Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

MACY

" D o you have kids?"

It's a question I get asked a lot.

I smile and coo at the tiny baby in my arms, all swaddled and warm, chubby cheeked and round eyed.

"No. Not yet." I hand the day-old infant to his mom while I get some cursory vitals and update her chart before I hand off to the next nurse on shift.

Bex:

where are you???

I shake my head, smiling at my phone.

Me:

just got off work I'll be there soon

Bex:

hurry up I miss you

Me:

you saw me this morning

Bex:

but I'm going to be moving out soon

and then I have to live with a boy

She sends me a string of crying emojis.

Me:

lol

I do not want to go to this party.

It's been a long day and I'm tired and hungry and, let's face it, cranky. I'd like to go home and shower the hospital away and stay in pajamas for the next seventy-two hours—I don't really have a home at the moment, but that's beside the point.

I'm staying with my boyfriend, Spencer, while I'm between places. He'd look down his nose through his wire-framed glasses at me if I stayed in pajamas for three days and ask if I was sick or something. So, that is also out of the question.

I do not want to go to this party— but I'd do anything for Bex.

After I've finished all my paperwork, I clock out and get showered and changed in the locker room.

A visual search of my locker yields no snacks, so I fish around in my scrubs. It's always in my left pocket—at least with the burgundy, blue, and teal scrubs. The purple ones, annoyingly, don't have a left pocket.

There it is—my granola bar. The chocolate chip one with peanuts and extra fiber. I already demolished the rest of my emergency snack stash today. I might have some honey cinnamon almonds left somewhere. I'd kill for an underripe banana and some peanut butter right now.

I don't usually let my snack stash get this low. I always have something in my pocket. It's essential in case I get stuck in a long delivery, or we have to rush a patient to the OR for an unexpected C-section. Not always getting a perfectly timed break is stressful, but if I can eat every few hours, I'm good. And with routine and keeping my food consistent, I don't have to check my blood sugar as often.

Rhonda waves at me from behind the head nurse's station as I pass.

"Oh, don't you look lovely," she says, which roughly translates to you don't look as frumpy as you normally do in your scrubs .

"Thanks!" I say, voice muffled, as my mouth is now full of the chocolate chip granola bar. I swallow quickly, trying not to wince as the sharp edges poke my throat on the way down.

She holds me hostage for a few minutes, showing me pictures of her granddaughter from the Fourth of July.

I look at the pictures of the toddler in a red, white, and blue outfit—running toward the camera, blurry; eating a cupcake, frosting on her face; crying while holding a sparkler—and comment on how much bigger she looks than in the last pictures I saw of her while wondering if I can take another bite of my granola bar without appearing rude.

My phone buzzes in my right pocket. I hope it's not Spencer. He knows I clocked out fifteen minutes ago, and I haven't called him yet.

"I'll see you next week," I say as I turn and check my phone before it stops buzzing. It's not Spencer.

"Hi, Mom."

"Macy, quick question—" She goes on to start describing a mole on her husband, Rick's, back. Except that they're not sure it is a mole, and it seems to be changing color.

I remind her that I'm a labor and delivery nurse, not a dermatologist. And she should have him go see one of those to have it checked out.

"I'll just send you a picture?—"

Oh lord. "Mom, please do not send me a picture."

"It's just that there's always such long waiting times to see doctors, and we need to make sure everything is okay before our trip. Don't want anything to keep us from enjoying the beach and sun in Aruba."

"You're going to Aruba?"

"Didn't I tell you? Rick's taking me to Aruba over Christmas."

"You didn't. Wait—you're going to be gone over Christmas?"

"Yes! We're so excited. I know you usually come visit for Christmas, but you'll be fine on your own, right?"

"Yeah," I say, trying to keep my voice light. "Of course I will be. I always am. I hope you guys have a fun time. Christmas is more than four months away. I'm positive you'll be able to get in to see someone."

"All right. Are you sure I can't send you a picture?"

