30. Taylor

"On Halloween, fifty-five percent of E.R. visits are pumpkin carving related, and twenty-five percent are due to tripping on costumes." ~ Tim Rhodes

I closedthe door to my locker and headed out to the parking garage. Exhaustion pulled at me as I counted the minutes until I'd be home in my bed. From the time I clocked in eighteen hours ago, I hadn't had a moment to breathe.

Halloween, just like any holiday, was always one of the craziest nights in the E.R., and this year was no different. We'd had a half dozen or so pedestrians hit by cars, and another half dozen who were involved in drunk driving collisions. There was a vampire with alcohol poisoning. A clown whose wig caught on fire when he was trying to stick his head in a pumpkin that had a candle in it. A French maid who was inebriated and decided to race her friend down the street. She tripped and broke her right arm and left ankle. A four-year-old who had a large jelly bean stuck up in his nasal cavity. And a plethora of other costume-and-candy-related injuries.

Thankfully, there hadn't been any fatalities, and the night was nothing if not entertaining.

Normally, when I was at work, I shut off the other parts of my brain. I didn't think about Harper or anything else. I was one hundred percent focused on what I was doing. Tonight, however, despite the colorful characters and busy schedule, I hadn't been able to shut off my brain from the outside world. Specifically, Remi Rhodes dressed as Coach Taylor, and he had tattoos.

He was literally my fantasy come to life.

The man was like an earworm; but instead of a song, all I could do was replay every moment we'd shared together while trick-or-treating—every word we spoke, every look we exchanged, every touch we shared. It was on a constant loop.

There hadn't been a ton of interaction—an arm brush, a stolen glance—and once, he leaned down and whispered in my ear that my scrubs were inspiring more fantasies for him. Those words had been playing like a broken record in my head, and I couldn't shut it off.

Never in my life had my brain gotten the better of me. I was the Queen of Compartmentalization. So, the fact that, no matter what I did, I could not stop thinking about Remi was equal parts frustrating and infuriating.

If he were back in California, I'd be well on my way to detoxing him out of my system. But, at Harper's birthday, I got the impression that he planned on sticking around for a while. I didn't blame him. His mom needed support.

The question was, how long? How long was the man going to torment me? How long was I going to keep expecting to see him every time I opened my front door or came around the corner at the hospital?

Every day was like Groundhog Day. Remi was the first thing I thought about when I opened my eyes. I'd tell myself that was the one time I could think about him, and the rest of the day was a Remi-free zone. I would literally forbid him from entering my thoughts. I would banish him from my mind.

Inevitably, I would fail to keep him at bay within seconds. Everywhere I went, I caught myself hoping, wishing, looking for him. Then, when I wouldn't see him, I'd be disappointed, but I would lie to myself and say I was relieved. After the entire day, which was basically just a marathon of doing everything I could to stop myself from obsessing about him, I'd lay down on my pillow at night. He was the last thing I thought of as I drifted off. I'd wake up the next day, rinse, and repeat.

It was exhausting. This toxic cycle was unbearable, intolerable, and untenable. Something had to change. Something drastic. Shock therapy, maybe. A lobotomy. Hypnotherapy. I wasn't ruling out anything at this point.

"Taylor!"

When I heard my name, I turned around and saw Dr. Mathis coming toward me down the hall.

Over the past few weeks, he'd asked me out a half-dozen times. Hospitals were a breeding ground for hooking up, and even though people tried to keep it on the down low, everyone knew everyone's business, which was basically the same in Wishing Well.

Since I started at Valley Memorial, I hadn't heard any rumblings that Dr. Mathis was a player. If anything, I'd heard the opposite. He was constantly getting hit on by nurses, admin staff, EMTs, patients, and visitors, and he never seemed interested.

So, unless he was CIA-level at covering his tracks, he wasn't a fuckboy.

"Hi." I lifted my hand in a wave.

"Hey, are you just getting off?"

"I am. Yeah."

"Are you on tonight?"

"Nope." And I didn't have Harper, either. She was with Kane and Ruby tonight. It was the first night free I'd had since moving home, where I didn't have work or Harp.

"Do you want to grab a drink? I can come to you."

My instinct was to say no. But I knew if I did that, I'd end up staying at home and wondering what Remi was doing.

Was it fair to use Dr. Mathis as a distraction?

No, I decided. It wasn't.

"I'm really not in a place to start any sort of…anything." Usually, I was much more eloquent and capable of expressing myself. But last night, seeing Remi dressed as Tattooed Coach Taylor had thrown me completely off balance.

"Okay. Noted." He smiled before slowly repeating as he pretended to write down, "No sort of anything."

I grinned. He was actually funny, too. "I'm just… it's complicated."

"Does this complication have a name?"

"Yes." He has two, I thought.

"Are you in a relationship with?—"

"No," I quickly clarified. "No, it's nothing like that."

"Look, I get it. We all have pasts and complications. But I'd still love to grab a drink with you."

I'd put out my disclaimer; at this point, if he still wanted to take me out, that was on him. "Okay."

His smile widened. "You're in Wishing Well, right?"

I nodded. "Do you know The Tipsy Cow? I can meet you there at seven."

"I'd like to pick you up."

Picking up did signify it was more of a date, and he'd know where I lived, but it also meant I would be able to enjoy more than one cocktail without worrying about driving myself home.

"I'll text you the address," I agreed with a nod.

"Do you have my number?"

"It's on the directory."

"Right." His pager went off, and he started walking backward. "Okay, I'll see you tonight."

"See you tonight."

He turned, and I continued out to the parking garage and felt a little twinge of guilt. I was using the good doctor to distract me from Remi. It wasn't right. But I'd told him. Sort of. He was aware of a complication with a name. Well, technically, with two names.