Riders on the Storm

by SexyLexiCullen

Welcome to part 3 of the storm series. Sixteen years after Weather the Storm. Follow the Skip, Bella, and their kids - now older, wiser, and enmeshed in the family business. How will Edward cope with trying to teach Damion and Sonny the ropes, keeping Kylie out of trouble, and Bella happy? Does he still have what it takes to juggle all his duties? Mobward. OOC. AU. Romance/Humor.

31. Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde

Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.

Beta'd by HollettLA.

NOTE: As much as it pains me, I am taking many creative/fictional liberties as far as Dame's life as a third year med student is concerned. This isn't a medical story, and I have no interest in turning it into one. But with taking peeks into his life . . . his schooling might be featured. And if he was as busy as a REAL Third Year, we'd never see him.

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Riders on the Storm

Chapter Thirty-One: Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde

Damion POV

My head whipped to and fro when I entered the Bay View Diner. Sonny was supposed to meet me here at eleven. His flight was coming in at around ten, and then he was coming straight here. Since I didn't see him, I had the hostess seat me, and I asked for a cup of coffee right away.

Last night, I got maybe two hours of sleep, listening to Amelia on the phone. She was emotional, and she wouldn't tell me what was wrong, swearing everything was fine, blaming it on her hormones. I tried my best—to be supportive and ease her mind, which was incredibly difficult because I didn't know what was truly bothering her. She either wouldn't or couldn't be straight with me.

What else is new?

She rants and raves about us being honest with each other . . . but no.

Amelia only wants me to be truthful, tell her every-fucking-thing, and yet I'm wrong if I inquire about anything.

Then I had pre-rounds and rounds this morning. I have to be back at the hospital for three this afternoon as there is a lecture I have to attend.

Ironically, I'm doing my OB/GYN rotation. And I hoped to maybe get a nap before I had to go back. . . but I highly doubted that would happen.

The waitress came by and warmed up my mug. When I lifted my head, I saw my brother and Maggie walk into the diner.

I didn't know she was joining him.

"'Sup?" He jerked his chin as Maggie slid into the booth.

"Not much," I said, waving at them. "How was Florida?"

Sonny sighed, sitting next to her. "Warm, nice . . ." He nodded, grinning at his bride.

"Where did you guys go?" I had never asked, nor had anyone told me.

"Miami," Maggie said.

My gaze went right to Sonny. "Miami…? Was it business or pleasure?" I quirked a brow, knowing my brother has associates out there.

"Both," Maggie informed me.

Sonny gave her a look as if to say it wasn't my business, which it wasn't; I was just curious. "It doesn't concern you. I had some shit to do . . . and we hit up the beaches." He looked down to the menu. "What are you getting?" He pushed his over and they shared it.

I leaned back, watching Maggie's brow furrow, and it wasn't rocket science. It was fucking breakfast. For some reason, her being so serious over a meal irked me. "I'm getting waffles." I threw that out there.

It was still a mystery as to why I was here.

I figured he wanted to scold me or threaten me, or…I didn't know. I'd done nothing wrong when I went to his crib. Sure, I heard everything, but I was about to leave when Maggie caught me. I wasn't going to stick around or do some creepy . . . creepier shit.

Sonny used to do that all the time, bag a broad while I watched or was around. He thought it was hilarious.

"Santino, why don't I get pancakes? You can get eggs, bacon, and all that meat you love, and we'll share."

"Sounds good." He kissed her temple as the server approached our table again.

We ordered, and their sweetness made me want to gag. My brother was pussy-whipped to the highest degree, and I didn't understand it. He seemed calm and tranquil, when I expected him to still be a basket case over that Katie shit.

"How are you?" I asked him.

"Good." He nodded. "You?"

I shrugged. "I'm hangin' in, I guess. No complaints." I briefly glanced at Maggie. "How have you been?"

She smiled. "I've been well. Thank you for asking."

And it went right back to awkward.

"I haven't been around much . . . Anything new going on?" I asked.

They faced each other and then shook their heads, and I wondered if they shared the same fucking brain.

When Maggie's phone rang, it was almost a relief. "Who's that?" Sonny grabbed her phone. "Oh…it's Kylie."

"Who'd you think it was?" Maggie giggled.

Sonny didn't reply. "Can you get me the paper, please?" He smiled, digging a few quarters out of his pocket.

Maggie answered for my sister, taking the money out of Sonny's hand and walking off.

"You're letting her go on her own?"

"I can see her." He stared behind me.

"How's . . . married life?"

He beamed at me. "Amazing. We fight now, too—that's new. Oh my God. The shit she pulled before we left, bro." He was almost speaking to me as if nothing had ever happened. "I was late . . . She fucking rolled up at Eclipse with fucking Gino. The kid and I had a talk after that shit. He took my instructions of 'take her anywhere' too literally."

"Wow. What happened? She see anything?"

"No," he said. "It was Thursday . . . Only Aro was running shit. The rest of us were just drinking and chillin'." He scratched his nose. "No biggie."

"You score any of that good yak down in Miami?" I chuckled.

"Some…" He nodded. "You got tests coming up? You need some?"

I leaned toward him. "How'd you…sneak it into New York? You didn't…?"

"Fuck no." He scoffed. "I wouldn't let her touch that shit. I have my ways, bro. It actually got back to New York before we did."

"Oh…" I sipped my coffee. "I wanted to apologize for—"

"Don't." He put his hand up. "This shit right here? Was for us to chill, talk without beef. Get you used to seeing her face." He gestured over to Maggie. "I heard you that day, all nervous and sounding like some dumb-fuck. I'mma be nice about this because I'm secure in my marriage . . . You said you'd step off." He shrugged. "You only shot off at the mouth…I don't know, Dame. I mean, you got your own shit going—"

I nodded along. "I've got too much shit going down."

"You in love with her?" By his hostile tone alone, I think he was referring to Maggie. "There's no beef, just be straight with me."

I shook my head. "Not in love . . . Not at all," I laughed. "But there is a draw, and I am attracted to her…I'm being honest." I rushed out that last part. "I'm trying to move past it, and you do have my word."

"Cool," he commented.

"So, nothing's happened the past few weeks?" I asked.

He chuckled. "You're so concerned about our business . . . You sure you really wanna be a doc?"

"I am…I'm just curious."

He hummed, setting his coffee mug down. "I heard you and Amelia set a date for the wedding? January 15th?"

"Yup…" Sonny bringing it up made my mind spin out of control. All these thoughts hit my brain at once—my worries, my fears, my hopes.

"You okay?" He placed his hand on mine, and I appreciated it—the human contact.

I gave his wrist a gentle squeeze. "She wants to get married before she starts showing." And that shit was just fucked. "Sonny, I don't think she was pregnant when she first told me. I don't know. The doctor couldn't find the pregnancy with the ultrasound—it was too early, but she'd been saying mad shit for weeks." I was at a loss for words. "Something's not right. No matter what I do or how I go about it, I'm seen as an asshole. I'm already questioning everything, driving her fucking crazy, and she can't understand what I'm trying to say. I think she went off her pills, and by some stroke of luck she got knocked up after she told Mom." I shrugged. "Or, like the week she told Mom. That makes sense. She was trying to get pregnant, knew she would, and…"

"What?" Sonny looked confused.

I chuckled but nothing was funny. "There's no such thing as being a little bit pregnant. You either are or you aren't, but she's not far enough along for me to think anything other than she actually did this shit to trap me."

"Oh!" His eyes widened.

"Then last night, she was going nuts…Some bullshit about us going down to City Hall. Amelia's trying to get us married even faster, sooner, before Christmas. All of which would mean…I'd get hitched tomorrow or Thursday?" My breaths became shallow and hard to come by with the thought alone.

"Dude, Dad gave you how many outs? If you have doubts, don't marry her—whether she's knocked up or not." He shrugged.

"I wish it was that easy. This is Luke Drasso's daughter."

"And Luke's Dad's bitch." He sounded exasperated. "I hate to say this, but—"

"Don't emasculate me."

"What?" he laughed as Maggie approached the table.

"Should I go use the bathroom?" She pointed. "I don't mind. I'm glad you two are talking."

Sonny kissed her hand. "If you wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all." She walked away.

I added more sugar to my coffee.

"Thanks for not checking out her ass," he said.

"Come on." I shook my head, stirring the creamer in. "Give me more credit than that." In this moment, his wife was the last thing on my mind. Trust.

Sonny didn't comment about what I said. "Maybe Luke's predecessors had bigger balls, starting wars and shit, but Luke doesn't have the clout, nor does he have the manpower as of now. Dad's pretty smart, running their shit, making sure they never got too big. If we have the books closed, then they have to keep 'em closed as well. Dad bunches dudes together to have a large ceremony . . . If Dad gives four guys their button, Jersey might make one person. That's just an example." He waved a hand.

"Okay." I adjusted my glasses.

"He respects Luke and his family for what they are. He'll try to do the right thing but not at the expense of your happiness."

"I hate that I'm even placing him in this position. I do love Amelia."

