Dr. ER (St. Luke's Docuseries #2) Page 25

  “Not going to lie, this is always the very last place I want to be,” Scott muttered, but it was in a teasing tone.

  Detective Santos chuckled softly and gestured for us to sit down in the chairs across from his desk. “I promise, it’s all good news from here on out,” he said, and Scott sighed.

  “Even if it is good news, anything related to this always feels like bad news.”

  He had a point. This entire situation had been one giant clusterfuck of awful since it began. And even though it had been made clear that the article was faked, there were still people in the public who believed the lies it had bled.

  But no matter what, we still had each other. I put my hand on top of his thigh and squeezed gently in reassurance, and he offered a soft smile in return.

  “You were right, Harlow,” Detective Santos stated simply. Unsure to what he was referring, I sat there dumbly while Scott nodded without understanding. I could tell by the creases at the corners of his eyes that he didn’t have any more clue what the detective was talking about than I did.

  “About?” I finally asked. It felt like if I didn’t pipe up, Scott would just keep nodding forever.

  “Well,” Detective Santos started, “after a lot of searching, we traced the initial tip-off call to the station and verified that it came from Pam Lockhead.”

  “Are you fucking serious?” I blurted out. “It was her?”

  I’d had a hunch, sure, but fuck if I thought I was going to be right. I didn’t have a degree in Criminal Justice.

  He nodded. “Apparently, she made the call from a burner phone that had been bought with cash and had no name associated with the account. It wasn’t an easy trace, but thankfully, the computer system in the cell phone store along with their security cameras helped verify that it was her. We also have suspicions that she might be involved with the hack to Gossip’s email database. She was brought into custody this morning and is now being investigated.”

  “So, what happens now?” Scott asked.

  “Well, your name, as well as Harlow’s, has been officially cleared from this. We’ll be issuing a statement to the public this afternoon, along with an explanation of the evidence that we’ve found so far in this investigation.”

  “Thank God,” I muttered. “I guess maybe there is a light at the end of the tunnel.”

  Scott rested his hand on top of mine and squeezed, practically begging me not to jinx this shit. “Is that all you need from us?”

  “The only other thing we need to know is, once all of the facts are found, do you want to press charges against the people responsible?”

  “Of course, he fucking does!” I shouted, and Detective Santos chuckled.

  “Should I take her word for it?”

  “Yes.” Scott grinned. Fucking grinned. For something that was almost unavoidable in the past, he’d done very little of it in the last few weeks. I was fucking thrilled to have it back. “I definitely want to press charges.”

  Scott’s happiness only egged my craziness on. I didn’t want it to go away.

  “We want to press charges and nail these fuckers into the ground! We’ll accept nothing less than a life sentence,” I added enthusiastically, and Scott laughed.

  He fucking laughed.

  My mind raced as I tried to come up with my next off-the-wall remark, but Scott was pretty well done with the whole scene, overtly amusing girlfriend or not.

  “Yeah, if that’s all you need from us, I think we’ll be leaving now.”

  Detective Santos smirked. “Have a good one.”

  “You too,” Scott said and grabbed my hand to pull me to my feet. “Come on, Low. Let’s go get some lunch before you try to join the police force.”

  “Oh! I’d be an awesome cop!” I said, basking in the glow of his willingness to joke. It’s so good to have him back. He all but dragged me out of the detective’s office.

  “No,” he refuted as we wove our way through the bullpen. “You’re going to be an awesome pediatrician. You don’t have time to learn how to shoot a gun and put bad guys in handcuffs while you’re going through med school.”

  “Oh my God! I’d get handcuffs, too,” I whined. “Maybe I need to think this whole cop thing over a little more before I make any career changes.”

  “You’re crazy,” he muttered, pulling his sunglasses from his shirt, putting them on, and yanking the folded up baseball hat out of his back pocket to put it on. “I fucking love you, but you’re crazy.”

