Page 118 of Asystole

Time to try on this new version of life I’m adopting for myself.

The airport transfer bus drops us off at the hotel for check-in, and I start coming alive at the heat and humidity and the smell of the salty ocean on the breeze.

Yes, Boston is on the water, but the parts where I spend all my time smell like the city: exhaust fumes, food, hot trash. On this island, I can smell the seawater, and occasionally I get a hint of sunscreen and coconut.

Unlocking the door to our room, I let out a low whistle.

“Fuck Boston. Let’s live here,” I say, moving into the room. Logan may have told them we were celebrating our honeymoon, and they may have upgraded us to a suite. I didn’t call him out on the lie because, honestly, I feel like we’re both due for some kind of cosmic break, and these people were kind enough to oblige.

“Holy shit,” Logan says, coming through the door behind me. “Look at that view.”

I turn to see him staring at the sliding glass door that opens onto a private balcony overlooking the ocean.

“Looks like the perfect spot to get fucked,” I say honestly.

“You’re a mind reader,” Logan says with a grin.

“Among other things,” I say, throwing a wink at him before walking my toiletries into the bathroom.

Logan’s laugh bounces off the walls.

“Overconfident, much?” he calls from the room.

“Not overconfident…just confident enough,” I reply.

I’m setting my bottles up in the little cutout of the shower wall when suddenly, the water turns on, soaking me through my clothes.

“What the⁠—”

“Care to wash the plane funk off and get this vacation started off right?” Logan asks, handing me a glass of something dark. He’s already naked, and my mouth waters at the sight, but it has nothing to do with whatever’s in the glass.

Logan’s cut physique is hard and perfect; his ink tells stories I get lost in every time I see them, and I’m left wondering how I ever managed to keep my hands off him.

“Where’d you get this? And what is it?” I ask, holding the liquid up to my nose, trying to pretend that I’m not affected by him. We’re here for five days. I need to pace myself.

“It’s rum,” he says, crowding me against the wall. “And this is an all-inclusive resort, so the liquor in our suite is included in our stay,” Logan explains, as his fingers work the button on my soaked jeans.

The sweet burn feels so fucking good as it slides down my throat.

The final latch holding my perfect plan for the perfect life flips open, releasing me from the expectations that have plagued me for so long. Knowing that, at the end of the week, Logan and I will be going back to Boston where he doesn’t have a job, and I’m most likely getting kicked out of my residency program before I can voluntarily change to another, should scare the hell out of me. And while I’m anxious to see what comes next, I’m not panicking.

Setting the glass into the little cubby next to my body wash bottle, I strip off my wet shirt and kick my jeans to the corner of the shower.

Logan leans in and licks a strip up the side of my neck. The feel of his wet skin sliding against mine has a groan tearing from my throat.

“What do you want, Chase?” he murmurs against my ear.

I know he means right now, sexually, in this shower, but my heart and mind have another answer.

“To build a life with you,” I say, causing him to pull back so he can see my face. Instead of feeling vulnerable, the eye contact gives me the strength to keep going as I allow my hands to roam across his flesh. “For so long I’ve thought that all the meaning in my life would—and was supposed to—come from being a surgeon. Everything else was secondary, including my happiness. I thought I just needed to cross the finish line and get established in practice, and suddenly everything would make sense. But you’ve helped me realize that’s totally backward. I need to find meaning and fulfillment in who I already am and where I am in life and let that drive what I do, how I spend my time, and with whom I spend it.” I brush my hand down Logan’s chest, giving myself a minute to feel everything physically and emotionally.

I’m doing this.

With a man.

That I’m in love with.

As my hand trails farther down Logan’s body, his breath stutters.