"Come on, bro." He looked away from me. "She's gorgeous, has a decent head on her shoulders. But I can see how she's getting pressured from her family…Maybe she's in love with you, and since you're being distant, she's clinging. I know women, but I don't know your girl. You need to talk to her. You have a problem, open your mouth."

"And how does shit work with you and Maggie?" I asked, curious.

"I don't know." He was nonchalant as the waitress brought our food. "It just works. I adore her, I can't keep my hands off her, and…actually, we're both very sexual. We talk a lot, though, too. And—"

"She's compliant."

He barked out a laugh. "Maybe in the beginning, she was all—she wanted to make me happy and shit, but…" He made a farting noise with his mouth. "She hangs out with Mom and Kylie too much—she's fucking pushing me around these days. But what's funny about it? I don't mind." He seemed really happy. "I love that she's bossing me around. For a while, I was always asking her a dozen questions—making sure shit was cool. Now? We're just chill. Neither of us are going anywhere . . . Where is she?" He looked around. "Lemme go get her before this shit gets cold." Sonny left the booth, going for the bathrooms.

"Oh." He turned back and leaned down to me. "While you were ghost, I iced Caius, Katie's in the wind—Aro thinks I'mma do something—and I fired Layla," he whispered out in a hurry.

"Whoa," I laughed, shaking my head. "He's gone?"

He nodded, walking off. "They're having the services later in the week, between the holidays."

I pouted where I sat, and I wasn't even hungry anymore.

If there was ever a fucker on this planet I would have enjoyed clipping, it was Caius Macari.

The rest of breakfast passed by quickly. Yeah, my brother and his wife were still acting all sickly sweet, yet hot at the same time. They truly couldn't keep their hands off of each other, and at one point I swore he was fingering her under the table. But he wasn't. He was just…I don't know what he was doing, or maybe her pancakes were just that good.

"So, how's Amelia feeling?" Maggie asked me as we walked to Sonny's car. "You haven't said."

Sonny's phone rang. "I have to take this."

"Bro, go 'head," I said. He didn't have to worry about me.

Sonny walked to the curb to speak rapidly on his cell.

"Amelia," I sighed, staring down to my shoes. "She's good." It was still increasingly difficult to lie to Maggie with the honest eyes, just like it was that first night we met.

"How far along was she again?" she asked.

"Was?" I raised a brow. "She's eight weeks."

"Oh." Her face fell.

"What's that about?" I pointed to her frowny face.

"Nothing. It's just that…like everyone knows." She shrugged. "My mom…she had two miscarriages before I was born, and she said it was always—the pregnancy should be kept secret until after twelve weeks?"

"Right." I nodded. "Do you know something I don't?" It seemed like she was hinting at something.

She studied her sneakers. "Most miscarriages happen that early. I bet Amelia is really nervous. Your mom said that's common, too—for women to be nervous." She rambled. "I'm sorry."

"You…don't have to be nervous," I said.

"Oh, I'm not," she giggled. "It's just not my business, and I'd hate for you to think I'm intruding."

"Me?" I laughed. "You, intruding?"

She gave me a look. "Stop while you're ahead, Dame." She sounded just like Kylie, which made me crack up.

"I was just saying."

She laughed, covering her face. "Well, you just say a lot of things that tend to get you in trouble. That's all I'm saying." She pointed to herself.

Sonny clapped, walking back from the corner. "We ready to go?"

"I am." Maggie rubbed her stomach. "I'm stuffed."

"We'll drop you off at Mom's. We gotta go to her school and get her shit for the winter break." He went to the car to help Maggie inside.

"Um…I'll walk." It was actually nice outside, on the warm side, even if it was days before Christmas.

"You sure?" he asked, talking to me from over the car. "That was Dad. Grandpa's plane is coming in tonight. You gonna make it for dinner? We're meeting at La Bella Italia when he gets here—late supper."

"I totally forgot about that." I held my head, knowing I'd have to devote some time to Edward Sr. But he is here for a few months . . . "I won't make it to dinner tonight."

"What were you guys talking about?" He kept his tone hushed.

"Nothing in particular." I buttoned my coat.

"Well, the twinkle in your eyes is kinda hard to hide." He entered the car.

"Sonny." I tapped on the passenger side window.

He opened it, staring at me with this blank face, and I kept a respectable distance away from Maggie.

"We gonna be okay?" I asked. "I don't even know what you're talking about. What twinkle?" My stomach tied in knots because I seriously had no clue.

"We'll get there . . . I'll see you this week."

I stepped back as he pulled out of the parking spot.

And I never stopped by my parents' house.

After hopping on the R train, I took that shit back to my dorm, where I managed to get a two-hour nap. Amelia called a record of eight times while I was sleeping, and I'd left my phone on vibrate. I didn't even want to check my messages, sure that there were eight shriek-y girl rants on my voice mail.

"Fuck me, man." I groaned, just throwing my phone back onto my bed. Pushing that shit outta my mind, I grabbed my toothbrush and went toward the bathroom. The hall was desolate, quiet with most people having gone home for the holiday.

Luckily for me, I still had to be here, even on Christmas day as I'd been off for Thanksgiving.

Today was a light day for me and my team, which consists of one attending physician (the boss), two resident physicians (doctors in training after medical school), and two medical students. The only one who changes between the different rotations is the boss, who we follow.

Essentially, I am no one. The attendings only listen to the residents, who I answer to. It's a chain of command just like that other shit—the family business.

Jordan and I—the other student I work with—look out for each other. We cover for one another, too, although she's meticulous and annoying and always on point. I hardly ever have to look out for her.

Dressed and ready to go, I glanced at my watch. I was going to be late. Tossing my stethoscope around my neck, my phone started ringing again. Aggravated, I just shut it off and ran out of my building.

Being late to this lecture was like a low blow. The past few weeks, I've rededicated myself, and I swore I'd never be late again, but I was . . .

As if I was in a marathon, I ran to the hospital. My side was killing me as I entered the elevator, and I wished I wasn't a smoker.

After placing my shit in my locker, I put my white coat on and hauled ass down to the lecture hall.

I signed myself in, and then looked around for Jordan. She must have known I was going to be late. Jordan will usually sit toward the front, but she was slumped in the back.

"Did I miss anything?" I whispered, swinging my leg over hers to sit down.

"No." She pulled a piece of paper out of her notebook. "I took notes for you." She dejectedly handed it over, eye focusing on her laptop.

"What's this shit even about?" I asked.

"Post-surgical complications."

"What?" I nearly spat but kept my tone low. "We sat through this in the beginning of the year."

She shrugged. "Then take a nap."

I blew out a breath, relaxing back.

As I pretended to listen, I turned my phone back on to text Amelia. Quickly, I explained my situation—that I couldn't talk and that I'd been busy at the hospital all day. She had to understand.

Where are you now?

I rolled my eyes and wrote her back, explaining—yet again—that I was at the hospital.

"You better put that away," Jordan said.

I put my cell back in my pocket. "You been here all day?"

She took her glasses off to clean the lenses. "No, I went home to shower." Jordan faced me but averted her gaze. Following her line of sight, she stared at the dude next to me. "A couple of us are going to that bar after shift."

"Oh, yeah?" I slumped back, yawning. "You gonna get the balls to talk to this cat finally?" Chuckling under my breath, I turned to this idiot she's been lusting after. He's a fourth year and had no idea she even existed.

"Yeah, right. Me?" She snorted. "Maybe when I lose these last ten pounds…"

"Don't start with that." I rushed out. "You look…fine." My eyes went from her Crocs, up to her scrubs, and landed on her brown eyes. She is overweight, short and round like a meatball, but she's cute—has a pretty face.

She stuck her tongue out. "He's originally from Georgia. I bet he goes back in July . . . We can't all be knockouts like your Amelia." She teased, poking my bicep; meanwhile, all she's seen is Amelia's picture on my phone. Amelia thinks Jordan is a guy. There was no way I could tell her that I work this closely with a woman. She'd go insane, when she has nothing to worry about. "Or that lucky in love. You guys sound cute."

Of course, I only ever speak of the good things. Jordan and everyone else thought I'd been out—in the hospital because a taxi hit me. I told Dad to make some shit up when he spoke to my advocate, the student liaison, and he said that shit. No one knows Amelia and I are engaged or expecting a child. Here, all they know is my name. The higher-ups, most of them, know my father since he's on the board here—a silent member. All he does is donate beaucoup bucks to this place.

"You should bring her tonight."

I shrugged, feeling my eyes get heavy, and she knew I wasn't going to go out with them. I never do. Jordan only invites me to be polite. Come to think of it, she never usually goes either. Jordan invites me all the time, but something always comes up for her, or she gets too wrapped up in studying.

"Here." She handed me a cup.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Cold coffee."

"Nice." I sipped it, and there wasn't any sugar in it. "I hate these." This whole time, an instructor has been using Point and speaking of Post-Surgical Infections. And he sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher—wah, wah, wah, wah-wah. "Are you really going tonight?"

She grinned. "Hansen is going to be there. It's his birthday." Jordan stared to my side again. "Maybe he'll get drunk enough and…" she sighed, eyes going back to her laptop.

"Stop it," I said.

"Do you know how long it's been?"

