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ChapterOne
Ian
“I’m here. Let me in.”
I could pull a pillow over my head to drown out the noise but don’t particularly feel like making the effort.
The banging gets louder.Fuck, is he kicking the door?
Damnit. He’s going to piss off my neighbors. Whoever is working the shift downstairs and let him up without ringing is getting a shit Christmas tip.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
With a resigned exhale, my feet thud down the hall. The door opens, and Harrison’s fist plunges through air. His nose crinkles and his head jerks back.
“Dude, when did you last shower?” His brow furrows with his critical assessment. It’s the look he gives every patient needing a diagnosis. He steps past me and down the hallway. “Man. This place is a shit hole. Did you fire your cleaning service?”
Harrison is a Type A clean freak. A stack of three pizza boxes rests on the kitchen counter, empty beer bottles are neatly lined up beside it, and there’s an array of take-out bags. The coffee table is cluttered, but I didn’t expect company. I don’t want company.
“Cleaning service comes Tuesday.” Tuesday, because there was a time when I had a house guest Saturday through Monday. I need to remember to reschedule them for Friday so my apartment bears the distinct aroma of cleaning detergent on the weekend.
“How many days have you been wallowing in your own filth?”
The answer doesn’t matter, so I don’t respond. I needed a few days off. I got a nasty cold, and no one wants a surgeon slicing into them while coughing uncontrollably.
“All right. I’m getting a trash bag. You are getting a shower.”
Harrison is a good friend, something I remind myself to avoid throwing a fist into his well-moisturized jaw. I glance down the hall, and my stomach freefalls. The guest room door is ajar. How?
“This is all over that girl, Sunny.” Harrison hunts beneath my sink, presumably searching for garbage bags. “I warned you.”
I cross my arms and lean against the wall, centering my gaze on Harrison, my vision perimeter gray and dark, matching my mental state.
“Get your shower. You called in sick all week.”
“I’ve been sick.”
“The steam will do you good. You’ve spent long enough mourning this girl.”
“She’s not dead.”
“She is to you.” His counter slices with greater precision than a scalpel.Truth. “Come on. Hop to it.” He stands in front of me, an arm’s length away, and places his hand on my shoulder. “You are a surgeon. Women love to fuck surgeons. But not when they’re ripe. Go. Shower. Then we’re going out, and you are putting all the bullshit behind you. I’ve been where you are, and trust me, this is what you’ve got to do. Move forward, my friend.”
He forcibly turns my shoulders and pushes me down the hallway, past the vacant guest room.
“I’m not going to Jack’s.”
“Well, that goes without saying.” He turns his attention to my kitchen counter, and the bottles crash against each other as he unceremoniously drops them one by one. “No need to revisit the place of the crime.”
He acts like it’s obvious we won’t go there. Meanwhile, it’s been our standard on weekends since year two of residency. Sunny got her gigs there because we were the regulars who got to know the owner. Now we’ll need a new place to blow off steam.
My thumbnail scratches my itchy eyebrow as I consider all of this. “What crime?”
“She destroyed you. And I don’t let that happen to my friends. She’s officially dead to me. And yeah, I gave you a week to mourn. We’re going out tonight, tomorrow we’ll hit the court or the trail…your pick, and Monday, you are back in the OR.”
Harrison always has a plan. I have no idea what he’s talking about when he says he’s been where I am. I’ve never known him to care about any woman, much less date. He’s probably just spewing bullshit to get me moving.
I follow through on autopilot. Shower, dress. I don’t bother with shaving. Numbness permeates my ribcage and my thought processes. At least the week’s facial growth is visual proof some part of me thrives.
