“We need to get closer. They haven’t left. Those fuckers must have been shooting at us from inside the house. We’re going to have to go in,” I tell Hoss.
It’s a bad idea. I know this and Hoss knows this, but he keeps his mouth shut. We don’t have backup and even though we know how many people are inside that house, we don’t know what kind of firepower they have. They know we’re here so the element of surprise is good and truly fucked. Our only option is to turn tail and get out of here, or do what we came here to do. I want this to be over, one way or another. Hoss knows I’ll do whatever it takes to end this, even if it means I don’t make it out of this rainforest alive.
“Well, what are we waiting for, let’s end this piece of shit,” Hoss says with a nod.
We silently get closer to the house, covering each other while keeping an eye on the house for the glint of a gun poking out of one of the windows. We make it to the front door easily and with one last fist-bump for good luck, I take a deep breath, kick in the door with my booted foot and charge into the house with Hoss right on my heals.
Luckily, the dick heads gathered inside didn’t think we were suicidal and had no clue we would just come barreling inside their little hidey-hole. They were too busy arguing and looking out the windows to worry about us walking right through the front door.
In a matter of minutes, seven of Fernandez’s men have matching bullet holes between their eyes as they all lay slumped in the middle of the living room. They managed to fire off a few defensive shots, but Hoss and I were faster and better skilled. Even though it was decided that I wouldn’t go near Fernandez, once I found him cowering in a closet, I wasn’t about to hand the kill over to Hoss. I looked right in the bastard’s eyes, said the name of my friends he took from me, and emptied my clip into his pitiful face, blood and brain matter splattering the entire inside of the closet by the time my gun began clicking, signaling it was empty. I continued to pull the trigger, growing angrier and angrier by the second that I had run out of bullets.
“Dude, I think he’s dead,” Hoss states, his arm coming down on my shoulder.
With one last look at the mess I made of Fernandez, I turn to face Hoss and a sharp pain shoots up my right leg. I lose my footing, my leg unable to hold my weight and Hoss quickly moves to catch me before I hit the ground.
We both look down and a wave of nausea rushes through me when I see my shattered kneecap with a bullet lodged right in the center of it. During the commotion, I was running on so much anger and adrenalin that I didn’t even notice one of those fuckers managed to get in a shot at me. Now that I’m coming down from that high, I can feel every single mangled piece of my knee radiating so much pain that I can’t stop the blood curdling scream that comes out of my mouth.
The last thing I remember before I black out is Hoss shaking his head, complaining about having to carry my ass all the way to the retrieval point.
As I close my eyes and let the darkness wash over me, my only thought is of going home and begging her to take me back.
GRABBING THE TWO caramel macchiatos from the counter, I thank the barista and walk over to a corner table in the small coffee house. As soon as I sit down, the bell above the door chimes and my best friend, Parker, rushes in. Her eyes scan the room until she spots me, a huge smile lighting up her face.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. Annie has officially hit the terrible two’s. She threw herself on the floor in front of the door and screamed like she was on fire when I tried to leave,” Parker explains as she flops down next to me, grabbing one of the coffee cups and taking a healthy sip.
I met Parker several years ago when she was a patient at the hospital I worked. Broken and alone, the stubborn little shit initially refused the friendship I tried to give her, but it didn’t take much to get her to crack. When she’s had a few drinks and her soft side comes out, she likes to reminisce about how I forced my way into her life and saved her. Nowadays, I’m the sappy one. I wouldn’t have survived the last year without her by my side.
“So are you excited about starting your new job tomorrow?” she asks, practically bouncing in her seat.
I sigh, wrapping my hands around the paper cup to warm them. “Yeah, I’m overcome with excitement about the prospect of changing some crotchety old man’s bed pans while he either yells at me or tries to grab my ass.,” I deadpan.
At Parker’s sympathetic look, I quickly paste on a fake smile so she doesn’t feel bad for me. I certainly don’t want her to think I’m ungrateful for the job her husband, Garrett, pulled a lot of strings to get it for me. I just never thought that the career and reputation I’d worked so hard to build would be ripped right out of my hands, or that I’d have to practically beg someone to hire me for the job I was born to do. A wave of sadness washes over me when I think about the fact that I’ll never set foot on an ICU floor again. It’s strange for some people to grasp; it’s one of the most depressing floors to work on, but that never mattered to me. I loved being a nurse, I loved my job and I loved the people I worked with. I enjoyed taking care of people who were close to the edge of letting go, helping them slowly build themselves back up so they could eventually move out of the ICU ward and fully heal.
“Hey, being an at-home-nurse has some advantages. You can catch up on soap operas while your patients sleep and snoop through their closets,” Parker says with a laugh.
“Right, because some old, rich guy who lives in La Jolla is going to have a closet full of amazing shoes,” I reply with a shake of my head.
The smile slips from Parker’s face and she reaches over, resting her hand on top of mine. “Look, I know this isn’t your ideal job. What happened at UC San Diego was total bullshit and everyone who works there can go fuck themselves. Even though that bitch tried to ruin your life, you’re still here, still standing and you’re going to show her once and for all that you’re better than her.”
