All of Me Read online

  But irresponsible gun ownership and usage of city property for personal sexual satisfaction were not within Nathan’s comfort zone and he’d been forced to dash a good amount of hopes. He’d hated to disappoint, but rules were rules and right was right.

  It had been those disastrous interactions that led Nathan to enter into this stilted relationship with Christy. Their courtship had been fast-tracked since Danny was (as he’d put it) “fuck buddies” with Christy’s roommate, Leila. Nathan and Christy had spent a handful of long afternoons/evenings avoiding eye contact with each other at various restaurants, bars, and social events until Danny had finally proposed they double date. Eye contact had been established, polite conversation had been made, and a mutual liking for order, structure, and stability was discovered. All a recipe for a steady, uncomplicated, and maybe even enjoyable relationship – Nathan’s only relationship other than his friendship with Danny.

  Unfortunately, time with Christy seemed to be having an opposite-of-enjoyable effect on Nathan. Every time they were together, odd, intense feelings of what he could only describe as despondency and agitation rattled his brain and paralyzed his body.

  He’d had the feelings before. In fact, he had them every time he was physically close to another human being, especially women. But this was different. They were getting worse. The isolation and goddamned loneliness he felt when his skin touched Christy’s nearly choked him.

  Intrusive images and thoughts of the woman he’d nearly arrested the night before weren’t helping matters either. Dark gypsy eyes, wild hair, and that mouth…

  Focus, damn it!

  Nathan opened his eyes a sliver and eyed Christy in an attempt to get his bearings. She was very pretty: highlighted hair, nice complexion, and light blue eyes. She smelled like perfumed lotion and had a lithe, athletic build from doing – as Danny had phrased it – a “shit load of running.” Christy was nice, even-tempered, and easy going. The perfect girlfriend.

  So why do I feel like I’m falling into a huge, black pit?

  Nathan squeezed his eyes shut tighter and thrust like you were supposed to when you were having sex with a woman. Her hands barely skimmed his skin and she didn’t make a peep, which was exactly why he was able to finish at all. That, and the flashes of the gypsy’s lips and scent and deep, dark eyes.

  And as Nathan came, the great physical sensations mixed with the gaping emotional void…and it hurt. Just like it always did.

  And tonight was extra special because he could a good, heaping spoonful of shame.

  What kind of person thinks about another woman when they’re fucking someone else?

  Apparently Nathan was.

  He and Christy immediately and silently undid what they’d just done; each spending two minutes in her bathroom cleaning up and arranging themselves into what they’d been before.

  The awkward, stilted silence lingered as Christy walked Nathan to the front door. There was no talk of him staying the night and he would have refused had she asked. Sleepovers weren’t his style.

  Nathan crossed his arms over his chest. “Would you, uh, like to see a movie next weekend? Or maybe there’s something else you’d rather do?”

  She smiled timidly. “A movie sounds fun. Sure.”

  Then they stood there, avoiding each others’ eyes, until Nathan turned and abruptly walked out.

  Had Christy been a different sort of woman, Nathan would have felt badly about their parting, but he knew she didn’t give a shit.

  Or maybe she did.

  I should have at least hugged her. Or given her a kiss on the cheek, for Christ’s sake.

  Nathan backed the Denali out of her carport and headed home.

  As he drove, Nathan dragged a shaky hand down his damp face and wondered for the one millionth time in his life if it was possible to be too fucked up to live. Maybe once a person was damaged beyond a certain point they were just not fit to live a normal life.

  As a police officer, he’d seen hundreds and hundreds of people so damaged it was clear they’d never have any real happiness or chances at normalcy. And Nathan had always been hyper aware that he was no different. Certainly no better and possibly even worse than people he apprehended and sent to jail. The only difference between them was that Nathan didn’t break the law. Ever. And Nathan was a better faker than most. A straight face, tidy clothes, and a neat, well-kept house and car went a long way, appearance-wise. Some people just couldn’t fake it. And Nathan didn’t blame them for that. He blamed them for breaking the law and, for that, people needed to be held accountable. But he never held the damage against them. Because he was one of them. Always had been, always would be.

