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Baran Al-Hashimi couldn’t believe how quickly she let herself be charmed by Jack Abbot.
The fact was, she really shouldn’t have found Abbot attractive, standing there in his earth-toned camouflage shirt with sweat-stained armpits and Pittsburgh Bureau of Police patches on each shoulder. But his hazel eyes flickered with an inscrutable intelligence that piqued her curiosity, and complicated men had always been her weakness.
“SWAT, really?”
She knew it was dangerous to poke the bear, but she simply had to know.
“I suck at golf.”
His raspy reply was punchy, defensive in a way that intrigued her. This man was not the usual, and she was here for it. She recognized the swagger, the gruff sarcasm of someone who had seen more than their share of the madness in this world. Somehow, despite the wall of self-deprecating humor he had thrown up, she sensed a kindred spirit.
Baran probed further, curious how deep that well might be. “You spend time in the Middle East?”
“More than I would have liked.”
His curt reply landed hard, and she sensed that Abbot had loved and lost over there. Who and when and how much, she didn’t know, but she was keen to find out.
“I worked in Kabul with Médecins Sans Frontières.” Her chest was tight as she found herself opening up to him, not five minutes after meeting over a transected trachea. But something about his manner suggested he understood her in a way the others didn’t. “And in 2020, at the maternity hospital. I met the most incredible, bravest doctors there.”
“Dasht-e-Barchi,” he said, his voice dry and full of gravel, like the rough, dusty roads southwest of Kabul she used to know so well. She wondered if he knew them, too. “Tragedy.” There was a captivating gravity in his hazel eyes that drew her in immediately. “We should grab a beer sometime,” he added, tossing his blood-smeared gloves on the floor. “Share war stories.”
“I’d like that.”
A few days later, they met for drinks at a hip but casual place in the Strip District that Abbot liked, a bar with a nice selection of beer on tap, curated top-shelf liquors, and a clever assortment of handcrafted appetizers. She was surprised when he suggested it and she made no secret of it.
“What? Did you think I was gonna ask you to meet me at the local VFW for a couple of shitty Budweisers? Nah, this place is great. Robby turned me on to it a couple years back.”
With Dr. Robby on leave, Abbot had temporarily moved to days, letting Shen and Diop hold down the fort on the overnights. As she got to know him, it was clear why he and Robby worked so well together. Both were excellent EM physicians with decades of experience under their respective belts, and they each had that unique combination of confidence and pragmatism that, while it rubbed the C-suite the wrong way on a nearly daily basis, made them exactly the right guys to have working a trauma when things got weird or went sideways.
The first time she met him for a beer, it was just that: a couple beers each, and a long, meandering conversation that took them from Tehran and Fort Bragg to Kabul and Erbil and back again. She learned about his leg and his wife and how he had lost them both, and she told him about her son and the challenges of sharing custody after the divorce. After a couple of rounds, Abbot walked her out and waited with her until her Uber pulled up, and she knew from the shimmer in his eyes that he wanted to kiss her. It took all of her willpower to leave without a kiss that night.
They met for beers again a couple of weeks later. This time, the mood was more somber. After a fourteen-hour shift that saw an eleven-year-old victim of sexual assault, two fatal fentanyl overdoses, a stillbirth after a placental abruption, and a miscarriage in Chairs, they handed off to Shen and Diop, then promptly headed to a dive bar down the street from the hospital.
That shift was the first time she truly appreciated the Sisyphean hopelessness of it all. Of course Baran knew, intellectually, how much of a circus EM could be. In the weeks since Dr. Robby reluctantly left the ED in her care, she learned just how wearing every shift could be, but also that some shifts just hit harder. Sometimes it was just one or two cases that cut deep, and other times, the hits kept coming, gurney after gurney, ambulance after ambulance, until she stumbled grimly into handover with nothing left but the desire to stand in the shower and cry.
A drink or two with Abbot seemed like a better alternative.
Abbot was hard to read. Like a lot of the men she treated and worked with at the VA, he had seen more than his share of the world’s cruelty, but he seemed to wear it better—better than Robby did and definitely better than her. She knew he saw a therapist regularly, but there was something else, a reservoir of resilience that she coveted and wanted sorely to understand.
