Stirred (Twisted Fox Book 1)

  Stirred

  Charity Ferrell

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Jamie

  2. Cohen

  3. Jamie

  4. Cohen

  5. Jamie

  6. Cohen

  7. Jamie

  8. Cohen

  9. Jamie

  10. Cohen

  11. Jamie

  12. Cohen

  13. Jamie

  14. Cohen

  15. Jamie

  16. Cohen

  17. Jamie

  18. Cohen

  19. Jamie

  20. Cohen

  21. Jamie

  22. Cohen

  23. Jamie

  24. Cohen

  25. Jamie

  26. Cohen

  27. Jamie

  28. Cohen

  29. Jamie

  30. Cohen

  31. Jamie

  32. Jamie

  33. Cohen

  34. Jamie

  35. Cohen

  36. Jamie

  Sneak Peek of Just Roommates

  Also by Charity Ferrell

  Contact

  Copyright © 2020 by Charity Ferrell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  Proofreading: Jenny Sims, Editing4Indies

  Cover Designer: Lori Jackson, Lori Jackson Design

  Cover Photographer: Wander Aguiar

  ISBN: 978-1-952496-00-4

  Prologue

  Cohen

  “Just for a minute,” I plea, rocking my newborn son in my arms. “Hold him for one damn minute.”

  It’ll change your mind.

  It has to change your mind.

  Heather sneers, refusing to look at us, and crosses her arms, as if she’s scared I’ll push him into them.

  I count to ten, my jaw clenching harder with each number. Ten hits and I blow out a series of calming breaths.

  Not that it works.

  I’m fighting to keep my cool.

  For him.

  Not her.

  Fuck her.

  “Enough is enough, Heather,” I say.

  Her green eyes, void of emotion, narrow when they meet mine. “I told you, Cohen, I wanted out. I can’t do this—”

  “You decided out of the fucking blue that you wanted out two months ago. A little too late to change your mind about having our baby.”

  “I don’t want him. You agreed to accept all responsibility, and I expect you to keep your word.” She uncrosses her arms and rubs her hands together. “My job is done. I’m leaving.”

  I trace the tiny features of Noah’s face with the pad of my thumb. “Give it a week. Please.”

  “My flight leaves in three days.”

  “Heather—”

  “If you hoped me seeing him would change my mind, you were wrong.” She tips her head toward the little man in my arms. “Neither will holding him.”

  Revulsion seeps through me when she turns around and walks away without giving us another glance.

  How did I ever love this woman?

  That love splinters into disgust.

  Trailing a finger over Noah’s peach fuzz, I whisper, “Looks like it’s just you and me against the world, buddy.”

  1

  Jamie

  Five Years Later

  Nine hours down.

  Three to go.

  Three hours until I can go home, finish that box of Thin Mints I shouldn’t have bought, and binge-watch a show on Netflix.

  Netflix and cookies.

  Netflix and single.

  Netflix and story of my life.

  “Tell me he finally agreed?” Lauren, our charge nurse, asks—referring to the appendicitis patient who’s been refusing an appendectomy all night.

  I nod. “After his wife promised to buy him a new TV.”

  She scoffs. “I’d love to say someone being bribed to have life-saving surgery is a shocker, but after working in the ER for so long, I’m not easily shooketh.”

  “Tell me about it.” I glance around the emergency room. “What’s next for me?”

  It’s been a slow night at Anchor Ridge Memorial Hospital, and as much as that’s a good thing, it can get boring.

  She points down the hall. “Exam room three. Five-year-old with a fever.” Her tone turns bubbly as she wiggles her shoulders. “Dad is super hot, by the way.”

  I shake my head and tap my knuckles against the triage desk. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

  “Ask him for his number,” she half-whispers with a thumbs-up.

  I roll my eyes and dismissively wave my hand. “Absolutely not.”

  “All work and no play makes Jamie a grumpy doctor.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I spin on my heel and walk to the room.

  The door is cracked, and I knock, snatching a pair of latex gloves on my way in.

  “Hello, I’m Dr.—” I stop, stumble back two steps, and cover my mouth with my hand.

  Holy crap.

  My body tenses, and as soon as my gaze meets his, his jaw flexes.

  I struggle for words as anger and disgust line his face.

  Words I’d planned if this moment ever happened.

  Unfortunately, those words become a scared bitch and run away.

  “Cohen,” is all I manage in a whisper.

  He stands tall from his chair, his narrowed eyes pinned to me, and moves to the side of the bed, blocking my view of the patient.

  Lauren’s words hit me.

  “Five-year-old …”

  My attention slides from Sir Pissed Off, and I shift to the left.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper, gaping at the little boy in the bed.

  A little boy whose eyes are sleepy and nose is red and irritated.

