Undeniably Enemies: Chapter 8

“How’s your rotation going in the emergency department?” my adviser Joe asks, perched on the corner of his desk, giving me the intense look he always does.

“It’s going well,” I tell him. “I love the ER, and the intern I’ve been assigned to is great.”

“I’m glad to hear that. That hasn’t necessarily been the case with some of your peers so it sounds like you got a good one.”

I pause at that. Then I remember Jack hates me and wouldn’t intentionally give me a good intern. It has to be random as I initially thought. Right?

“What about your attending physician?” he continues as if reading my mind.

He’s a beautiful bastard who I wish worked anywhere but there so I wouldn’t have to see him every damn day. “He’s fine.”

“Which one were you assigned to again?” He turns to search his paperwork, but I make it easy for him.

“Jack Kincaid.”

He nods. “Good. Good. He’s an excellent doctor, and we’ve only had good reports about him, unlike a few of the others.”

That gets my attention.

“Is there someone I should steer clear of?”

He chuckles. “I’m not allowed to say anything, Wren.”

“But I’m your favorite.”

“You are.” He sighs. “This is between us, but I’m glad you’re with Dr. Kincaid and not Dr. Marshall. He… has a tendency to take a special interest in some of his female students. That’s all I’m saying, and we’ll leave it there.”

Callan and Layla both subtly mentioned this about him, and that’s another reason Callan put me with Jack. It’s also already been noted by me. There are men in this world who automatically set off your creep meter, and Dr. Marshall is one of them. He hasn’t tried anything, but he thinks about it and doesn’t bother hiding it.

“Got it. Dr. Kincaid is fine as a supervisor.”

There must be something in my tone because Joe grins as if he’s onto me. “Attendings are meant to be tough. It’s how doctors learn best.”

Considering like eighty-five percent of my family are doctors or in the medical field, I already know this. He knows I know this.

“Of course,” I go with.

“Are you still set on trying to match here in Boston?”

“Absolutely.”

“And is MGH still your first pick?”

It was. When I first moved back here for med school, it was what I had my heart and mind set on. That sentiment only grew after what happened to me with Theo. Then Jack moved back home and started working there, and now there are rumors that Callan is stepping down as chief, so I’m not sure anymore.

But for now, I say, “I think so.”

His smile grows. “Excellent. I don’t think you’ll have a problem getting into the program you want. Your grades are top-tier, and as you know your family name carries a lot of weight in this city. Not to mention a stellar recommendation from your adviser.” He winks.

“Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure, Wren. Being your adviser these years has been a treat. You are one of the more gifted students I’ve had the pleasure of working with, and I’m excited to see where your career will go.”

I stand and give him a hug. The man is like a second grandfather to me. “Thank you, Joe. I appreciate all you’ve done for me here.”

“Anytime. You know that.” He rolls his wrist to check his watch. “We didn’t have our full hour together. Is there anything else you need to discuss?”

“No, I’m good. I have somewhere I have to be that I don’t want to be late for.”

“Sure. Text or email if you change your mind, and as you know, my door is always open. I’ll check up on you near the end of your rotation.”

I throw him a wave as I head for the door. “Bye, Joe. Have a good rest of your week.”

Every Tuesday at four, I have my mixed martial arts class, and I haven’t missed one yet. Sometimes I run on the treadmill after. Sometimes I just go home. But I don’t miss my Tuesday nights here. I hop in my car and hit up my favorite coffee spot. Armed with caffeine, I drive down to the gym and sit in my car while I drink my coffee and scroll through my phone.

Tinsley texts me, and we go back and forth for a bit. She asks me about how today was with Jack, and I tell her an abbreviated version. But after I hit send, I flip over to the text chat I had the other night with my mystery guy. I’ve resisted the urge to text him again. I don’t even know why I’m still curious. It’s likely just a guy I met one night in college, probably at a party or in one of my classes, and it didn’t go anywhere.

Still, I like that he kind of flirted with me. I also like that he remembered me even if I didn’t remember him. It was fun to text him because he’s not in front of me. He’s not here. It was easier to let go a little when I was alone and safe in my apartment. I haven’t been able to have a relationship since Theo, and sex has been a mess. I wasn’t sexually assaulted, but my trust factor is zero and I haven’t been able to resurrect it. I never bring anyone home. I never go to their place either.

Boys in high school only got close to me because I was a Fritz, and my best friends were Tinsley Monroe and Mason Reyes. Mason comes from football royalty and Tinsley music royalty. Money and fame. I had that, and that’s all those boys saw. In college, a drunk frat boy tried to win a bet and take my virginity. He didn’t care that I said no, but thankfully a friend came in and stopped it before he could succeed.

