All of You Page 3

“No, it’s not. I work all day,” I argue.

  “Not anymore. Becca asked for extra hours that day, so I switched your schedule. You only work eight to noon. Imagine that,” he declares, winking at me.

  I exhale.

  Alex stares at me, seeming to size up my reaction. “So, any plans after work then?”

  I shrug. “Binge watching The Bachelor and napping. My go-to.”

  “Any chance you might be able to spare a few hours to show a new guy around? I still feel a little lost around here, like an outsider. It’d be good to get a tour of the local haunts.”

  The fluttering feeling returns, and I fiddle with the stack of foam cups nearby. Is he asking me out?

  Obviously not. The guy’s probably still worried about my mental state after the whole bridge situation. He probably has me on suicide watch or as a case study.

  Regardless, I decide The Bachelor can wait. Life’s about living in the moment, I remind myself. Life’s about seizing opportunities. I need to start doing that.

  Not that showing a man I barely know around this dinky town is a life-changing opportunity. Still, it’s something. It beats hours on the couch in scruffy sweatpants stuffing my face with ice cream.

  So I lift my shoulder. “Okay. Sure.”

  He beams. “I’ll pick you up here after your shift? Is that okay?”

  “Sounds great.”

  Alex takes a sip of his coffee. “Damn, that’s good. I think Dr. Conlan was right. Best cup of coffee I’ve ever had.”

  “Something tells me you’ll be back for more,” Dane says, now winking at Alex.

  “Can you not be so creepy?” I ask, shaking my head but smiling.

  “Wait, you own the place?” Alex inquires.

  “I know. Hard to believe, huh?” I add.

  “Well, I think it’s great.”

  “And I’ve got some pretty great employees, too, right? Clumsy employees apparently, but great,” Dane says, and Alex smiles.

  “See you Thursday, Marley. Thanks for the coffee.” Alex holds his cup of coffee up as if he’s toasting me. It’s weird but also kind of cute.

  “My pleasure,” I respond, smiling awkwardly until he leaves Georgia’s, the bells tinkling as the door closes behind him.

  “My pleasure?” Dane questions. “What is this, the 1950s?”

  “I don’t do this sort of thing, okay?” I add, frustrated.

  “What sort of thing?” Becca pipes up, Greg having left to go to work.

  “I don’t know. This. Guy thing.”

  “Uh-oh,” Dane singsongs. “Someone’s falling in more ways than one, looks like.”

  “Stop. I’m not. I’m just being nice to the guy who saved my life.”

  “Yeah, I’d believe it if you weren’t so fidgety. I’ve only seen you like this one other time,” Becca adds, smiling, clapping her hands. “Oh, you’re in love. L-O-V-E, love.”

  I groan. “Stop it, you two. Why is everyone conspiring for me to be with someone?”

  Dane’s face falls a little, and he grows serious. “Because, honey, you deserve it. You deserve to let some love in. Seriously.”

  I inhale, turning to look out the window at the sunny day, wondering if he’s right.

  Wondering if it’s finally my turn to find happiness, the happiness I didn’t think was truly possible for me.

  Chapter Three

  Marley

  I take the long way home, stopping underneath my favorite oak to scrawl some more ideas in my journal, the slightly damp grass not bothering me enough to make me get up once I’ve sat down. I sit for a long time, the sun slowly fading into the horizon as I lean my head back on the familiar trunk. Scratching down words and phrases from the day, I try to make some sense of them.

  I jot down Alex’s name in my journal like some sad sixth grader writing her crush’s name on her folder in gel pen. I draw question marks around his name and find myself smiling.

  Alex.

  The doctor who saved my life, although that sounds a bit melodramatic, even for an aspiring poet.

  But he did. He saved me. Not just from the waters of the river, either. He saved me from my gloom and doom, from the pit of despair I was wallowing in last night on the bridge.

  My eyes dance over the purple wildflower growing near the tree, my favorite. Now, I’m showing him around our quiet town. What does this mean? Could this be the change I’ve been waiting for?