Vivien Vargas is the bitch in question. I have to take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart when I think about what I allowed her to do to me at a time when I was weak and naïve. She was my one link to him, the tiny little sliver of connection to the man who walked away from me, and trusting her cost me everything. I foolishly believed our shared love for him would bring us closer, forge a bond to keep his memory alive even though he shattered my heart when he left. Even though he walked away without looking back, he had left something behind that meant more to me than anything else in the world. Vivien knew that and she took advantage of it.
I clear my thoughts before I do something stupid like break down in the middle of the coffee shop. I spent the last three months not eating, barely sleeping and just generally feeling sorry for myself and the mess my life had become. With the help of my friends, I’m moving on once and for all. I’m putting the past behind me, where it belongs, and I’m starting fresh.
“You’re going to be fine, hon,” Parker reminds me. “The board reinstated your license after Garrett threatened to fuck up all of their lives. You’re still a nurse, doing what you love to do. I know you loved that place, but UC San Diego held too many bad memories. I’m glad that you don’t have to walk through those doors again.”
I know she’s right, but it doesn’t lessen the pain. The six months leading up to the day everything went to shit were some of the hardest I’d ever faced. I felt the ghost of his presence in every corner of my world, including the hospital, a place that had always been my refuge. Everywhere I looked, instead of seeing the family lounge where we where shared meals he insisted upon bringing me or the supply closet where we shared more than a few private moments, I saw the look on his face when he said good-bye in front of the nurses station the day he ripped my heart out of my chest with his bare hands and stomped all over it. The days I’d spent as a patient in that place hold enough horrible memories that I’m grateful I will never have to walk through those doors again. I’d never felt more sympathy for my old patients than during that week spent in the midst of my own personal hell, lying
in a hospital bed and wishing I could die along with everything else in my life that had been ripped away. It hurt to be there; it hurt my heart and it hurt my soul. No matter where I looked, all I saw was everything that I’d lost.
“It’s okay, I’m fine. Believe me, I’m not regretting the fact that I don’t have to spend another minute in that place. It’s just sad knowing I’ll never work in any hospital ever again,” I tell her.
Parker’s eyes narrow in irritation as she stares me down. “Stop it, right now. Garrett isn’t finished fucking people up. If anyone can get things straightened out, it’s going to be him. This mess is going to get cleared up once and for all and you will work in a hospital again, Liv. This is just a minor setback. You’re going to wipe Old Man Johnson’s ass, make sure he takes his vitamins and tuck him in at night. Before you know it, you’ll be back at a bigger and better hospital wiping three times as many asses.”
We share a laugh and, for the first time in a very long time, it feels good to be happy. I’m so used to taking care of everyone else, helping them with their problems and making them feel better, that it’s still a little tough for me to accept my friend’s help. Just like Parker when we first met, I did everything I could to push her away when I was in my deepest pit of despair. She was having no part of that nonsense, though, and she kicked my ass and brought me back to life. If it wasn’t for Parker and Garrett, I would still be curled up in the fetal position with the curtains drawn, wishing for a way to end the pain in my heart once and for all.
“So, what time do you have to be at this guy’s house tomorrow?” Parker asks, finishing off the last of her coffee.
“Eight. His house is in some fancy area of La Jolla, so it should only take me about twenty minutes to get there from Midtown.”
The nursing temp agency gave me the bare minimum of information about my client. I know he’s a vet who needs physical therapy and that he’s a stubborn ass who’s been through two other temp nurses in as many weeks. The agency glossed over the fact that the women left crying after he yelled and cursed at them every time they attempted to do their jobs. Obviously, my first day back in the work force is going to be anything but dull.
“I don’t have a lot of details, but I know he lives in La Jolla Shores,” I tell her.
Parker lets out a low whistle. “Ooooh, fancy! Garrett and I looked at a house there last year, but it was way out of our price range.”
I don’t comment on the fact that my ex’s family lives in La Jolla, or that the La Jolla Shores Country Club was the setting for the single meal I’d shared with his parents during the almost two years we spent together. Even though I had never been invited to Cole’s parents’ house, I knew enough about his family to suspect that the people who live in La Jolla Shores make a hell of a lot more than I do a year, a point that his mother reveled in driving home. Just the thought of having to drive through an area where I’ll have to breathe the same air as that woman makes my skin crawl.
“Just make sure you don’t take any shit from this guy. I’m sure you’ll have that cute, little old man eating out of your hand in no time,” Parker snickers.
“How do you know he’s cute? He could be hideous. Maybe that’s why he goes through nurses like they’re candy.”
“Honey, if they live in La Jolla Shores, they have enough money to make him cute. Who knows, maybe this will be your ticket back into the dating world,” Parker says with a smirk.
According to Parker, a night of mind-numbing sex is the final step in my healing process, and she’s been trying everything she can the last few weeks to get me to go on a date. I know she means well, but that is the furthest thing from my mind and, thankfully, Garrett is on my side. Every time Parker brings it up, Garrett shuts her down and tells her to leave it alone.
“Right, because a sugar daddy is exactly what I need,” I tell her with a shake of my head.
