Second Chances: The Seahaven Series - Book One (4 page)

I walk over to him and take the chart from his hands and put it aside. He watches as I undo the drawstring of his scrubs.

“You'll be the death of me,” he whispers huskily.

The scrubs fall to his knees and I get on mine, and he is clearly happy to see me. He puts both of his big hands in my hair as I take him in my mouth. I push one hand hard against his pelvis and grab his thigh with the other, so I'm both pulling and pushing him. He moans.

Then the door handle jiggles. Someone's trying to get in. I don't stop, and he doesn't let go of my head. Neither one of us cares if we get caught right now, which is dangerous. He gets even harder in my mouth and his breathing gets quicker as I grab his ass. Then he comes, grunting.

Thirty seconds later the door opens and the janitor lets in a nurse.

“It gets sticky sometimes,” the janitor is saying. The nurse looks at us: me standing at the coffee maker pouring a cup, and Matt sitting across the room at a table studying a chart, and walks to the refrigerator. With her back to us, Matt looks over and smiles at me. I smile back.

Chapter Six

Danny and I are out on the rig when a call comes through: Male, Latino, mid-20s, responsive and alert, lacerations, in police custody. It's for an address down by the harbor that all EMTs know to be pretty rough, near a couple of bars where the tough local fishermen hang out, where there are lots of bar fights, lots of drinking, lots of drugs. We make sure we're hyper alert when sent on calls there, and that we stay together and watch each others' backs.

Some of the paramedics have crazy stories about being in the middle of shoot-outs, of knife-throwing domestic disputes, of addicts trying to stab them with infected needles. But luckily almost all of us are adrenaline junkies, so we're equipped to deal with any challenge we come up against down here.

Except when you roll up to find that it's your own brother in cuffs on the curb.

Danny glances at me before I hop out. “Sorry, Ellie.” I slam the door behind me, not wanting Danny's pity. Oh, Cesar. Not again.

I stride up to my brother, who looks both sheepish and a little drunk. He spits on the ground in front of him, a mix of blood and saliva. The corner of his eye is bleeding and so are his knuckles.

“We got a call about a fight in the parking lot, but he won't say much,” says the first officer, nudging my brother with his foot.

“I keep telling them this guy came up behind me for no reason and punched me. That's all I know,” Cesar says, moving away from the cop's boot.

“Stay put,” says the officer, nudging him again.

“How about you stop kicking me, bro?” says Cesar.

“Hey, hey,” I say, not liking the way this is going. “Let me check him.”

“El no me dejes solo,” Cesar says to me, quietly.
He won't leave me alone
.

The cop moves forward aggressively, saying, “How about English, bro?” He's ready to get in close and tangle with my younger brother, the kid who my mom surprised us with by having when I was ten, the one I raised when she couldn't, the one I tried to teach right from wrong.

I step between them and put up a hand. “Please, he's bleeding. Let me do my job.”

The officer reluctantly uncuffs Cesar and steps away, and I kneel next to my brother with my kit.

“You're not going to tell them you're my sister?” he says. “Maybe they'd let me go.”

I frown, looking at his eye gash. “They won't let you go. They can't. Get ready for a night in the tank.”

He shakes his head, drunk and upset.

“Hold still,” I say. “This is bad.” I dab his eye with antiseptic and he winces.

He looks over towards the bar. “That guy got me good. Came out of nowhere. I got him back, but not enough.”

I say to him reassuringly, “At least you don't need stitches.” And then after a moment I add casually, “You on anything?” I pick up his hand to look at his knuckles. They're a bloody mess.

“No.” He says indignantly. “I had some drinks. A few beers. That's it. You know I don't do that no more.”

I irrigate his hand wounds and start to wrap his knuckles. “Any more,” I say, smiling, trying to lighten it up. “You can't punch people, little brother. If you want to do that, join a gym. Bars are for having a good time and celebrating.”

He looks at me sadly, the sheepishness in full effect. “I try to live life right, you know? I came down here to have some fun, and then this guy comes at me. It's not my fault.”

I finish fixing up his hand. I put mine around his. “I love you, Cesar. Just try not to be like dad.”

