I wasn't sure what to think of him at first.
He has this strange sort of shy confidence that seems to radiate from him. I realise it’s kind of oxymoronic to refer to someone’s personality as both shy and confident, but for some reason it fits him. You know the kind of guy that takes forever to speak or make the first move but once he did it and it works, he gains confidence and then won’t shut up? Yeah, that kind of guy.
It also helps that he’s handsome, like seriously good looking, but not the classically handsome type that you see on television or in movies. Cause I mean you wouldn’t think that sharp angles would work with a larger nose and pouty lips. And yeah, I said pouty. There’s nothing feminine about his lips though, they’re just...supple looking. Shut up, that’s totally a legit thing.
The clincher though is that he has these blue eyes that you just can’t look away from. When he looks at you it’s like you’re the only person in the world he wants to pay attention to. Which to be honest, is a pretty nice change from patients that are glaring at you for waiting too long or covering you in some sort of hazardous human waste. Sometimes simultaneously. I kid you not. Needless to say there is no such thing as a Sexy Nurse uniform in the real world. Sorry boys.
"I walk around scaffoldings on high rise construction sites all day and a friggin' pizza cutter ends up being the death of me."
I chuckle and look up from my task of cleaning the rather deep and rather long laceration on the side of his middle finger.
"I think you'll be fine. You'll just need to be more careful when you stick your hands into dishwater next time."
He laughs softly and looks up at me with those eyes that could rival the most pristine, caribbean blue ocean on earth. “I’m just going to skip doing dishes ever again. For my fingers’ sake you know?”
I can’t help but grin back at him, especially since he’s doing that thing where it’s like I’m alone with him. Which is the furthest from the truth when you take into account that we are in the suture room of a very busy emergency room with people constantly coming in and out. “Your girlfriend won’t be very happy about that, you may end up with other injuries.”
So apparently I’m pretty obvious in my fishing expedition because his eyes narrow slightly and he smirks. “I don’t have to worry about that since I’m single.”
I nod and try to hide my blush by rearranging the suture kit on the metal tray even though I’d already done that a few moments ago.
Where is the damn doctor?
In my continued attempt to avoid looking at him I roll back in my stool and grab a vacuum sealed syringe from a plastic container and seamlessly fill it with the usual amount of numbing agent required for the suturing.
And then even though I’m not looking at him, I can suddenly feel that the energy he’s been radiating seems to have deflated in one fell swoop. I know this probably sounds crazy, but it’s as if my body and senses, which had been responding to his, suddenly lost cell signal.
Crazy right? It’s at least a little creepy, but hey it happens. When I look up I find that his eyes are settled squarely on the needle in my hand and that he’s gone white as a sheet - even whiter than my grandma’s bleached white sheets.
I frown and put the syringe down onto the tray as I reach forward and check the pulse on his uninjured hand. “Scott? Are you okay?”
He nods slowly and swallows a few times before he says quietly, “Not a fan of needles.”
I nod. This happens. A lot. But for some reason this bothers me more than with most other patients. “It’s okay. It’ll just be a few little sticks and then you’ll be all done. I’ll be here the whole time.”
Why am I talking to him like he’s five? And most of all, why have my fingers slipped from the very medically appropriate pulse point area of his wrist to wrapping themselves around his hand?
I’m not sure, but I do know that those eyes would probably get me to do anything.
-Blueprint by Kyra Campbell; Chapter 2
*
JC awoke suddenly to the very loud sound of a telephone ringing. He blindly reached for it and after picking it up, answered it groggily. It was the front desk advising him that it was noon and that he needed to check out as soon as possible as he’d exceeded the usual check out time. He apologized and hung up feeling tired and slightly disoriented.
He rubbed his eyes and took a moment to get his bearings: He was in a cheap motel off the side of the highway which he’d checked into the night before when he’d driven about as far as he had been physically able to. No matter what he’d tried - loud music, windows wide open, at least seven cups of coffee - he’d kept nodding off until he’d scared himself when he’d veered toward the center line and had had to jerk the steering wheel back to avoid an oncoming car. Deciding that enough was enough, he’d turned into the first motel parking lot he’d seen and thankfully since he probably looked like shit and the employee had accepted his cash payment, he hadn’t been recognized by the name on his credit card.
After the conversation with his mother the previous evening, he’d gone back to his house and had sat in his living room for the longest time in pitch darkness and perfect silence. So many thoughts had been racing through his mind that he didn’t know which to address first. Kyra’s apparently still existing feelings for him. The fact that he was truly single again and that he couldn’t deny his continued attraction to her. The fact that he’d immensely enjoyed spending time with her again and finally the fact that he really had nothing to do for the next few, possibly several, months.
He’d looked on the coffee table and, as if it had been a sign, had seen her book resting there.
He remembered that when he’d walked in earlier that day to confront Bobbie, he’d found her stretched out on the couch reading the book. She’d greeted him as if nothing was wrong and then had made a teasing comment about having found this book on his mantle and how she was surprised that he was reading chick lit. He hadn’t said anything but then she’d added that she’d actually read it for her column and that she hadn’t really enjoyed because for some reason she hadn’t been able to connect to the main male character, so the story had fallen a little flat for her.
How ironic, he thought now as he slipped out of the motel bed and stretched. He’d driven about eighteen of the approximate twenty-four hours it would take him to get from Orlando to Boston, so he still had at least a six hour drive in front of him. First priority: coffee.
