All I Want For Christmas Is Them: A MMF Medical Romance (The Truth or Dare Series Book 3)

The morning light cuts across Naomi’s bedroom.

Milo has made a nest out of the sweaters piled on her round chair and is curled up in a puddle of sunlight.

It’s cold with the heat still busted, but we’re warm. My body is slotted against Diego’s, his arm around my middle. He’s as cozy as a fireplace. Naomi is tucked against my chest. Their legs are tangled up with mine, and I can’t tell where one person stops and the next begins.

When I open my eyes, Naomi is looking at me. Those soft brown eyes light up when I meet her gaze.

Her armor is off. We’re both bare like this, hearts spilled open first thing in the morning, our love like a broken yoke.

Her smile is gentle, and sleepy, and all mine.

“I love you, Otto,” she says.

“I love you—”

I wake myself up with her name on my lips.

“—Naomi.”

I reach for her, but she’s not there. Neither is Diego.

My bed is empty. My sheets are stiff. This room is too clean and smells faintly like bleach and medicine. Beside me, a machine bleeps rhythmically, marking my heart rate.

I’m in the hospital. And I’m alone.

This is what you wanted. Lock up the pity party.

I close my eyes again and exhale a deep breath.

I’ve typed out maybe twenty texts to Naomi.

I’m sorry. I miss you. Please come back.

But every time I type out the words, I delete them before I can send them.

My chest aches. I try to ignore the heaviness in my heart and take stock of the rest of my body instead. My Poisonous Friend throbs uncomfortably at my side. If I stay very, very still, I can almost ignore the pain.

Is this what the rest of my life will be? Holding my body like a mug of hot coffee on a pitching boat. Doing everything in my power to keep the discomfort from spilling everywhere.

A sharp lash of pain comes on. I push my fingers into the mattress and exhale a shuddery breath.

Breathe through it. It’ll be over soon.

It’s finally subsiding when my phone vibrates beside me. I blink bruised spots from my eyes and swipe my phone from its spot on my bed.

My first thought is: Naomi? Diego?

No. Neither.

It’s my sister. I open the text. It says:

[text: Joan] Mr. Bones says hello.

Despite the pain, a small grin finds its way over my mouth.

She’s here.

It’s nearly midnight, but she’s here.

I glance around. I’m not about to bother the nurses. I remove the monitor from my finger, ignoring the way it makes the machine go nuts. There are suitcases filled with my clothes at the foot of the bed. I rid myself of the hospital gown and slip into a black shirt and gray sweatpants instead. The waistband doesn’t put too much pressure on my abdomen, and with “real people clothes” on now, I feel slightly more normal.

I put on my shoes, tuck my phone in my back pocket, and quietly slip out of my hospital room. There’s a nurses’ desk around the corner to my right. Even this late at night, there’s a light murmur of activity there. I don’t want to be ushered back into my room, so I hang a left instead, toward the stairs.

I pass by a small sectioned-off waiting room. My feet momentarily come to a halt here.

Ah. There they are.

My mom, Jason, and Donovan have all fallen asleep together in the waiting room. My mom is slumped to her side, her head on Donovan’s shoulder. Donovan is nestled against her. Jason has his arm around my mom’s shoulders, his head tilted back.

This is how I’m used to seeing them. Not this bullshit keep-your-distance dance they’ve been doing with each other over the past couple of months.

I’m used to seeing them piled up like puppies, wrapped in each other.

The sight of it makes my heart pinch.

They look too peaceful, so I don’t wake them. I just walk past them quietly and make my way to the stairwell.

We’re only on the third floor, but it takes me longer than normal to hobble down to the first.

I spent a lot of my young life at this hospital. But Joan grew up here. With both our dads working here, she’d often come to work and spend the day in daycare or be passed between the two of them whenever one finished a shift.

There is a part of me that’s always envied her for that. I made a family. I experienced the growing pains of their triad. Donovan and Jason had to learn to be fathers with me.

By the time Joan entered the picture, it was all smooth sailing. She’s only ever known a life with one mom, two dads, and me. She’s never had to question her place in it.

I might’ve resented her for it, if she wasn’t so dang cute.