  The twenty minute shower Nathan took when he got home was hotter and more thorough than necessary. Once the towel was neatly arranged on the towel bar and the water glass he’d used was placed in the dishwasher, Nathan peeled back the hospital-cornered gray sheets on his plain, natural wood bed and climbed in.

  And then he climbed out. Nathan dragged himself into his basement and unceremoniously plopped himself down on the weight bench. He pressed and pushed and groaned and grunted until his gray cotton Nike shirt and black shorts were soaked with sweat.

  The gaping, black hole was still there, but it didn’t hurt as much. Or maybe it did and he just couldn’t feel it because of the adrenaline and muscle pain. The shame, depression, fear, and self-loathing were definitely still there; lurking around the hazy perimeters of his consciousness; refusing to be contained or ignored.

  But self-flagellation helped with that too. It was much easier to hate yourself when you were half-dead from exhaustion because usually you passed out before things could get really ugly between you and yourself.

  Danny always referred to Nathan as a Men’s Health model to piss him off and his sex partners had never complained about his physique, but it wasn’t vanity or health that compelled him to work out to excess. It was a law-abiding, socially acceptable way of punishing himself…of self-medicating. Of creating physical of pain to distract him from other pain. No different from the cutters, the junkies, and the alcoholics. Nathan was no mental health expert, but it didn’t take Dr. Phil to figure this one out.

  His muscles screaming in agony and his hands bleeding and raw from using the bars without gloves, Nathan took another shower. He slathered his hands with Neosporin, wrapped them in gauze, and climbed back into bed. He stared at the ceiling until exhaustion took over and he finally slept.

  ***

  If I don’t feel better in a few minutes, I’ll call a sister.

  It was nights like this Stella regretted not moving in with Fi and Kat. They’d invited her, but she’d wanted her own space. Most of the time, Stella was with them at their houses, Pops’, or here, but she sometimes she enjoyed having a little space and time to herself after over a quarter century of having them two inches from her face 24/7. And she loved her little bungalow. It was on a beautiful, tree-lined street in a great neighborhood and had tons of character.

  But it was also empty at the most inopportune times. Like 3 a.m. on a Saturday night.

  Stella paced her front room floor, totally oblivious to the rerun of The Golden Girls she’d turned on for background noise.

  Breathe. Don’t catastrophize. Assume the best until you hear the worst.

  So she’d just found a lump in her right breast. It could be nothing.

  Or it could be cancer and I’ll lose your other breast. Maybe your life, if it’s advanced.

  Oh, God…

  Stella rubbed and probed the lumpy tissue until it became sore to the touch.

  See? It’s sore. Something is wrong.

  Stella rolled her eyes.

  Or it could be sore because I’ve been rubbing it like a magic lamp for two hours.

  Stella dropped her hand and forced herself to sit on the couch. She tucked her right leg under and bounced her left at an impressive rate.

  It killed mom. It could kill me too. The younger you get it, the more aggre
ssive it is.

  Stella chewed her thumb nail.

  I could do the reconstruction. But Dr. Aboud said there might be complications. And I really don’t want to go through all those surgeries. But then I’ll have no breasts.

  Stella buried her face in her hands and tried to get a grip.

  I’m alive. They’re breasts. It’s not like they’re removing my brain, for God’s sake. Or my soul.

  For no good reason, he popped into her mind. As in, what would a guy like him think? And, I bet he’d never be interested in a one-boobed woman, let alone a no-boobed woman.

  “Ouch.” Stella realized she was rubbing the lump again and stopped.

  Jesus, Stella, who cares what he would think? He’s a womanizing BMOC who most likely thinks you’re brawling white trash. Or, more than likely, isn’t thinking anything about you at all.