"Whoa…we're not discussing that," I laughed quietly to myself.

"Yeah, well…" She puffed her cheeks, closing her MacBook. "Oh God, this is boring."

I nodded, facing the front, deciding to pay attention while I hoped I didn't nod off.

By the time the lecture concluded, it was close to six p.m., time for evening rounds. Jordan and I went up to OB to catch up on charts before our pre-rounds.

Our deans told us at the beginning of the year that we would be talking with patients more than anyone else on the medical team; we would serve as advocates for our patients' wants and needs. They said that although our medical knowledge is still rudimentary in comparison to the doctors above us, the patients commonly remember the students more than anyone else.

It comes down to time. The residents and attending physicians have several patients to see each day, and they only have time to briefly visit the bedside to elicit key information that affects patient care.

We're considered the lucky ones. While our residents are busy managing more than a dozen patients each—most of whom have multi-systemic, complex problems—we students are beginners, entrusted to manage a handful of patients at a time.

As beginners, it takes us more time to think through algorithms of management and treatment options.

A handful of patients is plenty. Having only this select few allows us to really get to know our patients as people—to sit at their bedsides and hear their stories, beyond the details that affect their care.

"Look…" Jordan started, wiping her nose with a tissue.

"You getting sick?" I asked.

She waved a hand. "I need to straighten my hair." She pointed to the tight bun on her head. "My hair's still wet. Blah. Let's split up. You take rooms 205 to 210—"

I shook my head. "You take those…I've been treating Mrs. Carlson since she was admitted Sunday. She's in 212."

"Whatever." She shrugged. "Just take a stack and let's go." Jordan gathered a bunch of charts and took off. Truth be told, I'd never seen her so blasé. She must really wanna go out tonight. Usually, she's this know-it-all Poindexter, who'd body-check me to get to a patients' room first.

But to be so stress-free . . .

To just be here, work, learn, and worry about some cat, a crush . . .

It must be nice.

Then again, they always say the grass is greener on the other side.

I was jealous that she had the ability to just do this—be the best third year there is. She's definitely at the top of my class while I'm scraping by in the middle somewhere.

My parents think I excel and I'm so great despite all that other shit. They have no idea. I've been in slacker-mode since Amelia and I have been together, since I let my outside life fuck with this one, making me miss lectures and days . . .

It's all my fault. I can't blame anyone but myself. I'm the one who let everything get to me. I'm the fucker who drove himself crazy, acting a fool.

For a while, it felt like I was in the back seat while this lunatic drove the car—lived my life.

Things just became too much . . .

I drove myself crazy.

Although they say med students are no strangers to depression.

And then I was in the hospital, hit rock bottom, and had to get myself up off the floor. Dad and Sonny helped—fuck, my whole family was there for me, but I had to take the first step.

I dusted myself off and tried again, and I think it'll be better . . . over time, I'll get better.

Amidst Amelia's pregnancy and my future nuptials, I've obtained a calmness I can live with. I'm cool as a cucumber, back to being quiet, yet I have . . . an inner peace? Hope that things will even out?

Actually, I've been trying my hardest to separate things—hospital, school, patients, and then my personal life . . . I try to keep all that shit out of my head until I physically leave the hospital and/or campus.

It's like literally being torn in half—a part of me stays in Brooklyn while the other is here in Manhattan.

And I was more than okay with that. Believe it or not, I'm a lot more comfortable in the skin I'm wearing now—being my true self, the quiet nerd.

That other guy . . .

Keeping the beast locked up and stored away insures that my soul will stay tranquil as I work toward my academic goals.

Sighing, I placed my pen in my breast pocket and closed the chart in front of me.

/=/=/=/=/

An hour later, Jordan and I met up at the nurses' station. We were waiting on our residents, so we could relay the patient information.

"Come on." Jordan wrung her hands together. "Where are they?"

I sipped my coffee. "I'm sure homeboy won't turn into a pumpkin," I laughed. "You'll get there when you get there." Speaking of, I peeped Hansen down the hall. "Look." I pointed.

She squeaked and turned to face me. "Do I look okay? Do I have ink on my face?" She rubbed her cheek.

"Why would you have ink on your face?" I asked.

"Cullen." She hit my arm.

"You're fine. Geez." I snorted, guzzling my tenth cup of coffee.

"I should bring him coffee." She went back over to the pot.

"Don't you dare," I said.

"What?" She had wide eyes.

"Nothing…do whatever."

She walked down the hall as I saw our residents—Rodriguez and Mackay—coming toward me. Jordan hadn't seen them. They were dressed for the operating room, like they were just in surgery.

"Cullen." Rodriguez gave me a head nod, going for the charts. "You could read my handwriting today?"

I nodded, not saying a word. In this setting, it truly is best to be seen and not heard, unless briefing someone on a patient or asked a direct question.

"Where's Yogi?" Mackay asked.

"Who?" I quirked a brow, and I didn't mean to sound snappish.

Mackay and Rodriguez laughed.

"He thinks Jordan looks like a cub—a baby bear." Rodriguez shrugged. "She's more like a Oompa Loompa."

"Dude." Mackay gave him a high-five.

They're bullies in every sense of that word. They're dicks—arrogant assholes—for a reason. Medical school is supposed to be hard, right down to the motherfuckers who teach us. I'm sure they have a name or two for me as well, when I'm not around. Nonetheless, they're smart—know their shit—which makes working with and tolerating them easier.

Mackay hummed, composing himself as he stared at his watch. "No call tonight . . . it's going to be swe-eet!"

They continued to talk amongst themselves while I looked around for Jordan. They'd ream her a new asshole, make our lives hell if Dr. Swanson, our boss for the time being, showed up before they were briefed on the patients we'd seen.

Luckily, she showed up not ten seconds later. Jordan still had the coffee in her hand. "Coffee?" She offered it to Rodriguez.

He took it and didn't say thank you.

"What happened?" I whispered.

She ignored me, getting her notes in order.

After we spoke of all our patients, convened about their care, we had to visit all of those people once again. This time, Jordan and I took the back seat while Rodriguez and Mackay did all the talking. They're the true doctors, working under Swanson. He only does a quick swoop after we'd done all the work.

The clock read ten after nine when it was all said and done. Rodriguez and Mackay left rapidly, leaving us to study their notes in each chart.

"What happened with Hansen?" I asked.

She frowned. "He doesn't drink coffee."

"Doesn't drink coffee?" I laughed. "That's like our fuel—our crack."

"Yeah, well . . ." She stuck her tongue out. "He called me Jessica, something with a J." Suddenly she smiled.

I did, too. "Make sure you talk to him tonight—get him to buy you a drink."

"How do I do that?" She turned to face me.

I furrowed my brow. "I have no idea."

She laughed and I joined her. "I'm done . . . I'll read up in the morning."

I sighed, having no place to go, not wanting to leave.

"You should really come out tonight." She hit my arm. "Take a load off."

"I don't drink," I said.

"So…have a soda and watch everyone make asses of themselves. That's what I do." She pointed to herself. "I have no idea how the residents get shit-ass drunk, and yet they function the next day." She rambled. "After being here all day, the reading I do when I get home, going to bed sober, and getting a few hours sleep . . . I can barely keep up. Maybe I'll have some wine." She grimaced.

"Have fun." I grabbed for another chart.

"Cullen." She nudged my arm, her tone different.

"What?" I looked up to her.

She stared behind me. "Is that…?" Jordan pointed, looking confused. "It looks like your girlfriend."

Turning around, I saw Amelia. "Fuck me." I dropped my shoulders, wondering how she knew where to find me. It was fucking insane. She knew I was on this floor. She knew I was still here, but . . . to show up? I was concerned and pissed, and I wished I wasn't angry.

But I was . . .

The beast roared, rattling his chains and banging on the bars of his cage—my muscles stiffening, my teeth gnashing together for the briefest of seconds, my eyes likely black with rage.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Jordan said.

I let out a slow breath, remembering where I was as she walked around me, and I swore to keep cool—calm the fuck down.

Jordan passed Amelia on her way out. And in true Amelia fashion she gave Jordan a dirty look before her eyes landed on me.

Like ripping off a bandage, I didn't waste any time.

I approached Amelia, ushering her out into the waiting room. "What's up?"

"I needed to talk to you."

I led her over to the chairs. "This couldn't wait? You know I usually get out around ten on Tuesdays."

Her lip quivered. She was on the verge of tears.

"Stop." I wiped them away. "You can't make a scene here."

"Last night, I woke up . . . I was bleeding," she cried. "That's why I called you but I couldn't tell you. I'm sorry."

"Oh, no." I pulled her into my arms, and . . . I had no immediate reaction. Although embracing her was a push in the right direction.

"The doctor said—said it happens."

"Did you tell my mother or Kylie?" I asked, remembering that odd conversation I had with Maggie. My sister tells her everything. Or, who knows? Maybe Sonny knew, too, and that's why he was being so nice to me. And I couldn't be angry with them for keeping that secret from me. If I'd stopped by my parents' house, my mother would have definitely told me—regardless of if Amelia wanted to inform me herself—but everyone else would want to keep their beaks out of it.

