This time of year, our city is alive and thriving. Parties, parades, and tourists fill the streets. There’s always a constant sort of heartbeat in New Orleans, but during Mardi Gras, it’s pulsing wildly on every corner, in every restaurant and bar, and on every sidewalk.
It’s also a very busy time for accidents. Which means work has been crazy. One of the older nurses, a skinny, mouthy woman named Glenda, is determined to make sure I commit murder before it’s all said and done. She’s been in the field over twenty years and I respect her professionally. Personally, however, is an entirely different story. I’ve never done anything other than treat her with respect, but for some reason she carries this chip on her shoulder every time we work together. It could be the fact that Dr. Chase has given me more hours even though I’m still technically a student, or perhaps the fact that I require a little more of his attention when I have questions about something in a file. But I feel as though the room always seems crowded when she’s in it, and it makes me uncomfortable.
It’s been another typical Sunday and by our two o’clock closing time, I have managed to perform cardiac massage… twice, suture cut fingers, start fluids, and assist in giving four units of blood to a trauma patient within the first twenty minutes of his arrival, then transfer that same patient to our resuscitation room, where I later helped replenish depleted stock, clean equipment as well as all the blood spilt on the floor. It’s very rare that we get trauma patients, but it does happen, and the flashbacks almost kill me every single time. But the flashbacks aren’t the worst part. No. The worst part is missing him. Because it’s in these rare moments that I find myself wanting to text Reid or call him. I want to tell him all about it. But I can’t.
He isn’t here.
It’s finally the night of Brynn’s ball, and I feel like a princess in my beautiful black gown. It’s floor length in the back but touches a few inches above the knee in the front. Draped over one shoulder is a band of silky fabric decorated with red rhinestones while the opposite shoulder remains bare. My bright red heels draw attention to legs normally hidden beneath navy-blue scrubs. I’d forgotten what it’s like to feel sexy. And damn, it feels good.
Brynn picks me up early since she has to take pictures of the king and queen and the rest of the court before they prepare for the ball. I wait around at the bar where an artist offers to paint a mask over my eyes. She creates a magical work of art that perfectly coordinates with my dress but doesn’t conceal my entire face.
I marvel at the elaborate table decorations and wonder about the people who created such masterpieces. I find my table just as the ball begins. After the past year and a half, this all seems surreal. I almost feel normal again.
See, Makenna? There is life outside of work and school.
Brynn seemed to have taken care of all the details, including ordering a bottle of Pinot on ice for my place setting. I’m sitting alone, but that’s okay. I’ve gotten used to it.
I watch in awe as the court is introduced. By the time the parade rolls through the coliseum, I’ve finished my bottle, and the numbness I have learned to crave begins to set in.
Once the parade has passed, I divide my time between following Brynn around while she captures memories within the lens of her camera and enjoying the live entertainment. I even end up dancing with a couple of strangers but always walk away before conversation begins. It’s somewhere around 10:30 p.m. when a man I recognize as one of the masked characters on one of the many elaborate floats slowly approaches me as I order another glass of wine.
Tonight is the first time in a long time when the line between losing feeling and losing control has become incredibly blurry, and I don’t seem to care. A slower song plays over the sound system while the band takes a break.
The masked stranger extends his hand to me in an offer to dance, and I graciously accept. He takes the glass from my hand and sets it back on the bar then leads me to one of the two designated dance floors.
His stature is commanding and his presence intimidating. Even though his face is concealed from the nose up, I am smitten by him, drawn to him without reason.
I know him. I know this feeling.
Cal.
It has to be. He’s too familiar to be a total stranger.
I almost speak his name out loud but stop myself. It can’t be him. Why would he be here? Why would he ask me to dance? No. My reality is blurred, making me hope for things that aren’t there.
Is that what I hope for? Do I want it to be him?
Before I can answer my own unspoken question, his hands wrap intimately around my waist as he pulls my body against his, like we’ve been doing this for years. In reality, maybe we have—been dancing around each other for years. The red, hooded cape he wears draped over his black tuxedo compliments my dress, and his red and gold mask matches the red and gold flames painted around my eyes, almost like it was on purpose.
His fingertips sweep across the top of my butt. The contact sends pulses of electricity shooting through my veins, and my immediate reaction is to lean forward, to lean into him. Why am I reacting this way? To him of all people.
The scent of him overwhelms me as I inhale until my lungs are full of the heady masculinity that is…him. I’ve never been close enough to smell him before, but he smells like all man. He smells expensive and untouchable, yet here I am, touching him. I exhale and look up just in time to see him smirk. Of course, he smirks. Ass. His plump lips twitch at my admiration, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from lifting myself up and taking the bottom one between my teeth.
Our dancing has come to a near halt, leaving us standing in the midst of the crowd, watching each other. Studying. Consuming.
I notice the way his jaw clenches when I reach up to remove the hood of the cape from his head. My fingertips graze his cheekbones, then his temples, as my hand slides up his face. I hold my breath as I find the edge of the fabric. My heart is racing.
He stands in front of me, watching. Waiting. The slow music stops, replaced by a faster, more upbeat rhythm. The reality of the moment hits me, and I am overcome with guilt. The memory of Reid in his mask, playing the role of a stranger at that ball nearly four years ago, sears through me.
This man isn’t Reid. He never will be. He won’t be whisking me away to some suite upstairs. And there won’t be a pair of seductive, green eyes staring at me when I remove this mask.
“Thank you for the dance,” I politely tell him. Then I pull my body away from his and hurry to find Brynn.
“Relax, Makenna, you had a weak moment. It happens,” Brynn tells me when I come to her, practically hyperventilating. “It’s been almost two years. After five years of non-stop baby making, your body is bound to be going through withdrawals.”
But why did my weak moment have to happen with him?
I try to convince myself it wasn’t Cal, that I’m buzzing and my judgement is off. I would never react that way to Cal.