Page 40 of Love Medley (Med Wreck Romance #1)

Chapter thirty

Lucy

I had sex with Jake Whitlock in a call room. Who is this bold new Lucy? A few weeks ago, I would never have dared to imagine such a scenario.

But now?

I’m having a blast exploring what feels good to me while also feeling safe. Best of both worlds.

Not only that, but I had sex without a condom. Weston always wanted to have sex without one, but for some reason, that was a line I never let him cross.

Maybe the only one.

I guess deep down I never trusted him completely, and that was my one holdout. My one way to resist.

But Jake? I never hesitated—I only craved being closer.

I trust him implicitly. He’s treated me with more care in the past couple of weeks than Weston did over our entire relationship.

Every day I was with Weston, I was cutting away a little piece of my soul.

With Jake, I’m beginning to stitch myself together.

I feel so secure with him. I’m pretty sure that’s why I’ve had three orgasms within a 24-hour period—another first for me. Guys don’t need much to come, but women? I believe our minds have to be just as in tune with the act as our bodies. Because I’ve been able to let go mentally, so has my body.

And what's even more absurd to me is that I still hunger for more.

For once, I’m not scared to try new things; Jake brings out my adventurous side. Is this really a new me, or a version of myself that I buried years ago?

Jake's shift ends soon after our time in the call room, and the vacuum he leaves behind is vast. Thankfully, the ER is busy tonight. If it weren’t, I’d be left alone with this strange feeling in my chest—this restless excitement.

Like I’m ready for something more. Whatever that looks like.

As I enter my apartment after my shift ends, exhausted, my phone pings with a text from Jake. Seeing his name light up the screen brings an immediate smile to my face.

Jake: I miss you, beautiful. Apparently, a few hours is way too long to be apart.

Me: I miss you too.

Jake: Would you be interested in hanging out with my friends?

I’m not sure why this hits me so hard. This man is opening up his world to me, and he shows it in every word and action. I never wonder what he’s thinking or feeling—I trust he’ll tell me one way or another.

I giggle to myself. Maybe even in song.

Me: Yes, please!

Jake: You available Saturday night?

Me: Definitely. What are we doing?

Jake: It’s a surprise.

For a second, I wonder if I should be apprehensive about this “surprise.” But then again, this is Jake. He’s never given me reason to worry yet. And I’m dying to meet his friends, particularly the elusive Trix .

As I take a steaming shower, I imagine Jake’s hands all over my body. I’m flushing more from the heat of my thoughts than the shower.

I don’t usually touch myself—maybe this has to do with how tense I’ve been for the past two years.

Closing my eyes, I reach between my legs.

I let myself sink into the memory of Jake's hands, his mouth, his voice.

For the first time in years, I'm not ashamed of wanting.

I let out an involuntary moan, as I flick my sensitive nub back and forth faster and faster, picturing Jake sinking deeply into me.

My body starts to shake as my orgasm starts to climb.

“Ohhhhh,” I grit out as my thighs clench around my hand, plunging me over the precipice. Shuddering, I lean against the wall of the shower, letting my heart rate slow, while the hot water continues to sluice over my body.

I’m surprised by how much I enjoyed the release. Of course I love doing this with Jake more, but at the same time? There’s something extremely empowering about the fact I can get myself off.

After I towel off and pull on some sweats, I feel languid and relaxed. I debate texting Jake again—maybe see if he wants to come over.

But then my computer rings, alerting me to a Zoom call.

It’s my mom.

My shoulders immediately hunch up and my neck feels tight. I really, really don’t want to answer.

Of course it’s her. I’ve been dodging her calls so I wouldn’t have to tell her I broke up with Weston. For months now, I’ve only texted her about Peter and how he’s doing. I’ve completely sidestepped any comments about Weston.

I just couldn’t bear for her to be disappointed in me again.

But whether I like it or not, it’s time.

I click “accept.”

“Hello?” my mom immediately answers, her weary face appearing on my screen.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, and try to sound upbeat.

