Can't Always Get What You Want (35 page)

“That looks really bad, doesn’t it?” I croak.

He stares at me, brow furrowed. Seconds tick by.

“I miss you, damn it!” I yell. “I love you.”

Brett swallows hard.

“I was just looking at a few pictures. It doesn’t mean that I don’t love you anymore.”

“You seriously don’t want him back?”

I pause. “I never said that. I could never wish someone dead. Don’t you realize the sort of pressure you’re putting on me?”

He throws his hands up in a gesture of defeat, and shakes his head. He turns again to the door.

“Stay here and talk to me!” I shout.

With his back turned, he takes a heaving breath. After what feels like an eternity, he speaks.

“I put pressure on you?”

Oh thank God, he’s talking!

“Yes,” I say gently. “What I feel is very…confu
sing. I love you, but it was unfair of you to ask me whom I’d choose.”

He cringes, and my heart shatters.

“Unfair? You know what’s unfair? Having to compete with someone who isn’t even here.”

He glances at the coffee table again, and steps toward me. I’m sure he can feel my body vibrating with adrenaline.

“I love you too, Sophie,” he begins. “I’m sorry, I never meant to make this harder for you. But I’m so fucking jealous, like I’m in second place.” He motions to the pictures. “What if
I
were grieving over a past love, and constantly comparing you to her. Wouldn’t that piss you off a bit?”

Gulp.

“Yes,” I admit.

“As much as I don’t want to think about you and this…
Aaron,
” he says, “I know it happened, and you’ll always miss him. But I need you to put me first. I know I sound like a selfish asshole, but I need that from you. I want you to want me more than anyone else in the world. I want to be the first person you think of in the morning, and the last person you think of when you fall asleep. I want to be the man of your dreams. You’re already the girl of mine.”

He stands with his hands on his hips, breathing heavily.

“Isn’t that the whole point of love? Loving someone with everything you have, and them loving you back? So, can you give that to me? That one small thing? Tell me that you love me most?”

My arms coil tight around my chest.

“I can’t.”

He sighs, his whole body sagging.

“Then we can’t be together.”

Tears run hot down my face. “Don’t say that.”

He moves back toward the door. “I need to go. Narayan’s waiting.”

His hands flex compulsively at his sides, and I just know that he’s itching to touch me again. Instead, he picks up the bookcase (seriously? How did he just do that? I knew he was strong, but damn!) and sets it in the exact spot where it looks most aesthetically pleasing.

Good looks and decor sense. Some guys just have it all.

He stands beside me once more, surveying his work. I feel his hand under my chin, tilting my lips upward.

I want to plead, and cry and beg.

But I’m devastated.

He plants a soft kiss on my cheek.

“Happy birthday, Soph.”

He squeezes my hand, and lets himself out.

Chapter 31

Jigsaw Puzzle

I have no idea what to do.

A genuinely good man has proclaimed his undying love for me and asked if I could just love him back.

And I told him I can’t.

Well, at least not in the way he wants. Whoever said honesty was the best policy was a complete asshole.

“You coming, Soph?” Sam says. We’ve just finished our lunch break at the hospital cafeteria.

“Be right there,” I say, gathering my purse.

“So, what are you going to tell St. Puke?” she asks.

I dig out a pro-and-con sheet from my scrub pocket and hand it to her.

“No idea. I can’t decide.”

Pros:

Clinic is close to home, has an interesting focus

Paid travel for continued education

Double my current salary

I get a say in how clinic is run

I get to tell St. Puke off when he’s acting like a jerk

Excellent benefits plan

No more scrubs!!!

Cons:

I would literally work for the devil

—

“What do you think I should do, Sam?”

She hands the list back.

“What’s your first instinct?”

“Tell him where he can stick his job offer.”

Samira snorts as we push through the main hospital doors.

“I know working for him is a bad idea,” I say. “I can’t stand him in the small doses I see him here—Imagine what it’d be like to be around him all day long. I want to hurl just thinking about it.”

We silently pad through the hallways.

“But…” Samira prompts.

“But…the money is fantastic. And I’d get to travel once in a while. And I wouldn’t have to wear scrubs. And the benefits plan he drew up is so great it almost made me cry.”

I rake my fingers down my face. I’m sure I look a bit like that famous
Scream
painting.

“I wish I could have the perfect job,” I say. “A job where I wake up excited to go to work every day. A job that I absolutely love. Do you think that exists?”

“Not unless you’re Oprah,” she says. “I think people are suited for some jobs more than others. But for the most part, having a job you love every minute of every day? That’s a pipe dream.”

“Well, there goes that thought. You know, we’re told from the time we’re able to work that you need to do something you love. Do you think it’s a pack of lies?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No, I think it’s possible to love your job as a whole. Look at me. I love being a pediatric nurse. I love helping little kids get better, and making them laugh, and supporting their families. I love learning about childhood diseases, and how their little bodies react so much differently than adult ones. But, I don’t like it when they hit me, or when they play with their own crap.”

“Sounds just like long-term care,” I say with a laugh.

She smiles. “Anyway, the point is, even though I might not like every aspect of my job, and some days I have to drag my ass out of bed to get here, I still love what I do.”