  Before I could offer a sarcastic response, the familiar and always blinding flashes of cameras went off like fireworks in front of my face. Ever since the article had been published, the media had been following us around like fucking vultures. And it didn’t matter how discreet we were, they always managed to find us.

  Jesus, when would this end?

  Scott wrapped his arm around my shoulder protectively and tucked me into his side. “Just keep your nose to the ground and stay close to me, okay? I’ll handle the rest,” he whispered.

  “Okay,” I agreed, letting him lead us through the throng of vipers trying to get our attention.

  “Scott! Harlow! Over here!”

  “Did you really believe she didn’t write the article, Scott?”

  “How can you trust him now, Harlow?”

  “Are you getting married?”

  “Is Harlow pregnant?”

  God, it never ended, and it didn’t matter that the police had cleared Scott’s name and that Gossip had done the press conference as well as printed a statement that the article was fake. The media still wanted to keep the spotlight on the two of us. And they didn’t want happy endings; they wanted fucking blood. If it bleeds, it leads sort of thing.

  There was no doubt that pictures of the two of us leaving the police station were worth their weight in gold. And with the enthusiastic—and extremely overwhelming—way their cameras were snapping photos, it was a safe bet that they’d be hot on our trail all goddamn day.

  “I guess we’re not going to lunch, huh?” I whispered to Scott as we walked across the sidewalk and he hailed a cab.

  “Nope,” he muttered. “Let’s just get home and order takeout, okay?”

  “Good idea.”

  Even though things were looking up and the truth was coming out, that fucking article had stolen our freedom. Eating out, walking the streets, riding the subway, they were each a thing of the past. We couldn’t do any of it without being assaulted by the press’s questions and cameras.

  And the terrifying part of it all was that we didn’t know when it would finally blow over or get better, and neither one of us was certain we could live our lives like this for much longer.

  One cab ride and thirty minutes later, we stepped inside of Scott’s apartment. Both of us sighed in relief once the door shut behind us. I slipped off my flip-flops and plopped my tired ass down onto the sofa while Scott grabbed us sodas from the kitchen. The remote was in my hand, and I was scrolling through the Netflix options moments later.

  I needed to decompress, and generally speaking, binge-watching Netflix shows was the answer. Hell, I think most people used it as an actual coping mechanism now.

  Writer’s block? Watch Netflix.

  Just got dumped by your boyfriend? Watch Netflix.

  Too many items on your To-Do List? Watch Netflix.

  Too stressed out to adult? Watch Netflix.

  See? Obviously, it was a multifaceted kind of coping mechanism that could be utilized in almost any situation. Now, I wouldn’t say it actually solved anything, but that was neither here nor there. If I needed something to help me forget that I was procrastinating on my responsibilities or avoiding my problems, Netflix was my number one homeboy.

  But as I started watching an episode of Parks and Recreation, I quickly realized I had too much on my mind to experience the full escape my homeboy generally provided.

  It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, though. Life had been a bit of a fucking roller coaster for Scott and me, and it
felt like our cart had managed to get stuck on the very tip-top of the first big hill that makes your stomach fall into your shoes.

  “I know all of this bullshit will eventually die down, but fucking hell, it’s kind of awful,” I muttered, probably more to myself than Scott. “I mean, when will it end?”

  He sat down beside me, set the glasses of water on the table, wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and tucked me close to his side. “This is just a temporary kind of hell, Low. It won’t last forever.”

  I sighed and rested my head onto his shoulder. “Yeah, but the fact that you just called it a temporary hell says everything.”

  “Yeah, but I’d go through all of that bullshit again if I knew it would lead me right back here. With you,” he said, and I lifted my head to meet his eyes. “You’re it for me, Harlow. And I don’t care if three years from now we’re still in New York being chased around by paparazzi or if we’ve moved to a new city and are starting over. The only thing that’s important to me is you.” He kissed my lips softly. “You’re my home now. Everything else is just minor details.”

