"April," I say, calling after her as I see a red ponytail bouncing down the hall. "April, wait up."
She flips around, hearing my voice. When she notices the baby, her eyes light up and she extends her arms, but I keep Harriet close. I'm wearing a frown on my face and low-set eyebrows; I didn't stop her so she could give a quick greeting to the baby and escape again.
"Hi, boo-boo!" she gushes. "Is Dada taking you home? Aw. She looks sleepy, Jackson."
"Yeah," I say, and as if on cue, the baby lays her head down on my shoulder. "Actually, April, I was hoping you and I could talk."
"I can't right now, actually," she says, taking a few steps back.
"Hold… just hold on a second, would you?" I say. "Your shift is over."
She tips her head to one side and says, "Stalking me now?"
"No," I say, sighing. "I've just been…"
"How many times did I tell you while we were married, you don't need to keep an eye on me?" she says, an underlying snap of malice in her voice. "You never listened then, and you still aren't."
"I'm not watching you," I say. "I'm just worried. You're not behaving like yourself, and I just wanna know what's going on."
"I'm having fun," she says, shrugging. "Is that a crime?"
"No," I say, eyeing her.
"Exactly," she says.
"It doesn't seem like 'fun,'" I say, pushing the issue. "It seems like… I don't know, more than that."
She narrows her eyes and scoffs, popping her weight over to one hip with her arms crossed.
"When have I ever gotten to have fun? Not when I was growing up. Back then, I had to be perfect, Christian April. Daughter of Karen and Joe. The best, most accomplished Kepner sister. She's gonna be a doctor, you know!"
"April…" I say, but she isn't done. I've started her on a tirade.
"Not when I was an intern at Mercy West," she continues. "Definitely not then. I had to do well, be the top of our class, all the while getting bullied. Bullied for being myself, no less." She shoots me a look. "Do you know how that feels? No. No, of course you don't."
She blinks hard, getting angrier.
"I couldn't let loose when I was a resident, either. I should've been proud of myself, being chief resident. But I didn't feel like I could be, because everyone was shitting on me then, too. Because they didn't like having me as a boss. I should've been happy, but I couldn't see past that. I've never been able to see past how people don't like me."
"That's not true," I say. "People like you."
"Who chooses me first?" she quips, in return. "Who's ever chosen me first? Not the chief, no never. It's always… well, Kepner, I guess. I'm always the second option, something people settle for. Do you know how tiring that is? Do you know how tired I am of being the good girl that everyone can count on? I'm tired of being the goddamn backup plan, Jackson, and I'm tired of being involved in one-sided relationships. I'm done with it. Now, I'm doing what I want. And when that doesn't involve our daughter, it doesn't involve you."
I hear every word she says, but she doesn't accomplish what she hoped to. I don't acquiesce or shy away from the confrontation, because she's not wrong. Not about most of it, at least.
"I chose you first," I say, and it takes quite a bit of effort to get the words out. I haven't said something like that in years, at least not to her face.
"Past tense," she says, tone full of venom. "You can't come in and be my savior after everything you put me through."
"You put me through just as much," I say.
"I never said I didn't," she snaps. "Right now, I hate everyone. And I'm at the top of my own list, do you understand that?"
I press my lips together, unsure of how to respond.
"I gotta go, like I said. I have to get home, I…" She pulls out her phone after it chimes, and reads the screen quickly. "He's waiting for me."
"Who?" I ask, stopping her with a gentle hand.
She jostles me off. "None of your business," she says.
"It's that intern, Roy, isn't it?" I ask, unable to stop myself.
She rolls her eyes and lets out a vehement sigh. "Why do you care?"
"Is it?"
"Yes, okay?" she says.
I shouldn't feel as gutted as I do, I'm aware of that. April and I have been divorced for almost two years, and I have no claim over her body or anything she does. But still, the fact that I'm no longer her only one doesn't sit right. It's chauvinistic and gross, I would never admit it out loud, but the feeling is there all the same.
I had her first. I remember that night clear as crystal - the two of us in the hotel room in San Francisco. We were young, wild, and so damn stupid, but it was the best night of my life thus far. Her body was everything and more, and she was a quick learner; that was the night I discovered she was open to nearly anything in bed. That fact was only perpetuated once we were married. We spent so many nights holed up, discovering new things about each other and giving the other physical pleasure to end every other experience we'd had. Well, at least in my case. As for her, she'd had no others - nothing to compare against what we had, as if anything could. But that can't be said anymore.
"You're sleeping with an intern," I say, more of a statement than a question.
