-Roxy Delgado:
I swear my chest was about to crack open from how hard my heart was beating when she walked out of the room.
Dr. Sloane Pierce. Even her name sounded like it belonged in a book or on the front of some award plaque. Sharp. Professional. Unreachable.
And yet she'd just been standing right here at the foot of my bed, glasses perched on her nose, green eyes full of restrained weariness but still steady enough to pierce straight through me.
My stupid self sat there with a dumb grin plastered on my face, smirking like a lovesick teenager while my brothers glared at me.
I didn't care.
She firs my type so perfectly without even trying. Tall, smart, nerdy in the most delicious way, those faint shadows under her eyes proof of how hard she worked.
Even the way she spoke—measured, careful, precise—made me feel like I wanted to sit up straighter, listen harder, behave better. And if you know me, you know I don't "behave." Ever.
But with her? God. She looked like the type of woman I'd happily let boss me around, not just in a hospital room but in every damn room especially the bedroom.
Knowing I Was Gay as fuck:
I'd known since forever that I liked women. My parents used to joke that they didn't even need me to come out—I was practically born waving a rainbow flag.
When I was eight, I kissed my girl best friend in the backyard, sticky popsicle juice on our lips, giggling so hard I thought my lungs would burst.
My mom caught us. She didn't even look surprised, just sighed, shook her head, and muttered something about how she was going to have to start hiding the teen magazines early.
By twelve, I told them officially. I remember sitting at the dinner table, fork stabbing into my mashed potatoes, blurting, "So, I like girls." My dad shrugged. My mom said, "We know." My brothers all groaned like I'd just confessed to something as obvious as liking oxygen. That was it. No drama. No tears. Just… acceptance.
And yet, despite that acceptance, I still felt like I hadn't really lived the way I was meant to.
My first girlfriend came at fourteen. We held hands at school like we were the bravest kids alive. We lost our virginities to each other in the backseat of a car parked behind the bowling alley. It was clumsy, it was messy, but it was ours.
She moved away the next year and ended our relationship as a mutual agreement and decided to stay just friends.
After that, it was like my life split into chapters of hookups and nothing else. Dating apps, women I met at bars, women who wanted a night of fun and nothing more. Which suited me—at least at first. By eighteen, that's all it was. By twenty-five, it started feeling empty. Now at twenty-nine, I can't even remember half the names.
The sex was fine, sometimes even great, but none of them lit me up inside. None of them made me feel like I'd found it.
Now, here's the thing about me: I don't exist in a vacuum. I come with baggage. Seven huge, loud, overprotective brothers who think they get to decide the trajectory of my life.
Let me give you the rundown.
Kyle, the oldest, age forty-five. Married with two kids, our club's de facto leader. He's stern, no-nonsense, the one who always tells me to stop screwing around.
Marcus, forty-three, married to his high school sweetheart. No kids. He's calm, steady, the kind of guy who can negotiate his way out of any fight.
Adrian, forty-one, married with three children who climb on him like monkeys every time they visit. Loud, chaotic, the family clown.
Victor, thirty-nine, divorced twice, now dating Tracy. He acts like he's the expert on love because he's "seen it all." I roll my eyes every time.
Dante, thirty-six, had a long-term boyfriend once but now dates a woman he's been seeing for six months. He's the cool one. The one people gravitate toward.
Leo, thirty-four, just engaged two months ago. Sensitive, romantic, wears his heart on his sleeve.
Mateo, thirty. My closest in age, and engaged to the best man in world, my best friend, which still makes me laugh when I think about it. He's sweet, goofy, loves too hard.
And then there's me. Twenty-nine. The only one not in a committed, long-term relationship. The one who still treats love like it's a car you can ride for a night before returning the keys.
They all look at me like I'm broken somehow, like I'm incapable of commitment. They don't get it. I'm not incapable. I just haven't met anyone who makes me want to try.
The second Sloane stepped into my room, tall frame silhouetted in the doorway, glasses sliding down her nose, messy bun threatening to collapse—I knew.
She was special.
Not just another hookup, not just another night of distraction. She was the reason I hadn't settled for less all these years. My heart whispered, Here she is. My gut said, This is the one. And I just knew she's my wife in that moment, she might not know it yet but we're married. My whole body lit up like a damn Christmas tree.