  Not that I haven’t dated. There were quite a few flings in my late teens, perhaps my wily heart thinking love was what I was searching for. But looking back, love didn’t describe the lascivious looks and the wham-bam nights of passion. It was something more carnal, but not eternal.

  Love wasn’t what I’d felt, and I don’t know if love is even what I need now.

  Love, lust, or maybe just a friendly town tour, I do know one thing. That man’s hands are firm and strong, just the way I like them. His muscles aren’t bad either.

  Most of all, he’s got the kind of eyes I could stare into for days. Not just a nice color, either. No, he’s got eyes that seem to bare his soul, that seem to say he’s got depth and heart and character.

  I barely know him, in truth. Still, he doesn’t quite seem like the kind of guy I would fall for. He’s very different from my motorcycle-mayhem badass boyfriend at nineteen. He’s nothing like my first love, Noah, who ended up on the run for arson. He doesn’t seem like any of them at all.

  Alex doesn’t appear to be the kind of guy to live life on the edge or to indulge in the free-roaming kind of life. He’s rigid and stoic. He’s straitlaced and serious.

  He’s everything I’d never imagine my heart fluttering for.

  But it did. From the moment he pulled me out of the river and turned all doctor-like on me, I was entranced.

  Not that it means anything, I remind myself. He’s just new here. Pretty sure a bridge-sitting, lace-up boots kind of girl like me isn’t quite what he’s looking for. I’m more of a Wednesday Adams person, while he seems to be more like a Ward Cleaver. A very sexy, tempting Ward Cleaver, at that.

  Not that I’m judging.

  Okay, I’m judging

  Why are you overanalyzing this? I ask myself, gently bumping the back of my head against the tree trunk. It’s not like this is going anywhere. The guy drew the short straw in residency placements, and he’ll be out of here in a few years—if he doesn’t die of boredom in this sleepy town before then.

  Don’t get me wrong. Rosewood isn’t a horrible place. It’s just the kind of place where a new supermarket is front page news and a dead rosebush in Mrs. Fillibell’s garden is morning gossip.

  I’m sure even an organized, color-inside-the-lines kind of guy like Alex will feel this place falls a little short on the excitement meter.

  Glancing down at my journal, I shake off all thoughts of Alex. This isn’t a big deal. I’m just overly interested because it’s a fresh face in a town where I know everyone too well, and I’ve gone through the decent and not-so-decent stock of guys. I’m apparently craving change in any form.

  I put pen to paper after flipping the page, determined to leave the Alex and the question marks behind. I start scribbling down words, looking up at the sky now and then to clear my head, to urge the words to flow.

  Mostly, though, I sit and stare, doodling random squiggles in the margins of the lined paper and thinking about today, last night, and my entire life.

  What am I doing?

  It’s a question I’ve asked so many times but never seem to answer.

  What am I doing with my life? What am I doing here in Rosewood?

  There used to be a time when, despite everything, I thought I could find happiness. I would look at pictures of Paris and Belize and Shanghai and light up at the thought of traveling there, of seeing, of living. I used to sit in my room, drowning out Mom’s midnight rants with travel videos on YouTube, making a list of all the places I would go. I had no idea what I wanted to do or how I would get to all the places on my list—but that
wasn’t the point. The point was I knew even at fifteen there was so much more out there, so much to see and live. I wanted to do it all. I thought maybe by some miracle things would change, and that I’d get my chance.

  Even then, I think a part of me knew the lure of the dream was that it wouldn’t happen. I’d be lucky to see the next county, let alone another country. My grades were abysmal, we didn’t have any money, and even if those things weren’t true, I didn’t think I could do it. I couldn’t leave her, no matter what.

  And even then, I knew she’d never change. She couldn’t.

  She’s all I have, all I have left besides Joe and Margaret, of course, who pushed me to do better, to think ahead, and to dream. I just never told them the real reason I wouldn’t leave for college, even when they kindly offered to loan me the money I needed. I didn’t tell them it wasn’t financial or even about not wanting to go.

  It was guilt.

  I look down, realizing I’ve drawn a whole lot of black squares. Like so many other things, this poem hasn’t gone anywhere.

