hungrier than I’d ever been in my life. I’d never had a wife to come home to, a woman to call home. I’d made it that way. I was fine with it. The woman who had come before her had no expectations. I was always on my way out. Tonight when I’d stared into Rose’s home, I’d expected to meet her at her door. I wanted inside that house, to feel the warmth of the woman who owned it. Just kiss her lips, look into her eyes, and wish her better dreams. That would have been enough for me.
What I got, I would fantasize about for the rest of my living years. Jesus, those eyes, those lips, her need to please me, to take possession of her, I could never get enough. If heaven were a sexual act, I’d just visited.
The French call the orgasm la petite mort (the little death). I’d gladly die a little every day to keep that feeling alive inside of me. But the comfort of her had been a far sweeter reward. At thirty-seven, I’d never had that, never felt that, and never wanted anything more than to feel it again. I pulled the throttle as the world passed me by in a blur of lights. Another shift had hit me tonight. All my years of traveling, I’d felt slightly privileged over the majority. That maybe my decision to turn in my tie and put on my captain’s hat had given me an edge on the masses and the never-ending rat race. I felt justified as the tortoise that had stopped to appreciate the beauty of the world.
Hindsight was a bitch, especially when she told me I might have been the one who’d been missing something. Either way, I was too fucking far gone to look back. I zipped through the summer night with a new craving. A need I’d never known had now become my new obsession. I wanted a new kind of home. I wanted to belong, but I wanted to belong to her. She was that home, she had the heart I needed, and I wanted in.
Rose
One Month Later
“Now, this is the tricky part. We have to temporarily clip the blood source, which is where, Dr. Whittaker?”
I moved instead of responding, as I often did with McGuire, and was scolded. “I didn’t tell you to do it. I asked you to tell me the location. Do not ever make a move again without my say so, understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“McGuire said you were the best of his residents. The best he’s had in years.”
“That’s flattering, sir,” I said dryly as I waited for the punch line.
“I have half a mind to tell him what an ass he is with the move you just pulled.”
“Understood, sir, it won’t happen again.”
I stood for what felt like the millionth hour while Dr. Hanson berated me in front of the rest of the surgical staff. I was stiff and aching from endless hours at the table. Hanson was the biggest dick on the surgical staff. While McGuire was militant, Hanson was everything else: arrogant, rude, condescending.
“Marks,” Hanson barked at the other surgical resident assisting in today’s surgery. “Replace Whittaker at the table. She’s got an attitude problem.”
I didn’t bother with any defense. He was determined to do as much damage to my ego as possible and was getting no satisfaction. I’d already been hazed my first two years as a resident. There was very little I now took offense to.
“Whittaker, you’re dismissed,” he barked as he robbed me of my new number of finished surgeries. I took a step back and snapped off my gloves. “Let the record show that Whittaker left the OR at noon.”
I looked at the clock and kept my mouth closed. He’d not only robbed me of an additional hour and completed surgery. I decided to choose my battles and left the OR without a word. I hastily passed McGuire, who looked at me oddly but didn’t ask any questions. I was completely over it. I went to the bathroom to calm myself, taking up the handicapped stall, and managed deep relaxing breaths.
After a few minutes of silence, I walked down to the locker room, snagged my phone, and scrolled through, looking for some distraction or word from Jack.
Dallas: Annabelle is walking!! She’s not even a year old! Don’t forget we have interviews tomorrow.
I rolled my eyes at her tenth reminder. We had a day of interviews set up for our center’s staff. We