Page 81 of Undeniably Enemies

I walk past her and open the curtain and glass door.

“Jack?”

I pause and wait.

“I really am sorry.”

“You did good in there, Wren, and you learned how to do it better for next time.”

With that, I walk out. Tomorrow is my interview for chief, and that’s what I need to focus on. Not the woman who somehow has managed to flip my entire world upside down.

24

“Ifeel like I haven’t talked to you in ages. How was today?” my mom asks through my AirPods, her voice a little distracted since I know she’s making dinner.

How was my day? Awful. Weird. Emotional.

“It was great,” I tell her because my mother is a worrier, and it’s not good for her epilepsy. She hadn’t had a seizure in years, and the night I went into the hospital after I was attacked, she had one. Needless to say, she does not know about my fours, and she thinks I’m gumdrops and rainbows every day of the week and twice on Sunday. But since today is Wednesday, I throw a little extra pep into my voice to really sell it.

I’m in the gourmet shop around the corner from my apartment, picking up a few supplies I’ve run out of because after watching all those college kids with their burns and drugs and alcohol poisoning and after avoiding Jack all week, having him yell at me only to hug me like he was going to die if he didn’t, I need a distraction. Because I wanted to hug him back. Fiercely. I wanted to tilt my chin and let him kiss me the way I could tell he wanted to. Plus, one of the asshole drunk dudes pinched my ass and then my boob, whichis totally uncool.

And I haven’t had any time for baking this week, so I’m going all in.

It’s a good way to test recipes for Thanksgiving which is next month. Or at least that’s my excuse. Baking, like the number four, is consistent and precise. It’s also soothing because it’s both of those things, and I get to eat all the goodies after I make them.

“So the ER is good? I haven’t had a chance to come down and see you. Not that I would,” she quickly amends because no one wants their mother, who works in the same hospital, to come down and visit them at work. It’s not a good look for the adult in me and definitely not something I want to have to explain to the other med students, who already think I’m the favorite because of Callan and Layla being there. “Layla told me all good things about you.”

She clearly didn’t speak to Jack.

“Overall, it’s going great. I love the ER.”

“It’s not weird for you to be working there?”

“You keep asking me that.”

“I keep waiting for you to be honest.”

That gives me a moment of pause. “I am honest. I don’t think about it when I walk into the trauma rooms. I’m fine, Mom. This is all part of healing.” Which it is. I truly believe that, and every time I walk into that ER, I feel stronger for it. I can’t control what someone did to me, but I can control how I choose to fight back, and living my best life and helping others who endure something similar to what I went through is my fuck you to him.

I pick up a large sack of sugar and drop it in my cart. Definitely gonna need that bad boy.

“Fine. I won’t push it. You have a long way to go.” A pause. “Where are you, and why do I hear Christmas music?”

“Right?!” I exclaim. “Halloween is tomorrow! I’m in Bakers and Butchers.”

“Oh, what are you making, and when will you bring me some?”

I smile. I get my sweet tooth from my mother. My stubbornness and short temper from my father. Genetics. What can you do?

“I’m thinking kitchen sink cookies, and maybe I’ll test out a new recipe for pumpkin rolls.”

She groans. “I’m so glad I had you. Have I mentioned that today?”

I snicker. “No. Only yesterday and the day before that, but those were via text, so they don’t count.”

“Damn. I knew I was forgetting something. Oh, your father is home. Say hi.”

“Hi, Dad,” I singsong, grabbing some pumpkin puree and dark brown sugar and placing them in my cart.

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