Beat of the Heart (3 page)

“Hey stronzo, why don’t you learn to use a fucking turning signal!” I shouted at the car that had just

cut in front of me, causing me to slam on my brakes and almost drop the bagel I was balancing on my

thigh. Just like every morning as I battled Atlanta rush-hour traffic, I cursed like a sailor, or probably

more like the hot-blooded Sicilian men I’d been raised around. I also pondered why I thought it was

necessary to continue living in the burbs, rather than closer to the city and St. Joe’s—aka St. Joseph’s

hospital—where I was a charge nurse on the Cardiac Care Floor.

Traffic edged along at a snail’s pace while I ate my bagel and cream cheese. I didn’t dare glance at

the clock on the dashboard because I knew it would only piss me off more at how late I was going to

be. Finally after a small eternity, I whipped into the parking deck. Once I eased the car into a parking

spot, I reached for the hair clip on the strap of my purse. I wound my long, dark hair into a tight twist

and clipped it into place. After throwing a glance in the rearview mirror to make sure I didn’t have

bagel crumbs or cream cheese in my teeth, I grabbed my purse and threw open the car door.

When I pressed the lock on the key fob, I was once again reminded of the sting of grief that always

accompanied that beep. A subtle grief trigger, as my therapist had called it. It certainly felt like a

trigger had been pulled on a gun, lodging a bullet into my heart. The Mercedes convertible, SLK250,

which was way out of my usual budget, had been Mama Sofia’s, my late grandmother.

After she died unexpectedly of a heart attack nine months ago, I found she had left implicit

instructions in her will that I should have the car. Regardless of her slew of other grandchildren, she

reasoned, that since it had originally been a gift from my father, it was mine outright. Considering her

feisty personality and status as family matriarch, no one dared to question her motives. Whatever

Mama Sofia said, you did. She was the youngest acting eighty-five-year old you would ever see. With

a decorative scarf wrapped around her perfectly coiffed, bouffant hair, she always had the top down

—even on her daily trip to mass.

Shifting my cup of coffee into my other hand, I rubbed my chest over my aching heart. After my

mother had bailed on my dad when I was just a baby, Mama Sofia had been the only mother I’d ever

known. She’d left her home in Jersey to come to Atlanta to help my father raise me. Her loss had

shattered me to the core. As I made my way out of the parking deck, I shook my head, trying

desperately to shake myself of the cloak of dark, smothering grief that seemed to hang tight around me.

Just a few minutes before seven, the hospital slowly stirred awake from the evening shift. I smiled

and bobbed my head at the stream of bleary and beleaguered looking doctors and nurses heading out

to their cars. I remembered all too well what it was like to pull the night shift—I’d gotten that

experience years ago during my clinicals.

As I lurched off the elevator, I ran into my nursing partner and best friend, Derwin, or Dee, as he

preferred to be known as. “Hey boss lady, settin’ a nice example being late.
Again
.”

“Bite me.”

A wide grin curved across his caramel colored skin. “Hmm, maybe if you were six feet of broad

shouldered-muscled man, I might be tempted.”

I rolled my eyes. “You know how much it pisses me off to be late.” I set my cup of coffee down on

the desk with a little more force than I intended, sending steaming liquid sloshing out. “Figlio di

puttana!” I cried, before bringing my burning finger to my mouth.

Dee clutched his heart and staggered back a little. “Oh lawd, she’s already cussing in Italian. It’s

gonna be a helluva a day.”

“Do me a huge favor and clean that up, please?”

He gave me a mock salute. “Yes ma’am.”

“Thanks, smartass.” Hustling into the break room, I shoved my purse into my locker. I slammed the

door shut before returning to the front room to Dee. He had just finished tossing the soaked paper

towel in the trash.

I gave my coffee a wary eye before picking it back up. “How’s it looking this morning?”

“Well, I was doing a little scan of the charts, and it seems one of the dudes we’re getting post-

bypass is sorta famous.”

“Really?”

Dee bobbed his head, causing his tightly woven dreads to bounce slightly. “I guess you’d say

famous by association. He’s the head roadie for Runaway Train.”

I slurped down another scorching gulp of coffee. “Who?”

With a frustrated grunt, Dee threw up his hand. “Girl, don’t tell me you don’t know who Runaway

Train is?”

“Excuse me for not knowing every random band out there.”

Dee sank down into one of the station chairs. “They aren’t random—they were nominated for Best

New Artist at the Grammys last year.”

I shrugged. “So?”

Reaching to gather up some charts, he replied, “And the band is made up of four incredibly hot

dudes.”

“So that fact alone is supposed to make them worthy of my time?”

“Hell to the yes!”

“Just because they have dicks doesn’t make them worthy of my time or knowledge,” I huffed.

Grabbing a chart from him, I cocked my brow. “So what kind of music do they play?”

“Light metal mixed with pop. Kinda like Maroon Five, Matchbox Twenty, or One Republic.”

