Where We Belong (A Touch of Fate #1)(25)
“I’m gag ewe fine gas runny," I mumble into his shirt.
His deep chuckle vibrates through me. He pulls back and I tilt my head to look at him. “I'm sorry you find my gas runny," he says with a smirk.
“I said I’m glad you find this funny.” I frown up at him as Quinn walks up behind me and they sandwich me in a hug. I love these two so much. Tears sting my eyes just thinking about everything they have done to help me get to where I am today. I wouldn’t be here if they didn’t love me and believe in me as much as they do.
It’s after ten o’clock before I end up kicking them out, refusing their multiple attempts to help me clean. “Go!" I say, pushing them out the door. “I need to clean. It’ll give me time to think."
Two hours later, I’m still cleaning an already spotless kitchen because I can’t seem to keep my mind from going in a million different directions. I’ve not only cleaned every nook and cranny in the refrigerator, but I also took care of the stove, microwave, and toaster oven.
I force myself to take a shower, fighting off a thousand ‘what ifs,’ and crawl under my crisp, cool sheets. I toss and turn for over an hour before I finally give up. Reaching across my bed, I run my hand along the underside of the mattress until my fingers hit the edge of what I’m looking for. Pushing myself up against the headboard, I lean back, pulling my knees up to my chest.
I stare at the old, tattered picture. The edges are falling apart and there are numerous smudges and tear stains. I’ve been able to find comfort in the picture off and on over the past five years, pulling it out when I felt like I couldn’t remember what he looked like or what his voice sounded like.
I run my finger across the picture that was taken of Tyson and me when we were twelve. The photo was snapped after a summer co-ed soccer game. It had rained that day, and our jerseys and cleats were covered in mud. My ponytail hung messily across my left shoulder and we both had mud caked to our faces and legs. Our smiles were large and bright as we posed for the camera with our arms wrapped tightly around each other’s shoulders.
I would give anything to go back to the day this picture was taken, before high school, boyfriends, girlfriends, and gossip. A time when we were na?ve and innocent, and all we cared about was playing ball, winning games, fishing, and catching fireflies. A time before emotions, love, and rejection. I squeeze my eyes closed, hugging the picture to my chest, and allow myself to be absorbed in the memory.
I can feel the tears breach the corner of my eyes, but I don't wipe them away. I let them make their journey down my face because they're there for a reason. Although at this point, I’m not sure if I'm crying because of the happy memories, the sad ones that came years later, or out of fear of what’s to come.
“ALRIGHT, MRS. COLLINS, YOU’RE good to go!" I yell, slowly enunciating each word. Sweet Mrs. Collins is completely deaf, even with her hearing aids. “I’ve sent the prescription to your pharmacy electronically, and don’t forget? no more Q-tips in your ear.”
“Why would I put Q-tips in my beer?" she yells back, furrowing her brow in confusion.
“No." I shake my head, laughing, and point to my ear. “Not beer. EAR. Don’t put Q-tips in your ear.”
“Oh. Okay," she says, patting my hand gently and nodding her head. Gripping her walker, she shuffles down the hall with the nurse following closely behind.
I head over to the nurses’ station to finish my charting on Mrs. Collins when Avery steps out of an exam room. “Hey, Avery. How’s your morning going?”
Avery completed her residency two years ago at a hospital in Indiana. She recently relocated to St. Louis after accepting a job here in the ER.
“It’s going okay," she says, wiping her arm across her forehead. "I’ve done stitches on a head laceration, and I’m fairly certain that the gentleman I just examined broke his hip. How’s your day going?” she asks, falling in step with me.
Avery is petite and at least a good foot shorter than me. She reminds me a lot of Brit; they both have straight, blond hair and big, blue eyes. She’s really quite beautiful—if that’s the type of girl you’re looking for. But right now, I’ve got my sights set on a gorgeous brunette with large green eyes, thick black lashes, and a dimple in each cheek. I can’t help but grin when I think about the look on Harley's face after she ran into me earlier this week and spilled her tea. Damn, she looked incredible. The past five years have treated her well. If it’s possible, she’s even more of a perfect version of the woman she already was.
“Tyson?" Avery shakes my shoulder gently, pulling me from my memory.
“Huh?”
She smiles at me warmly, her perfectly straight teeth on display. “Where’d you go just now?" she asks. "You stopped talking and had a huge smile on your face."
“Sorry,” I reply, pulling out a chair at the station for her and then one for myself. We both start thumbing through charts. “What did you ask me?”
“I asked how your day was going.”
“Eh...” I shrug. “It’s going, I guess. I’ve had an abdominal pain, a sprained ankle, and I just saw a woman who had the end of a Q-tip come off in her ear canal.”
She chuckles lightly. “Mrs. Collins. I heard her yelling something about beer.”