"Yeah…my mom called her, so…yeah." She sniffled. "I asked them not to tell you. I wanted to."

"Have you seen a doctor? Do you know if it's definitely gone?" I felt like the coldest prick alive, because I also felt immense relief amongst the acute sadness. It took a few seconds for the emotions to register.

"I called my doctor. She said since I wasn't that far along . . . I should just monitor my blood loss and get some rest. I went to see her today. They took blood to test my levels, and I go back for another blood test in two days . . . it's gone."

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Me too." She hugged me tightly. "I just wanted to tell you…to your face."

I nodded, leaning away to wipe her eyes again. "Let me get my stuff, change my clothes, and we can go back to my room."

She shook her head. "I just wanna go home. I want my own bed, my bathroom…I dunno."

"Amelia…" I whispered; she was being weird. "Baby, I'm sorry this happened."

"You're not."

"Please," I begged. "Don't turn this into a fight. Let me be here for you, care for you. I can't go back to your place, but we can kick Ethan out…you can stay with me." I grasped her hand.

"Pietro is waiting for me."

I nodded, solemnly, at a loss for words. Then something hit me. "Is this why you wanted to move up the wedding?" I bet when I put the brakes on that shit, that was when my mother was informed. Otherwise—fuck me—I wouldn't put it past Amelia to fake a miscarriage after we were married.

The trust was gone, flew out the window on Thanksgiving, and has been missing ever since.

She sobbed into her hands. "I love you." Once a-fucking-gain, she dodged a question.

"I love you, too. But I want you to know that I would have married you without the baby," I whispered. "I was going to ask you anyway."

"What about now?"

"Now…?" I didn't know where to begin. "We do need to talk. I want you to be straight with me. I'm walking on eggshells, trying not to upset you because everything makes you upset—"

"You questioning everything I say—"

"Because you're being dishonest, baby." I pushed her hair away from her shoulder, trying to be soothing, trying to stay calm. "I've known something's been up . . . I'm not being insensitive, but was there ever a baby? Or did you slip your doc a few bucks—"

"I miscarried last night, and you—" She sobbed, had stopped talking to cry into her hands.

"Amelia, I work here." I looked around to the other faces in the room. The few others who occupied the space graciously ignored us. "You shouldn't have come here." There were a million things we needed to discuss, but this wasn't the place to do it. "Let's go back to my room—"

"No. I'm not doing this with you tonight. I can't. My heart can't take it. If you don't want to marry me anymore…"

"I do," I lied, because if she truly miscarried, she couldn't take another blow. And maybe, once I was hers, she'd go back to normal. Amelia could start acting like Amelia again. And I . . . There was no way I could go back, be the intense lunatic she fell in love with. Now, I was in dud-mode. Trust me; it's best I stay this way.

Maybe if we were married she wouldn't have all these doubts. Maybe she won't be this insecure, harping on me all the time.

Amelia was perfect. We were perfect—no matter which version of myself I was . . .

At the end of the day, our fallout was my fault again. I became detached, but that was me, not her. And the result of me doing that is her current behavior.

"But hey, now you can go big—plan a huge wedding." I widened my arms. "Right?" I grinned, taking both her hands in mine. "We can get back to normal without all the crazy . . . Baby, I'm sorry for the last month. I'm sorry I—"

She placed her finger over my mouth. "I love you so much it drives me crazy. But sometimes I think I love you more than you love me, and it breaks my heart."

I wasn't going to reply to that, not here. "I wish you'd come back to my room with me. We need to talk, the sooner the better, and . . . I want to be with you tonight, make sure you're all right." I couldn't kiss her here, so I squeezed her knee.

She shook her head. "I wanna go be with my mom."

"I understand."

"I'm still bleeding…I want my own bathroom." That was understandable as well. "Come back with me." She pulled on my hand.

"Jersey? I gotta be back here for five a.m.," I said. "You know my schedule."

She drew in a shaky breath. "I guess I have to get used to being number three in your life. It's medicine, Maggie, and then me."

"Whoa . . . That's a lie—not true at all." I nearly shouted. "Who's filling your head with this garbage?" She was teasing the beast, dangling the key to his cage right in front of him.

"I have eyes . . ." She trailed off. "You're going to tell me it's not true? I know it's not her. She's not pursuing you."

"Maggie's my brother's wife. That's all she is, and before that, she was Kylie's friend." I groaned under my breath. "You know I fucked up here. One more wrong move, and I'll get kicked out of the program," I whispered. "You know I'm doing everything I can to get back on track. I'm offering to leave now and go back to my room—that's a compromise. That's me meeting you halfway…" And this conversation was just ridiculous.

Amelia, who doesn't do halfway, stared at the tiled floor—not saying a word.

"If Pete's waiting for you . . . You know what? Why are we trying?" I asked. "You can't be honest with me about this pregnancy." I snorted, leaning back and letting go of her hand. "You bust my balls at every turn . . . I feel like I don't know you at all."

"That makes two of us," she said. "I don't know who this is." She gestured to me, deflecting, ignoring everything I'd said. I knew what she was doing. I do it all the time.

I widened my arms. "I'm…me, Damion."

Honestly, I wanted to break down all of my true attributes and/or qualities, apologize to her—because she'd fallen in love with one side of me, the part of me I was trying to kill and bury. I'd never mourn that loss.

"You still won't answer any of my questions." I chuckled. "The wedding's off until you can be straight with me." I left the chair.

"Wait!" She grabbed me. "What do you mean, off? I got pregnant. Even if, even if it's gone, we have to get married."

Dr. Swanson walked into the waiting room, going over to a family that sat across the room.

"Amelia," I whispered. "We can't talk here. You wanna talk? I told you. Come back with me. If not? We'll talk this weekend. We'll air it all out, come to a conclusion…but as of now…I'm sorry. There's no way we can get married with all these issues." We were done. There would be no wedding. Our relationship had run its course, and her miscarriage—if there really was one—had been a godsend.

She stood up and then turned from me, leaving the room.

I groaned, staring up to the ceiling.

And I didn't go after her.

That was exactly what she wanted, too—me to chase her—but I couldn't do it. The thought made me queasy.

My head was totally fucked as I left the floor, going to the locker room, but I pushed it all out of my mind. As I changed back into my clothes, Hansen—Jordan's fourth year crush—walked in. He ignored me, going to his cubby, and a brief thought came to mind.

"Hey," I said.

He threw his scrub top onto the bench. "Cullen, right?"

"Yeah."

"Edward Cullen—that's your father?"

I wasn't going to answer that. "You heading to The Cove? It's your birthday, right?"

He sat on the bench, leaning his hand to his knee. "It is…" He stared me down, like sizing me up. It made me uncomfortable.

"Um…" I pursed my lips.

"You heading there, too?" He stood up to shimmy out of his pants. "Maybe you can buy me a drink."

"What?" I shook my head in confusion, looking away. He was just standing there in his boxers.

"How'd you know it was my birthday?"

In my periphery, I saw him adjust his cock.

Still trying to do my good deed for the day, I racked my brain to think up something to say about Jordan, bring her up in the conversation. "Jordan mentioned it."

"Who?" he asked, walking toward me.

"She brought you coffee earlier?" I went back to my locker to grab my coat. "She'll be there later . . . maybe you can buy her a drink."

"She's not my type."

"Oh…" I didn't know how to respond to that. We all have our types. "Well, enjoy your night."

"You should stop by." His gaze fell to my dick.

"Oh!" My eyes widened. "Wow."

"Wow, what?" He grinned.

I shook my head.

He chuckled to himself. "Usually I have better intuition, but I can't get a good read on you. I see you around . . . Which team do you bat for?"

Able to read him well as soon as I paid attention, I laughed. "I'm straight...and I'm guessing…?"

"Oh, I'm gay, very openly so." He nodded. "It's a shame, though." Now he checked me out . . . openly.

"It's my loss, right?" I winked.

He laughed. "Still…you should stop by. Have a drink with me."

"I…I shouldn't, but thank you." I looked down to my phone to see if I had Jordan's number, and I didn't. "Goodnight."

Leaving the hospital, my stomach growled, and my head whipped—looking for a place to eat. Sadly, I wasn't in the mood for food. I wanted a drink, but we don't always get what we want . . .

I opted to stop at a cart and get a hot dog, eating it as I walked to my room. Slowing down to a leisurely stroll, I thought about calling Amelia.

Though I didn't call her . . . didn't want a headache or more half answers.

But one thing was for sure.

We were still fucked.

We, as a couple, were going down the toilet . . . or we were floating in it already, the both of us needing lifesavers. Unfortunately, to preserve our lives, we needed to cancel the wedding—discontinue our relationship.

And I wondered what my life would be like without her.

Not wanting to think about that either, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw my building in the distance.

The beast growled again when I got to my door; the black scarf was on the knob.

"Fuck…" The one night I just wanted to crash, Ethan had someone in there. "Yo, how long?" I knocked lightly.

"About an hour," he said.

I nodded, leaning on the hall wall. The last time he got lucky, Amelia was with me, and we rented a hotel room.