I wrinkled my nose. “That’s why I don’t know them. You know I only listen to country, the classic

Italian crooners, or…rap,” I replied, as I dug my stethoscope out of a drawer.

Dee gave a contemptuous snort. “You only listened to rap because of Dev.”

A wave of nausea overtook me at the mere mention of my ex fiancé. With my legs feeling wobbly, I

flopped down into the nearest chair. Wrapping the stethoscope around my neck, I fought not to hurl the

bagel and cream cheese I’d just scarfed down. “Did you have to bring him up?” I whispered.

“Mimi,” Dee said softly, using his nickname for me. “It’s been six months. You gotta let go.”

“I’m trying.” At Dee’s ‘You gotta be shittin’ me look’, I threw up my hands. “Give me a fucking

break, okay? I have a reason for being completely on edge about Dev.”

“Oh really?”

I huffed out a breath that was coupled with both frustration and grief. “I got in last night to a

fuckload of Facebook notifications alerting me that he and the slutbag were living it up in Fiji—the

same place
we
were supposed to go on our honeymoon.”

Dee grunted. “Only you would have the screwed up luck to have your ex-fiancé not only cheat on

you, but the bastard had to do it with one of your friends, which means you’re forever stuck seeing

and hearing about them from the rest of your circle.”

“I’d call it more of a curse than luck—I am Sicilian after all.” I gave a mirthless laugh as I pulled

out another chart. “Let’s face it. My whole fucking love life has been a curse from start to finish.”

“Seriously, Mimi, a curse? Quit being such a drama queen.” He mimed playing a violin—a small

one at that. In a sing-song voice, he said, “Oh, poor pitiful me of the sucktastic love life.”

“Asshole,” I snapped. When he chuckled, I crossed my arms over my shoulder. “Don’t make me

play the Jason card this morning…it won’t be pretty.”

Dee’s comical expression faded. Scooting his chair closer to mine, Dee leaned forward to place

his palms on my knees. He rubbed them tenderly. “You know that Jason is in a whole other realm than

Dev.”

“Still a curse.”

“As for Dev, he didn’t deserve you, Mimi.”

Although I fought like hell and wanted to slap my own face for being weak, tears still stung my

eyes, making Dee’s appearance before me wavy. Dev had burst into my life three years ago—a bright

beacon of light that had been impossible to turn away from. I thought we had the perfect relationship,

right down to the glittering diamond on my left hand and the wedding dress being altered at the

designers. But the shining façade had shattered when I discovered he’d been sleeping with one of my

close friends. And once again, I was left to pick up the pieces…
and
fight the urge not to inflict bodily

harm on him and the skank he ran off with.

It was more than just the betrayal of the man I loved and the girl who I’d thought was my friend. It

was the fact it had happened a mere three months after Mama Sofia’s death—the truly darkest period

I’ve ever known, and I’d seen some pretty bad ones. Dev’s betrayal kicked up a shit-storm of

emotions that wounded my pride to my very core. It had done a number on my self-esteem that I had

yet to overcome.

After swiping my eyes with the back of my hand, it took me a moment to meet Dee’s intense gaze. I

sighed. “Deep down somewhere inside, I believe that. But unfortunately, it’s hard to get it through my

thick skull.”

“The right one is out there for you—I have no doubt of that. Just because it wasn’t Dev, the epic

dickhead, it doesn’t mean it won’t happen.”

I gave a bark of a laugh at his summation, but then the mention of the elusive Mr. Right caused a

different pang of regret in my chest. “You sound like Mama Sofia.”

“That makes sense.”

“Let me guess. Because you’re both wise, know-it-alls?”

Dee shook his head. “No, because she always loved you and wanted you to have the happiness that

you deserve, and I feel the exact same way.”

“Stop it, or I’m going to cry again,” I moaned.

He grinned. “Can’t help speaking the truth, baby girl.” He gave me a smack on both my thighs.

“Come out dancing with me and the boys tonight to get your mind off things.”

“Um, I’m not sure how hitting up ATL’s finest gay nightclubs is going to make me feel better about

myself.” When Dee started to protest, I reached over and patted his cheek. “It’s a sweet thought, Dee,

but it would just be a constant reminder that all the good guys are gay.”

“You gotta get back in the game.”

“Someday…just not…now.”

Dee gave a grunt of frustration before rising out of his chair. “Whatever. Guess it’s time we hit it,

huh?”

I grinned. “Hey, who is the shift supervisor here?”

Making praying hands, Dee bowed deep at the waist. “You, oh great and powerful one.”

“That’s right.”

As I started out of the station, Dee smacked me on the ass. I couldn’t help the snort of laugher that

escaped my lips at his antics. He was one of a kind, and I couldn’t have had a better friend and

nursing partner. He’d stood by me through the last year when a lot of friends would have bailed. His

friendship, along with working with him, kept the fragile pieces of my sanity intact.