17. Cassidy

cassidy

. . .

“ D id you hear? The ER had all of the fun tonight,” Lucy swoons in longing.

Combing through two new patient charts, I grumble, “What are you going on about?”

“There was someone brought in from the fire clean up. Nothing crazy, just a broken ankle, maybe a fibula. They have all the fun down there.”

“Fire?” I pause, setting down the chart.

“Exciting, right? Yeah, it beats how slow today has been. Am I right?”

I pull out my phone which is normally on vibrate. I must’ve accidentally set it to silent, finding a text from Travis.

Travis

Peg capture coming from the tire clean up. Cake is sure ready for Kim.

Peg capture? Cake ?

It takes me a moment to decipher what has to be the worst autocorrect in the history of time and message him back.

Leg fracture?

I heard someone came in from the fire. Is it you? Are you okay?

My knee bounces for several minutes while I wait on a reply. When there’s no answer, I call him, but it only reaches his voicemail. I double check the time it was sent; two hours ago. “Fuck,” I mutter, but it’s loud enough for Lucy to hear.

“What’s wrong? Is dinner late?”

“Dinner?” I frown up at her. “No. Why would you say that?”

“Because you’ve had dinner delivered all week, or at least every shift we’ve worked together. It’s slow. Do you want to take a break and— Just kidding! There it is!”

A man with a brown handle bag that has stickers from a delivery service approaches. “I have an order for Cassidy Rogers.”

“That’s me,” I answer, though I still have no idea who has been sending me dinner. He sets it on the counter, snaps a photo for proof of delivery, then rushes off. There’s no receipt attached to the bag; I peer inside, finding a burrito. “Hello, little friend. Who sent you?” Talking to Mexican food is probably the lowest of lows. Yet, here we are.

“Oof, who is he? I don’t recognize him as one of the dads,” Lucy muses.

“Who?” I glance up, finding Zack walking toward us. “Oh. Shit. He’s the burrito man.” I didn’t mean to say it aloud, but my filter is all fucked up today .

“Hi there,” she flirts. “Are you lost, sir?”

He pierces me with his bright blue eyes. “No, I’m actually here to see Cass.”

Shit, fuck, shit!

Why is he here?

“Hmm.” Lucy dramatically sips the water from her handled metal cup. “Well, this got interesting. Oh, would you look at the time!” Lucy doesn’t glance at her watch or the clock, and I have to stifle a laugh. “I have to do a quick round. Toodles!” Like lightning, she’s gone from the nurse station to pretend to work for three minutes before she starts her actual round with patients.

Fuck!

“Hey.” It’s the only word I can manage. I can’t bring myself to ask if he’s the one sending me the mystery dinners. If I’m wrong, it’ll be embarrassing for both of us. Also, why the fuck is he here?

“Hey.” Zack stuffs his hands in his pocket and rocks back on his heels. “I was visiting a friend and thought I would come say hello.”

I swallow hard. “Yeah, um, visitor hours ended a few hours ago, except for immediate family. Is everything okay?”

“I hope so, but they’ve already been discharged.” He rubs the back of his neck, like when Travis nervously does it, making guilt seep in. “Can we talk?”

“This is a really bad time, I?—”

“Please?”

Willing back my tears and unable to face him trying to propose again, I’m tempted to use work as the perfect excuse to get out of it. Before I have a chance, Lucy peeks her head around the corner and announces, “All’s well! You need a quick break? I’ve got you.” I’m in hell. I’ve sinned enough that heaven said, “Nope!” and here I am in purgatory. “Why don’t you take a walk outside? It’s a beautiful night, the moon is full, and?—”

“Thanks, Lucy,” I grit out, then take a deep breath. “She’s right, I can spare a few minutes.”

Zack and I walk outside in silence and take a seat on one of the benches. “I’m sorry,” I rush out.

At the same time, he admits, “I’m a father.”

“What? Did you just say you’re a father? ”

“Yeah. I didn’t know, until she messaged me.”

I rub my hands down my face. “How old is your child?”

“She just had the baby a few days ago.”

“A few days ago? I’m sorry, but the math isn’t mathing here, Zack. That would mean you knocked her up about nine months ago, technically ten if you want to bring conception into the equation. We were dating ten months ago.”

“That’s why I wanted to apologize.” I’m not sad, or mad. I’m numb and double over in laughter to avoid anything that could resemble real feelings. I’m laughing long enough that even he chuckles. “What’s so funny?”

“You fucked another woman while we were exclusive. We’re not together anymore, so I don’t need an apology, she does.”

Zack places his hand on mine. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, and when you mentioned you had a crush on your brother’s best friend, I figured we were even and?— ”

“Even? I’m sorry, can we back up a little? Here’s how I remember it—I never touched Travis. I told you everything that happened, and you told me you still wanted to marry me. I gave you back your ring and told you I needed space to figure things out. And now you’re telling me that we’re even after you admit you knocked someone up? Are you fucking joking?” I let out a humorless laugh. “Come on, Zack.”

“We’re even,” he insists. “We can still get married. You’d be an amazing stepmom, and?—”

“No, nope , we are not doing this.”

As I stand, he adds, “She named him Caleb. Isn’t that a sign?”

“Caleb.” The name comes out breathless, quieter than a whisper.

Room six.

“No.” I swallow hard. “No. Don’t you dare even look at that woman unless you’re in couples therapy.”

“What are you?—”

“Promise me,” I bark. “You don’t talk to her unless you’re both in therapy, understood?”

“Cass, I don’t under?—”

“Therapy, Zack. That woman deserves more than empty promises, and I sure as hell hope you’re not going to recycle the ring you gave me.”

“I’d never.”

“Good,” I snap and turn on my heel to march back inside, well aware that I am moments away from breaking all sorts of laws if I stay. As I pass the nurse station, Lucy says something to me, but I brush her off with, “Give me ten.” I don’t make it to the bathroom, finding the closest storage closet, swiping my ID for entry and rushing inside. The door clicks, and I crumple the floor, setting a timer for my emotional breakdown.

Ten minutes.