No one had to know
901 Words
Avery:
Coffee in one hand, sad little lunch I was never gonna eat in the other.
Same as every damn day.
The automatic doors whooshed open, blasting me with that familiar smell of bleach and desperation.
"Jesus, Ave," Nora said, catching sight of me at the nurses' station. "You look like shit."
I offered her a half-hearted smile.
"Thanks, Nor. You really know how to brighten a girl’s day, honey bun."
She laughed, tossing her blonde braid over her shoulder.
"Late night?"
I shrugged, muttering something about not sleeping.
Because, yeah.
That was one way to put it.
The real answer?
I couldn't get him out of my head.
Cruz.
The reckless, reckless decision I'd made to drive a stranger to a bar.
To sit across from him while he watched me drink, like he was memorizing me for later.
Like I was a snack he was planning to come back for later.
The way his eyes had pinned me in place — dark and unreadable, full of silent promises I was terrified I might want.
All night I’d tossed and turned, the sheets too hot, the wine not strong enough to dull the edge.
Every time a motorcycle rumbled past my street — and apparently, there were a lot more than I ever noticed before — my heart punched against my ribs like it wanted out.
It’s not him.
It couldn’t be.
He didn’t know where I lived.
Right?
Work helped.
A little.
I threw myself into the mindless rhythm of it — vital signs, charts, IV bags.
Smile for the patients.
Nod at the doctors.
Pretend I wasn’t scanning every face that came through the ER doors, searching for him.
Looking for dark eyes and a cocky grin and tattoos peeking under sleeves.
But he wasn’t there.
He still wasn’t there today.
Good.
I should feel relieved.
I should feel normal.
Instead, there was this hollow pit in my stomach — this stupid, pathetic ache that gnawed at me.
By some miracle, it wasn’t a bad day.
The ER stayed quiet, steady, manageable.
No adrenaline crashes, no chaos.
For once, I got off on time.
Stripped out of my scrubs, dragging a plain tee shirt over my head in the locker room, my hair in a sad messy bun.
Wine.
Home.
Bed.
That was the plan.
Nothing else.
Definitely not checking the parking lot like some skittish rabbit.
Definitely not hoping for a flash of chrome or the growl of a bike engine.
Get a f*****g grip, Avery.
My townhouse was silent when I pulled up.
The porch light flickered once when I unlocked the door, reminding me I needed to call maintenance.
I double-checked the locks.
Triple-checked.
Kicked my shoes off, dumped my sad lunch on the counter, grabbed the bottle of wine and a glass — no, f**k it, straight from the bottle — and collapsed onto the couch.
The TV droned in the background — something mindless and bright.
Too loud, too fake.
I stared at the ceiling.
What the hell am I doing?
I was supposed to feel accomplished.
Strong.
Unstoppable.
Instead, I felt small.
Invisible.
Disposable.
And somewhere out there was a man who looked at me like he could see me.
Like he wanted to devour me.
God, what the hell was wrong with me?
I chugged another mouthful of wine, cursing myself, cursing him, cursing every bad decision that brought me to this moment.
And that’s when I heard it.
Low.
Rumbling.
The unmistakable growl of a motorcycle somewhere close.
My heart launched itself straight into my throat.
No. No, no. It's not him.
It’s just some neighbor’s boyfriend.
Some delivery guy.
It’s not him.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to will the sound away.
When I opened them, I caught it — a shadow moving across the front window.
Just for a second.
There, then gone.
I shot upright, heart slamming into my ribs.
The wine bottle slipped from my hand, rolling off the couch onto the carpet with a dull thud.
Was that real?
Was someone out there?
Or was I actually losing my mind?
My breath came fast, shallow.
I should call someone.
The cops.
Nora.
Anyone.
But I didn’t.
Instead, my brain — traitorous, broken thing that it was — whispered:
What if it’s him?
What if it’s Cruz, sneaking through the night to find me?
Breaking in.
Dragging me to him.
Taking what he wanted.
The thought sent a shiver down my spine — fear and something darker, something hungrier, tangled up so tight I couldn’t pull them apart anymore.
Jesus, Avery.
Get your f*****g head out of the gutter.
You’re not some damsel in distress.
You’re not some i***t in a romance novel.
You are a nurse.
You have pepper spray and common sense and no goddamn time for outlaws who shoot people for a living.
I snatched the wine bottle off the floor, clutching it to my chest like a lifeline.
"No more bad decisions," I muttered to myself.
Because whatever had passed outside my window — real or imagined — he wasn’t coming back.
He wasn’t thinking about me.
I was safe.
I was fine.
I was completely, totally alone.
And if the idea of Cruz De La Rosa kicking down my door and wrecking me wasn’t the hottest thing I’d thought about in weeks...
Well.
No one had to know.
- Writer