“I haven’t talked to you for a while, Lucy-ah.”

Her addition of the “ah” syllable reverts me back to childhood in an instant.

To the obedient and good daughter that I’ve always been.

Because my mom is second-generation Chinese-American and doesn’t know how to speak Mandarin, this was the only verbal acknowledgement of my Asian ancestry in my childhood.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been really busy with school.” And Jake, but I don’t mention him.

“I’m glad you’re studying hard. I hope you’re taking some time off with that handsome boyfriend of yours.”

Wow. It only took one minute for her to launch right into Weston-adoration. I steel myself. I’ve been putting off so many things after the breakup, and now I need to confront some of them. “Mom, Weston and I broke up.”

On screen, my mom’s mouth drops open. “What? Why would you break up? You two are perfect for each other!”

I clench my fists off-screen, attempting to keep my facial features calm. I hate letting my mom down—she’s had enough of that from Peter. My parents have never been hard on me, but part of me wonders if that’s because I’ve always done what they told me to, so there were no conflicts.

“It wasn’t a good relationship.”

Stay strong, I tell myself. I’m not going to get back together with Weston just to please my parents.

“What do you mean, it wasn’t a good relationship?” my mom persists.

I can barely get the next words out. “We… fought a lot. He scared me, Mom. He broke a bunch of my things. I thought during one of my fights he was going to hit me, and I had to hide in the bathroom.”

“What did you do to make him so angry?”

And this is what it feels like—not being seen. How quickly I've forgotten… because Jake's always seen me.

“Mom, isn’t it enough that he treated me like this?”

“What?” Her mouth flattens. “How many times has your brother broken things? That doesn’t mean we just give up on him.”

Why is this so hard? With Jake, it’s so easy.

“Mom, that’s family. That’s different.”

“Remember, you don’t always have the best decision-making skills.”

She’s bringing this up? The memory that I've tried so hard to suppress comes flooding into my mind. Red and blue flashing lights. Steam rising into the air. The smell of burning exhaust. Peter refusing to look at me as I wept .

“I know, Mom.” I want to scrub my face, but that will just place more attention on the tears welling in my eyes.

“Have you heard from Peter?”

One hard topic to the next, I guess. “I haven’t. But I thought the rehab doesn’t encourage any contact for the first bit as people dry out?”

“That’s over. He’s detoxed already. You should know this already.”

Oh no, really? As I count back in my head, I realize my mom’s right. For once, I haven’t been focusing on my family’s needs. I’ve been distracted by my own drama.

And Jake.

Shame coils in my chest, tight and unrelenting.

“What’s wrong with you? This isn’t like you! You always call on a regular basis to make sure we’re all okay. We need you, remember. Other than school, this is your biggest responsibility.”

My mom is the master of the guilt trip. And she’s really good at it.

“You’re right, Mom,” I sigh. “I’ve tried calling and texting several times, but I could have done more. I’m sorry.”

“And get back together with Weston. I’m sure he’ll take you back. Everyone has fights. Just make up and move on.”

I make a humming noise to bypass actual agreement and exchange a quick goodbye before ending the Zoom call.

Why did I think I was free to direct my own life?

Apparently, that was only a beautiful illusion .

And if my mom is stuck on my getting back together with Weston, how does my new relationship with Jake even stand a chance? With a sinking sensation in my gut, I realize the likelihood of her approving my being with Jake is close to nil.

And if that’s the case, would I have the strength to directly go against her wishes?

I never have before, and I don’t see it happening any time soon.

Then I start spiraling because that’s not my only issue. My mom’s right—I don’t have the greatest track record when it comes to decisions. Peter. Weston. The accident. Every time I trusted myself, someone got hurt. What if I’m wrong again? What if I’m wrong about Jake?

How can I ever trust myself to choose the right person for myself when the one time I did it, I failed miserably?

And God, what does all of this mean for me and Jake?

But I don’t have time to ponder this any more because I have my meeting with Dr. Simons.