“Hey, if anyone can help you forget ‘he who shall not be named,’ it would be a crotchety old dude who lets you spend all of his money.”
The smile on Parker’s face dies when she realizes what she just said and she immediately tries to backpedal. “Shit, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” I cut her off reassuringly. “I know.”
Having the mother of the man you love accuse you of being nothing more than a money hungry whore isn’t something you just shake off, but I know Parker didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories with her joke.
“And hey, I still have her uncashed check in a frame to prove that she was wrong about me, so there’s that,” I add, trying to lighten the conversation.
“God, I wish I could kick that bitch’s ass,” Parker mutters.
“You and me both. At least I’ll never have anything to do with her and her family again. I’m going to put on a happy face, kick ass at this job and move on.”
Parker nods her head in agreement and we get up from the table and make our way outside. I pause on the sidewalk, tilting my chin up and closing my eyes as I take a deep breath and allow the sunlight to warm my face. I contemplated moving away from California after everything that happened, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Eliminating every trace of him from my life was as close as I could get. I knew I would miss the beautiful weather and being able to walk out my back door and right onto the beach. The sun and the salty ocean air went a long way towards helping me heal.
Tomorrow, I’m starting a new chapter of my life. The memories and the pain of the last year will be a thing of the past very soon, and hopefully, I’ll finally be able to let go once and for all.
“SON OF A bitch!”
My curse is drowned out by the sound of a very large, very expensive vase crashing to the floor, bits and pieces of red porcelain scattering across the hardwood.
Tipping my head back, I shout towards the ceiling. “Motherfucking piece of shit crutches!”
The door to the house opens without the courtesy of a knock and my mother tsks me. “Cole, language, dear.”
Turning my back on her, I hobble over to the couch, using one of my crutches to shove the coffee table out of my way. I flop down on the cushions, throwing both of the offending pieces of metal across the room, not caring what they hit when they land.
“I’ll have Martha come over and clean up this mess as soon as she’s finished making lunch,” mother tells me as she gingerly steps over the broken vase on the toes of her high heels.
“It’s not Martha’s job to clean up after me. I don’t need a fucking housekeeper.”
I know I shouldn’t be taking my frustrations out of my mother, but I can’t help it. I’ve been back in the states for three months and, aside from the trips between here and the hospital, I haven’t been outside of this house. I’m climbing the walls from boredom, and my frustration at not being able to walk without the aid of crutches and being unable to do the simplest of tasks on my own has turned me into the crankiest of assholes. I also hate that I’m a grown ass man and I’ve been reduced to living in the guesthouse behind my parents’ home until I can maneuver on my own.
“I’ll have Martha bring over one of the Persian rugs from your father’s study later this afternoon,” mother tells me, ignoring my outburst as she glances around the room. “I didn’t have time to get a decorator in here before you came home.”
Bringing both of my hands up, I rub my palms over my face, the stubble on my cheeks making a scratching noise, reminding me that I haven’t shaved since God knows when.
“I don’t need a rug, I don’t need any more vases and I don’t need a decorator. I’m not staying here, Mother, you know that. As soon as I finish with my physical therapy and I can walk on my own, I’m going home.”
My voice waivers when I say the word home. Even though these grounds and the connecting house is where I grew up, it’s not where I belong. The seventy-five hundred square foot monstrosity my parents own is filled with marble and expensive artwork, things I was never allowed to touch and rooms I was never allowed to enter.
My childhood home always felt like more of a museum than a place where people live, love and make memories. Even the guesthouse, though smaller and less ostentatious, still reflects my mother’s expensive taste and makes me feel like a bull in a china shop. Every time I turn a corner, I’m bumping into some overpriced piece of shit masquerading as art.
There is only one place that will ever be home to me, a place full of bright colors, warmth and almost two years of the best memories of my life. I wanted nothing more than to go straight to the house we shared as soon as I woke up in the hospital after my last surgery. I wanted to walk through the front door she insisted on painting yellow because it made her happy when she came home, I wanted to smell the vanilla scented candles she had lit in every single room and I wanted to stare at the photographs of the two of us she’d hung on every available inch of wall space.
The minute I swung my legs over the edge of the hospital bed and looked down at my bandaged knee, I’d realized I wouldn’t be walking anywhere on my own anytime soon, especially through our front door. I needed to be one hundred percent better when I went home to the woman I love. Given the fact that she’d changed her number, something I’d discovered when my call to her cell phone the day I woke up stateside went to someone else, the odds of her accepting my sudden reappearance in her life weren’t looking so hot. Between the anesthesia-induced disorientation and the pain of back-to-back knee surgeries, I’ll admit I didn’t react very well when I heard another man answer what I thought was her phone. After the poor guy who had the unfortunate luck of getting her old number became the recipient of my jealous rage, I quickly realized I needed to get my fucking head on straight before I tried to talk her.
“Cole, you’ve been gone for almost a year. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m sure she’s moved on by now. I think it’s best if you just concentrate on your therapy and, when you’re ready, your father and I will help you find a new place to live. In the meantime, though, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like.”