My wide blue eyes flashback to the dark-brown ones cutting through me like a knife peeling an onion. "Don't let anyone forget themselves in your presence, my boy. Not even once. For the second time they do, they'll have made a fool out of you." I look over at my dad, who is watching our interaction with that cool analytical gaze of his. His irises are sharp and clear-blue, like Xander's are, but his hair is greying, and his face is far sharper edged and adorned with scars from his years as a professional boxer. Still, I've often seen women throw themselves at him, desperate for just one night with The Legend, Luca -The Butcher- Butcher or as he goes by now, simply, Butch. He is always the neutral man in the room, playing the game with every bit of skill Jimmy does. "What do you want?" Jimmy pauses on a thought. "What do you love?"
Usually, a question like this would have me smirking and making a silly comment, but Jimmy Storm demands truth and respect when he offers his attention and he does so with little effort. He demands without demanding and that is mesmerising to me.
I sit up straighter and say, "My brothers."
Jimmy nods slowly, scrutinising me contemplatively, all the wisdom in the world playing behind his eyes. "Then you are vulnerable," he states plainly. "Make sure you hide this vulnerability. Hide this behind your smile,se?"
I clear my throat. "I do."
"I know you do." He turns back to face the table. "You can leave now," he says, picking up his cards. As soon as he does, all the men begin to converse as though I have faded into non-existence.
Standing, I have every intention of leaving, but instead, my feet refuse to move while my mouth refuses not to. "What do you love, Jimmy?"
Silence falls around the table, and I take a big breath in. Jimmy smiles at his cards, then places them back down, turning to acknowledge me with a new look on his face. One I can't read, but it's badarse. "I care for a great many things, my boy. But love. . . only myself. Only ever myself."
Shoshanna
Present day
When I enterGwendoline’s room, she is sitting on the cushioned ledge beside her hospital window. Her arms are raised, and her palms are pressed together, making a pyramid over her head. She is completely oblivious - more like in denial - to the fact that resting should take precedence over her evening yoga.
I stop by her bedside, letting out a long sigh. “Why are you out of bed?”
“You weren’t here when they all came in,” she says, her voice cranky, her eyes shut as she pretends to meditate. “They talk about me like I’m an animal.”
After my night in Emergency and a full day on the floor, they left me to sleep in the on-call room during rounds this evening. I force down the reasons they didn’t wake me up, a consideration Residents are rarely offered, even after a heavy night shift.
But Perry is Attending today.
“They don’t do that,” I state, gripping both hips, trying to ignore the contractions in my stomach, the gnawing of what little food is present. I’d love to sit down with her and steal a moment. Meditate with her. I wish I wanted that, but the hospital race is one I’ve been training for my whole life, and being left out of it only works to agitate me.
I’ve given medicine seven years of my life.
Given up important things to be here. . .
“They do,” she grumbles, dropping her hands and opening her eyes to reveal her cutting brown irises. The sun slashes lines of white across the silver mop of hair on her head, showcasing her wild violet tips. Her scowl is all nuisance and moxie. “I know what I want.”
“Yes.But want and need are two different things.”
“You’re a baby.” She scoffs. “What do you know about either?”
“I know that if you don’t rest,” I take a measured step towards her, “you’ll die soon.”
She bursts into laughter, and I purse my lips hard at her flippant attitude.
“That’s why I like you,” she says, crackling. “No fucking bullshit with you, Natalie.”
Still with this Natalie Wood stuff. . .
I raise a brow at her smile. “Do you kiss your grandsons with that mouth?”
“They kiss me with worse,” she admits with an adamant nod of her head. Rolling my eyes, I sigh.They do.When they actually make the effort to visit her, they spend most of the day discussing their inheritance. The rest, insincerely asking me questions as though I don’t notice the smug looks on their faces. Don’t notice the silent conversation they share as they glance at each other. Or the way their eyes move around my body.
A young female doctor.
The interruptive sound of the voice-over fills the room and hall behind me. “Code.”
I suck in a sharp breath.