“Hell of a fuckin’ day, huh?” Abbot set his empty pint glass on the bar and breathed out a tired sigh.
“Maybe Robby was right,” she said quietly. “Maybe I really don’t have what it takes to do this.”
Abbot raised his hand and flagged down the bartender, gesturing for another beer for each of them.
“Don’t do that.” He rotated his empty glass on the bar, back and forth. “Robby has enough of a problem getting out of his own head. Don’t let him get into yours.”
She shrugged, unconvinced.
“Robby’s proof that none of us can do this alone,” he said. “But after working with you for the last month, I know you have what it takes.”
Baran sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a cocktail napkin, then nodded. “I guess.” She drew a deep breath and exhaled sharply. “I mean, I know you’re right. It’s just…” Reaching for her own glass, she swallowed the last few ounces and set it back down on the waterlogged coaster. “My son’s with my ex-husband this week and…” She watched the bartender pull the tap handle and tilt the glass as he filled it. “A part of me just wants to go home and crawl into a sensory deprivation chamber and not talk to anyone for the next two days, and another part of me wants the exact opposite. To not be alone.” The admission itself made her gut clench and her heart race. “I don’t even know anymore.”
After the bartender set the second round on the coasters in front of them, Abbot leaned over, his eyes uncertain as he peered out from under his rosy gray brows.
“I live just a couple blocks from here. In case you, ummm.” He hesitated, his normally confident voice wavering as he studied her face for a moment. “You know, if you maybe wanted to come over and join me for a nightcap.” His Adam’s apple bobbed low in his throat and she took a strange comfort in knowing that underneath all of his cocky swagger, he was as nervous as she was. “I guess I don’t know if I wanna be alone tonight either, and—”
“Yes.”
She blurted it out without thinking, without considering all the reasons why she, the acting Chief of Emergency Medicine, shouldn’t go home with this man who was, at least for a few more weeks, her subordinate. But in that moment, with the excruciating weight of the day bearing down on her, drowning her, she couldn’t think of anything else to make the waterfall of loss a bit more bearable.
“I’d like that.”
They closed out their tab and left the second round on the bar, foamy and untouched, while they walked back to his truck. As she climbed in and fastened her seatbelt, she wasn’t sure whether this made any sense, or whether it was even the right thing to do. Maybe it wasn’t, but it didn’t feel wrong, either.
Abbot’s fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel as he pulled up in front of a three-story brownstone in the Mexican War Streets neighborhood. He threw the gearshift into park and turned to her, his brow creasing deeply as his eyes scanned her face. Her mouth fell open, her jaw working as she struggled for either word or breath, and she felt strangely buoyant as she waited for him to close the distance between them.
“Baran…”
Abbot uttered her name like a prayer, rolling the r in the Farsi way, and the sound of it filled her belly with heat. He leaned over the center console and reached for her, and she closed her eyes with a sigh when his callused fingertips caressed the edge of her jaw.
“Abbot,” she whispered, arousal coiling behind her navel as his fingers tilted her face towards him.
“Call me Jack.” He breathed his name against her lips, each syllable falling as a warm puff of air. “Please.”
“Jack…”
She reached for him, determined to know if he desired her as much as she desired him. Their lips met and a sharp current of arousal shot through her, sizzling down her spine and crackling through her limbs as she opened her mouth to the teasing slide of his tongue. He tasted faintly of hops and burnt coffee. His breath warmed her upper lip, and the prickly shadow of his stubble was rough against her skin. She felt dizzy, unmoored by how much she wanted him, grounded only by the feel of his calloused hand cradling her face. A hungry sound rumbled from somewhere deep in his chest as he murmured into the kiss. He pulled her close and his tongue swept into her mouth, demanding as much as she was willing to give him.
His hazel eyes were dark with need when they pulled apart, each flushed and gasping for breath as the truck’s idle vibrated beneath their feet.
“Fuck, Baran.”
“I think we should go inside,” she suggested, impressed with her own ability to string together a coherent sentence after that searing kiss. Jack smiled and nodded, then turned off the ignition, leaving them in silence but for the faint metallic crinkling of the engine as it cooled.
