“He was a good man then.”
A nod at my statement and then the saddest of sad smiles follows. “So are you, Doctor.”
“Thank you. My deepest sympathies. Take care of yourself.” I give her shoulder one last squeeze, and it’s time to walk away.
Am I a good man?
Maybe?
Yes, there is a question mark behind that. I do save lives for a living. That’s pretty badass. But really, I get off on the high of being a doctor so I’m not going to lie and say my purpose is entirely altruistic. It’s not. I also make a very good living so there’s that. More days than not, I don’t feel like a good man.
Especially lately.
Death follows me like the nefarious bitch she is. I know, I know, I’m a doctor in the emergency room. People die here. Death happens. Blah, blah, fucking blah. But it’s more than that, obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have chosen emergency medicine. I would have chosen something nice and cushy like orthopedics or anesthesia or…shudder…dermatology. I wouldn’t be hunting down the bitch named death on a daily basis.
But hell. That’s not even why I’m so bothered by this case and this woman and her dead husband. It’s because I want what they had before it’s too late. It’s because I can’t climb out of this hole. A hole that only seems to be growing and darkening and sucking me down further and further.
Dinner with my family last week didn’t help things either.
Having a slight, worthless crush on your best friend is like being an alcoholic trapped in a distillery of your favorite brand of booze. It’s the ultimate kick in the teeth. I know it won’t go anywhere. I know she’d never even consider entertaining it. Margot sees me as her brother. Not as a man who could be her lover or boyfriend or whatever.
The problem is, while I do picture Margot splayed out naked in a hundred different ways, I’ve also pictured Margot. Us.
And that’s the scariest of mistakes I could make.
There is no us.
So I’ve been steadily pushing all thoughts of her in my arms, by my side, out of my mind.
Doesn’t make that empty hole any easier to close or fill. If anything, it makes it harder.
Especially considering I’m the one who opened the damn thing in the first place when I ended things with Aria. I broke her heart and when I tried to win her back, I was too late. She had already moved on. Now she’s with someone I work with, and her best friends are also my friends and colleagues.
I wish I could say it hasn’t made me bitter, but it has. Mostly because I’m the one who screwed up. Aria and I just weren’t… I don’t know. Everything I used to believe about my life now seems upside down, and things I never would have considered, seem to be all I can think about.
I have no idea how to realign my life.
How to stop everything from spinning beyond my control.
Still, I can’t help but feel a pang as Aria walks my way with a sweet smile just for me. “Hey,” I say as she wraps her arms around my shoulders in the awkward friend-hug we now give each other. No kisses. Those days are long gone. “What brings you here to my mean streets?”
Aria beams, her pale blue eyes sparkling. Even in the harsh lighting of the emergency department. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy. A fist of pleasure and pain snakes around my chest and squeezes.
“It’s Wes’s birthday.” Right. Awesome. I remember the way Aria celebrates birthdays. And now I’m insanely jealous. “I’m surprising him with a weekend away.”
I can’t even manage a smile. “Great. Have fun.” I turn to walk away when I hear her let out a heavy sigh.
“I can’t tell if I’m being a bitch or not,” she says, and I close my eyes. “Because I like hanging out with you, Drew. You’re friends with my people, and I genuinely adore you as a person, and I want you in my life. But if that makes me a bitch or selfish or whatever, then tell me.”
“You’re not a bitch, Aria.”
“Do you want me to keep my distance?” Do I want her to keep her distance? Yes. I do. But I’m no longer sure if it’s because it’s her or because she’s a reminder of what I no longer have. If it’s the loss of her or if I just feel lost.
I’m starting to think it’s the latter.
Despite how much it sucks to be passed over and no longer the chosen one, I like hanging out with her too. I like seeing her this happy.
“No,” I reply as I turn back to her, forcing a smile I know she can see right through. When you’ve dated someone for a year and a half, you know how to read them. She and Margot the Insane are the only people I’ve ever truly opened up to. “I don’t want you to stay away. It’s just been a long shift.”
I close the distance between us and hug her again because I know her well enough to understand that’s what she needs. Some reassurance that she’s not being a bitch and that we’re okay. That we can actually be friends. And when I do, I can’t help but close my eyes. Just for a second. It’s the familiar way she feels in my arms and I think I needed this hug more than she did.