I wanted her.
No, more than that—I wanted her now.
So when she left with that professional smile, my brothers groaned at the lovestruck look on my face. Kyle's glare could've cut steel.
"Don't you fucking try, Roxy," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "She's your doctor. You're not going to just—" He paused, lowering his voice but not enough. "You're not going to just try to fuck her, right?"
I widened my eyes, pretending innocence. "What makes you think that?"
Kyle gave me the look. The one that meant he'd already read my mind.
I sighed dramatically. "Okay, fine. Maybe I want to talk to her. That's all. Just talk."
"Bullshit," Adrian chimed in from the corner, bouncing one of his kids on his lap. "You've got that same look you get every time you spot a hot chick."
"This is different." My voice softened, betraying the seriousness I felt. "She's different."
My brothers exchanged glances. Half of them rolled their eyes. Marcus shook his head. Leo muttered something about me being hopeless.
I ignored them. I didn't need their approval. I knew what I felt.
-
Later that evening, as the machines beeped steadily around me and my brothers argued over who was bringing food from home tomorrow, I pressed the nurse call button.
"Roxy," Mateo groaned. "You just had your vitals checked twenty minutes ago."
I smirked. "I need something."
The nurse entered, polite smile in place. "What can I do for you, Miss Delgado?"
"Could you call Dr. Pierce for me?"
She blinked. "Dr. Pierce? She's not your assigned doctor, ma'am. She just assisted in the ER because we were overrun."
I tilted my head, feigning confusion. "So she's doctor, right?"
"Yes."
"Then she can check me. My head hurts."
The nurse frowned. "You didn't report any pain earlier."
I pressed a hand to my temple, groaning theatrically. "Well, it hurts now."
From the corner, Kyle muttered, "You've got to be kidding me."
The nurse looked torn, but duty won out. "Alright, I'll page her."
The second the door closed, Marcus buried his face in his hands. "Are you serious, Roxy?"
"What?" I asked, smirking. "I'm in pain."
Adrian barked a laugh. "The only pain you're in is thirst for pussy."
"Thirst for knowledge," I shot back. "I need to know more about my doctor."
Mateo groaned so loudly it echoed.
-
The door creaked open minutes later, and there she was. My goddess. My future wife. My doom.
"Ms. Delgado, I hear you're in pain."" Her voice was low, steady, professional. She carried a clipboard, her glasses sliding down just enough to make my chest tighten.
"My head hurts, doc. Thought you might want to check it out." I whispered, trying to sound pitiful.
"Where exactly does it hurt?" She touched my temple with two fingers, almost theatrically. "Right here."
She stepped closer, checking the monitors, her fingers gentle as they probed around my skull. I wanted to melt into the sheets. Her touch was clinical, detached, but to me it was electricity.
"Any dizziness? Nausea?" she asked.
"Only when you leave the room," I blurted before I could stop myself.
The silence that followed was deafening. My brothers all groaned in unison. One of them smacked his forehead.
"You're fine," She said, finally leaning back. "There's no indication of pain. No swelling. No sign of trauma. If you're feeling anything, it's residual pressure or even stress. Nothing more."
I smirked again, eyes glinting. "So that means you'll keep checking me, right? Just to be sure."
She blinked, keeping that professional smile on her face. "That's what routine follow-ups are for, yes. The staff will—"
"No." I cut me off, voice dipping lower. "*You.* You'll check me. You'll be the one." Around us, my brothers groaned, one dragging a hand down his face. "Jesus Christ, Roxy."
Sloane blinked, her face giving nothing away. She cleared her throat. "Well… your head appears fine. Healing well. No swelling beyond what we expect."
"Great," I said, eyes locked on her. "So when do I get out of here?"
She hesitated, flipping through the chart. "At least a week. You need monitoring, especially with your spine and leg injury."
"A week?" I leaned back, pouting. "I want to leave today. And when I do, you're coming with me."
Her brows drew together. "Excuse me?"
"As my physical therapist," I clarified quickly, smirk tugging at my lips. "I think you'd be perfect."
The room went still. My brothers erupted into protests. Kyle actually growled my name.
But I didn't care.
Because for the first time in years, I felt alive and thrilled to get closer to another woman.
And I wasn't about to let Dr. Sloane Pierce slip through my fingers.