"Yes," she says.
I blink hard, trying to find something to say. Congratulations? Why? Who the fuck are you? But instead of spouting off, I keep quiet, and she speaks first anyway.
"He's waiting at the house right now," she says. "And before you ask, the baby never sees him. He's never around when she is. So, you have nothing to worry about. The rest doesn't have anything to do with you."
"Sure," I say, tersely.
She rolls her eyes. "Goodnight, Jackson." She gets close and plants a big kiss on Harriet's forehead, who sleepily flutters her eyelashes at her mother. "I love you, ladybug," she whispers. "See you tomorrow."
I watch April walk away and hold the baby closer, feeling a thousand different emotions. I'm being tugged in two different directions - one, leaving it alone and letting her live her life. She's not my wife and she hasn't been for a while. She's her own person, and she's figuring herself out in a way most people do in their 20s. She never got to experience a rebellious phase, so there's no reason she shouldn't now.
But the other part of me, my heart instead of my head, tells me she's behaving insanely out of character. Coming to the hospital hungover every other morning, earning the nickname 'Dr. Party' from the interns, and getting blackout drunk at Joe's. Sleeping with an intern who openly brags about her skills in bed and his lack thereof. That isn't April. April at her purest form, the one when we were first married, would look at herself now and cringe. She wouldn't recognize a single facet of who she currently is.
This goes deeper than rebelling, that's easy to see. For me, at least. To everyone else, it might look benign and innocent, but I have a hard time buying that.
"What are we gonna do," I say quietly, running my fingers through Harriet's soft curls. "Your mama needs…" I sigh. "She needs something. But I don't know what."
I go home and put the baby to bed after some warm milk and a story, then sit on the couch fully dressed. I don't turn on the TV, I don't pull out a book, I just stare. I stare and think about April, and what she and stupid ass Vik Roy are probably doing.
Why the fuck was he bragging about having to be taught how to pleasure a woman? What kind of thing is that to be proud of? I know for a fact that, when April and I were sleeping together, there was no 'second tries' for me. I got it right the first time, every time. There was no guiding or directing, either, I knew exactly what I was doing. I could navigate that body of hers with my eyes closed, and in fact, I have. Many times.
I hate the thought of Vik's hands on her breasts, her creamy thighs. I hate the thought of his lips on hers, his body between her spread legs. The sex is bad, he outed himself on that, and I can practically picture April's pinched, pissed-off face as she berates him how to fuck her.
I shake my head and grit my teeth. The last thing I want is to imagine my wife having sex with another man.
Ex-wife. Ex. Wife.
I can't stop thinking about how much she'll regret this slump once she finds her way out of it. She'll launch into another spiral because of everything she did, and I don't want her going through that pain. I want to hold up a mirror and show her what she's doing, because she refuses to see it on her own.
I have to try harder. No one else is trying for April, not even herself. So, I'll be the one.
I get Harriet's nanny on the phone and she shows up at the house in thirty minutes with promise of overtime pay. I put on my shoes and coat, then head back out the door I walked through not long ago.
I've been to April's new place a handful of times for pickup and dropoff, but I don't know the route like the back of my hand. She lives in a new neighborhood with modest houses and big yards, the whole white picket fence sort of deal. This is a neighborhood for families, not for hookups with interns.
I really have to stop thinking about that guy; it's reaching the point of obsessiveness. But, I wonder if he'll be there when I show up or if she'll let me in at all. A sick part of me almost wants to interrupt whatever they're doing, just so he'll realize who reigns supreme in her eyes.
That'd be me, of course. At least, I hope. I guess I'm not so sure. Maybe I shouldn't be so confident.
I pull into the driveway and see April's car alongside one I don't recognize. I park behind hers so he'll be able to leave easily, and purposefully walk up the front path to knock on the door.
I wait, but get no response, so I knock again. This time, harder and longer. A light switches on in the entryway and she appears in the open door seconds later, tightening the tie on a robe haphazardly.
"Jackson?" she hisses, squinting against the porchlight. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"We need to talk," I say.
"No!" she spits. "Where's the baby?"
"Issa has her," I say, sternly, referencing the nanny. "April, I'm getting really concerned, and I just want to have a conversation with you. You're the mother of my kids, for Christ's sake. I'm allowed to be worried about you!"
She crosses her arms. I know the plural version of the word doesn't go unnoticed by her.
"I'm a little busy right now," she says.
"Who's there?" an unfamiliar voice asks.
She flips her head to look over her shoulder, obviously trying to keep Vik back before he appears next to her, shirtless and in boxers.
