The Doctor’s Truth: Part 2: Chapter 33

Now that Kenzi is here, the New Year’s party is in full swing.

I redress. We drink. We catch up. We laugh.

It feels fucking fantastic to have her here.

I try to convince her to get onstage, but she shies away from it, and Donovan says he’ll only go up if they let him sing Blink-182’s “Happy Holidays, You Bastard.” They will not.

Upon Kenzi’s second drink, however, she says she’ll “look” at the set list. I see her eyes light up at a song.

“Do it,” I say. “Whatever it is. Just do it.”

She bites her lip. “Fuck it,” she says and then puts her name down.

I’ve never heard Kenzi sing before. But, as it turns out, she slays Fiona Apple’s “Criminal.” She laughs nervously at first, but by the second bridge, she’s closed her eyes and melted into the song. She cradles the microphone like a pop star and shimmies her shoulders to the beat.

It’s beautiful to watch her blossom. I’m completely, irrevocably charmed. I howl in support when she ends, and Donovan wolf whistles.

Kenzi returns to the bar, but first she stops in front and bows dramatically. Donovan and I give her a second round of applause.

“Okay—that was ridiculous,” Kenzi says. “I’m going to launch myself into the sun now.” But she’s grinning while she says it.

“Hold on.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “Before you do that—I have to get your signature. My friend Kenzi is a huge Fiona Apple fan. She’s going to be so pissed she stayed home and missed out on seeing you live.”

“Shut up,” she says, but the compliment just widens her grin. “What time is it?”

Donovan checks his watch. “Ten ‘til.”

The music changes. It’s a slow, intimate number.

Perfect timing. I extend my hand toward Kenzi, palm upward. “May I have this dance?”

She wrinkles her nose. “You are so corny.”

“That’s not a no.”

“It’s not.” She takes a sip of her wine and then gives it up, putting it on the bar with Donovan.

“Oh yeah, don’t mind me,” Donovan says. “I’ll just…watch the drinks.”

Kenzi takes my hand. Her palm feels small and hot in mine.

“Do I make you nervous?” I ask. The bar doesn’t have a dance floor, but it does have a small clearing of tables, and I take her there and pull her against me.

“You make me a lot of things,” Kenzi non-answers and looks up at me from under her long eyelashes.

I rest a hand at the small of her back and take her hand in mine, leading us in a gentle sway.

“Is this okay?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she murmurs.

Close together like this, she feels small. The top of her head just comes up to my clavicle, and I cradle her against me. The need to protect her is a living, breathing animal beside me—but protect her from what, I haven’t figured out yet.

All I know is I want to make her feel safe. Always. When I feel her soften and relax against me, my heart tests the limits of my rib cage. I rest my chin lightly on the top of her head. She smells like strawberry shampoo, the kind of cheap stuff that you buy for kids, and I drink in the scent.

“I’ve changed,” I tell her.

“Well, you’ve shaved,” she murmurs into my shirt. “That’s not exactly a personality trait. It’s facial hair.”

“No, I mean…I know we’ve had fun tonight, but I want you to know that I’ve grown up.”

“Hmm. Stubborn, persistent, doesn’t know how to take a no. I don’t know, those all sound pretty familiar to me.”

I let out an exhaled half laugh. “Okay. Some things are the same.”

We sway together. She nestles in where my shirt splits, and I can feel the heat of her breath against my chest.

“I care about you,” I persist. “And Otto. Very much. When you came back to Hannsett, it was like…the light turned on again. Like there’d been a piece of me missing for so long and I had no idea. Now, with you here, it finally feels—”

“Whole,” Kenzi finishes my sentence.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

We lapse into silence for a minute, just savoring each other’s company.

“I don’t want tonight to end,” Kenzi finally confesses to me.

“It doesn’t have to.”

She buries her face in my chest. “Just dance with me, please.”

I give her hand a squeeze. “You’ve got it.”

We melt into the rhythm together, letting our bodies do the talking. As far as I’m concerned, we’re the only two people in the room.