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My drinks were definitely garnished with a hint of testicle but it was too easy to fuck with that guy. Too damneasy.
Acevedo was right about these people, too. They gave me my share of shit for hitting on a pregnant woman, and once I climbed out of my hole from those unfortunate choices, I could see some of the humor. Despite the rocky start and my tremendous desire to hate everything, they were welcoming. With the exceptions of Patrick and Will—they were still working on that death and dismemberment plan—I had easy conversations with everyone. Lauren and I talked about Southern California. Emmerling offered up hospital gossip and some taqueria recommendations. Matt invited me to join him for a run or bike ride. Sam and I debated college football. Erin promised to have me over for dinner after theholidays.
I couldn't hate any of this, and I'dtried.
They engaged in the most bizarre form of gift-giving I'd ever witnessed, something they called a Yankee Swap. It looked an awful lot like a Manifest Destiny land grab with liquor. There were numbers drawn from a mixing bowl, wrapped bottles lined on the coffee table, and an illogical system for selecting an unopened bottle or stealing one from someone else. They forced me to participate, and I was now the owner of every teenage girl's alcohol of choice, Goldschläger. I figured it would pair well with college cheerleaders and my lefthand.
Hartshorn scrolled through his phone, sighing and murmuring as he went. "Why don't we head out?" he asked, still scrolling. "I want to check on my post-ops."
"Don't do that," Emmerling said. She looked like a fucking prize in those jeans. "You have residents forthat."
"She's right," Acevedo said from the sofa. He swung his arm around Shannon's shoulder and tugged her close. Evidently, he was permitted to snuggle the SEAL's wife. I had questions but I wasn't asking them. "Let us suggest a tavern where you two can drink your sorrowsaway."
"I don't have any sorrows," Hartshorn replied, his expression stony. "I'm filled withjoy."
"Brimming," Emmerling said. I was staring at her thighs, imagining how they'd feel as earmuffs. "Overflowing, even. We can barely handle all yourjoy."
"Head down to Sullivan's. Sit at the bar. Order whiskey. Be miserable and hate the world," Shannon said, wagging a finger between us. "You might feel terrible tomorrow but I can promise you that being miserable at Sullivan's on Christmas Eve is the path to goodthings."
"I'm not miserable," I lied, blinking as I tore my gaze away from the GI hottie. Fuck, she was a dream. An especially unattainabledream.
"You will feel like death tomorrow but you can hook each other up with IV lines and a few banana bags," Acevedoadded.
Hartshorn glanced up, frowning. His brow wrinkled as he studied Shannon and Acevedo. "Why the hell would we want to dothat?"
"I can't explain it but I know it will help," Shannon saidsimply.
"It will," Acevedoagreed.
"It's a good spot to feel all of your misery and then leave it behind," Shannonsaid.
"I don't understand this at all," I said to Hartshorn. Heshrugged.
"Before you take your misery to the bar," Andy called from the kitchen, "take some of these leftovers withyou."
She was busying piling food into glass containers and then packing them into grocery totes. "No," I said, holding up my hands. "Thank you, butno."
"It's no trouble," she continued as she filled a plastic bag with cookies. There was a big ass diamond on her ring finger now and it shouted 'unavailable' every time it hit thelight.
"I really can't," I protested. I glanced at Hartshorn for help but he was waiting on bated breath for his goodybag.
Patrick secured the lid on one of the containers and speared me with a sharp look. "For reasons I cannot begin to comprehend, my fiancée wants to send you home with food. You're going to take it, you're going to be pleasant about it, and you're damn well going to enjoyit."
He thrust the tote in my direction and I closed my hands around the handle. "Yes, of course," I said. "Thankyou."
Hartshorn and I headed toward the door, stopping for an endless series of goodbyes along the way. Once we were in the hall, he asked, "It wouldn't hurt to stop for one drink,right?"
"As long as we don't have to talk about feelings or shit like that," I said, "then no, it wouldn't hurt a damnthing."
He jerked a shoulder up. "Onedrink."
"One drink," Iagreed.
I didn't remember much after that point, but I knew we shared many more than onedrink.
Chapter Eleven
Riley