The day she was born, my heart melted in my chest. I knew I was going to spend the rest of my life loving and protecting this tiny creature with everything I had in me.

Over the years, the both of us developed an intimate knowledge of the ins and outs of the hospital. It was, after all, her playground. I spent a lot of time playing hide-and-seek with her in these halls—and getting into a fair amount of trouble when I lost her in the ICU.

I get down to the first floor, move past the elevators, and down the hall. I push open a closed door and find it unlocked. It opens up to a mini rec room, complete with a table, fridge, a sink, and a row of lockers. There’s an empty conference room adjoining.

This space is mostly for hosting students for training sessions and workshops. Doctors of Tomorrow is one of the hospital’s more well-known study programs for promising upcoming medical students to get their hands dirty. The program has been running for decades.

This room is, also, one of Joan’s favorite places to hide.

Mr. Bones is a display skeleton propped up in the corner of the room. A teaching tool. He has his hand lifted toward the door, his middle finger pointing up while the rest are folded down.

Yep. Joan has definitely been here.

“Okay, wild one,” I say. “Where are you hiding?”

I check under the table. Behind the door.

Nada.

I scan the lockers. I start opening them up, one by one.

“I swear, if you’re in here—”

“Arrrgh!” Joan shouts as she leaps out from a locker just as I open it, her arms raised.

I hear myself shout. “Bloody Jesus fuck!”

Even if I was anticipating it, my heart still leaps into my throat.

Her dark hair looks wild around her head. She frowns, her lower lip ring protruding.

“That’s a hell of a way to greet your little sister.”

I open my arms. “Alright. Come.”

She flings herself at me. Too hard. For someone only an inch or two over five feet, she’s a cannonball. I wince at her hug.

“Ouch.”

Quickly, she retracts. “Yikes. Sorry. Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere.”

“Baby.”

“Brat.”

She grins at that.

My parents named Joan after Joan Jett. Joan took the namesake and ran with it. She’s a punk rock princess. Thick black hair that she keeps in a messy chop around her shoulders. Torn jeans and a leather jacket laden with pins that read her like bumper stickers. She has her bottom lip pierced, as well as piercings up and down her ears and probably in places I don’t want to know about.

Ever since she turned eighteen earlier this year, she’s been threatening to get a tattoo. The only problem is she can’t commit to any concept longer than a couple of days before she scraps it and goes back to the drawing board.

She has Mom’s eyes. Emerald green, like sea glass.

Privately, though I’d never admit it out loud, I think I was always grateful that she looks more like Mom than Donovan.

“This is new.” A tap my finger against a new piercing—an eyebrow stud above her left eye.

She tilts back on her heels, leaning away from my prodding. “Believe it or not, things change.”

“Oh yeah? You’re a sophisticated woman in London?”

“Fuck yeah. New school. New friends. New me.”

“New partner?” I loop my finger around her necklace. It’s a simple silver chain, but it has a ring hanging from it. “What is this, a promise ring?”

Her eyes flash. “How about you mind your own business?”

Spitfire. All five feet of her.

And she’d probably rather spend the holidays with her new beloved instead of stuck in a hospital.

My mouth pinches into a frown. “I’m sorry you had to come back here.”

“What, you think I’d miss this? I’m sort of the star actress. Would be pretty shitty to be a no-show to my own transplant.”

All levity leaves my voice. I need her to know I’m serious when I tell her, “You know you don’t have to do this.”

“If my options are lose a brother or lose a kidney, I pick lose a kidney. I’ve got two of those and only one dumbass brother.”

“Gee, thanks.” I snort a laugh.

“Besides. I’ve been keeping this baby nice and juicy for you. I can go to bars in London, you know. Drinking age is eighteen. Do you know how many free drinks I turn down on a regular basis?”

“There’s something wrong with you.”

“Duh.” She reaches down and links her pinky in mine. “I’ve been prepping for this my entire life. I’m in. I think the real question is…are you ready?”

It hits me all at once. I know I have to give up the kidney if I want any sort of future with Naomi and Diego.

But, oh, god. It’s hard.

It hits me all at once. All the emotion I’ve been bottling up inside.

I clutch my side, double over, and cry. My sister wraps her arms around me, holding on to me.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “It’s all going to be okay.”