Dr. Simons’ office is clean and organized, with several bookshelves against the walls, which appeals to my inner neat freak.

I’d like to have a corner office like she does one day—the windows on two sides remind me of how I relish light in my personal space.

There’s a small round table in the center of the room, and she’s sitting in one of the chairs. She rises to shake my hand .

“Thanks for meeting with me,” I say, as we both take a seat at the table. I pull out a notebook and pen. My head is pounding from the conversation with my mom, but I try to focus the best I can.

I’ve done this before. Just shut down all my feelings and put them in a box.

Only think about work and getting through the day.

“Of course,” Dr. Simons says. “I’m very excited about this project you proposed.”

“When I sent you that first email, I didn’t realize I would have to start the project from scratch,” I admit. “It’s a bit intimidating.”

“I know,” Dr. Simons says. “But I’ll guide you through everything. First, you need to do some ethics training for patient-oriented research, which will take you a little while. Second, you need to do some literature searches to narrow down your scope. Third, we need to apply for an IRB.”

“What’s an IRB?” I ask.

“An IRB is an Institutional Review Board that makes sure we aren’t infringing on patients’ rights, and we aren’t taking advantage of them. We also need to get consent from the patients for them to be put in the study. We’ll inform participants about the study and what their role is.”

I vaguely remember the term now from an ethics course during our first year. “Okay. Do I need to decide now?”

“That’s a good question. A project of this magnitude will require quite a bit of time, so that should go into your decision.

If you want to proceed, you should free up some space in the second half of the year so you can work solely on this.

Of course, I’ll be happy to sign off on any schedule changes.

Would that be something you would be open to? ”

I think about it. “I’ll be interviewing for residency in the middle of the year.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Before we begin enrolling patients, all your work will be online, so you can work from anywhere.”

“I’ve already looked up some studies on Pubmed,” I say.

Dr. Simons smiles. “Great. What did you find out?”

“While there isn’t really anything on the adult side, I found some studies on child abuse. There was a validated screen created a couple of years ago in a pediatric ER. Maybe we could adapt that screen for adults.”

“That’s a terrific idea,” Dr. Simons says. “Feel free to take more time to decide, but it sounds like you'd like to work on this?”

What do I want? There are so many things I don’t know right now—how to deal with my mom and Peter. How to break free of Weston’s toxic influence that still lingers. How I’m going to keep Jake in my life.

But in this instance, I know what I want.

I want to help others escape their own bad situations like I was lucky to do.

Making a decision now is impulsive—but is that tendency always such a bad thing?

If I spent time thinking about it, I’d likely work myself into a frenzy thinking of all the pros and cons.

Maybe making these quick spur-of-the-moment decisions is my way of being brave.

With that thought, I take another leap.

“Yes. I definitely do. ”

“I’m so glad. I’m really looking forward to working with you.

I’ll send you the link for the ethics training and some example IRBs so you can start drafting one for this project.

Why don’t we meet up in a week or two to see where you are?

I’m sure you’ll have lots of questions as you go through this process, and I don’t want you to get frustrated. ”

Hah. Little does she know that this project is the least stressful thing on my plate. It’s true I have a lot on my mind. My mom is firmly on Team Weston, and I don’t know what in the world is going on with Peter.

And what about me and Jake? Every time I’m with him, everything feels perfect.

But can I trust myself to know for sure, especially with my track record?

Or am I just getting swept up by the romance of it all, the excitement of something new?

A wave of dread rolls over me at the possibility that maybe Jake and I aren’t meant to be.

He’s an incredible guy that deserves someone who is one-hundred percent sure about him, and with all the pressure on me right now, I’m not positive I can be.

In the blink of an eye, I feel like I’m moving backwards after all the progress I’ve made this week.

The thought of Jake and me not being a sure thing anymore—it’s devastating.

I’m desperate to cling to one thing that I know for sure. School is safe. I’m good at it. That even predates Weston.

This project is the one thing I can control. And for now, that has to be enough.