Page 36 of So Wrong It's Right

Chapter Fourteen

Christopher

Tuesday is nearly over, thankfully. I can’t figure out what the hell I’m trying to do. I don’t want to be Stella’s fake boyfriend. Yet every time I think she’s going to end the charade, this man I don’t know inside me, I’m calling him Mr. Hyde, freaks out and starts kissing my receptionist.

This day has been an interminably long one. I had to visit the home of a cat hoarder with law enforcement today and make some very tough decisions. Stella is working overtime trying to line up homes for a litter of kittens that I’m not sure are going to make it. We’re both emotionally drained, which has made pretending to be in love even more difficult because it hasn’t felt like pretending. Working together felt right today. Leaning on her for support when we came across the remains of seven cats and facing the overwhelming sadness and anguish from the owner when we removed all her animals...I don’t know that I could have handled it without Stella at my side.

I’m hoping a good night of sleep will fix some of this angst. I’m making notes for tomorrow when a sparkle on the paper catches my eye. I twist the paper in the light. The ink is blue, but glittery. I toss the pen, grab another. Same thing.

On the corner of my desk is the basket of colored gel pens collected from all around the office. She’d contritely brought them in earlier claiming she’d done just as I asked and replaced all the pens in the office with black and blue. Just like I ordered. I can only assume that every black and blue pen in this clinic is now a glitter pen of some kind. But the blue and black I asked for.

She doesn’t care about my blood pressure at all. She really doesn’t.

My phone vibrates. A notification from eMatch. I don’t know why I hesitate to open it. Stella is not really my girlfriend. We are not exclusive. We are not real. It’s not cheating.

I skim the message from Melissa, a woman I’ve talked to before. She’s attractive. Works in finance. Runs in marathons. And wants to get a drink the weekend after this one.

The weekend after Megan’s wedding.

I’ll be free by then. Free to date. Free of the farce.

I compose a message. Delete it. Start another. Truth is, I can’t muster enough enthusiasm to commit to a drink with an attractive, reasonable woman who is looking for the same things in life that I am. And that’s all Stella’s fault.

“Doctor!” Stella yells from the reception area.

My muscles stiffen, hyper-focused on the distress in her voice.Don’t panic. But it’s too late. Cold sweat seems to open all my pores at once and I vault across my desk.

The idea of her in danger, suffering anything at all, has amped up my adrenaline to eleven.Please, be okay.

When I get out to reception, Stella is fine, but Rusty, a golden retriever, and his family are not. Rusty has been hit by a car. The driver and dog owner, Mr. Briggs, is white as a ghost. His wife has a baby in one arm and her inconsolable daughter clutched to her other hip. Stella is ushering them to the comfortable couch and doing what she does so well so I can take over.

I have to hide the fact that I have the shakes. That I’m on high alert. That somehow, I’ve become so mindful of Stella that the mere suggestion that she needs me turns my fight-or-flight response intofight, fight, fight.

A now cold sweat coats my back, but my doctor instincts rise back to the surface so I can assess the situation coolly. Rusty is still conscious and not losing any blood externally. I take him to the back to stabilize him. Set his leg. Tell him he’s a lucky bastard the driver had been backing out of their driveway slowly.

“Good boy,” I tell him.

When I look into the dog’s eyes, I know I’m doing what I am meant to do.

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