I didn't have my books. I didn't have anything to occupy my mind, and I thought about going over to The Cove—not to drink but to waste some time.

I could call Kylie, have her drone on and on about her day. That'd take about an hour, but I didn't have the patience—not tonight. In lieu of calling my sister, I sat in the common room and called my mother.

"Hey, baby." She sounded tired.

"Hey…"

"Amelia spoke to you?" she asked.

"She did…" I nodded.

"I'm sorry, baby. It happens, but she'll be okay. You know? With time you'll both be just fine."

"I know," I said. "Things are just so…"

"I know," she whispered. "She's just confused, Dame. Something didn't feel right about that pregnancy, but Elena swore Amelia was pregnant…I don't think she'd lie to me, unless Amelia was lying to her, but then you went to the doctor with her…"

"Yeah." All the doctor did was confirm the pregnancy and give her an estimate as to how far along she was. It was too early to really do much of anything else. It unethical, but for all that—for all I knew, Amelia could have slipped her doctor a few dollars to say that. Just like my father has connections everywhere, Luke has all kinds of people in his pockets too.

"You can talk to me," she sang.

"You know everything already. I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't." I chuckled. "I can't talk to her…it's as if the lines of communication don't exist."

Mom sighed heavily. "I wish I had something more encouraging to say. You guys were doing so well, and then . . . Maybe you two need some space? Then you can reconnect?" she asked, sounding hopeful. "Amelia loves you something crazy. I know you think she's being dishonest, but maybe she isn't? I'm no lie detector."

"Yeah." I massaged my forehead. "It's my fault. I pushed her away, and she clung to me—by any means necessary, she held onto me." I shook my head. "This is just depressing me," I admitted. "I should go."

"We're at La Bella Italia. Why don't you come down?"

"No. I'm tired."

"You wanna say hi to Grandpa?" She sounded happy.

"No…I'll see you all this weekend."

"Okay, baby. Love you."

"Love you, too." I ended the call.

I got comfortable on the couch and closed my eyes. But then, it probably wasn't even twenty minutes later when Ethan nudged me awake. He had a redhead tucked under his arm. "We're heading to The Cove. You wanna come?"

"I'm cool. Thanks." He's another one who asks just to be polite.

"You sure? It's Hansen's birthday."

"You know Hansen?" I asked, surprised.

He shook his head. "Not even remotely. But it's a reason to drink—everyone's gonna be there, so…Oh, this is Melinda." He stared down to his honey.

I waved.

She waved...

"I'm gonna crash." I stood up to slap my hand to his.

"Fucking live a little. Come out," he said, and he says that every time he goes out to get drunk on micro brews.

He also had no idea how much I had lived these past few months.

I've done things people twice my age hadn't, things they'd never imagined doing. The only thing I'd never done—never experienced—was this, having friends outside my family, having…an almost Disney experience, the simplicity of college trials and tribulations. I'd been to bars, strip clubs, and casinos . . . but I never had the PG-13 version, which is supposedly fun. Nothing's ever serious. There are never any worries . . . I'd never—truly—partied a day in my life.

Getting drunk to forget your life isn't the same as getting intoxicated for fun.

Convening with others is to chill out, let loose, not to plot and scheme.

Going out is a reward for working hard . . . It's not a necessity, go out and meet up with others to work.

"Where's Amelia?" His eyes danced around room, like she'd be hiding under the coffee table or something. "Doesn't she usually stay Tuesday nights?" he turned to his date "—and I stay out here those nights."

She smiled at his words, stars in her eyes.

Ethan sighed, his attention falling back on me. "Don't wait up."

"Fuck it. I'll go." I blurted, gesturing to the hall. "An hour."

From there, the three of us walked two blocks to The Cove, the university bar. It's this dive of a place that's always filled with all the nerds from the hospital. Another lounge that's a couple of streets away from here is where all the law students gather. It's funny—how we all have different hangouts. Or, I should say they—they have separate locations where they party.

I never hang out anywhere.

Every chance I could get away was always spent with Amelia, and before her, I'd just head to Brooklyn—stick my nose in family affairs, get into whatever Sonny was doing that night. Fuck.

When I was working for Dad, I was never around here—not even to sleep, I never slept.

It was refreshing to walk into the bar.

No lie, I had an odd feeling in my gut, but it wasn't a bad one.

I wore a smile, and it felt like the start of something as I looked around the darkened pub.

None of these people truly knew me as Edward Cullen's son, nor did they know anything about me. These were my colleagues—people I knew informally, acquaintances at best.

According to them—all these relative strangers—I was just Cullen, a third year med student who lived on campus, who liked his coffee light and sweet and spent way too much time talking to patients, otherwise he doesn't say a word.

I had anonymity here—in Manhattan, at NYU, the hospital.

And I loved it . . .

I'd been here before—over a month ago when Amelia needed a drink, and we stopped in for a few. It was empty that time, but it was brimming with bodies tonight. Crammed with fuckers, I walked elbow-to-elbow with many, bumping into others. Plenty familiar faces crowded the bar, yet I couldn't recall their names. Classic rock pumped from the speakers, and everyone was grouped—three over there, four across the way and so on.

Third years chilled with their own, as did the fourth years and the residents. Most still wore scrubs, and I couldn't see Jordan amidst the horde. I figured if I found Hansen, I might find Jordan drooling someplace nearby.

Homeboy was tucked in the back, drinking with his buddies by the dartboard.

"You want a beer?" Ethan asked me.

As I continued to glance around, I came to the conclusion that Jordan never made it. "Um…yeah. A Bud." I nodded, thinking I could take a sip and just hold it.

"Have a Blue Moon," he suggested.

"Whatever." I didn't give a fuck.

Ethan waved a bartender down, while I leaned my ass on a stool, bopping my head to the music. The song had changed; Paint it Black by The Rolling Stones blared from the speakers. And even if the place was cramped, on the verge of suffocating, I really liked this scene.

"Isn't that...what's her name, your buddy?" He jerked his head.

"Who?" I asked as I could hardly hear him.

He laughed. "That short thing that runs circles around you."

"Ha, ha." I looked around. "Where is she?"

"Right there." He pointed, but I still didn't see her.

"Where?" The bar was three people deep, bills, money being waved for attention.

Ethan handed me a pint glass with an orange wedge. "Geez. How can you miss those tits?"

"Excuse me?" Melinda asked.

"Oh, you know I only have eyes for your . . . chest." He winced in my direction.

I chuckled, sipping the pale beer.

"Red shirt, Dame. You can't miss her—"

"Take me to the bathroom," Melinda said.

"I'll be back." Ethan squeezed my shoulder and then disappeared into the crowd.

That's when I saw Jordan.

It's not that I hadn't seen her, I just hadn't recognized her.

She sat at the bar with her head down, nursing a glass of wine. Her dark hair trailed down her shoulders, and it was pin-straight—not curly and frizzy like it usually is. Jordan had ruby red lips and cleavage so deep . . . I could probably see it from across the street. I was dumbfounded. I'd never seen her in street clothes before, so I had no idea the tits she had.

"Hey," I said.

Her head whipped to me, excitement in her eyes for a millisecond. "Oh, it's you." Her shoulders dropped.

"Yeah, it's me." I sat next to her.

"He's gay."

"What gave that away?" I laughed, openly checking her out. I didn't give a fuck. This was new—a new sight and side to her. Those fucking scrubs, man . . . Jordan had a body and a half that was hidden by scrubs. She was thick and curvy, and her breasts were humongous. Usually, she's just this frumpy, plain-looking . . . oompa loompa.

She handed me a piece of paper. "He asked me to give you his number. Just in case you changed your mind."

"Whoa…you can keep it," I said.

She finished her wine.

"Can I get you another one?" I asked.

She shook her head, looking down. "I'm already gonna feel like shit tomorrow." She faced me and then scoffed. "You're so pretty, it hurts my eyes. Go sit over there." Jordan pointed down the bar.

"Shut up." I nudged her, turning on the stool.

"I feel like such an idiot."

"How were you supposed to know? We all work together, but none of us know each other." I shrugged. "I don't even remember your first name."

"Jordan," she said. "My last name is Clarke, and there's some other dude named Clarke . . . I go by Jordan so there's less confusion."

"That makes sense. I'm Damion." Oddly, it was as though I was meeting her for the first time, yet we'd been working together for months.

"I know." She pointed to her temple. "I was a comic book junkie in high school, so Damion Cullen . . . I think DC Comics because you initial everything instead of using a legible signature." She rolled her eyes. "Don't judge me. Practically everything in here is remembered by some stupid mnemonic." She tapped her forehead and glanced at me. "I also think discharge or discontinue," she giggled.

I grinned, pushing my beer away from me. "So, Jordan Clarke . . . JC, JC," I racked my brain. "Junctional Complex . . . Joint Contracture. What else?"

She sipped from her bottled water, shrugging her shoulders and looking down on her luck.

"Where are your friends?" I gazed around her, behind her, and down the bar.

"I don't have any, unless you count my roommate, and she . . . She's a fucking weirdo." She covered her mouth. "I can't believe I said that. She's a nice person, just odd. I know I can be quiet, focused, but…" She winced.