  Those sleepy eyes, a walnut-brown with a slight slant, match his father’s.

  The same with his thick ash-brown hair.

  But the dimple in his chin and heart-shaped face match hers.

  “Is this …?” My hand shakes when I point at him.

  It’s a dumb question.

  Even if he says no, he’ll be a liar.

  “What are you doing here?” he repeats, his tone harsh.

  If I wasn’t at a loss for words, my smart-ass self would throw out something along the lines of, What do you think, dumbass? I’m sporting a doctor’s jacket with my name embroidered on it.

  But I don’t.

  Because I can’t.

  It’s a challenge, wrapping my head around them being here, let alone dragging out my sarcasm.

  “I’m your doctor,” I finally say before signaling to the boy. “I’m his doctor.”

  Sound cool. Confident.

  You’re the fucking professional here, Jamie.

  “We want a different doctor,” he hisses, his voice low enough so only I can hear.

  “I’m the only doctor on shift tonight.” I’m speaking to Cohen, but the boy holds my interest.

  He’s watching this exchange, his eyes pinging back and forth between his father and me with curiosity on his tired face.

  “We’ll go to another hospital then.”

  “Why, Dad?” the boy whines, sniffling. “I don’t f
eel good, and what if I puke in the car?”

  “I want another doctor.” His broad shoulders draw back.

  He raises a brow when I hold up a finger, turn, and scurry out of the room.

  I rush over to Lauren. “Can you watch the boy in three for a minute? I need to talk to his father privately.”

  She peeks up at me from her computer and tilts her head to the side. “Yeah … sure.”

  Cohen is pacing the room when we walk in.

  “A word,” I say, jerking my head toward the doorway.

  Cohen’s attention darts to the boy, and he delivers a gentle smile. “I’ll be right back, buddy.” He gives him a quick peck on the head and swings his arm toward the door, his eyes cold. “After you, Your Highness.”

  Lauren throws me a curious glance when he walks past her, and I shrug as if this isn’t about to be awkward city up in here.

  As we leave, I hear Lauren asking the boy what his favorite cartoon is.

  Cohen keeps his distance while I lead us into a private room, the one reserved for breaking bad news to families.

  I speak as soon as I shut the door, “Cohen—”

  Too bad he doesn’t let me get more than his name out.

  Rude.

  His deep-set eyes level on me. “This is a conflict of interest, Jamie. The nurse can help us. We don’t need you.”

  “We don’t need you.”

  The memories of the last time he said those words to me smack into me like a headache.

  It was the last time I saw him.

  The last time he looked at me with the same resentment.

  Either he doesn’t realize how hard his insult hit me or he doesn’t care.

  I snort, anger biting at me. “What do you think I’m going to do, huh? Kidnap him?”

  “Considering who you’re related to, who knows?”

  “Wow.” I clench my fists to hold myself back from smacking him in the face since his words are like a slap in mine. “You have some nerve.”

  It’d make for some bad headlines if a doctor slapped a patient’s father.

  There’s no apology on his face when he holds up his hands. “Just saying it how I see it.”

  “Then allow me to say it how I see it.” I thrust my finger toward the door. “You have a sick son in there, and it’s my job to treat him. Don’t like it? I don’t give a shit.” I shove past him, stalk out of the room, and don’t check to see if he’s following me.

  “Everything okay?” Lauren asks, her eyes glancing over my shoulder, and I realize Cohen is behind me, still keeping his distance.

  “Peachy,” I chirp before approaching the bed and smiling down at the boy. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “Noah,” he croaks.

  Even though I was sure it was him, my head spins at his confirmation.

  I tenderly squeeze his arm, and my tone turns cheerful. “Hi, Noah. I’m Dr. Gentry. Can I ask some questions about how you’re feeling?”

  He nods.

  Cohen stalks to the other side of the bed, his eyes on me, and Lauren migrates to the corner, her nosy ass interested in this shitshow.

  “He has a fever,” Cohen tells me, his tone softer.

  “For how long?”

  He scratches his scruffy cheek. “Over twenty-four hours.”

  “Appetite?”

  He shakes his head. “Not even sugar. I can hardly get him to drink, and he has no energy, which is very rare for him.”

  “Cough?”

  “Yes.”

  His jerk attitude settles while we turn our attention to Noah. I ask question after question as I take his temperature and go through all the motions.

  “Symptoms tell me it’s the flu,” I say, removing my gloves and tossing them into the trash. “We’ll do a test, and I also want to run some blood work to make sure we’re not missing anything.”

  Cohen nods. “Thank you.”

  I smile at Noah. “We’ll get you back to feeling good in no time.” I give Lauren, who’s gathering supplies for the test, a head nod and leave the room.

