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I just need to get my shit together and remember that I’m a Jorgensen. I’ve got this. Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I actually will…
* * *
One Week Later
For the first time in over a month, I put on my favorite pair of teal scrubs and Crocs before stepping out into the kitchen. It’s my first day working at Fletcher’s office and I’m so freaking excited. Having only ever worked in the emergency room, I’ve never gotten the chance to work with patients more than once. I'm looking forward to building a rapport with my patients and a small-town office is just the place to do that.
“Good morning, wife,” Fletcher says as soon as he sees me. Today he’s wearing navy scrubs because he’s got a noninvasive procedure to perform this morning. Normally, he wears a tie to work, but I like him in scrubs just as well. I can’t help the shiver that courses through my body wherever he calls me wife, which is quite often. I’m sure if it is the word itself or the rich timbre of his voice but I crave that little word from him.
“Good morning, husband,” I say, moving over to him and kissing him on the cheek. I like how he hasn’t pressured me for anything further, but If I’m honest, I definitely want more. I’ve spent the last few days fantasizing about him taking me in various places throughout the house. The kitchen counter, the couch in the living room, the floor, the shower, our bed. I can’t get his strong hands out of my mind. In my fantasies, they are always doing the most amazing things to my body, things I thought were only true in smutty romance novels, like the ones my favorite author, PJ Bare, writes.
I shake my head of these thoughts and smile at the thought that we’ve done this everyday we’ve been together. He makes breakfast and then goes to work. I make dinner and we talk about our days. The difference today is that I’ll be riding into the office with him. He puts me at ease and that’s not something I’ve ever felt from a man not related to me. I wish I was a stronger woman. I wish I was ready to beg him for what I want. Him. All of him, but I’m not. One day, soon I hope, I’ll be ready for him. I can only pray he isn’t sick of waiting for me by then.
“Are you nervous?” he asks as I finish my coffee.
“No. Should I be?” I ask, smiling.
“No, I’ll be with you every step of the way.” The phrase should frighten me, but it doesn’t.
I finish my mouth watering pancakes and start clearing the table. The housekeeper is coming today, so I only need to stack the dishes in the sink. I gotta say, I don’t mind spot cleaning or doing laundry, but I hate doing deep cleans or vacuuming. Mrs. Helen makes things easy for me and easy is what I need right now.
The ride into the office is nice. I sing along with the Bruce Springsteen song playing on the radio and so does he. His smooth tenor voice washes over me yet again.
He reaches over to me and squeezes my hand.
“You have a lovely voice,” he says at the same time I say, “We sound great together.” I laugh. My first real laugh in months, maybe even years. He smiles at me and chuckles.
For the first time in a long time, I really believe that everything is going to be okay.
I owe that feeling to one man… my charming, sexy husband. Now, to get rid of my baggage…
ChapterFour
Fletcher
I have been returning patient calls and doing follow-ups on patient records, something I have done hundreds of times before and it has never bothered me. But now, knowing my wife is on the other side of that door, right now, gorgeous and glowing in her uniform, hair radiantly framed around her face in a messy bun as they call it, her smile warm and genuine for the patients, I am finding this part of my job tedious.Knock. Knock.
“Come in,” I say, knowing it is not Florence. We already had this discussion about her just walking in anytime she wants to, as my wife she has full privileges. “Hey buddy,” Paul says, shuffling in. He walks to my desk and drops a manilla file on it. I know immediately what it is and my stomach begins to coil.
“How bad is it?” I ask him, not opening it yet. I need a second. Hell, I need someone who decides to read what I am about to read.
“I’ll tell you this,” he says, shaking his head, “it ain’t good.” Shit. I knew that already by her mannerisms, but hearing him say it is once again making my temperature rise. “Just remember if you go to jail who is protecting her.” Asshole. Why did he have to go and make sense? That is the annoying part of being friends with people you’ve known for years. They know you.
Cautiously, I open the file and the first thing I see makes me want to vomit. Her face is covered in bruises and her eyes are so withdrawn that I don’t even recognize her. “Jesus. Baby. What the hell did he do to you?” Under the photo are numerous police reports, most of them she denied any wrongdoing on his part. The hospital reports are even worse. Broken ribs, a fractured shoulder and plenty of contusions and bruises.
Before I know it the file is flying across the room against the wall. I am up out of my seat, punching the wall, trying to stop the rage from spilling out into a wail of unstoppable fury. The last thing I need to do is scare her. I look down at my fist and immediately feel like an asshole. When she asks me what happened to my hand I am going to have to lie to her and I don’t fucking like it.
Taking a drink of water, I hang my head and try to calm myself down. Sitting in the chair, shoulders slumped like a chastised boy, I picked up my phone and call Paul once more. “Fletcher.”
“I need a name.” I tell them not to bother with posturing. He chuckles.
“I figured as much. Check your email. You’re welcome.” Hanging up I open the email like a kid on Christmas the only difference being I am primed to see the name of the dead fuck who dared to touch my wife, even if she wasn’t my wife then.
I look over his summary of the life of this douche and see his name is Gary Sanders. “Huh. An unremarkable name for an unremarkable coward.” I say to myself looking over everything else. I know the next step and that is to call my pal. We met in unusual circumstance when he and the twins I know as Axel and Diezal, rescued a little girl and brought her to the practice to be seen. We all call him the Colonel. His specialty is recovery, but he also hunts down scumbags.
Without hesitation I call him and like I knew he would, he and his guys jump on it. Feeling slightly better that someone is going to help me end that fuck, I wipe my hand over my face and take a deep breath.
“Fletcher?” Her voice is like balm to the turmoil happening inside of me. Quickly, I close the file and look up at her.