  Mentally and physically exhausted from it all, Stella finally popped a baby dosage of Xanax and stretched out on the couch. Her brain eventually slowed down enough for her to fall into a fitful sleep full of dreams of her mom.

  Chapter Four

  “I don’t like the way you’re speaking to her and I’m asking you to change your tone!”

  Nathan’s brain caught up with what his body already knew.

  It was her.

  He bumped the round metal button with the side of his fist and double doors whirred open. Nathan and Danny entered the corridor into St. Mary’s Emergency Room.

  Danny slowed his roll. “Is that…” He leaned forward, squinting. “Is that the same chick from the other night?”

  Yeah. It is.

  They’d gotten a call about an officer needing backup and now that made perfect sense.

  Except the gypsy was in teal scrubs, white nursing shoes, with a hospital ID tag hanging around with neck.

  A nurse.

  And here Nathan thought she’d put someone in the ER and he’d been called to haul her off to jail.

  Well, with the way she was getting in Detective Winchell’s face, that scenario might become reality soon enough.

  “And how exactly was I speaking to her?” Winchell asked, head cocked.

  “Like that!” Stella threw her hands in the air. “She’s been through a traumatic event and you bust in there barking orders and talking down to her!”

  Nathan nearly growled when Winchell grabbed the gypsy’s elbow and tugged her into a more secluded corner of the ER. But she held her own; yanking her elbow back and whipping around to face Winchell, hands on hips.

  “Traumatic event?” Winchell half-whispered, half-hissed. “She’s a drunk. And a pill popper. And she nearly killed a bunch of people tonight.”

  “She’s also a middle-aged mother of four with a PhD in Physics, a substance abuse problem and mental health issues. I’m not happy she was driving tonight, but I’m not here to judge her. I’m here to help her.” Stella stepped closer to Winchell and Nathan couldn’t help but admire the hell out of her. There were guys in the department who wouldn’t step up to Winchell that way. “When she’s in your custody, you get to treat her the way you choose – which will be like crap, if I had to guess.” Nathan almost laughed at the outrage on Winchell’s flushed face. “But right now she is my patient. In my ER. And until you can treat with respect, I will not allow you to speak to her.”

  Winchell’s reared back. “You…I’m sorry…you won’t allow…you…did you just say…you won’t allow…?”

  When Stella walked away, Nathan thought Winchell’s head might actually explode. “I want to speak to your supervisor!”

  Without breaking her stride, Stella extended her left arm and pointed to a burly guy in teal scrubs sitting in the nurses’ station. “He’s right there. Have at it.”

  She strode toward the curtained room Nathan assumed was housing her patient. When she spotted Nathan and Danny standing there, she stopped and glanced around like she was afraid the swat team was about to descend on her. “What are you doing here?”

  “We got a call that our colleague needed assistance,” Danny replied, grinning. “Now I see why.”

  Nathan shivered when she licked her bottom lip. She answered Danny, but her eyes were trained on Nathan’s face.

  He hated it.

  And fucking loved it.

  “Well, he’s over there. Feel free to assist him.” Her eyes narrowed on Nathan before she pulled back the curtain and slipped into her patient’s room.

  “Oh, God....”

  Nathan assumed the husky, slurred words came from Stella’s patient. There was a low moan then quiet sobbing. “I’m so ‘shamed…”

  A male voice, choked and low, said, “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay…we’re gonna get you help. It’s gonna be okay.”

  The sobbing grew louder and the curtain was suddenly pushed aside. A salt-and-pepper haired man walked out and Nathan’s chest constricted at the pain on his heavily lined face. The expensive suit and loafers couldn’t cover up the broken spirit they housed. It was a look Nathan had seen many times over the past 32 years.

  The man didn’t seem surprised to see Danny and Nathan standing there. “Are you going to arrest her?” he whispered.

  Nathan cleared his throat, hands on hips. “Right now, concentrate on taking are of your wife. But we are going to have to get a statement from you. Officer McDonough will be right over.”