She followed him up the steps, remembering how hilariously awkward this part always was while she waited for him to unlock the main door and then waited again as he fumbled with the other key to open his first-floor unit. She couldn’t recall the last time she had wanted someone as badly as she wanted him. His condo door shut behind them and her skin flushed in anticipation as he hung his keys on the hook.
The cool wood of the coffered door dug into her shoulders as Jack backed her up against it, his mouth reclaiming hers with a desperate hunger. The hard, insistent press of his pelvis left little doubt how much he wanted her. Heat pooled deep in her core as his lips grasped at hers, and her hands slid down to his waist and slipped under his shirt, grazing the soft, warm skin underneath as he rocked his hips against her with a quiet grunt.
She responded with equal fervor, her fingernails scraping the warm, firm skin of his lower back as the kiss deepened. Nipping at his lower lip, Baran heard him gasp and she pressed the heel of her hand against his chest to push him away from the unyielding door. He got the message, responding with a fierce, low growl and stealing as many kisses that he could as they made their way to his sofa.
Mindful of his disability, she briefly deepened the kiss, sliding her hands up along his sides as she savored the taste of him for one more moment before breaking the kiss. She jerked her chin in the direction of the well-worn leather sofa and took a step back, letting him settle in as she shed her zip-up jacket.
Jack shrugged out of his scrub top and peeled off the snug t-shirt underneath. The sight of his broad, muscular chest left her momentarily breathless and her fingers tingled at the prospect of touching it. She swallowed hard, her eyes tracing the lines of his torso as he settled onto the worn leather sofa, the leather creaking beneath his weight. He yanked up his pant leg and with a soft pffft released the vacuum that secured his prosthesis. While this wasn’t the first time she’d seen him remove the device, she now watched with a whole new reverence.
Jack set the prosthesis aside and looked up at her with a slanted smile, his eyes narrowing briefly before he wriggled out of his cargo pants. Now clad only in his boxer briefs, he crooked his finger and beckoned her to approach.
“C’mere…”
She reached for the hem of her scrub top, but Jack made a low, husky sound as he shook his head. “No, let me.” His eyes, dark and possessive, met hers. "I want to unwrap this gift myself." Her body pulsed wetly at the prospect, and at the suggestion that she was a gift. She toed off her sneakers and socks and stepped between his thighs.
His calloused hands reached for the hem of her scrub top and she raised her arms as he peeled the fabric up and over her head. A shiver raced down her spine and the cool air made her nipples tighten under the sheer fabric of her tank. He drank in the sight of her, his gaze lingering on the curve of her waist.
Her breath hitched and desire oozed through her veins when Jack reached for her again. He bit his lip and scrabbled at the drawstring of her scrub pants, his fingers brushing against her lower abdomen as he untied the knot, and he hummed in approval when she shed her scrub bottoms and kicked them aside. Clad only in her panties and a stretchy shelf tank, she bathed in the thrilling sensation of his greedy gaze.
“Oh my God, Baran. Come here.”
She straddled him, the cool leather of the sofa brushing against her knees as the wiry curls on his legs tickled the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. The hard, steady mass of him beneath her felt potent and grounding, and she shifted, settling over him with a low, shaky sigh. Jack’s hands found her waist, his thumbs digging in, and his commanding touch was all the invitation she needed to lower her mouth to his. She let herself drown in the feel of his mouth and the eager sweep of his tongue, and relished every pleased murmur that vibrated against her lips. As he kissed her, his hands began to move again, mapping every curve and contour of her torso, skimming over her skin, his touch feathery and curious.
Baran gasped as he snuck his rough, thick fingers under the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head, letting it fall to the floor with a whisper. The cool air against her bare skin made goosebumps erupt across her breasts and stomach as his eyes flickered with admiration. When his fingers finally reached the elastic of her briefs, she felt profoundly vulnerable as the last barrier slid away, replaced by the insistent press of his hot skin against hers.
“Baran, you’re incredible.”