He stares at me for a second, and I can see him getting angry. He pulls his hand back and moves away from me. “I'm not like him,” he says.

“Cesar,” I try to backpedal, “I didn't mean you were like dad—”

The police officer appears and stops me from being able to go any further.

“He done?” he asks. I try to get my brother to look at me, but he won't. I nod to the cop and the cop re-cuffs him.

“Off to the tank we go, amigo,” says the officer. He hoists him up by his shackled arm. Cesar tries to shrug him off. “Hey, hey, no trouble, comprende?” the cop says. Cesar spits off to the side.

I walk alongside them as my brother is escorted to the back of the police car. The cop pushes Cesar's head just a little too hard as he's putting him in. Cesar glares up at him and mutters “
pendejo
.”

“What's his hold time going to be?” I ask.

“Why, you gonna bail him?” the cop sneers.

“He should get that eye seen. I can call in the request.”

“If you want,” says the cop. “But I wouldn't waste my time. They'll probably put him on a twelve til he dries out.”

Then he gets in the car and starts it up. He drives Cesar away, me watching, and my brother not making eye contact with me from inside his cage.

Chapter Seven

Tonight is my night off. My typical work pattern is three twelves on, two off, two on. It's more than paramedics are typically supposed to work, but I don't mind. I get away with it because our town of fifteen thousand people is light on EMT staff but high on people who need us.

Twelve hour shifts in the middle of the night aren't easy, and I'd say nine out of ten people with normal jobs probably couldn't handle it, but I've structured my life around it for the last thirteen years and I make it work. Most of us in the medical profession learn to adapt, but there are always some who realize they can't swing it and get out pretty fast.

Danny's off tonight and Maria's off, too, so we decide to go to O'Mara's, a bar in the neighboring town that caters to cops and EMS workers.

I wonder what Matt's doing tonight but I don't call him. Don't get too involved, Ellie. Just enjoy it like it is. Casual, easy, no commitments. Just a big penis every once in awhile with no strings attached. I smile thinking about it.

Maria punches me in the arm. “What are you so happy about?”

“Probably that she has the next two days off,” says Danny.

“Or that she doesn't have to ride next to your stinky ass for the next forty-eight,” says Maria.

“Ha, ha,” says Danny. He holds up three fingers to the bartender. “You seem happier lately,” says Danny. “It's good.”

“Anything's better than how she was when she got here last month,” says Maria.

“Do I even need to be here for this conversation?” I ask. These two, they smother me with their concern. I'm so lucky to have them as friends.

The bartender sets down three beers and I take one. Danny puts money down on the counter. I say, “I've got the next round.”

Danny waves me off. “Don't worry about it.”

“Oh,” says Maria, “Mr. Big Spender. You showing off for Ellie? Is this a date?” Maria laughs and slugs Danny in the arm.

“It's not a date,” I say. “I got the next one.” I'm going to have to talk to her about not joking like that.

Danny and Maria keep jibing each other as I drink my beer and look around the room. There are plenty of good looking men here. Cops, firemen, fishermen. I focus on a few of them, trying to get interested. There's no ring on my finger and I'm free for the first time in fifteen years, and this is a good way to remind myself that there's a whole world of men out there and I don't have to get tied down to the first one who comes along. The first one with his big hands and his blonde stubble and the smell of his skin.

Shake it off, Ellie. It won't end well. They never do. My parents' marriage, my marriage. People are meant to get together and break apart. That's what all the evidence shows. No commitments. Simple and carefree is the only way to do it.

As I'm having this philosophical dialogue in my head, somebody puts money in the jukebox and the music turns on.

“Hey, it's our song!” yells Danny, and takes my hand.

Sometimes he's funny, he really is. Such a nice guy, too, with a good heart and a strong work ethic, and handsome, really good-looking. I saw him with his shirt off during an EMT volleyball game when I first got back to town and noticed that he hasn't let himself get the post-college thirty-something pot belly. He takes good care of himself.

I let myself be pulled to the floor and I dance with him, laughing, while Maria flirts with a nearby cop. And as Danny spins me around I try to figure out why I'm not attracted to him, and all I can come up with is that it's just not there. No spark. It wasn't there in high school and it's not there now. Absence has not made my heart grow fonder in that way.