Then Jack broke my heart.

It took me a long time after him to seek anything beyond a meaningless fling. A very long time. Then I met Theo. He was a fellow medical student, and I liked him instantly. He had no idea what being a Fritz meant. He was from a small town in the South and had family money of his own, and he wanted me. No lies. No manipulation. No regret or rejection.

He asked me out, and that was that.

For a year, everything was amazing. We moved in together, and my friends loved him. Even Owen and my dad loved him, which is saying something considering how overprotective they can be.

Then, little by little, things started to change. Unravel. He wasn’t doing well in school, and I was. He didn’t like me going out with my friends if he wasn’t around and often accused me of cheating or flirting with other guys. I even found him checking my call and text logs to try to prove this. A month or two after things started getting bad, his dad died unexpectedly, and he refused to go to the funeral, claiming he couldn’t miss class. He’d grow angry and defensive anytime I asked about it, even to the point where he pushed me into a wall and yelled before he stormed out.

That’s when I had Vander start to do some digging for me.

It turned out his father had left everything to his brother and sister and nothing to him. I discovered he hadn’t spoken to his parents in over three years, and they had disowned him after a violent incident with his little sister that nearly cost her her life. He had no money and was surviving on student loans, credit cards, and some money he had stolen from his family before he left and never looked back.

I packed up my belongings and ended things with him that night. He didn’t do well with that and would call and text me at all hours of the day and night, and even though he stopped going to classes, he’d still show up outside of them to try to talk to me. That went on for a few weeks until I threatened to go to the police and get a restraining order if he didn’t back off.

He did, and I thought the nightmare with him was over.

For two months, I didn’t hear anything from him, and as far as I knew from Vander, he’d left Boston and moved to New York. I was out jogging along the Charles River one evening when someone jumped me at knifepoint. He dragged me over to a set of bushes, knocked me to the ground, forced his weight on me from behind, and locked my wrists above my head to hold me in place. Things got worse from there, but I fought and fought and fought.

But despite my best efforts, he had me until I managed to free my keys and sound my panic button on my keychain. An off-duty cop happened to be nearby jogging and saved me. I spent two days in the hospital and swore my family and the people who knew to secrecy. I didn’t want it on the news. I didn’t want it to spread to my ten thousand uncles, aunts, and cousins. And definitely not to my grandparents, Boston’s reigning king and queen.

I survived, but more than that, I became a survivor.

One with the peace of mind of knowing I no longer have to worry about my attacker and that he can’t hurt me again.

Still, I learned that no matter how good of a person I thought I was, no matter how hard I tried to be the person I wanted everyone to see me as, no matter how many stories I fed everyone, my internal compass was broken. It wasn’t leading me true north. I was askew and off-kilter, often feeling like a ghost in a crowded room. Learning to trust ourselves and simply be after a trauma might be the hardest thing in the world. But it’s also the most important.

That and not blaming ourselves for the actions of others.

Therapy started me off, but when therapy wasn’t helping anymore, or maybe just not enough, I started these classes and never looked back. It’s been life-changing and transformative. It’s given me a sense of control and empowered me not to live in fear. Do I have setbacks? Absolutely. Do I have a touch of OCD? Yep, but that’s also part of my control factor, and I don’t hate it. Have I had healthy sex or a relationship since? Nope, but I’m not there yet. And I think that’s okay. I think everyone heals and does things in their own time and way. I don’t have time for a relationship right now anyway, nor do I want one.

So for now, it works.

I hop out of my car, toss my cup in a nearby trashcan, and head into the gym.

The smell of rubber mats, bleach, and sweat hits me, and I smile the same smile I do every time I walk in here and go to the back where the private studios are.

“Hey, Wren,” Margot, the head nurse from the ER, greets me. She’s the one who turned me on to this class and is a survivor herself. I was brought to the ER at MGH that night, and Margot was there along with Callan and Layla. They saved me. They protected my privacy. It’s why MGH was my first choice of hospitals and trauma centers. Being there on the other side and able to save people the way I was saved is all I’ve wanted.

Now I’m not sure what to do with that, but that’s a thought for another day.

“Hey!” I come over to where she’s standing with a few other women we’re in this class with. For a few minutes, we do a check-in. It’s our way of talking about anything that’s plaguing us or anything we want to work through with people who get it. It’s a support network we all share, but then our sensei arrives.

“Are we ready, ladies?”

After that, it’s all work and no chat for a solid hour. By the time I leave the gym, I’m sore, sweaty, and exhausted but feel like a million bucks. That is until I make the grave mistake of deciding to pick up dinner from a salad and bowl place around the corner for a change instead of making dinner at home tonight. I get in line along with the rush hour crew and stare up at the menu that’s displayed on a large flatscreen high above the counter.