Hmm. I definitely don’t feel that.

“Oh, Soph! I forgot to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“Emmie’s been asking for Brett’s number.”

Bile rises in my throat.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. So I gave her a number.”

Cue my stomach to hit the floor.

“Sam! How could you? If the tables were turned, I’d never—”

Wait. Is she laughing?

“What the hell is so funny?”

“Don’t worry. I gave her a number all right. It just wasn’t Brett’s.”

“Oh. Whose number did you give?”

She leans toward me and whispers, “The Gay Cruise Line.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did!” she squeals. “When she calls that number, it’ll be all, ‘
To talk to hot guys, press 1
.’ ”

I feel like doing a joyful little skippy dance. So I do.

“That is the best thing I’ve heard in months!” I say, hugging her. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Anytime.”

—

I’m seated in our staff room, doing the last chart entries for the day. It has, thankfully, been a quiet shift. Not that I’d say that out loud. All nurses hate the “Q” word.

The door creaks behind me.

“Ah, Sophie.”

Lumps of ice form deep in my belly.

“Hi, Dr. St. Luke,” I say.

He pulls up a chair across from me. “Have you made a decision about my offer?”

Way to get straight to the point.

“I’ve been considering my options,” I begin. “I’d like—”

“It’s not like you’ve got much choice, anyway.”

I stare at him blankly. “Excuse me?”

He steeples his fingers under his chin. “I doubt you’ll be employed here much longer.”

I feel my shoulders tense. “What gives you that impression?”

“Call it intuition. Foresight, perhaps. Although I think you will do well at my clinic, what with your vaccine knowledge and such, you really aren’t cut out to work here.”

His words sting. A lot more than I’d like to admit.

“So, it’s either this, or eventually get fired.” He grins.

He’s looking quite smug and superior. As if he’s painted me into a corner.

I think about all of my bills. The scrubs and running shoes that I could throw away, the butts I wouldn’t have to wipe, the morning medications I wouldn’t have to give.

This job is everything I’ve been looking for.

But then, why doesn’t it feel right?

I swallow hard. “My answer is no. I won’t accept your job offer.”

He looks at me over his glasses.

“You’re never going to get another job offer like this.”

“My answer is still no.”

His features harden.

“You’re going to regret this. I will make life really difficult for you.”

I open the staff room door, tears starting to form in my eyes.

“Don’t worry. I’ve already done that myself.”

—

The next day, I sense someone standing behind me in the med room. Turning around, I see my unit manager.

“Sophie, can you come into my office when your shift is done?”

Uh-oh. This can’t be good. She never wants to talk to people, unless they’re in trouble.

“Umm, sure. What’s it about?”

She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Just want to discuss a few things.”

Twenty minutes later, I knock on her door.

“Come in,” she says.

I walk in and settle into a chair. I look down at the floor, arranging my bags. When I look up, I see three people sitting on the opposite side of the table.

My manager, my union rep, and St. Puke.

“What are they doing here?” I ask, my voice sounding shaky.

“Sophie,” my manager begins, “there are several concerns we’d like to discuss.”

“Concerns? Regarding what?”

“Your profession
alism and ability to provide safe patient care have been called into question.”

My chest feels like it’s being crushed.

“What? On what grounds?”

She puts her glasses on, and reads from a paper.

“Based on several incidents. To start, a Mrs. Donaldson filed a complaint six months ago, stating that she suspected you were offering certain…
services
to her husband.”

Oh. My. God.

“She states here that you were blatantly sexual with her husband while he was in your care.”

“I would never—”

“The next complaint is in regard to unsafe practice. You are reported to have not used sterile technique while setting up an IV, thus putting the patient at risk for an infection.”

My mind races. When could this have happened? I’m always very scrupulous about being sterile.

“Oh!” I say, suddenly remembering. “Was the patient’s last name Jones?”

“Yes, in fact.”

“I remember having difficulty setting up her IV, and I did touch the end of the tubing with bare fingers. However, I threw everything out and got a new setup.”

But who would have seen that? St. Puke clears his throat.

Of course, it was him. He was the only other person there.

“The next complaint,” my manager continues, “is in regard to unsafe medication handling. It was reported that you dropped pills onto the floor, and still administered them to your patient.”

My face is burning, and I suddenly feel very hot. I glare at St. Puke. His mouth is pulled up into the tiniest of grins.

“Sophie, these are very serious allegations. Offering oral sex to patients—”

“I never did that. I was trying to help him change his pants—”

“Unsafe handling of patient equipment, unsafe handling of medication…”

“I didn’t do either of those things! I got new tubing for the IV, and threw out the contaminated meds.”

“And then there’s the issue of your unprofessional appearance,” she says, and everyone flicks their eyes up at my neon hair. “We have standards to uphold. Nurses must have good hygiene, wear clean uniforms, and refrain from extreme hair or makeup.”

I run a self-conscious hand over my head.

“It was an accident.”

She folds her hands, trying her best to look sympathetic.

“Sophie, I understand that being a nurse is hard. I worked on the floor for twenty years before I took a management position.”