His broad hand caressed the side of her face then fell away, dropping to her bare hip as he kissed the edge of her jaw. Jack sucked gently at her skin, leaving a molten trail that left her flushed and breathless. Jack’s wet tongue and dry lips traced the hollow of her throat, and she shivered as he worked his way down to her collarbone. She hissed with pleasure when his mouth finally closed over her nipple, and she arched her back and felt the thick, hard line of his arousal as he pulled her snug against his hips.
“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” he whispered through clenched teeth, his breath hot against her skin. She felt his cock twitch beneath her. “So beautiful, the way your body responds to me.”
Baran threaded her fingers through his gray curls, kissing his brow once and letting her lips linger there for a moment before pushing him away. Not because it was too much, but rather because it wasn’t enough. Every nerve ending thrummed and she needed to see him, all of him, now. She stepped off his lap and watched as he wriggled out of his boxer briefs and kicked them away with his good leg. The outer edge of his right thigh and hip were dotted with faint white scars that she immediately recognized as shrapnel injuries.
“C’mere, beautiful.”
The low rasp of his voice touched her before his hands did, and she let him pull her back down onto his lap. The tiny voice inside her head questioned whether this was right, but the question itself seemed absurd the moment his hand began to trace a path along the inside of her thigh.
Baran closed her eyes as Jack stroked his thick middle finger over the crease where thigh met pelvis. “Oh, fuck.” Her body clenched emptily and she ground into him, wanting to be filled.
“Shhhh.”
She normally hated being shushed but this was different. He was different. His big, broad hands drifted upward again, fanning out over her belly and caressing its soft curve and silky skin. He traced his finger over the silvery arc of a caesarian scar below her navel and smiled as he took it all in. She squirmed impatiently at being touched so gently and he waited until she had stilled again before combing his fingers through her dark curls, grinning at the hiss it elicited.
“Oh my God.” Her eyes snapped open. “Abb…Jack, please.”
“Easy, baby.” He looked up, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he teased her cleft with his middle finger. “I wanna take my time with you.”
“No.” Baran sucked in a breath between her teeth. “You can do that next time. Right now I need you. Not later. Now.”
Jack made a choked sound as his long, thick finger stroked between her folds. “Oh shit, baby. You’re so fuckin’ wet. Is this all for me?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before curling that finger to tease her opening and nick her clit in the process.
“Fuck.” She closed her eyes and swallowed. “You know it is.”
Jack dipped a callused fingertip into her slick, groaning softly at the warm, wet feel of her. Her body tensed, desperate to draw him in as he dragged two fingers over her opening, wetting both before grazing her clit again. Snaking his arm around the back of her waist, he braced her before drawing a firmer, more intentional circle around her swollen bud.
“That’s it, baby.”
His voice was like the shamal, the hot, dry northwesterly wind that swept across the desert in the summer. Her eyes fluttered open again, watching his lips quiver as he slid two fingers along the length of her.
“Oh, fuck. Jack, I need—”
He hugged her closer and drew a long stripe from her perineum up to her clit. “I know what you need, Baran. Let me take care of you.”
The sound of her name on his lips, pronounced with a respectfully Iranian flourish she knew he learned from his time in Iraqi Kurdistan and the Dari-speaking provinces of Afghanistan, made the breath catch in her throat.
“I need you inside of me.” With each stroke of his fingers, with each teasing exploration of her wet, swollen folds, her voice became tighter, and each syllable fell as a needy whine. “Jack.”
Without warning, he slipped his long middle finger deep into her, encountering little resistance, and this time, they both groaned as he found her spongy inner wall, drawing a sharp hiss of pleasure from her when she rocked against the heel of his palm. A second finger followed and she threw her head back, wincing as her body pulsed in response to the almost painful pleasure of it. He added a third while pressing his slippery thumb against her clit, and Baran arched her back, forcing him to hug her close to his chest again.
“Please, Jack.”
He withdrew his fingers and focused on her clit, keeping pressure on the swollen shaft with the edge of his thumb as he circled the glans with his forefinger. Baran was so keyed up by that point that it only took a few more strokes to tip her over the edge as she cried out and her body shuddered in release.
“Oh, fuck. That’s so fuckin’ sexy. Oh my God. You look so beautiful when you come.”
Baran slumped against his chest, leaning her forehead against his shoulder as the last tremors of her release faded. She felt his fingers, still slick with her desire, stroke up the length of her spine and down again as he waited for her breaths to become regular again.