  I didn’t pay much attention in school, but I paid enough attention to know they never covered how you go about dealing with it when you wake up at twenty-one and realize you’re stuck in a life you didn’t dream of. They didn’t teach us how to deal with the guilt of wanting to get out of this place and seize life, but not wanting to leave your family behind.

  Maybe it’s Alex. Maybe it’s the bridge. Maybe it’s my sort of near-death. Regardless, it’s like my mind won’t stop wrapping itself around the fear that I’m living all wrong, and life is just slipping through my fingers just like it did for Dad.

  “Stop it, Marley,” I tell myself, and then glance around to make sure no one is near. The town’s already whispering about my potential suicide attempt. I don’t need them hearing me talk to myself, or they’ll lock me up for sure.

  I know life could always be worse. I have a lot to be thankful for. I have a job I don’t hate, even if it isn’t exactly what I had in mind. I have amazing neighbors, the Conlans, who’ve been like grandparents to me since I was little. I have a quiet neighborhood, food on the table most days, and clothes on my back.

  Life’s about perspective, and I’ve tried to choose to see it with rosy glasses, even when it doesn’t feel like I should.

  Still, there’s something tough about feeling like there’s no choice, no way out, no decisions. I feel trapped on a merry-go-round I didn’t buy a ticket for but can’t get off.

  Standing from the ground, wiping the clumps of wet grass from my ass before readjusting my trustworthy hat, I close my journal and traipse home, to the only life I’ve known and probably ever will.

  Chapter Four

  Alex

  In truth, the coffee’s just okay. A little weaker than I like, and not quite my favorite cup from back home. Nonetheless, it tastes pretty good, partially because of the sheer exhaustion taking hold of me.

  And, if I’m being honest, in part because of the barista who served it.

  I remind myself not to get ahead of myself. I barely know this girl other than our first sketchy and scary encounter. Dr. Conlan certainly sings her praises, and my heart doesn’t let up when I’m around her. There’s something about her, from the first moment I saw her sitting on that ledge, that screams intriguing.

  Captivating or not, though, I don’t have time for this. I can’t lose focus now, not when I’m so close. I didn’t break up with Stacie for no reason. There’s no room in my life for love or dating. I have to get this right. I can’t mess up now. I’ve got to keep my eye on the end game.

  So why the hell did I ask Marley to show me around? Why did I invite her into my life knowing this can’t go anywhere?

  I shake my head at my own stupidity. Exhaustion. It must’ve been sheer exhaustion.

  Seems to be my excuse for everything these days.

  Or maybe it was because I was thinking with my dick instead of my heart, thinking of the way those skinny black pants clung to her curves as she led me into Georgia’s, the way her lips parted just a bit when she poured the coffee.

  Maybe it’s just a primal instinct surfacing that I’ve tried to squash for too long.

  Or maybe it’s because she’s a breath of fresh air in a town too small for its own good. Marley, even though Dr. Conlan said she’s lived here her whole life, doesn’t scream small-town monotony. From her clothes to her mannerisms, she screams worldly. Excitement.

  And God knows excitement isn’t in my vocabulary, other than medical emergencies, of course.

  Walking into my apartment, I sigh, taking my shoes off at the door and wanting nothing more than to sink into bed for a few hours. I set my coffee on the counter beside the bills I need to mail and head to the shower, ready to strip off work before work starts again all too soon.

  The steamy water heavenly against my skin, I inhale deeply, leaning against the shower wall, the prospect of scrubbing my hair too much at this point. These hours are insane. Any normal person would want to walk away, no matter how close they were.

  But I can’t. I’m so close to the success I’ve been craving, I can taste it. I just have to keep moving. All those hours of studying, those years of locking myself in the library day in and day out are going to pay off.

  I’m going to finally make it, finally reach the golden dream I’ve been chasing since I was fourteen.

  I’m finally going to be the man he always thought I would be. I’m going to make him proud.

  As I climb into bed, pulling back my Star Wars comforter, I take off the cross necklace my parents gave me when I graduated. It was my grandfather’s, also a doctor. Our family heirloom is, I suppose, my good luck charm—hasn’t let me down yet. I carefully set it on the nightstand before rolling back onto the pillow, readjusting my boxers, and settling in.