  I‘ll definitely be pairing wine with those Thin Mints tonight.

  Lauren comes scurrying into the doctors’ lounge ten minutes later. “Whoa, what was that about? Dude was super nice to me but acted as if you’d pissed in his Cheerios.”

  Here goes.

  A chill sweeps up my neck. “That’s my sister’s ex … and her son … the ones she left.”

  “Oh, Jerry Springer.”

  2

  Cohen

  Out of all the doctors, it had to be her.

  Jamie fucking Gentry.

  Heather’s younger sister.

  A woman I demanded stay the fuck away from Noah and me.

  I moved two towns over from Mayview to Anchor Ridge, Iowa, to prevent this shit from happening.

  The last time I saw her was a few days after Noah was born. That was five years ago, and even though she’s changed, there was no disputing it was her when she walked in. The moment our eyes met, I jumped to my feet, dread spilling over every rational thought in my head.

  She can’t see him.

  She can’t know him.

  Anger shook through me as we stared at each other. Her eyes—so similar to the woman’s I despised—only pissed me off more.

  Noah is sleeping, and my back straightens in my chair at the sound of a tap on the door. I slump in relief when it’s my younger sister, Georgia, coming into view and not Jamie.

  Hopefully, Jamie listened and won’t come back.

  “I came as soon as I left work,” Georgia says, collapsing in the chair next to me.

  I shoot her a stressed smile. “Thanks.”

  She bites into her lower lip, her gaze sweeping from one side of the room to the other, and taps her foot. “This might sound super random, but did you know that Heather’s sister is here?”

  “Yep.” I stretch out my legs. “She’s Noah’s doctor.”

  “Wow.” She whistles. “Awkward.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I wish I had been here at that first exchange.”

  I drop my head back, hoping to release the tension in my neck. “I nearly had a heart attack when she walked in.”

  I’m positive she felt the same.

  Jamie’s face revealed every thought running through her head.

  Shock, hurt, anger.

  The same shit her sister made me feel.

  “Did you ask for another doctor?”

  “She’s the only doctor here tonight.”

  She lowers her voice. “Does Noah know who she is?”

  “No, and it’d better stay that way.” I move my neck from side to side before standing. “Can you keep an eye on him while I grab a quick coffee from the waiting room?”

  “No, there’s no way I can handle him,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “He’s acting like an animal. Too much energy.”

  I ruffle my hand through her hair, and she smacks it away.

  “Fucking smart-ass.”

  “Grab me a coffee too. Please and thank you.”

  I pour our coffees and almost make it back to Noah’s room Jamie-free, but she steps in front of me before I do.

  Determination is set on her too-pretty face, and she crosses her arms. As much as I’d love to tell her to fuck off, I can’t. The nurse’s eyes are glued to us like we’re her favorite soap opera.

  There sure is enough drama for us to be one.

  “Cohen, we need to talk,” Jamie says.

  I match her stance, folding my arms across my chest, and grip the coffees tight in each hand while adding a scowl to one-up her. “If it’s not about Noah, I have nothing to say to you.”

  She stretches out her hand and separates her fingers. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking for, and it is about Noah.”

  “Three minutes.” I’m not doing shit on her terms.

  She throws her arms up before collapsing them to her sides. “Fine, three minutes.”

  I trail her when she
starts walking, and the nurse smirks when we pass her. We’re back in the room she dragged me into earlier, and she shuts the door behind us. I can’t stop myself from chuckling when she stands in the doorway, crossing her arms again as if she’s geared to stop me from leaving.

  As if she makes the fucking rules.

  Her thick honey-brown hair is longer than it was so many years ago and swept back into a ponytail, a few curly strands loose around her face. She’s wearing blue scrubs—even though they shouldn’t look hot, they do on her—and a white jacket, the words Dr. Jamie Gentry, MD, Emergency Medicine embroidered on it in red stitching.

  She’s gorgeous—even with the similarities between her and Heather. Prettier—because she doesn’t have a black fucking heart. Long gone is her geeky phase. Now replaced with a beautiful, confident woman, and by the look on her face, she is about to be a pain in my fucking ass.

  “I tried calling you for months, Cohen,” she snaps before raising a finger. “No, wait. I tried calling you for years.”

  “What did I tell you?” I reply, setting the cups down on a table. “If it doesn’t involve Noah, I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Seriously?” She grimaces. “Act like a grown man here.”

  “Trust me, I am plenty of a grown man.”

  “Really? Because your behavior screams more of a child’s than a man’s.”

  “This conversation is what’s childish. What do you want me to tell you, Jamie?” I scrape a hand through my hair and blow out a stressed breath. “I changed my number.”

  “Thank you, Captain Fucking Obvious. Why did you change your number?”

 
-->