*
So driving long distances was shitty. Driving long distances in pissing rain and howling wind? Even shittier. The weather had already added two hours of extra travelling time to his trip and it was pissing him off. He was tired, he was weary, he was nervous and honestly, he smelled a little.
He hadn’t bothered to shower at the motel because he hadn’t wanted to waste time and anyway, he hadn’t wanted to unpack his bag. He’d left on a whim at two am the day before and had only stopped driving around eight pm. He’d meant to only sleep a couple of hours but had overslept until he’d been woken up by the phone at noon. He’d hoped to make it by late afternoon but now it was looking like he’d be there only in late evening.
How would she react when he showed up at her door, unannounced mind you, for the second time in as many weeks? How would she react when he told her what he had in mind? And most of all, who the fuck was that fiance of hers?
*
Kyra sat down onto the couch, pulling the thick woollen blanket off its arm rest and spreading it over her. She had thick socks on her feet, comfy pajamas, a book and a large glass of wine. In other words, the perfect combination for a windy and rainy saturday evening. It had been so hot for so long, that it had caused some very strange storms in the last day or so. The air had changed from muggy hot to muggy cold and the rain was coming down in thick sheets that were currently pelting her windows loudly.
Although she hadn’t heard any thunder or seen any lightning the electricity had gone out about half an hour ago, effectively separating her from her computer and her writing. To be honest though, it hadn’t been as if she’d been making much headway anyway. She’d tried to write all day but her thoughts would constantly wander off to other things, well honestly to another person, so she hadn’t gotten much done.
As she sipped on her wine and stared at the flickering flame of the large scented candle she’d set up on her coffee table, she couldn’t help but wonder what he was up to.
She hadn’t heard from him since he’d left a little over two days ago; but really, what had she expected? That he would have come back into her life with roses, songs and a ring saying that he couldn’t live without her for another moment?
No. Those things happened in books. Not in real life. And anyway, she already had a ring. In fact it was in the junk drawer of her kitchen right now, still nestled in its black velvet box where she’d placed it after she’d taken it off about eight months ago.
She’d known for quite a while that that ring did not belong on her finger, but she’d never realised how true that was until the moment she’d taken it off during her trip through security when she’d gone to New York. When it had come time to put it back on, she’d decided to stow it safely in her wallet so she wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of taking it off again for the next pass through security.
Grasping at straws? Absolutely.
Then she’d honestly forgotten about it after the flight and the following evening of going out to the hotel bar. She’d hadn’t even thought about it until she’d opened her wallet on her way to the concert the next night. She’d felt guilty and had slipped it onto her finger where it had rested casually until an hour later when she’d spotted JC across the room of the meet and greet. And then it had happened, for reasons she wasn’t sure of, or honestly didn’t want to admit to, her thumb had smoothly slipped to her ring finger and had gently turned the band until the single solitary diamond rested against her palm and left only a simple golden band showing to the world.
*
He’d finally made it. Her house was dark but for a faint glow coming from what he knew to be her living room window. He wondered if she had seen the headlights of his Jeep as he’d pulled into her driveway and suddenly felt even more nervous than he had before. Leave it to him to head out on a twenty four hours plus drive on the whim of a thought, only stopping now to think about what would happen if she turned him away.
Well he knew she wouldn’t turn him away, but if she was marrying some other guy then technically she would be turning him away. Forever and ever amen and all that shit.
One way or another he’d find out in a few minutes he thought as he flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt and stepped out into the rain.
*
She’d thought she’d heard some gravel crunching in her driveway and seen a glow of headlights for a moment but had written it off to someone visiting her neighbor since she hadn’t been expecting anyone. She’d shrugged it off before having another sip of her wine as she turned the page of her book.
Then, a loud knock sounded at her front door and she frowned. She really wasn’t expecting anyone and she really wasn’t dressed to receive. Still, as the knock sounded again and someone rang the doorbell she hurriedly made her way to the door. She switched on the porch light only to remember that things that require electricity don’t work when there’s no electricity. She rolled her eyes and tried to peek through her peephole but couldn’t make out much other than someone standing behind the door. She hesitated to open it, woman living alone and all, but decided to crack open the door while leaving the security chain on.
She pulled open the door and peeked out to see JC standing behind it looking worn and weary. The grey hoodie he was wearing was discolored in areas where the heavy rain had fallen and the hood covered his curly hair. He seemed uncertain and when she looked into his eyes she could see that he was extremely tired but there was something else there too. She couldn’t put her finger on it before she acted instinctively and shut the door in order to remove the chain. When she pulled the door open again he seemed to have tensed up as if he was going to knock on the door again.
He thought she was shutting the door in his face?
She licked her lips and was about to speak his name when he interrupted her. “Don’t marry him.”
She narrowed her eyes. “...what?”
He took a step forward and came closer to her. “Jason...Jackson...John…” He sighed. “You know how much I fuckin’ suck at names.”
Jared? She thought to herself, how had he found out about him?
Although she meant to tell him the truth, all that came out of her mouth was, “Why?”
With a full step over the threshold JC held up something she hadn’t noticed he was holding until now. It was her book.
“Because of this,” he answered before his lips crashed onto hers and then unheard by either of them the book clattered to the floor.
*