"Where are you originally from?" I asked.

She sighed, waving for the bartender. Jordan was able to gain his attention quickly, although he only had eyes for her breasts. "Can I have another Merlot?" She went into her purse.

"I got it," I said, plopping a ten spot on the bar.

"Thanks," she whispered. "Fuck it, right?" She hardly waited for him to pass her the glass before she snatched it. "Bottoms up."

I almost reached for it myself. "If you're not a drinker . . . maybe you should slow down. 'Cause if we gotta count on me to be the together one…" I chuckled.

She laughed, too. "You're good. You just need to be on time. Punctuality isn't a strong suit."

"Right." I nodded.

"I was born in Sweden . . . lived there until I was three, and then my mother married an American."

"Wow . . . that sounds interesting." To me, that was almost exotic in a way.

"Yeah, my stepdad was on vacation, and it was love at first sight or some crap. Who knows? I know I don't remember. We moved to Nebraska where he had a farm. They still live there."

"Nice . . . Do you plan to go back?"

She shook her head. "I don't want to. They're good people. I love my parents . . . they can just be suffocating?"

"I know what you mean," I said, slightly tugging on the bartender's sleeve. "Can I have a 7-Up?"

He quickly poured me one and pushed it over.

"What about you?" She turned her whole body to face me.

I averted my gaze.

Christ.

That body . . . it was still a total shock. Voluptuous, stacked, thick . . . Fuck.

"Cullen?" She tapped my shoulder.

"Um." I cleared my throat. "I was born and raised right here in New York."

"Oh, I knew that, figured that. You're Italian, too, right? You sound like one of those guys from the movies."

"Funny." I smiled. "I have an Italian accent?" I knew what she meant, but it was comical.

"No, like, you sound like Tony Soprano?"

"Oh, Jesus." I shook my head. "That's Jersey. Get it straight. I have a Brooklyn accent."

She put her palms up. "Excuse me."

I laughed my ass off.

"No…wait. How does that go?"

I just smiled, having no idea what she was talking about.

"Oh." She hit my arm. "Forget about it," she said it all wrong.

"Fuhgettaboutit!" I was louder, used my hands to help enunciate that shit.

"Ay! Fuhgettaboutit!" She shouted to the bartender. We all shared a laugh, and then composed ourselves.

"That was better." I studied the wood grain on the bar, feeling silly. Yet that felt good for some reason . . . just being silly. And I wasn't drunk or high or playing a role. It just was . . .

She giggled and then sighed, leaning back while pulling her shirt down. Her intention was to cover her stomach, but all she did was expose more of her breasts. Jordan didn't even notice. "You'd think I would have picked up that he was gay."

"You're still upset about that?" I asked.

"Well, I only crushed on the guy for two years." She frowned.

"There are plenty of fish in the sea." I didn't know what to say. "Straight fish."

"Everyone says that bullcrap." She sipped her wine. "Hey, did you check back on Carlson? Was her fever down from rounds?"

I shook my head. "I didn't get the chance to stop in again. They changed her antibiotics, gave her a cooling blanket, but she might have to be moved to telemetry for better observation." My post-op patient has been battling an infection along her incision. She was readmitted from the E.R after being discharged from her stay for her hysterectomy. "It wasn't that high, though. She'll be good." I nodded.

"That was your girlfriend, right? I didn't want to pry, or anything."

"Yeah . . . that was Amelia." I sipped my soda, now wishing it was scotch.

"Was she okay? She looked like…I don't know. When I saw her, it was a contrast to the pic you showed me. She had a beautiful smile."

"She does," I agreed. "We're just . . . I don't know. We're continually hitting these bumps in the road. You know?"

"Don't ask me," she laughed. "I'm married to my education." She hit my arm again. "Ever wish you wanted to be a plumber or a teacher? Just something simple? All I've ever wanted to be was a doctor, and I'm thinking about a surgical residency. It's like I'm a glutton for punishment. This is only going to get worse, more difficult." She ranted and then finished off her wine. "Every bad day . . . I want to pack my shit and run back to Omaha."

I didn't say anything. Some days I feel like that, wondering how much easier it'd be to just go along, get into the family business.

"Crap. It's almost midnight." She stared at her watch.

I chuckled. "That's nothing."

"We're on call tomorrow—today!" She palmed her forehead. "I need to get as many winks as I can. You know we're not sleeping tomorrow. I mean, much, much later." She grabbed her purse and hopped from the stool. "Walk me back?"

"Oh . . ." Since she was standing, I was able to see her large, bubble ass. "Um…" I massaged the back of my neck. "I just—"

"Christ. I'm not asking you, you know. Just walk me home. I'm two blocks away at Alumni Hall."

"So am I." I felt like an idiot for coming to that conclusion, and even dumber since we lived in the same building, and I'd never noticed. "I'm sorry. Of course." I stood up to button my coat. "What floor are you on?"

"Fifth," she said, placing her jacket on.

I helped her into it, pulling my hands back when she gave me some weird look. "Uh . . . the fifth floor. No wonder I've never seen you," I said.

"Dude, I'm always at the hospital," she laughed, walking past me.

I followed, and I enjoyed the view as I walked. She led the way out the door, and sadly I walked with her—side by side—once we were in the street. "Can you breathe?" I asked. "Your jeans are so tight."

"I have to lie down to get them on." She made a face. "And never you mind about my jeans, Cullen."

I smiled, placing my hands in my pockets. "You look nice tonight."

She furrowed her brow. "Thanks, I guess."

"I mean it. You should…do your hair more often. Then, you know." I shrugged.

She sighed. "You sound like my mother—you should hear her. I just don't have the time to care about my appearance."

"I'm sure you do. You go above and beyond what's necessary." It was true. She's thriving to be this super doctor, and she's a brown-nosing know-it-all, although it suits her.

"Hansen is very handsome, easy on the eyes . . ." She batted her lashes, acting silly, which isn't like her at all—not that I really know. "Even so, I wasn't looking for him to be my boyfriend. Who has time for that shit?"

"Well . . ."

"And you're late for everything." She teased. "I just wanted to get laid. Sue me. And then, if Hansen and I bumped uglies—"

"Bumped uglies?"

She ignored me. "I just wanted to use him for a booty call, every now and then."

"Right."

"At least I got that crap out of my head. I won't be all, creepy, stalker-like anymore."

"You weren't that bad," I lied.

"Yeah, I was." She nodded, pursing her lips. "He's still in the Spank Bank."

I snorted a laugh, cracking up. "Chicks have spank banks?"

"Are you kidding? I bet a woman made that up—that term." She lifted her chin, and I smiled at her. Jordan was adorable like this, with her inhibitions lowered to an extent.

"This is us." I went up the steps, taking my keys out.

"I'm so going to crash. I can't wait."

"Same here," I agreed, opening the door for her.

"Thanks . . . I'll see you tomorrow." She waved, keeping her back to me.

"Wait a second," I blurted, sprinting to catch up to her. "You wanna watch TV in the common room?"

Her brows rose, like that was some horrible concept.

"I'm sorry . . . Goodnight." I patted her bicep, turning for the stairs.

"Hey." She grabbed my hand, holding it limply to get my attention. "You okay?"

I nodded, smiling. "I'm perfectly fine."

Truth be told, I was tired of people asking me that; meanwhile, I shouldn't be fine. My relationship was in shreds. My baby—if there even was one—was no more. School and everything that comes with it—should feel like the weight of the world but truly isn't—doesn't even compare to the real life problems I had.

But Jordan . . . Chillin' with her was like an escape, sort of like my time at the hospital never ended, being DC—Damion Cullen—third-year med student, the guy with no personality, only this was more fun, and the visual . . .

"I just…" I checked her out again, stepping closer, our eyes meeting, and I held her gaze. She gulped, still staring up to me, and I took a step back. "Nothing. You should, you should…" I pointed up.

I realized I was being a coward. It had nothing to do with being attracted to Jordan or anything like that. She provided a diversion, and I was seeking another hiding spot.

She looked paler than usual suddenly. "Your eyes...they're paralyzing."

I didn't know how to respond to that, refusing to look at her.

"What was that?" She was grinning now.

"I don't know." I looked down to my shoes, nervous as hell. "Ever feel—you ever feel restless?"

She shook her head. "I'm always exhausted."

"Besides that."

"No," she whispered. "My life is relatively boring except for my work at the hospital. But that's why I'm here, in New York. I didn't come here to make friends or marry some hotshot rich doctor. I came here to learn, so I'm soaking up all I can."

"Nice." I dug that.

"To me, nothing else matters, and maybe that's a curse."

"It sounds amazing. I wish…you know. My life was as simple as yours." I gestured to her.

"I said boring, not simple." She grinned. "I battle my own demons . . . trust me."

"Like…?" I rocked back on my heels.

"I'm a perfectionist, Type A personality with a touch of OCD. But I bet you knew that already...Sorry." She puffed her cheeks and reached to hold my arm as she took off her heels. "That's better . . . You know, we don't have to do this...make small talk? I'm not very good at it. But if you need to talk, if something's bugging you, I can listen."

