CHAPTER ONE
BLAKE
My shift is almost over.Just two more hours, then it’s nothing but peace, quiet, peppermint bark… and Damon.So much Damon.
I miss him with an intensity that catches me off guard sometimes. It’s ridiculous since we’re together every spare second, but there’s no denying how my heart feels.
This week has been especially chaotic—clinical rotations have devoured every bit of my time. Between my insane schedule and Damon working legitimate security consulting during the day (a job that he was pretty much born to do), not to mention our eveningextracurriculars(vigilante shit), it feels like we’ve barely had time to breathe, nevermind spend quality time.
Whenever I think we’ll get a quiet evening—maybe order some comfort food, curl up on the couch, pretend we’re normal people for a few hours—the police scanner crackles to life with something we can’t ignore. Or Damon’s phone explodes with texts from Jasper and Leon, needing him for surveillance, extraction, or cleanup.
I sound bitter. I’m not. Truly.
What we do is important… fufilling—saving people, stopping monsters, making sure the bad guys don’t get away with it. I wouldn’t change any of it for the world. It’s just…hardsometimes. Hard to have all these different versions of us without time to justbe, to breathe and settle in with the weight of it all.
That’s why I’m practically vibrating with anticipation, watching the clock like I’m able to move the hands forward with my mind. Damon promised me two full days of uninterrupted Christmas time. Two days of just us. No scanner, no missions, no masks. Just Blake and Damon, being the twisted, obsessive, perfectly matched couple we are.
Jasper, Falin, Leon, and Bailey are all staying at the Shea’s place for the holidays. We somehow weaseled our way out of it—promising we’d show up for Christmas dinner—claiming we both had to work through Christmas Eve. Mrs. Shea sounded disappointed, but Bailey covered for us and distracted her with another round of Christmas shopping.
She texted me later that night. Something like,enjoy your alone time, with a wink face.
And now I get Damon to myself. I can wake up in his arms at whatever time we feel like. Watch his perfectly sculpted forearms flex as he makes my latte just the way I like it, all sleep-rumpled, those dimples out when he smiles at me across our kitchen. Open gifts together under the tree. He’s all mine. And I won’t have to share him with the rest of the world for forty-eight hours.
The things I want to do to that man…
“Blake?”
I snap out of my daydream to find Stephanie, one of the nurses on tonight, staring at me with her lips cocked. “You’vebeen standing there, looking at that chart for five minutes without writing anything.”
“Sorry.” I clear my throat, feeling my cheeks heat. “Been a long week. My brain is mush.”
“It’s almost over, girl. Then you’re off until the twenty-seventh, right?” She squeezes my shoulder as she passes. “Lucky. I got stuck with overnight tonight and tomorrow. My kids are gonna kill me.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, imbuing empathy into each word. Stephanie’s a single mom of two little girls. She works twice as hard as anyone else on this floor.
“It’s much needed overtime for me. Got that car to fix. I’ll make it up to them.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Someone’s gotta be here, anyway. All the chaotic shit happens during the holidays.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.” I shoot her a sympathetic smile. “At least you’ll have New Year’s off?”
“God willing.” She checks her watch. “Speaking of chaos, did you hear about the thing with Dr. Martin’s patient earlier? Room 3. Ate a box of Christmas chocolates.”
I tilt my head. “Okay?”
“The whole thing… box and wrappers included.”
“On purpose?”
“That’s yet to be determined.” She shakes her head. “Poor guy. Anyway, I’m gonna go check on him. Holler if you need anything.”
I watch her go, imagining how terrible that man must be feeling. Once she’s around the corner, I settle in at the nurses station to finish charting. The computer monitor’s brightness is turned up high enough that I strain my tired eyes as I pull up my last patient’s chart. Mr. Williams, post-surgical follow-up, vitals stable, pain managed. I’m typing my assessment when voices drift over from the other side of the desk.
“Yeah, obviously it’s sketchy… but damn. Fifteen grand! I could pay off a few months of student loans with that.”
I peek around the desk, my ears perked up, and spot two residents I met during orientation a few months ago. I can’t remember their names… mush brain and all. But I think I remember her being on a family medicine track and the guy on the surgical path like me. What are they doing on this unit? And what is this about fifteen grand?
“Jess, come on. You’re crazy to even consider it.” He leans in so he’s eye level with her. “A private house call on Christmas Eve? No charting? No record-keeping? That’s like, medical malpractice waiting to happen. You want to fuck with your future when you’ve worked so hard?”
My breath catches somewhere between my throat and chest.