I end the call after assuring her I'm not qualified to make a diagnosis, and take a seat on the Metro, exhausted.

Bex:

are you going to drink with me tonight???

I might or might not be already unsober

Me:

probably not

Bex:

but Wood brought SO much booze

Me:

Wood's there?

Bex:

Livvy and Noah are here, of course Wood is

Right. Bex's sister Livvy is not only dating Noah, but she's living with him and his roommate, Wood. Who also happens to be his cousin.

It's not that I don't like Wood. He's friendly and outgoing, if a bit of an aimless partier who lacks substance. He has lots of friends and is never lacking in female company. Everyone likes him. Everyone except Spencer, that is.

They have this weird rivalry that goes back to high school, and I'm already not looking forward to Spencer being all prickly when he finds out we'll be hanging out with Wood tonight.

Spencer! Shoot! I should call him.

The doors close and we lurch forward through the city. I hit number one on my speed dial.

"You're off late," he says in answer.

"Hi, babe. Sorry, I got a little distracted talking to Rhonda on my way out, and I had to shower and get ready for Bex and Jake's party."

"Oh, right. That."

"Did you forget?"

"I have too many important things to focus on in my days to try and remember trivial things, too. Have fun, though."

"Wait—you're not coming?"

"Why would I come to that?"

"I figured since he's your brother and all." It's still weird to me that Bex is dating Spencer's brother. Not as weird as them moving in together after seeing each other less than a month, but whatever.

"You know I don't like parties."

"I don't really like them, either, but?—"

"And I need to get my full eight hours of sleep. I have work tomorrow."

"You're right, yeah. I understand. It's just that I worked the last two nights, and I was looking forward to spending some time with you tonight."

"Well, you could be sensible and stay in with me, then."

"But I told Bex I would go?—"

"There you have it, then. And Macy—try not to be out too late or drink too much. Honestly, you probably shouldn't drink at all with your condition."

My stomach drops. I know how to manage my diabetes, but I also know he's just trying to look out for me . "Thanks for the reminder. Love you."

He ends the call.

Bex:

Wood brought stuff for blueberry mojitos

Me:

Fresh blueberries?

Bex:

yes

Me:

Okay, maybe I'll have ONE drink

Bex:

!!!!!!!!!!

So now I am here, at Bex and Jake's new place, alone, determined to have fun. The apartment is packed wall-to-wall with groups of twenty-somethings mingling and laughing and drinking. The music is loud.

I've been here one other time, when I came with Bex to see it before they put in their application. They haven't even moved in yet, so the place is still empty of all furniture.

It's a one bedroom, one bath without a ton of square footage, but that's what you get when you're in the heart of downtown Seattle. The main living space is open, at least, and the tall windows and small balcony with views out to the city make it feel larger.

It's ten o'clock on a Friday night and I'm at a house party, almost mingling with people. See, I'm fun. It is very people-y, though.

A bunch of people I don't know. There are a few whose faces are familiar. I've seen them around circles, co-workers of Bex's from the bar, but none I feel comfortable striking up a conversation with. I don't even remember their names.

Then, there's a "Woo!" from someone I recognize. It's Wood. Of course, he's got girls hanging off his arms and is filling red cups with beer between overflowing shot glasses with liquor.

I squint at the liquor bottle. It's Patron.

That tequila is a hundred bucks a bottle and half of it is splashed on the counter.

I cross my arms. Rich kids.

I mean, Spencer is a rich kid, too. Spencer and Wood went to the same prep school. They even went to the same university and pledged the same fraternity—both encouraged by their legacy fathers, I'm sure.

So many similarities, but also so different.

Spencer worked hard, became a surgeon. I don't even know what Wood does all day. He doesn't have a job as far as I can tell. Almost twenty-seven, and he's still reliving his frat years, going out every week, drinking, partying, sleeping around.

At least he's nice, though. He makes it impossible for you to dislike him, which is kind of annoying.