I stared down at her reddened toes. "You want a foot rub?" I knew right then and there that I crossed a huge line, but I didn't give a fuck. Her feet were cute and small, and I wanted to touch them.

"Um…" Her lips drew a tight line. "You wanna massage my feet?" She seemed confused.

"If they're hurting you . . ." I trailed off.

She blinked, staring blankly. "I'm sorry. What?"

I laughed. "The shoes...looks like they hurt your feet."

She nodded, her brow furrowed. "O-kay..." She walked toward the common room, and I continued to chuckle as I followed her.

But I stopped at the elevator. "Just come up to my room."

She stood next to me. "You have a girlfriend . . . are you allowed to do this? Is it some open, new age relationship deal?"

I rolled my eyes. "Just don't rape me . . . I'll call campus security."

"If that's a line, I ain't biting." She entered the elevator. "And who says no to a foot rub?" Her brows crinkled again. "Do you have any ibuprofen?"

"Yup." I hit the button for my floor.

It was a very short ride. Ethan was still at the bar, and I opened the door for Jordan. "I'm on the left."

She nodded, walking inside. "This is nice."

"Thanks." I threw my keys on the desk, taking off my coat. Then I took Jordan's jacket to hang it behind the door.

She sat on my bed, looking a bit lost.

Nervous, I plopped next to her and patted my knee.

"What?" she asked.

"Foot rub?"

"You were serious? I thought you just wanted to hang out." She was doubled over in laughter. "I thought it was a joke."

"It's…whatever." I shrugged, leaning back. "Do you smoke?"

She shook her head.

"I meant weed. I have some."

"No, thanks." Her gaze jumped around the room. "So, what happened with Amelia? What's got you looking so down and me here…?" She turned to face me. "You're a man of few words, so something must be going on."

"We broke up." I sort of lied, but it flew out of my mouth fast.

In my eyes, all that was left to do—as far as Amelia and I was concerned—was have that horribly awkward conversation where we'd end things.

And in this moment, being this simple Dame, I wanted to forget about Brooklyn, Bay Ridge, Amelia, fucking all of it.

How much easier would my life be if . . .?

"That sucks. You should have said something. I mean, if you were looking for a rebound at the bar, I wouldn't have asked you to walk me back."

I sat up. "Give me your foot."

"You're another weirdo. Aren't you? If you lick my toes, I'm kicking you in the face."

I cracked up, grasping her heel, which made her fly back—her jeans were so tight.

"Hey!" She squealed, nudging my hand with her toes.

"You want sweats or something?" I asked.

She shook her head. "You're so fit, I bet my ass is too big for them."

"Doubtful." I gave her foot another squeeze, which made her groan.

"Get the other one." She pointed.

I smiled, doing as she asked, and then my cell started vibrating from inside my pocket.

I ignored it.

Jordan hummed, leaning on her elbows to stare at me. "I should probably go."

I kept her feet in my lap, holding them captive yet agreeing with her. "If you want…"

She looked away from me. "You're staring at me."

"You're gorgeous."

She scoffed, taking her feet back and rolling off my bed. "Stop."

"You don't believe me?" I laughed, since I had a semi to prove that shit.

"I'll see you tomorrow." She grabbed her coat from the hook.

I stood up. "Why is what I said so hard for you to believe?"

She turned around. "We see each other every day."

"So?"

"We work together," she whispered.

My feet stepped forward even if a stop sign appeared in my head. "We do."

She stared at my lips. "We'd still see each other every day."

I nodded, my heart thumping out of my chest. "We will."

"What are you doing?"

I swallowed, palming her cheek. "I don't know."

"We shouldn't."

"But you want to." My nose was touching hers, and I wanted this too.

"You're in the Spank Bank as well."

I smiled. "Thanks. It's an honor."

"You never say a word, but now you're talking too much." She licked her lips, getting on her toes.

"I am?" I pushed her hair away from her shoulder, and I wanted to bite her fucking neck. It was just smooth and soft, and she smelled like flowers.

"We do this . . . In the morning, this never happened. It can't be weird."

"I promise to wake up with amnesia." My nose skimmed her jaw.

She grasped my chin, placing her lips to mine, and my body took over. My brain shut the fuck up, my hands going straight to that ass—grabbing tightly and pulling her to me.

Our tongues tangled, and she moaned into my mouth.

Leaning away, I went for the hemline of her blouse. She let me undress her as she reached to take my sweater off of me. We were fighting to rid each other of our clothes, which made us both laugh as I stumbled out of my slacks, nearly busting my ass.

"Are you okay?" She grasped my forearms.

"Yeah." I was not deterred. "You're gonna need help with those jeans." I pulled off my undershirt, and my chain smacked down against my chest with a slight clank.

Her eyes zeroed in on that, toying with the medallion. "Who's this?"

"Saint Michael." I unbuttoned her pants, and then I pushed her back onto the bed to peel them off.

She scooted over to the pillows, pulling my blanket to cover herself.

I hopped in under it as well; content to go slower after that rapid start.

"Do you have a condom?" she asked, staring at the ceiling.

I reached into my nightstand for the box. "Yup." As I rested my head next to hers, I asked, "Are you nervous?"

"A little." She gave me a fleeting glance. "That kiss . . ."

I leaned over to kiss her cheek, letting my lips linger and trail to her neck. "Don't move."

She took that literally and stiffened as I left the bed.

"I'm just letting Ethan know I'm occupied." I opened the door to place the scarf on the knob before I fastened both locks—the one he has a key for and the other none of us do.

"Oh…" She settled down. "You know, maybe this isn't a good idea."

"Just relax." I got back in bed. "We don't have to do anything." And we really didn't. "I'll set the alarm. Just stay here."

"Can you shut the lamp?"

I reached over to do that, and then lay to her side, my thigh touching hers.

"Mrs. Carlson . . . Do you think they'll debride the wound?"

"Possibly," I said. "If the meds don't help."

She hummed, turning to face me, and I moved the blanket—to see her tits.

"They're beautiful…" My finger lightly touched the tops of her breasts. "Can you take this off?" She wore one of those industrial bras. It wasn't pretty or frilly, it was like a suit of armor to house those bad boys.

She smiled in the dark. "I thought we were going to sleep."

I reached to hold her hand, very content with that. "Do you and your family ever travel back to Sweden?"

"A few times," she whispered. "We still have a lot of relatives over there."

"That's cool." I rested our combined touch on my stomach. "Most of my family lives here in New York. Shit. We're within the same five block radius."

"Convenient," she said.

"I guess so . . . Hey, I toured Europe after high school." I turned, leaned up on my elbow. "I never traveled to Sweden, though. The closest I got was the Netherlands."

"Amsterdam?"

"Yup." I chuckled. "Good guess."

She yawned, looking tired.

"How 'bout a massage? A back massage?" I just wanted to touch her. We didn't have to fuck, but my hands needed to explore her curves—feel her softness.

"Sounds good." She got onto her stomach.

I kneeled in the bed, pulling the covers back to get a better look. She wore what most would consider granny panties, and that made me smile. But they were spandex and tight, and Julie used to wear these shits all the time. "You can take these off . . . I won't look. I know how uncomfortable they must be." It was a long shot; I pulled the waistband with my finger and let it snap back.

"Dammit." She got onto her knees to pull them down. "I do have something on underneath. The plan was to take these off before Hansen saw them."

I nodded, hoping to behave myself when she revealed a thong. Her ass was almost in my face. Fuck me. "You can trust me—I'm a doctor. Well, close enough."

"Is that what we're playing? Doctor?"

"If the scrubs fit." I grinned.

She clamped her eyes closed, going back onto her stomach. Her body was stiff as I ran my hands down her back. "Relax," I said.

She blew out a breath. "I just—I see you every day. Never in a million years did I ever think . . . Whatever, pretty boy. Get to massaging." She was still nervous and it didn't sound like she was tipsy anymore.

My hands went to her shoulders to squeeze them, and she melted into the mattress. Then I took my time kneading and rubbing her muscles, making sure to get those high-tension spots where she was the stiffest.

"Oh, God," she groaned. "You can use more pressure."

I didn't say anything, doing as she asked, my hands running down to graze her ass. She hummed, moaned, and groaned as I continued, and every time I went to her hips, I'd squeeze her ass, using a firm grip.

"This is in my way," I whispered in her ear, unclasping her bra.

She leaned up to take her arms out of the straps.

And now her whole back was exposed.

Even in the dark, I could see that my hard hands were reddening her pale skin. I eased up, going softer, lighter—skimming my nose up her spine, my hands running down her thighs, going north to her neck again, going back south, brushing along her the sides of her breasts.

This whole experience was sensual and sexy and relaxing—even for me, even if I was rock hard and I let her know, my cock touching her without thrusting my hips or being a pervert about it. There was nothing I could do about it.

When my dick rested against her ass cheek and my mouth kissed up her back, she squirmed, sighing these moans that just urged me on.

With my lips on her neck, my chest flush against her back, I reached underneath us, down to her pussy. She was soaked, and the groan she let out welcomed me there. "Fuck, baby," I whispered, rubbing my fingers down her slit.

