Page 2 of Resisting You

Cole gave him a flat look. “Is that supposed to be a punishment?”

“I hate you,” Frey said. But Cole was right. Maybe Renato would have been embarrassed, but it would have been a treat for everyone else. For an older man, the man had an ass he could bounce a quarter off. And as much as he hated him, Frey didn’t mind watching him walk away.

He was painfully single and hadn’t had sex in five years, sue him.

Cole dropped down to a chair and kicked his feet up on the empty seat. “Have you considered that you’re tired and you put the little filter in wrong?”

“I considered that I set this up right before I visited my guy in six, and it was fine then. Then I saw that dick-weasel walking out of here, and somehow, my perfectly prepped coffee is now sludge,” Frey said, crossing his arms.

Cole rolled his eyes. “Well. He has been in a mood today.”

Which was par for the course when it came to Dr. Agosti. The man was a walking nightmare. He didn’t have the worst bedside manner, and he was one of the region’s best orthopedic surgeons, but he had a reputation for making all the residents cry. Hell, it was something Frey had heard him bragging about his first week in ortho.

What kind of monster did that?

That was when he started keeping a diary of all the things he’d heard Renato say during surgery. He did dramatic readings for the guys in his Single Dad Club on pub nights. It was great entertainment, but he still didn’t understand how one man could be such a monster.

Or why that monster was so bound and determined to make Frey’s life miserable. It wasn’t like he was a bad nurse. He was damn good at his job, and patients loved him. So did the rest of the staff.

But then again, he wasn’t sure what he expected from the person who got off on crushing the spirits of future surgeons who were just trying their best.

Frey rubbed his hands down his face and fought back a groan as he realized he was due back on the floor and he wasn’t getting his caffeine fix. He had two hours until lunch. It was going to be hell on Earth.

“Tell me he’s gone,” Frey said, walking back to the sink to wash his hands.

Cole laughed. “He’s back at his office. But you’ve got a BTK at twelve and…”

“Don’t tell me,” Frey begged. Because he knew. At this point, if his life wasn’t secretly being filmed for a prank show, he was pretty sure he was cursed.

Yep, he was cursed. He was definitely and totally cursed. At the moment, he wasn’t fired, but things had gone from bad to worse on his shift, and now Frey had to go home and pretend like everything was fine. It was something he was well practiced at, but there was an ache in the pit of his stomach because after a day like today, he wanted to come home to someone who cared. Someone who wanted to be there.

And right then, he had no one.

Renato was definitely coming after him. It wasn’t just the coffee, but that had been the start to Frey’s absolute shitshow of a shift, and he was hoping he could have a few minutes before he had to start thinking. And panicking about what he’d do if he went in tomorrow and realized that Renato had gotten his way and Frey was let go.

He shuffled through his front door, wanting nothing more than to collapse on his couch face-first and scream until he went hoarse. Which he probably could have done without upsetting anyone, considering his son was Deaf, and so was the man sitting in his recliner.

But he was pretty sure falling face-first on his furniture in front of Oz and Rex would cause some questions, and he had no answers to give. He didn’t want to admit to anyone how close he was to losing it. He had zero plans of quitting his job, of course. Rex would need to have his heart monitored for any lingering issues until he was an adult, and he couldn’t afford any kind of pay cut since insurance didn’t cover much of what Rex needed when it came to at-home accommodations.

Hell, he was still paying off the hearing aids he’d gotten his kid when he was three, not to mention the yearly—and sometimes twice a year—new earmolds for his son’s growing body.

No, he’d just have to suck it up and deal with Dr. Douche. And continue to dish out a little of his own revenge against him whenever he got the chance. Like the week before and cutting holes in all of Renato’s socks. He’d heard Renato’s frustrated rant, and it had brought him at least a little joy in his otherwise monotonous day.

Oz lifted both brows and raised a hand to his chest, dragging his middle finger up toward his collarbone. ‘What’s up?’

Frey flopped a lazy hand at him as he sank onto his couch and kicked his leg up on his coffee table. God, his mother would have smacked his ankle with a spoon if she’d seen him do that. ‘Nothing. Long day.’ His signs were getting better—flowing with a little more ease now that Oz was hanging out a bit more often and Frey had someone older than six to sign with.

Frey had signed his son up for a Deaf mentor program at his school the year before. He’d been a little freaked-out about the idea of some grown adult spending time alone with his son, but watching Rex flourish in his own identity—embracing his language and a culture that Frey wouldn’t ever fully understand gave him some peace of mind he didn’t realize he’d needed.

And peace was something he hadn’t been sure he was going to get after his marriage fell apart.

‘It’s Dr. Dickhead, isn’t it?’ Oz asked, keeping his hands shielded from Rex.

Eventually his son would be a tween and learn how to swear with the best of them, but for all that Frey was a trash-mouth, he was hoping he had a few years before his son picked up on his bad habits.

Frey pressed his hands to his face and let out a long groan before dropping them and giving Oz a look. ‘Remind me why going to jail is a bad idea?’

Oz just flicked his gaze over at Rex, and Frey rolled his eyes.

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