"Dr. Avery," he says, floored. "Uh… evening, sir."
"If you know what's good for you, Roy, you'll fuck off," I growl.
"I, uh…" he stammers. "Well, I mean, I think that's sort of up to April, I think… we were…just about to..."
"That's Dr. Kepner to you, buddy," I say, taking a step into the yellow light. "Put your damn shirt on and leave. The adults are talking."
No one moves. April stares at me with flickering eyes.
"If I'm still looking at you in three seconds, you'll be on scut for the rest of your pathetic life," I say, and he's off like a shot. Within a minute, he's back and fully dressed, scurrying towards his car.
"You're horrible," April says, lip raised. "If you think that's getting you any closer to me, you're damn delusional."
"You guys fuck?" I ask, ignoring her.
"We would have, had you not interrupted."
"You have to teach him everything, though, don't you?" I say, raising my eyebrows. "Bet he won't eat your pussy, will he?"
Her jaw drops, and I honestly feel the same amount of surprise. I hadn't planned on saying that.
"You're unbelievable," she says. "You and I are not married, Jackson! You don't own me."
"You're the mother of my fucking kids," I say. "I need you to talk to me. What is going on? Why are you drinking so much that you need a banana bag? That's not you, April. That's never been you."
"We're going over this again, are we," she mumbles. "I already told you. I'm tired of me. The old me wasn't working. I didn't like her, no one liked her, God didn't even like her. So, I'm trying something new. And it would work, if you'd just stay out of it."
"As long as there's a human between us that shares our DNA, good luck with that," I say.
She clenches her jaw. "You sure picked a funny time to start caring," she says, huffing.
"What's that mean?" I ask.
She shakes her head, rolls her eyes, then turns her back. She walks further inside, which leaves the door open and gives me space to follow. I take the opportunity.
"You know exactly what I mean," she says.
"I really don't."
"You didn't give a shit about how I was struggling before I started sleeping with somebody else," she says. "What, Jackson, did you think I was gonna stay celibate for the rest of my life?"
"No," I say. "Not at all."
"Then what's so wrong with what I'm doing? What do you hate so much?"
"Why can't you see it?" I say, voice rising. "The way the interns talk about you. They don't think you're cool, April. They're making fun of you. That stupid ass, Vik, he's laughing at you. They look down on you, and you don't even see it. But I see it, and I'm not sure how to convince you."
"I. Don't. Care," she says, emphasizing her words. "I don't care. I'm doing what I want. I'm doing what feels good."
"But does it feel good?" I ask. "Does it, at all?"
She opens her mouth to refute me, but nothing comes out.
"That's what I thought," I say.
"Because you know everything there is to know about me, don't you," she snarls. "You have no room to talk. You have no room to be jealous over me sleeping with Vik while you do whatever you're doing with Maggie." She pauses. "Your sister."
"My…" I pause, and screw up my face. "Me and Maggie aren't anything. What are you talking about?"
"Whatever," she says, waving me off.
"Don't 'whatever' me," I say, taking a few steps towards her.
"I can do whatever I want," she says, petulantly.
"You realize how immature you sound," I say. "You realize how you're degrading yourself. I can't stand to see you like this, April. This isn't-"
"It isn't me, it isn't me, it isn't me," she prattles off. "You're still so mad about Vik, aren't you? That's the root of it all. Had I stayed depressed and sulking by myself, you would've continued to ignore me. Maybe I could've even started drinking and still flown under your radar. But when there's another man involved… Jackson has to assert his power and be the alpha male." She looks at me, eyes hard and unblinking. "I know it's because you wanna be the one fucking me," she says, harsher than I've ever heard.
My chest heaves and my face is hot. I have no choice but to speak the truth, we're too deep for me to lie.
"Yeah," I admit. "Yeah, that is true."
She doesn't flinch. Probably, because we both already knew that without having to say it.
"So, do it," she says, then unties the robe so the sides fall apart and her mostly-bare body is revealed. All she's wearing is a pair of black underwear, low-cut with a red bow at the waist. "Fuck me, Jackson." She shakes her head without taking her eyes off me. "Fuck me like you hate me. Because I know, right now, you do."
I close the distance between us and do as she says, beginning by branding her lips in a searing kiss. It's the first kiss we've shared in a while, since we stopped having confusing sex. I won't say casual, because it wasn't.
I pin her against the wall and rip the robe from her body, and she claws at my shirt to get it over my head. Our lips don't break apart while we strip each other, and once she's naked I put my hands all over her. Over her breasts, the swell of her hips, the outside of her thighs.
