Page 38 of The Scars I Bare
Ha! Just kidding.
Blake actually hates it when I call him that, which, of course, makes me want to do it more.
We just got back from our honeymoon a few days ago, and I’m settling back into work nicely, although Blake would rather I not work. I don’t know how many times he’s tried to bribe me to quit. I’m pretty sure I could fund a third-world country for an entire year on what this crazy man has offered me just to quit my job.
But I am not a woman of leisure. Or whatever the modern term is. Trophy wife? Maybe that’s not politically correct.
I need to work. I need to be useful and know I’m making an impact in another person’s life. It’s why I chose nursing to begin with. And I think, in time, he’ll understand that. I’ve even invited him down to the hospital to see me in action. I think it would help immensely for him to see his wife—gosh, that’s weird—doing what she does best.
And if we happened to take a stroll by the nursery and caught a glimpse of the newborns?
Well, that would just purely be accidental.
“Why are there so many trucks in this town?” I barked rather loudly as I shoved the back door to the clinic open, my eyes still angry over being open so early in the morning.
It had been another late night for me.
Another sleepless night where I’d lain awake, filled with worry, guilt, and panic.
Had I made the right choice, moving here?
Could I do it all? Pay the bills, be a mom and a dad to Lizzie, and keep it all together after everything that had happened?
And then the guilt over my family had washed over me like a cherry on top of this whole messed up, emotional sundae I’d made.
Jake gave me a once-over before treading lightly. “Well, they’re practical. Like SUVs and Jeeps. No point in living on a sandy beach and trying to navigate dusty, unpaved roads in a sedan.”
I gave him a hard stare. “And I’ll just shut up now.”
He backed down, choosing to focus on the chart in his hand.
The rational side of me knew he was doing his best, deciding to answer me with a valid point.
But the irrational side that was running on fumes and a handful of Cheerios? That side wanted him to agree with me and say it was stupid just so I could vent about the jackass who had nearly run me off the road on my way here.
“If you want to take a break from shooting dangers at my head, I have coffee,” he said softly, taking a sheepish step toward a large thermos. “And pastries. Still warm.”
My eyes warmed slightly as he handed me a Danish. “Molly sends her love. She told me to say that.” He smiled. “Probably so I wouldn’t get all the credit.”
His joke made me laugh, and I took the Danish, feeling calmer already.
“Thank you,” I said before adding, “or I should say,Thank you, Molly.”
We sat in silence, eating the amazing pastries Jake’s wonderful fiancée had sent over, before his concerned expression turned back to me.
“You doing okay?” he asked.
I straightened, realizing whom I’d snapped at. Not just anyone, but my boss.
The man who held my future in his hands.
One nurse on this island.
Only one.
If I got fired, I would have to start all over again.
New town. New home. New school.