The song changes and gets slow, and I take a step towards my beer at our table. Danny says, “Wait.” I look at him, and he motions me back towards him. “Just one slow dance. For real.” He looks into my eyes.

He pulls me close and I let him. He holds my hand and I put my other hand on his shoulder. I'm trying to feel something. I almost want to. It would be so easy. He'd be good to me. We could have a house, babies. But it's not working, I can't force it. It feels like I'm slow dancing with my brother.

“Danny,” I say into his ear. And I happen to look up at the door to see Matt standing there with two of his friends. He looks around the room as they enter, and then sees me slow dancing with Danny. He stares at me for a beat, doesn't smile, and then walks with his friends to a table as if nothing's happened.

“Danny,” I say again. “Let's rescue Maria. Her cop's married.” The policeman she's been flirting with has a wedding ring on his finger which she apparently hasn't noticed.

“She's okay,” whispers Danny.

“Come on,” I say, and I move away from him. He doesn't want to stop dancing, I can tell, but he nods his head. He follows me over to Maria.

“Chica,” I say. “Vamanos.”

“What?” she cries. “Why?”

“You owe me that darts rematch,” says Danny, indicating the dart board in the back of the bar, well away from the married flirting cop.

The cop is watching us, amused. I can tell he's thinking maybe he'll get lucky, but if it doesn't work out he'll go home to his none-the-wiser wife.

“I don't want to play darts!” she says. I take her arm and pull her to the back of the bar. The cop turns back to his friends.

“You're a couple of cockblockers,” she says to us, mad.

“Maria,” I scold, frowning. “Did you see his finger?”

“If you mean was I thinking about what his fingers could do to me, then yes,” she says.

Danny covers his eyes with his hand, embarrassed.

“Oh, Danny,” she laughs, “I know you've had sex. Don't be shy.”

“I'm talking about his ring finger in particular,” I say. “The one that tells the world he's married.”

She stops laughing. “Seriously?” She looks around me at the cop, who's laughing it up with his buddies. “Douchebag! His wife should hear what a filthy mouth he has! Let's pretend the bullseye's his face.”

Then Danny sees Matt and the group he's with. “Look who's here,” he says to me. “The jerk doc and his friends. Maybe he'll tell us to get out of here, too.”

Maria looks over at them. “It's too bad he's so hot. It'd be easier to ignore him if he was a fug.”

Danny laughs. “Dude, you've got some crazy sayings.”

“Did you just call me 'dude'? Imma show you my juevos right now, son.” She laughs and pretends to take off her pants, and they go back and forth like that, laughing with each other.

I glance across the room at Matt as Maria and Danny start to throw darts. He's still sitting and laughing with his friends. He doesn't look at me. Being ignored by him feels terrible, and I'm not sure what to do about it, and that makes me feel worse. Should I go over to him? Leave him alone to have time with his friends?

Why isn't he coming over to me?

I turn back to our darts game.

“Let me have one of those,” I say. And I hit the bullseye.

* * *

An hour later and a few more beers in, we have quite a darts competition going in the back of the bar. It's me, Maria, and Danny, plus a group of five twentysomething guys, tournament tennis players from France. I'm having a good time with my friends, trying to forget that Matt is breathing the same air I'm breathing in the same room, even though we might as well be miles apart.

There are lots of laughs tonight, some spilled beer, some flirting, and some funny misunderstandings with the Frenchmen and their English.

“Maybe we should just speak Spanish to them,” whispers Maria. “Spanish and French are closer than English and French.”

“It didn't feel so close in high school. Do you remember French class?” I say, shuddering.

“Sacre bleu,” says Maria, gesturing to the heavens. “Aye dios mio.”

I give her an elbow and whisper, “I think Danny needs to get his second wind,” and point to him, slumped in a nearby chair nursing a beer.

“Awww,” says Maria, and goes over to sit on his lap. Danny tries to wriggle out of it, but she won't let him.

I take a drink and do another once-over of the room, trying to look like I'm not looking for Matt. What I see this time is him walking across the room towards the bathroom. I see him glance over at me, just for a split second. Did I imagine it?

I put my beer on the table. “Off to the ladies',” I say casually.