  He was right.

  If there was one thing I learned from this experience—besides the fact that Pam Lockhead is a total cunt—it was that I loved Scott. And I not only wanted to be with him, but I needed to be with him. Nothing felt right without him.

  “I love you,” I whispered, and he kissed my nose.

  “I love you, too, Frances,” he said, and I rolled my eyes.

  “Ugh. Don’t ruin the moment with my awful name,” I scolded, but secretly, I loved it. I wanted Scott’s teasing and smiles to last a lifetime.

  “We’re having a moment right now?” he questioned playfully.

  “Well, we were,” I muttered. “We’re definitely not anymore.”

  Scott laughed and flipped me onto my back before I could stop him. His large body hovered over mine as he grinned down at me. “You know what I think?” he asked and peppered my jaw with kisses.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you need to follow your dream.”

  “Become a stripper?” I asked in jest, and he chuckled.

  “No.” He shook his head with a grin. “Your original dream. Although, please feel free to practice your stripping skills anytime. I volunteer as your lap.”

  “And my pole?” I asked with a waggle of my eyebrows, and he licked his lips.

  “Yes, motherfucking please.”

  “Fantastic. It’s settled. I’ll become a stripper.”

  He groaned. “Christ, the thought of you as a stripper is making it hard to concentrate, but you know what I’m really talking about.”

  I did know. Scott wanted me to follow my original dream of becoming a pediatrician. And ever since we’d been in the middle of this media shitstorm, and I’d had to take a leave of absence from Gossip in the name of sanity, he’d been occasionally bringing it up. Not pressuring me, but just encouraging me and reassuring me with kind words.

  I stared up at the handsome man above me and sighed. It was a dreamy fucking sigh, and I earned one hell of a Scott smile in return. Not only did he encourage me to follow my dreams, but he was also sexy and fucked like a god.

  Damn, I really was the luckiest woman on the planet…

  “You really want me to go to med school?”

  He nodded, and his lips pressed soft kisses against my skin and his nose brushed my cheek as he did. “It’s your passion.”

  “That’s a big commitment, Scott. I mean, before I could even apply to med schools, I’d have to study my ass off and pass the MCAT. And even if I managed to achieve that, who knows if and where I’d get accepted.”

  “I’ll help you study,” he declared, and I giggled.

  “Let me guess, naked study time?”

  “Whatever it takes, baby.” He smiled against my skin. “I mean that. Whenever, wherever—”

  “We’re meant to be together?”

  He laughed and lifted his head to meet my gaze. “Well, yes. And I really appreciate your knowledge of Shakira. But I mean we follow your dream wherever it takes us.”

  “That could be anywhere.” I searched his face for any hint of uncertainty, but he didn’t falter under my scrutiny. His mocha eyes stayed locked with mine. “What if I end up going to med school on the West Coast?”

  He shrugged. “Then, I guess I’ll be working in an emergency room on the West Coast.” He smirked. “And reaping the benefits of you in bikini weather.”

  “Really? You’d do that?” I asked, because holy hell. That was a big commitment. That was Scott letting my future career path guide us. That was…everything.

  “I’ll follow you anywhere, Harlow,” he said. “And if your dream keeps us here, then we’ll find a way to deal with the media until it dies down. All that matters is that we’re together.”

  I wrapped my arms and legs around his strong body and pulled him closer to me. This man had me. He so fucking had me. “I love you,” I whispered into his ear. “You make me so fucking happy.”

  Because he did. My life wasn’t the same without him in it. And, even though we were in the middle of a temporary hell, as he put it, with the whole media shitstorm following us around, it didn’t matter. That was just minor details in comparison to what we had together. And nothing could affect that kind of happiness.

  He winked, picking up both glasses of water and handing one to me. “To love,” he said with a smirk, taking me back to the very beginning with the toast at his dad’s anniversary party. I clinked my glass to his, and he smiled. “Cheers, Doc.”