She lifted her ass, granting me more access, letting me explore more of her as she buried her face into my pillow.

"You like that?" My thumb twirled her clit.

She raised her head, breathing heavily. "Don't stop."

"I won't." My teeth scraped along her neck, biting down on her shoulder, which made her cry out.

A growl vibrated through my chest and my hand moved faster, my fingers entering her awkwardly—just the tips. I couldn't get a good grasp with being behind her like this. "Can I fuck you?"

"Yeah," she whined. "Yes."

I groaned, getting onto my knees fast, tearing the condom wrapper with my teeth, using one hand to fucking roll it on, my other flat on her ass, my thumb fucking her for the time being.

"Shit." She rocked back against my hand, rising from the bed.

I sat there and watched, my thumb pumping in and out of her rapidly. "Lemme take this off." My hand left her so I could discard her thong. Then I pushed her back down, my knees spreading her thighs. She was still on her stomach, and I wondered if she could feel my heart beating on her back—that's how fast it was going.

With one swift thrust, I entered her and we both cried out.

The beast inside of me was sated for a second at best before he wanted more.

My arms snaked around her shoulders, and I had her in this gentle full nelson, my lips planted at the nape of her neck, as I fucked her good—digging in there, long strokes, coming out to go all the way in, balls-fucking-deep.

As I fucked her, my mind wandered—thinking of all the things I wanted to do, all the possibilities, wanting to bury my head in those tits, get lost in that ass . . . It felt like I had more options since there was literally more to her physically.

While she was pushing against me just as roughly, she stiffened and yet went faster, and I felt her pussy hug me tightly. She came almost with no sound, letting out this small whimper as she tried to catch her breath.

I smiled into her hair. "Turn over." As my cock left her, I gave her ass a slap just to watch it jiggle.

"Hey," she giggled, swatting my hand away.

I grabbed her ankles, pulling her closer to me before I spread her legs. "My God." I ran my hands up her stomach to hold her breasts. Then I fucking dove for them, my dick finding her quickly. Her tits were so big, I smashed them to my cheeks, motor-boating those puppies, which made her laugh. "None of that."

She locked her mouth and threw away the key.

I grinned, bringing them together to lick both her nipples.

She sighed, melting back and weaving her fingers into my hair while my hips moved—picking up the pace, setting a steady rhythm.

When her legs wrapped around my waist, I grabbed onto her ass to dig even deeper. But I was lost—feeling that fire in my gut; meanwhile, I wanted to stop—eat that pussy—so I could keep going, gain my bearings. That wasn't going to happen, though. She just felt too good—her softness, her wetness, her tightness—just fucking her.

I let go, seeing stars as I came. "Shit." I rested my forehead to her chest.

"Wow."

"Yeah." I rolled off of her, my eyes wide as I stared at the ceiling.

"Cullen?"

"Huh?" I panted.

"You didn't break up with your girlfriend, did you?"

I was going to lie, but then . . . "It's complicated."

"It's okay. I don't really care." She swung her leg over me to leave the bed, gather her clothes.

"Where you going?" I asked.

"My room." She pulled her panties up.

"I'm not done yet." I reached for her hand.

"I am...Sorry. This was nice, though."

"O-kay..." I nodded, pulling the condom off my dick. "How'd you know about that other shit?"

She smirked, clasping her bra before turning it. "You wouldn't kiss me."

I snorted. "I kissed you."

"Yeah…when we were by the door. Look, it's fine. Thank you." She spluttered, shimmying into her jeans. "I had an itch, you scratched it." She winked. "I appreciate it, and we'll both be waking up with amnesia soon..." Ever the logical thinker.

"Right." I pulled my boxers back on, hoping she didn't feel guilty about my lie. I didn't, and I'd make sense of that at another time.

She didn't even bother with her shirt. Jordan pulled her coat on and zipped it. "I'll see you in the morning." She unlocked the door.

I waved from my bed, smirking, as I'd never met a female quite like her before. She needed nothing from me, didn't want anything besides an orgasm, and that was pretty fucking cool.

"You want this?" She held up the scarf.

"Just throw it in."

Jordan tossed it onto Ethan's bed. "Goodnight."

"'Night." When the door closed, I pulled my comforter over myself and closed my eyes—still grinning like some asshole.

The beast was still in his cage, smiling in his sleep.

I must have fallen into a deep sleep right away. Ethan never disturbed me when he came home, whenever that was, but he shook me awake at 4:30 a.m. My eyes were already looking at the clock as he nudged me.

"Wake up. Your alarm didn't go off."

I sucked the drool back into my mouth, sitting up.

Ethan was ready to leave. "When I got back from showering and you were still sleeping . . . get a move on, bro." He sat on his bed to place his sneakers on.

I shot out of bed, grabbing my jeans from last night. "What time did you get in?"

"I don't remember." His eyes widened. "I'm fucked today. Ironically, though, with no sleep . . . I'm more on point, which makes no fucking sense."

"I slept with Jordan last night." I pulled a t-shirt on, images from hours before coming back to me, and I smiled. "Crazy shit, right?"

He stared at me. "You . . . You cheated on Amelia? A total fucking knockout? You slept with that chick?" He scrunched his nose.

I shrugged. "You don't think she's hot?" I pushed my hair back, stepping into my shoes.

"She's cute, I guess . . . But Amelia is...well, she's a ten. Jordan's like a six, a seven at best? You basically went out for hamburger when you have prime rib at home. That makes no sense."

"I like hamburgers." I chuckled to myself, grabbing for my toothbrush. "This is what college is like? You take a chick back to your room, and sex is just a given?"

"Um..." Ethan shook his head. "Typically. Not everyone is as lucky as me." He grinned, leaning back on his elbows.

"You're a fucking nerd." I rolled my eyes. "I can count how many times you've used the scarf on one hand."

"Well, look, as long as you're happy. You seem miserable lately. This is the first time I'm seeing you smile."

I nodded, pursing my lips. "How am I supposed to just go through the day? What am I supposed to say to her?"

"And that's why you don't shit where you eat." He pointed. "You don't say anything. You don't bring it up at all. You say hello, go on like it never happened. Now go brush your teeth."

I laughed on my way down the hall.

Cleaning up was a quick and simple task this morning; taking care of my choppers and splashing water on my face would have to do. Before I put my coat on, I reapplied some deodorant. I was decently put together after pushing my hair back.

As Ethan and I walked out of our building, I smoked a cigarette and checked my phone. I had countless missed calls, texts, and voice mails from Amelia. Instead of listening to them, I decided to call her while Ethan went to grab us some coffees from Starbucks. When she didn't pick up, I gathered she was sleeping and I didn't bother to leave a message.

But I had another call to make.

"Yo, what's wrong?" I woke Sonny up. "Fuck. What time is it?"

"Um...likely close to five," I said.

"What's up, Dame? You cool?"

I nodded, smiling widely. "I . . ."

Even if I thought last night was a good thing, Sonny might not. He might possibly think me more a horrible person.

"Hey." His tone was softer. "You okay?"

I cleared my throat. "I had a...one-night-stand-type-thing last night."

"What?" Now he sounded confused.

"I hooked up with someone." There was a time when he'd be proud of me for something like this, which was why I wanted to tell him so badly. "It didn't mean anything."

"It didn't?"

"No," I said. "We're friends. She works with me."

"What about . . . is that over?" he asked.

"Pretty much. All that's left is to have that long-ass talk." Ethan handed me my coffee, and we started to walk again—battle the cold winds. "I know it makes me a douchebag, but I wanted to tell you."

"Good." Sonny chuckled. "I'm glad you called, bro."

"Me too...me too."

"And you're not a douchebag . . . well, not for that." He laughed out loud. "Sorry. Go back to sleep," he whispered.

"Who's that?" I heard Maggie.

"Dame," Sonny informed her. "You have to live." He was talking to me again. "All you've done is go to school and dive into these relationships . . . that's what causes you to act out. Look, that's the conclusion I drew. I partied, I fucking lived, which is why slowing down now...I'm content, so fucking happy with it. You? All you've been doing is caging the beast."

That caught my attention as Ethan walked into the hospital ahead of me. "The beast, huh?"

"Metaphorically."

"You know what a metaphor is?" I asked.

"Fuck you." That was when I knew we'd be just fine—Sonny and me.

I couldn't help myself. He's talking about the beast, living it up, and my thoughts go to his very young bride. But there was no way I could bring her up into conversation. Maybe another time. We were speaking about me right now, and he'd accuse me of deflecting if I changed the subject, which is usually the case.

"You gonna be there for Christmas?"

"Christmas Eve," I said. "Christmas day I have to work."

"Awesome. I'll see you then."

I bit my lip, wanting to say something, but I wasn't sure . . . There aren't many moments in life when I actually want or feel the need to admit this to Sonny—

"I love you, Dame," he said it first . . . because my brother will always be the bigger man, the better man.

"I love you, too," I whispered.

When the call ended, I filed everything away for later, promising not to think about anything besides patients for the next twenty-four hours. Today was a call day.

Thank you for reading.

Please leave me your thoughts.

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