  Looking at the relic of the past sitting on the bare white stand, I smile as I doze off.

  It’s worth it. It’s all worth it.

  ***

  The next few days pass in a blur of emergencies, work, espresso, and yawns. I spend most of the next forty-eight hours in the inner core of the hospital, assuaging fears and rushing to stop the bleeding. With Dr. Conlan, I tackle a broken leg, a minor surgical procedure, and five cases of the flu. Even in the smallest town, the ER is never dull.

  When I’m not working, I’m either tucked away in my bed sleeping or tucked away on my couch studying medical reference books and researching online. I’ve learned you can never be done learning in this job. There’s always more to discover, and you never know when a piece of information is going to be vital to saving a life.

  Still, Wednesday night, looking around my bare apartment that houses only a handful of family photographs and a poster of John Wayne—an obsession in my family, albeit an odd one—I feel a little sad, a bit lonely.

  Day in and day out, it’s work until exhaustion and then come home to emptiness. My life, although successful in many ways, is also positively lonely.

  I’m alone. I’m becoming a hermit.

  Correction. I think I’m already there.

  So when Thursday rolls around, my day off, I’m glad I made plans with Marley.

  It doesn’t have to be a torrid romantic affair. It doesn’t need to go anywhere. It’ll just be good to get out of my man cave—aka apartment—and to get out of the textbooks. It’ll be good to look around this town I’m going to call home for quite a while.

  And it’ll be good to interact with someone who isn’t bleeding out or in a life or death situation—at least I hope not. Our track record isn’t exactly promising.

  I spend a little extra time on Thursday choosing a clean T-shirt, slapping on some cologne, and shaving.

  Strolling down Plum Street and turning onto Main, I realize I’m walking fast even though I’ve only slept a few hours. Something about today gets my feet moving. Maybe it’s the extra dose of vitamin D I’m getting. Lately, I’ve been feeling a little bit vampire-like.

  Maybe, though,
it’s knowing I’ll be seeing her again, my odd night shift hours keeping me from Georgia’s since the day I made plans with her. Hopefully she didn’t forget.

  It’s the first day I’ve had off since I got to Rosewood, and I thought I’d be spending the day sleeping or maybe playing an hour or so of Xbox before studying my rare diseases textbook. Instead, I’m heading out for an adventure with a girl I met on a bridge.

  Correction. A girl I met under a bridge in the water.

  I feel a little bit weird about it, like there’s something unsettling about going out with the girl I saved from drowning.

  “Marley’s a great girl, trust me,” Dr. Conlan had assured me when I mentioned she’d be showing me around today.

  “She seems like it.”

  “Rough times, that girl. But she’s risen above it all. She’s a good thing, Alex. Good for a guy like you to have a girl like her and vice versa.”

  I’d nonchalantly nodded, not wanting Dr. Conlan to think I was being overeager or stalkerish. Secretly, though, I was clinging to every word, happy to know more about the brooding girl who just is still such a mystery.

  When Georgia’s comes into view, I take a deep breath. I feel oddly nervous, a little unsure.

  It’s not a date. Get it together, man, I tell myself. This is just Marley being nice, showing me the small-town kindness.

  But no matter how much I’ve told myself nothing is happening between us—that we just met and I don’t know this girl—I can’t stop thinking about her black hair, perfectly pale skin, and pink lips.

  I can’t stop thinking about the glimmer of a smile I got to see on her face or the way her eyes light up when she talks. I can’t stop admiring the perfect mixture of brooding and sass, of extrovert and introvert.

  Still, there’s a mystery to her, too. Underneath her crocheted hat, there’s something hiding there, something deeper.

  Maybe even something darker.

  A girl like Marley—from what I know of her at least—isn’t the typical girl I go for.

  She doesn’t seem like the pretty in pink with pearls on the weekends kind of girl. She’s not the dainty sips of tea and kale salad, or the I’ll have tea instead of soda, and I only drink red wine kind of girl.