“You have no idea how incredible you are,” he whispered into her dark curls, his breath warming her scalp. “How sexy and beautiful and amazing.”
She let out a shuddering sigh as she felt his cock twitch again. “Jack, I need you.”
The fingers that had been caressing her back were suddenly threaded through her long dark curls, pulling her in for a kiss, claiming her mouth with singleminded desperation, chasing her tongue as he fisted her hair and held her fast against his lips. After a moment, Jack broke off the kiss, leaving them both panting for breath.
“Baran…” He looked crestfallen, his chest heaving as he glanced down at his lap and his bare right leg. “I need to go get a condom.”
She shook her head. “No. I had my tubes tied after Daryush was born. I trust you. I need to feel you.”
Jack nodded and loosened his grip on her waist, bringing his other hand around to her hip and gently smacking her ass, encouraging her to brace herself on his shoulders as she lifted herself up. Baran leaned forward, testing her legs before hoisting herself above his lap.
“I want you so fuckin’ bad,” he whispered, holding himself firmly as he dragged his weeping tip along her folds and notched himself at her entrance. His eyes swiveled up to meet hers and she leaned in and kissed him again, so lightly it was almost chaste, and that was all the permission he needed as he began pulling her down onto his cock.
“Ohh.” She gasped when she felt his head breach her. “Oh, shit.” He was every bit as thick as he looked and then some. She sank down on him slowly, her lips parting in a low, raspy groan as his thick length peeled her apart and filled her, stretching her and setting her nerve endings on fire. Her breath hitched as her body opened for him, inch by inch, until he bottomed out inside of her with a long sigh.
“Oh fuck, Baran. Fuck, you feel good.”
His fingers kneaded the soft flesh on either side of her waist, the skin streaked with faint white stretch marks, some of them wide enough he could trace the pads of his fingers over them like ruts in a road. He massaged her hips, holding her but not constraining her as she gradually found her rhythm. She scooped her hips, grinding and taking him deeper with every stroke, and she let go of one of his shoulders so she could caress the stubble that covered his jaw.
“You feel so good,” she told him, scraping her nails over his prickly scruff.
Baran gasped as he finally began to move beneath her, thrusting up to meet her strokes. She felt his jaw shift beneath her fingers, his mouth opening and closing as her muscles tensed around him. His fingers gripped her hips harder, pulling her down, guiding her movements as he jerked up into her with an animalistic growl that made her pussy flutter around him.
“Tell me you’re close,” he grunted as he pistoned up into her, no longer able to time his movements in sync with hers. His strokes became more ragged and she simply tried to hold on. “Oh fuck.”
“Almost.” She opened her eyes and watched his face as his mouth fell open. “Oh, I—”
“Touch yourself, baby.” His hands reached around and palmed the globes of her ass, spreading them apart as he drove up into her, his teeth gritted as he struggled to hold himself back from the edge. “I wanna feel you come on my cock.”
Baran licked her fingers and reached down, drawing tight little circles over her clit as he pistoned into her. Jack sighed as she began to tighten around him, and his soft little grunts became more emphatic as he held her fast, squeezing her ass cheeks as he pounded into her.
“C’mon. Come for me, Baran.”
His plea was soft and low but not quite a whisper and the sound of him sighing her name in supplication was what finally unraveled her. Baran cried out and her body quaked as she shattered, a sharp shudder ripping through her as she tightened around him. She collapsed against his chest as the last tremors faded, resting her forehead on his sweaty shoulder while she caught her breath.
Her chest was still heaving when she felt his fingers dig into her hips, bruising and possessive, as he began to hammer up into her again. His little grunts and moans were shamelessly airy and she leaned back just enough to see his face. She clenched her inner muscles as he drove deep and was rewarded when he finally let go with a groan, his face suddenly slack as he came in hot, lazy pulses.
“Oh fuck, baby.” His rosy gray curls were dark with sweat where they framed his face. “Holy shit.”
She laughed and stroked her fingers along the furrow between his pecs, humming as she teased the graying ginger curls there. “Yeah.”