  The man nodded, hung his head, and wandered away. Nathan turned to Danny. “I’ll talk to the wife. See what you can find out from him.” Danny left and Nathan paused, hand on curtain.

  Emotional scenes were not his strong suit. In fact, they might be his least favorite thing ever. But they came with the law enforcement territory. Most people dealing with cops are in some state of emotional turmoil. But that didn’t mean Nathan was good at it. Efficient, maybe. Proficient, not so much.

  But he’d rather deal with a drunk than her broken husband.

  Nathan entered the room and found Stella perched on the edge of the mattress, stroking the patient/perp’s hand. The woman was still sobbing and thrashing around.

  “It’s okay. I’m here,” Stella said in a soft tone Nathan would have thought her incapable of. “And Officer Drazek is here too. We’re gonna get you all patched up and figure this all out.” Her dark eyes locked with Nathan’s. “Aren’t we Officer Drazek?”

  She knew his name.

  Your nameplate, dummy.

  Nathan nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Stella stood and adjusted her scrub top. She gave the patient/perp another quick pat and a wink. “I better go make sure I still have a job. Be right back.” She eyed Nathan for a few long seconds before disappearing behind the salmon-colored curtain.

  Stella hoped the cop couldn’t see her shoes underneath the curtain. She held her breath and leaned in.

  “Stell, that cop is P.O’d,” Christopher whispered over her shoulder.

  “I couldn’t care any less.”

  Christopher patted the top his coarse black buzz cut and peered over his shoulder. “Those boys are fine. Did you see the biceps on the blonde? Damn.”

  Stella scoffed. “Sweetheart, you need a boyfriend. Bad. Now go back to the desk so I can eavesdrop. I’ll fill you in later.”

  When he made no move to leave, Stella gave him a butt bump. “Go calm Robocop down. I’ll fill you in later.”

  Christopher left with a huff, allowing Stella to turn her full attention back to Officer Drazek.

  The ER was an inherently loud place and Stella could barely hear what he was saying to Dianne Whitter. But then things quieted down enough for her to make some of it out.

  “Beating yourself up isn’t going to accomplish anything. We all have issues we have to deal with and the most important thing is that you are willing to help yourself, okay?”

  The officer’s voice was barely audible, but Dianne’s pained crying came through loud and clear.

  When she didn’t hear anything more, Stella pulled back the curtain and peeked in. She was stunned to
see Officer Drazek standing near the head of Dianne’s bed, awkwardly patting her on the right shoulder as she cried into his jacket sleeve. Diane grabbed his arm and pulled him down, closer to her, and Stella held her breath.

  But Drazek went with the flow; allowing her to slobber, sniffle, and sob into his perfectly pressed polyester jacket sleeve. He was clearly uncomfortable – all stiff limbs and silence - but he was being a trooper about it.

  “Please. Don’t cry,” he said quietly…almost plaintively. Drazek tried to recover his limb, but Dianne wouldn’t let go. He exhaled a sigh and repositioned his stance to gain some traction against her emotional assault.

  “I hate…myself. My children…hate me. My husband…hates me. I’ve ruined everyone’s lives…and I almost…killed…innocent people tonight.” Dianne’s open-mouthed sobbed into Drazek’s arm.

  He continued to pat her – awkwardly and without any particular cadence – but nicely all the same. He even threw a “shhh” in there.

  “Those pills and that vodka run my life! I am so…tired…of it all!” She took a shuddering breath. “I wish I was…dead. I want to die!”

  Shit.

  Stella placed a quick call to the house psychiatrist and arranged for a sitter. She returned to Exam Room 3 to find Drazek washing his hands as Dianne snored loudly from the bed. When he turned and met her eyes, Stella gestured for him to follow her out of the room.

  Once on the other side of the curtain, Stella said, “Let’s talk outside. I need some air.” She didn’t wait for his response, taking off for an exit door in the back of the ER. Stella slammed the metal door handle thing with both hands and stepped outside.