“The tuna poke bowl is very good, as is the autumn harvest bowl, but I’d get that one without beets.”

His breath brushes against the back of my exposed neck, and immediately my eyes close and my breath stalls in my chest. I shudder ever so slightly, but it’s not in fear or revulsion despite the fact that he’s behind me. Maybe it’s because he smells so freaking good or because he’s not actually touching me.

“Why no beets?” I ask, refusing to turn around.

“Do you like beets?”

“I’m indifferent.”

“They taste like dirt.”

My lips twitch. “So? What’s your objection to dirt?”

“Other than I don’t enjoy my food tasting like it, nothing. The quinoa in that bowl is excellent, but the spicy sauce on the tuna is something else.”

“I was thinking of going with the tofu pesto wrap.” I’m not. I just want to hear his reaction, and he doesn’t disappoint.

“It’s nut-free pesto and vegan mozzarella on that. Since I know you’re not vegan or even vegetarian with a nut allergy, I have to assume one of two things.”

“And what are those?” The line shuffles up a person, and we follow. His body is close. I can feel him behind me. Not quite touching, but so close it feels like he is. It makes my heart race. Again, not in fear, which is a bit of a trip, but I’m not afraid of Jack. No, my heart’s beating similarly to how it did this morning in the ER kitchen when I stupidly told him how hot I think he is and drank from his cup. Oh, and I touched him. I mean, our fingers touched, but that counts, right?

Working around Jack is already miserable. I’ve actively been trying not to think about him. Or fantasize about him. That last one is key. Nothing worse than trying to get yourself off, and you’re on a tangent of mental porn, and your asshole boss, who you hate because he once broke your heart pops in.

“One, you’re a poor, misguided fool who actually likes vegan food without being vegan, or two, you’re a glutton for pain and punishment.”

“That’s very judgmental of you.”

“Maybe. I do kind of like tofu on occasion. So which is it?”

“The latter.”

He presses into me with that, and I feel him against my back, his breath by my ear. Now my pulse quickens at a different pace as my panic starts to rise. I count backward by fours, and it helps.

“I hoped you’d say that.”

“Why’s that?” I sink my teeth into my lip to squelch the tension churning like corrosive acid through my gut. I don’t want him to know I’m reacting to him in this position.

“Something about you made me think you’d love being punished under the right circumstances.”

My breath catches, and my eyes shoot open, staring unseeingly at the dude in the floor-length puffy peacoat in front of me. My elbow jabs back, landing straight in the center of Jack’s gut. He oomphs but chuckles because it wasn’t a hard hit. Not like the ones I was landing earlier at the gym. Jack’s not dangerous, just an asshole.

“Next!” the woman behind the counter sings out, and I step up.

“She’ll have the wasabi salmon bowl, hold the onions, extra dressing, and edamame and carrots, please,” Jack orders for me.

I gasp and spin around. “How did you know?”

His blue eyes are right there, expectant and amused yet tinted with a hint of mischief. And that smirk? I can’t even with it. My world would be a lot better if Jack Kincaid didn’t look this good. And if the sweater he’s wearing didn’t show off his delicious arm muscles to perfection.

“We ordered from here a few months ago when we were hanging out at Mason’s, and that’s what you got.”

It makes my breath shutter that he remembers.

“Keeping close tabs on me, are you there, Jack?” I smart.

Refusing to answer, he speaks over my head. “I’ll have the fall harvest bowl with chicken and no beets, please. On the same bill,” he tells the person.

I squint. “You’re not buying me dinner.”

His gaze snaps back down to mine, and he gives me a crooked smirk. “Okay, Wren. I’ll just put my card down, and you won’t, and magically you’ll have your food.”

“You don’t get to boss me around.”

His face dips until he’s inches from me. “But I’m your boss. Isn’t that my job?” His fingers tickle up the column of my exposed neck, his eyes following their trail before they’re gone just as quickly. “Good night, my pretty Cinderella. I’ll see you tomorrow. Enjoy your dinner.” He takes a step around me before he spins back toward me. “Oh, and just so you know, since you told me you think I’m scary hot. You’re fucking gorgeous. Makeup, no makeup, whatever.”

And like that, he’s gone. Food paid for, a meal in my hand, his warmth and breath gone. He just said that. With like ten people around us who are now all staring at me.

“Damn. I wish my boyfriend would say that to me,” A woman behind me says, but I don’t reply. Jack isn’t my boyfriend. He never will be. He likely said that to get a reaction from me.

I have to ignore him. From now on, I have to. Because if I start to give in to this incredible itch… I’ll never want to stop scratching.