I pinch her waist and open my mouth on her neck, biting the column of her throat while her hips lift and search for friction. I shove them against the wall and she whines through gritted teeth, letting me know exactly what she wants .
"Turn around," I say, and she does. With flat palms on the wall, I let my eyes trail down the knobs of her spine until they get the the swell of her ass, which I grab and squeeze tightly. She moans, arching her back slightly, and I say, "Bend over."
I hold my erection in one hand and a fistful of her hair with the other, sinking inside her hot, tight body for the first time in forever. She moans salaciously once I'm all the way in, and I waste no time with letting her get used to how it feels. Her inner muscles stretch and flutter, rib cage expanding with each breath, and she trembles from the feeling.
I don't go easy. I pound her hard, the only sound in the room being skin against skin and her loud moans as my hips slam into hers again and again.
"He doesn't fuck you like this, does he," I say, breathless as I get a good look at the state I've put her in. What I can see of her face is red, her hair is splayed everywhere, and her hands search to find purchase on the wall.
"No," she whimpers, and I push her shoulders down further. "Shit, baby, you feel so good."
"I know," I say. "Because I do you right."
Though the feeling of being buried inside the woman I still have so many feelings for is otherworldly, I make sure she comes first. I attack her clit with one hand, rubbing it furiously, and she screams at the top of her lungs when she finally comes undone. Her body racks and quakes while I grip her tight and fuck her hard, riding out the last of my orgasm while still deep inside her.
When it's over, I already see bruises blossoming on her hips and sides, but I don't call attention to them. I'll make up for the pain with double the amount of pleasure yet to come.
"Come here, baby," I say, before she's even caught her breath.
When she turns around, she wraps her arms around my shoulders and buries her face in my neck, and we spend a moment just hugging each other after everything.
"Come here," I say again, leading her to the living room.
I lay her down on the rug and watch her watch me, arms folded by her chest, hair splayed around her head, collarbones shiny with perspiration.
I lick my lips and part her thighs, eyes on her center that's still glistening from before.
"This," I say, lowering to my elbows. "Is how it should be done. On the first try."
I open my mouth wide over her heat and she melts instantly. Her back curves up from the floor and her legs tighten around my head, feet pushing on my shoulder blades while I lick every inch of her. I slip two fingers inside and curl them to find her g-spot, all the while sucking her clit between my lips and making heavy eye contact.
"Yes," she moans, eyelids fluttering. "Oh, yes, Jackson…. That feels so, so, good… yes, yes, please, god, yes!"
I smile and deepen my movements, making sure they're thorough and swift. I'm not gentle, but I'm not forceful with her like I was moments ago. I'm in this to make sure she gets out of it what she deserves.
When she comes, her orgasm takes control of her entire body. Starting at her hips that buck against my face, she's a mess of involuntary muscle spasms and erratic jerks. Come seeps out from between her outer lips and I lap it up, making slurping sounds against her slick skin.
She grapples for my shoulders and pulls me to face level, cupping my cheeks in her hands while kissing me deeply. With our mouths open against each other, I taste her and she tastes herself, while using one hand to manipulate my erection and position it near her entrance.
"Again," she whispers. "Show me, Jackson."
I don't question her. I sink inside a second time before rationale has the chance to kick in, and snap my hips while tucking my face into her sweaty neck. She holds me close while I make love to her, wrapping her ankles around the backs of my thighs and gripping my head tight.
"Oh, Jesus," she whimpers, raising her hips to meet my thrusts. "Jackson… oh, god." She presses her lips together and lets out a long, desperate moan as I somehow go deeper and drive her wild.
It's not lost on me, the fact that we come together. Sex has always been the way we reconnect, it's our driving force of communication. I know her best through her body - that was the last door unlocked in our friendship, and the first of our marriage. Having sex with her is so important to me, and it's made me feel a thousand things I thought I'd buried and would never feel again. A thousand things, I realize now, I will never feel for anyone else.
I kiss the middle of her chest, over her thudding heart. I'm still inside her, having not yet pulled out.
"I love you," I say.
My mind is foggy, but I don't regret the words. Though my thoughts are clouded with sex and the closeness of her body, I speak shamelessly.
She kisses the angle of my jaw slowly, making her way to my chin before kissing my lips.
"I love you, too," she whispers, and I believe her.
Next to nothing is solved. There will be so much to figure out in the morning, and in the days, weeks, and months to come. But for right now, we're together, and I believe her.