Wood turns and I see Noah behind him, sitting in the back corner against the wall, half in shadow with a drink, covered in tattoos from his throat to his fingers. Basically, everywhere but his face, which is usually sporting a mean scowl. I think the only reason he's not scowling is because Livvy is sitting on his lap.

Bex's little sister is so smart and sweet, her being with a guy who looks like a tattooed demon is jarring. Unexpected. But it's none of my business. Besides, if he messes up he'll have to answer to Bex. I don't envy him being in that position at all.

It only takes a second to spot my best friend. Bex is in the middle of the room—obviously. It's her party, and she's never been the type to shy away from being the center of attention.

She's next to Spencer's brother, Jake, his arm around her while she waves her drink around and laughs before she spots me.

"Mace! Oh my god, I didn't think you were going to make it!" She runs over to me with her arms out and squeezes me.

"I told you I was coming."

"Come on, come on. We were just about to make the announcement!" She pulls me into the living room, which draws everyone's attention to me. Including Wood's.

He looks over his shoulder from where he's talking in a group of people—mostly female admirers—and his face lights up in a big smile when he sees me. One that starts off lopsided then spreads to show off all his straight, white teeth and two matching dimples.

Yet another annoying thing about him—how handsome he is. Annoying because he knows exactly how handsome he is. Annoying because he uses it—amongst other things—to cruise through life and get whatever he wants.

And now he's walking over here, because of course he is. All six-foot of him. Blond and blue-eyed in dark jeans and a white T-shirt that shows off his tanned biceps.

So annoying.

"Girl! I didn't know you were coming. Get in here." He opens his arm and moves in for a side hug. He normally sticks with high fives but the scent of tequila on his breath is strong, his inhibitions out the window.

"Wood," I say with a tight-lipped smile.

He puts his arm around my shoulder, and I pat his back a couple times. Is that weird? Should I have not patted at all? Should I keep patting?

Wood squeezes my shoulder with a warm hand before stepping back.

"Can I get you something to drink? We have everything—beer, wine, whiskey, vodka, tequila, rum—and all kinds of mixers. If there's something you want we don't have, I'll order it in."

"Oh, um."

Bex mentioned mojitos, but those are kind of a pain to make—the muddling and all that. I don't want to impose on anyone.

Wine is usually a safe bet, but then I have to decide if I'm having one glass or two. No one else seems to be drinking wine—it's beer and hard alcohol. I don't want him to open a bottle just for me. But mixers are so sugary—soda is out, juice is out. Shots are easy. But also easy to get drunk, and I'm not planning on getting drunk.

Getting drunk isn't a good idea. I end up having more than I plan, losing track of my counts, forgetting to go check my blood sugar.

Spencer was right. I really shouldn't drink at all.

"No thanks. I'm good."

"Okay. Do you want to…dance?"

With him? The idea of dancing with Wood is laughable, and I can't help the little laugh that escapes. He looks down, the playful grin on his face gone. I guess he wasn't making a joke.

"No," I say. "I don't dance."

"Right." He looks up and nods. "Can I at least get you some water or a snack?"

"Sure, I'll take some water. Thanks."

Wood winks and shoots me finger guns saying, "You got it," while shimmying backward toward the kitchen.

The music cuts out and there's a high-pitched clanking of glass, directing everyone to where Bex is standing barefoot on the coffee table—one of about three pieces of furniture in the whole place.

She wobbles a little, her long blonde hair falling in waves over her shoulders. Jake stands next to her, hands on her waist to steady her. He's a younger version of Spencer—same dark hair and straight, symmetrical features, he's just a little looser. It's hard to put my finger on it. He smiles more, doesn't stand as rigidly, I guess.

Bex clears her throat. "Hi everyone! We're so glad you are all here. We love you so much. Jake and I have some news we want to share! Here, babe, take this." She takes a sip of her drink, almost spilling it, then hands it down to Jake.

Then she holds up her hand, proudly showing off the huge diamond ring on her left finger.

"I said yes!"