Page 4 of Heal Me One Night

“It’s a deal... Don’t worry about clothes for her. Addie’s so tiny that I know she’s got some pj’s Karli can wear.”

I look at my kid, still bouncing like she’s made with springs. “Hey, K, you wanna have a sleepover?” The question is met with deafening squeals that can only mean yes.

Deanna waves me off and I head back through her apartment. She puts me to shame as a housekeeper. Everything in that apartment is spotless. I’m making a mental list–comparing the pros and cons of having a little me time or actually tackling the half inch thick layer of dust in my house. I’m sliding behind the wheel, weighing the options, when my phone dings.

Hot Doc: Last minute shift switch and I’ve got the night off. Don’t make me suffer the misery of a Friday night alone. A fully loaded pizza in exchange for a little company?

And my house is not getting cleaned. The dust will live another day.

I swipe my thumb over the screen, back and forth over the keyboard. It dawns on me that texting is kinda like a Ouija board. You’re just summoning booty calls instead of spirits.

B: I’ve got the night off, too, strangely enough. Sleep overs are better than winning the lottery. Make that a margarita and some queso, doc, and you’re on.

I get the dot dot dot for a second. Then just a thumbs up.

B: Boomer

Hot Doc: Zennial. If they card you, you’re paying for your own drink.

I laugh at that. He’s up shit creek on that one. I went to high school with half the wait staff and all the bartenders.

B: You’re on. 7?

Hot Doc: I’m not giving you another thumbs up or you’ll sign me up for AARP newsletters. See you then.

I check the clock on the dash. It’s just after five. That gives me plenty of time to go home, shower, shave everything that needs it and leave the house looking like an actual human for a change.

I’m about halfway home before the doubts creep in. Not about him. Not about the fact that I’d dearly love to do filthy, filthy things with that man. But outside of medical professionals–and in this instance, he does not count–no one has seen me naked since the fall. No one has touched the ugly ass scars that are marching up and down my thigh, a constant reminder of all the hell a single second of carelessness caused.

“Shut up,” I tell myself. “This is what the margarita is for.”

THREE

Silas

When I walk into El Fuego, I’m immediately drawn to where Britt sits at the bar. She commands attention wherever she goes if the guy at the bar talking to her is any indication. He hands her a drink, and I know I’m already fucked.

“There he is, Cory. That’s the man paying for my tab.” She holds the margarita up toward me.

The bartender gives me a look of disbelief. “You’re a brave man. She once drunk me under the table at a UK tailgate. I’m two-ninety, and she was still going when I passed out.”

“Shut up. Nobody asked you to tell all my secrets, and if you’re not careful, I’ll let everybody know you passed out before I did.” She raises her glass to him then takes a drink.

Cory sighs before looking over at me. “What do you want to drink?”

“Corona with a lime.”

He slams it on the bar top. “This one’s on the house. You’re gonna need it, my man.”

I have a seat next to her, bumping my knee next to hers. Glancing down, I see the new scars. “Those look good, they’re going to heal well.”

She takes a drink, swallowing slowly. “It’s disgusting.” She grimaces. “They’re ugly as hell, and I’m reminded every single time I look at them that I was stuck with my daughter on my own. I was trying to not freak out as my heart thumped in my chest. I almost passed out.” She scoffs, playing with the top of my bottle. “All I could think about was being alone with Karli, and annoyed that my ex-husband wasn’t around.”

I reach out, grabbing her fingers, to stop her from twirling the bottle cap. “You made it though, Britt. You’re walking, you’re working, and taking care of your daughter. What is he doing?”

She snorts. “Not a damn thing. Dakota doesn’t even pay child support when he should, even though he easily could. But you’re right, I’m strong. He will not make or break me.”

I reach out, curving my finger along her jawline, tracing the proud tilt. “This won’t either.” I look down at the scars. “You’re so much more than your circumstances.”