I'd been free to let everythingbeup there. That wasn't the same as letting it go, but leaving it to the side while I went on with the business of surviving. My mind—maybe it had been the weed—had a way of working things out and pointing me in the rightdirection.
So, I did that now, here on Alex's stoop. I let all the things I'd fucked up in the past forty-eight hours be—I sure as shit wasn't letting any of it go—and I stared off into the distance. The sky and clouds and rooftops sucked me in, the cold granite beneath me numbed my ass, and an hour passed between eyeblinks.
But I knew. I knew what I had to do, and I was dialing as I crossed the street toward the hospital. I could take charge all I wanted but Alex was the one in control. As much as it betrayed my sense of what was necessary right now, I had to submit to her terms and conditions. I had to respect thearrangement.
"Riley," Nick said when he answered. "I just saw Alex. What the fuck didyoudo?"
"About that," I replied. "I needyourhelp."
ChapterEighteen
Alexandra
"This is all your fault,"I said, stabbing at mysalad.
Nick tore open a bag of chips, chuckling. "I don't see how that's the case," hereplied.
I dragged my gaze away from the salad I was abusing and across the picnic table we'd commandeered for lunch at Lederman Park. It was the type of sunny autumn day I'd long for once the gray of winter had set in, but I was struggling to appreciate anything right now. After four days, the bruises on my body were a murky shade of green and an unnecessary reminder of my weekendindiscretions.
"It wasyouridea," I said. "Of course this isyourfault."
Nick was busy unwrapping his sandwich and missed the glare I'd leveled in hisdirection.
"All you've said is that Rhode Island didn't go well," he said. "What exactly am I taking theblamefor?"
Abandoning the salad, I stretched out on the bench and folded my hands under my head. If I was going to be salty, at least I could be salty with a tan. "I don't want to talk about it," Imumbled.
For all that we shared, there were a few areas where Nick, Cal, and I rarely dared to tread. One of those places was sex. There'd never been a conversation about how it was acceptable to talk about the people we were dating and allude to things getting serious, but that we weren't crossing the line into a live discussion of sex or articulating any sexual specifics. It was just how weoperated.
Money was also in the no-go zone. Despite all of us living in the same apartment building at one point, it was implicitly known that we were at three starkly different points on the hospital's salary scale. Cal was at the high end, with more years of experience, an incredible gift for teaching interns and residents, and a reputation for treating celebrity patients. Nick was in the middle but definitely catching up to Cal. He was board-certified in two areas of neurosurgery—general and pediatric—and had the best bedside manner I'd ever encountered. That left me, still fresh off my residency and fellowship years, near thebottom.
"Then I can't take responsibility for it," Nick replied. "Where the fuck is Hartshorn? Can that guy be on time foranything?"
"No. It's not in his genetic code." I pushed up on an elbow and surveyed the food spread out on the table. "If he's not here in ten minutes, I'm stealing his pastramisandwich."
Nick dragged the paper-wrapped sandwich out of my reach. "I told you to get a sandwich. In the three—almost four—years that I've known you, I've never seen you orderandeat asalad."
"Can we save the food journaling for tomorrow? Please?" Iasked.
I flopped back on the bench and stared at the cloudless sky. I never should've gone along with this silly plan to solve all of my problems with a make-believe boyfriend. Men were drama, and I didn't need any of their immature mind-game bullshit in my life. He played the part of the nice guy, but Riley was just like the restofthem.
"He's an asshole," I said eventually, my gaze still turned towardthesky.
"Walsh?" Nick asked. He crunched a chip and made an unconvinced sound. "Sometimes, yeah. But not when itreallymatters."
"I assure you," I said, popping up to meet his eyes, "it mattered and he was anasshole."
"I believe you. Next time I see him, I'll take him out back and throw rocks at him. Would that make you feel better?" Nickasked.
Before I could reply, the long line of a shadow fell over me. "Dude," I said, swatting Cal's leg. "You're blockingthesun."
"Sorry I'm late," he said. "I jumped into a bypass that had gonesideways."
I lifted my arm to peer at my watch. "Another two minutes and I was taking your sandwich," I said to Cal as he settled beside Nick on the opposite side of the picnictable.
Cal unwrapped the pastrami on rye and placed half of it in front of me. "Have it," he said. "I won't be able to finish this anyway. One of the pharmaceutical reps brought me a big-ass protein smoothie thismorning."
That was bullshit. The not being able to finish the sandwich part, not the steady stream of pharma reps lined up for an ounce of his attention part. Cal was the kind of guy who could clean out an all-you-can-eat buffet and then ask about dessert. But he was also the kind of guy who was generous to the core and never thought twice about giving everything—time, attention, money, pastrami sandwiches—to the people he cared about. And when he decided to give you something, he didn't take no foranswer.