  Seven months later…

  “Scott!” Harlow yelled, her voice carrying up the stairs and into the loft.

  “Yeah?” I yelled back as I pulled the protective wrapping off of my diploma from NYU and set it to the side to reveal another frame. The quilted padding of the moving blanket and tape concealed its contents completely, but I knew what was inside.

  Years of studying, years of training, and years of service to the citizens of New York City, all symbolized in one framed, white coat. It was a source for a million memories, and despite knowing this move was going to be everything I’d ever had in New York and more, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to open it yet. Sometimes memories—especially those that carried a tinge of melancholy—had the ability to feel more potent than the present. But happiness feeds the soul, and it wouldn’t be long before Harlow’s smiles and flirty fun were the only thing I could feel.

  “Scott!” Harlow called again, now impatient.

  Fuck. “Sorry! I zoned out!” I shouted, keeping my sentimental moment close to the vest. I didn’t want her to think I had any resentment about leaving New York and starting over with her—because I didn’t. The life we were leaving behind had really started to feel like no life at all. Although we were blissfully happy together, the media was a constant circus, and everything we did played out under a microscope of public scrutiny. But I guessed that was what happened when you were at the center of a scandal with the mayor of New York City.

  After a fairly lengthy investigation, both Brent and Pam had been indicted on a litany of charges. Not only had Pam falsified statements to the police, but she’d been the one to organize the actual hacking of Harlow’s email account. The fine law enforcement of New York had taken the cybercrime pretty seriously. While jealousy and scorn over our non-relationship had been the weak board underneath her, it was her naïveté and willingness to consort with Brent that had turned her life upside down. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who’d slept with the wrong person in an effort to get to the top.

  Brent, though less directly in contact with the actual dirty work, had bigger fish to fry—likely the ones at the bottom of the bay. As in, he swam with them.

  Okay, so he wasn’t dead, but for a driven egomaniac like him, the demise of his political career and the distinct possibility of prison had to feel like it. His trial date was scheduled for the end of the year.

  “What’s up?” I called over th
e railing.

  “Have you seen my masheew?” Harlow asked loudly.

  “Your masheew? What’s a masheew?”

  “No!” she yelled through a laugh. “My nuschmoo!”

  “Why are you garbling this word so much?” I shouted with a smile. I moved directly to the stairs, knowing she was just stubborn enough to keep yelling until the end of time despite our gap in communication and the simple solution of a short trip up one flight of stairs. “I understand everything else you say completely, and then, as soon as you get to the important word, all ability to speak is lost.”

  I wasn’t even fully on the landing when the weight of her body hit mine. I went back and down, putting a hand out behind me to brace myself on the steps as she fell on top of me.

  She giggled the whole way, shrieking a little when we hit bottom and the force of her body on my stomach made me grunt.

  “What are you doing?” I asked with a chuckle as I shifted my now bruised back off of the wooden riser and settled my ass onto a stair instead. She straddled my lap, adjusting easily to the new position and wrapping her arms loosely around my shoulders. “Are you trying to send us both to the hospital?”

  “Just think how fun of an introduction that would be to your new coworkers,” she teased.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Not fun at all.”

  While the shitshow with the media had been one driving force for our move to San Francisco, my job was another. Just as I’d suspected, being cleared of any and all charges didn’t mean being cleared of the consequences. While the hospital couldn’t legally fire me, the whole dynamic of my working environment had shifted to something I didn’t enjoy. Constantly watched and criticized, my teasing good-natured fun wasn’t allowed, and all of the joy had left along with it.

  We were hoping starting over at San Fran General would bring some sense of normalcy and enjoyment back to the career I truly loved. I didn’t even know how to be a good doctor without being a smartass. Just like with my musical warm-ups, that shit went hand in hand.

  And it didn’t hurt that little Harlow had been accepted to the University of California, San Francisco School of Medicine and would be starting her first semester tomorrow.