God. How is it possible that he can make me blush when we’re not even in the same room together? When he’s not even talking dirty?
4:48pm
Rose…
ME - 4:49pm
I love you.
OLLIE - 4:50pm
Mmm. Turns me on when you say those words. Turns me on more cos I know I’ll make you scream them just as soonas I get home.
Question: how does one respectfully text that they wanna fuck a woman till she passes out from exhaustion? Ya know, without sounding crass?
ME - 4:51pm
I think you’ve got it. That didn’t sound crass at all.
OLLIE - 4:52pm
I know when you’re mocking me, woman.
Walk safe. Walk quickly.
Better yet, walk to the hospital and wait for me to clock out. Janine wants to say hello anyway. She misses you.
ROUND FORTY-ONE
OLLIE
I see her before she sees me. Her beautiful raven hair tied in a high ponytail, her rosy red lips, swollen in a perfect bow that is magnificent when she kisses… when she smiles… when she argues.
Fuck, the last might be the best.
She wears figure-fitting jeans and the boots I stole from my sister’s closet eons ago. A blouse she spent her first envelope of cash on—she insisted on shopping with her own money—and a blazer that keeps her just warm enough to combat the cold spring breeze.
She walks in with a megawatt grin, hugging that damn kitten to her chest and cutting a beeline straight to the nurse’s desk. Because Janine waits for her with open arms and a noisyawwwhen she gets to hug the kitten, too.
I remain where I am, hidden in plain sight, and simply watch her exist. Because just feet from where she stands is the room she once woke up in, terrified, skittish, and untrusting. Broken, bruised, and in excruciating pain. Now, although her recovery is not yet complete, she’s strong and brave. Outgoing and comfortable. Her lashes flutter down and kiss her cheeks as she chatters. Her hands fly while she animates whatever fun thing happened today. She allows a patient of mine—a kid—to wander across the hall and cradle Poopy McStinkypants in his arms, and, lowering into a crouch so they’re on the same level, she fingers the boy’s gown and scrunches her nose.
I had to wear those, too, buddy. They suck.
Did I expect to fall in love with a woman whose entire life is a mystery?Whose existence scares her? Whose memory may someday come back, and with it, shatter my heart?
Nope.
But am I throwing myself all in anyway? Grabbing on to what we have and riding the waves of what could come, no matter how much it may hurt if things don’t go our way?
Yes.
With my whole fucking heart.
Because I watched Tommy Watkins and Alana Page live out their love for most of my childhood. I stood there on the sidelines, not quiteinthe way Chris and Alana werein. Butinenough to get an unrestricted, unfiltered view of what loveshouldlook like. The all-consuming, obsessive, desperate kind of love that leaves a man breathless day after day. The kind he can’t live without. And dammit, I vowed to find it for myself someday too, and if, by some wondrous miracle, I did, then I would hold on with everything I have.
Everything I am.
Everything we could possibly ever be.