When Baran woke up the next morning, she was temporarily disoriented, confused by the unfamiliar feel of the sheets and the fact that she was on the wrong side of the bed. She rolled over and reached her arm out but found only a cool, creased sheet. Turning towards the en-suite, she smiled at the little LED night light plugged into the outlet next to the vanity and wondered if it was always there or something Jack had done for her.
After emptying her bladder, Baran padded back into the bedroom. She could hear him clattering around in the kitchen and wondered how long he’d been awake. From the sound of it, she guessed he wasn’t going back to bed anytime soon, so she flipped on the bedside lamp and scanned the room. There was an antique wooden bench along the wall opposite the closet which held a hamper full of neatly folded clothes. She pilfered a pair of soft modal boxers from the hamper and slipped into them, then reached for a faded navy hoodie that was draped over the arm of the bench and pulled it on, zipping it up halfway and rolling up the stretched-out sleeves.
She found Jack in the kitchen, shirtless and clad only in a skimpy pair of olive running shorts, wearing a Croc on his left foot. He leaned into a forearm crutch as he stood next to a bowl and an empty carton of eggs, whisking a gooey mix of egg and milk with a fork. He looked up and smiled, his eyes narrowing as he tried to gauge her mood. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she said, her voice still rough from sleep.
Jack set the bowl on the counter and grabbed his other crutch, then walked over to her. He kissed her forehead and took a step back. “That looks a lot better on you than it does on him.”
Puzzled, she looked down and noted the seal of Case Western Reserve University on the left chest of the hoodie. She had read through the CVs of all of the ED physicians the night before her first day in the ED, and she remembered that Jack received his medical degree from the F. Edward Hébert School of Medicine at the Uniformed Services University of the Health Sciences in Bethesda. Then she remembered that Dr. Robby had gone to Case Western and done his clinical rotations at the Cleveland Clinic. She glanced down at the sleeves she’d rolled up and realized that the hoodie was huge, falling to her mid-thigh.
Her brain sputtered for a moment.
She knew Jack and Robby were close, but she now wondered how close. The hoodie wasn’t folded with the laundry, so did that mean Robby kept it there? And if so, why? She’d discovered that Jack kept his home cooler than most, and it didn’t surprise her that others would find it a bit nippy. But why was the sweatshirt in the bedroom? More importantly, why was she obsessing about this?
She cleared her throat and inspected the pile of thinly sliced onions and peppers on the bamboo cutting board.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, turning on the stove to warm the pan.
She had slept well, better than she had in weeks. Jack had been true to his word and took his time with her after they moved to his bedroom, and the three orgasms he wrung out of her left her boneless and utterly spent. Afterwards, she nuzzled into his chest and quickly fell asleep.
“I did,” she said, smiling at the memory. “And you?”
“Really well, yeah.” There was a smugness to his grin but she found it difficult to be mad about it.
He cut a chunk of butter off the stick and dropped it into the pan, swirling it around as it melted.
“Do you do this sort of thing often?” she asked, fascinated by the way the muscles and tendons in his forearm rippled as he rotated the pan in midair.
Jack set the pan back on the stove and smirked. He turned to her, the hint of ginger in his furrowed brow more obvious in the morning light. “What, make omelettes?”
She cocked her head and rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
His mouth twitched and he stared at the hoodie for a moment before looking away again. “You’re only the second person from the hospital I’ve been with. This…” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple dipping low in his throat as he made a vague gesture with his hand. “I don’t usually do this.” He pointed to the bowl on the counter. “Can you pass me that?”
“Sure.” Baran passed him the bowl and watched him carefully pour the egg mixture into the pan, as steadily and methodically as he did everything else.
She remembered a passage from the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, the medieval Persian poet:
Where have we come from? Where are we going?
What is the meaning of our lives? We can’t comprehend.
So many pure souls under the blue circle of sky
Burn into ashes! But tell me, where is the smoke?
Baran wasn’t sure where this was going, if it was going anywhere at all. But as she passed him the cutting board with the sliced vegetables, she decided that it didn’t really matter. Dr. Robby would return soon enough and when he did, she would hand back the reins, and the man in front of her would again be her peer.
In the meantime, she was content to follow the current, wherever it took her.