Truth or Dare: Episode 4 – Truth – She Still Gets to Me

MALIK

“What do we got?” I said, moving swiftly toward the paramedics.

Seconds ago, BBMC’s automatic ER doors slid open and a stretcher barreled through, pushed by two paramedics—both already talking fast.

“Forty-two-year-old male,” the lead paramedic said, voice trembling from the pace. “Construction fall. Fell from a scaffold—eight feet.”

I cringed, leaning in with my flashlight to check the patient’s eyes.

“Brief loss of consciousness.”

“Noted,” I replied, gesturing ahead of us. “Aight, let’s move. Trauma Bay Two.”

I projected my voice loud enough to slice through the noise, keeping it steady. Not for me—for him. Even unconscious, the mind listens, and staying calm helps keep the body calm.

The ER had been one rough case after another that morning. I was used to working nights, so seeing just how much shit Brooklyn residents got into before noon still managed to surprise me.

With only minutes left in my shift, this case would have to be my last, but I had to focus like it was my first.

My team snapped into motion around me.

“BP 88 over 50,” a nurse shouted. “And dropping!”

“Start two large-bore IVs,” I ordered, pressing my fingers to the patient’s neck and noticing fresh blood matting his hair. “Get a liter of NS running wide open. Draw labs—CBC, CMP, type and screen. Prep for possible transfusion.”

He stirred awake, clutching his side.

“Sir?” I called, bringing the flashlight back over his face. “Do you know where you are?”

He groaned.

“Aight, take it easy.” I offered a small smile when his gaze met mine. “You’re in good hands. We got you.”

“Before he fell unconscious, he complained of left flank pain,” the second paramedic added. “Guarding on palpation.”

“Mmm-hmm…” I stepped to the side, examining his left flank. “Possible splenic injury.” I looked to the nurse. “Let’s page radiology—STAT CT abdomen and pelvis with contrast.”

I glanced around, scanning for one of my residents. BBMC was a teaching hospital—chaos or not, they needed to learn.

“Dr. Wells,” I said to my resident, who hovered over the patient, wide-eyed. “Come here. I need you focused. Breath sounds?”

“Uh…” He fumbled but got his stethoscope in place. “Clear on the right, diminished on the left.”

“Left-sided pneumothorax,” I said. “Let’s confirm with ultrasound.”

A nurse handed him the probe. He promptly dropped it into my hand.

I inhaled deeply to steady my pulse, the antiseptic-heavy air filling my chest. I smelled it so often I barely registered it anymore.

I placed the probe against the patient’s chest and turned to the monitor. “Absent lung sliding. Needle decompression, now.” I stepped back and gestured Dr. Wells forward. “Second intercostal space. Mid-clavicular line. Go.”

My resident swallowed so hard I heard it over the chaos. Still, he braced himself and followed my instructions.

I hovered close, ready to step in if he fucked up—as always.

A hiss of air escaped. Immediately, the patient’s breathing settled.

I let out a quiet breath of my own.

“O2 sat climbing,” the nurse announced. “88… 92… 96.”

“Very good,” I said, clearing my throat and trying to tame the adrenaline still rushing through me. “Let’s get him stabilized for imaging. Keep monitoring vitals and page me if there’s even a whisper of a dip.”

“Got it,” Dr. Wells said, moving on with the team as they transitioned to the next steps.

I stepped back as they wheeled the patient out, forcing a couple of breaths before inhaling deeply and holding it for a slow four-count—my routine to come down from the high.

Whenever someone’s life was in my hands, my own breath always came second. The moment a case stabilized, even briefly, I took the chance to collect myself.

I peeled off my gloves, feeling the adrenaline ebb, though my focus stayed razor-sharp.

Behind me, a hand tapped my back.

I turned to see the charge nurse, offering a tired smile.

“Your relief’s here,” she said, nodding toward another attending, Dr. Pierce, who’d just entered the ER. “Go get off your feet, Dr. Harlan.”

I nodded, rolling my shoulders once to ease the tension creeping up them. “Yeah, right… before someone else tries to die on me today.”

She giggled, shaking her head as she walked off.

“Damn,” I heard next.

When I glanced over, my eyes met another familiar face—Dr. Deion Greene. “You’re here early doing God’s work, huh?”

I chuckled, tossing my gloves into a nearby bin.

“I switched shifts,” I said, dapping Deion before leaning my back against the wall to steady myself. I looked up at the clock. “I see you’re right on time. Where’s Bishop?”

“Locker room,” Deion said as he headed to the desk to check his charts. “So, you heading out?”

“Shortly.” I pressed an arm on the desk beside him.

Deion had started dating Dr. Bishop—Whitney Bishop—not too long ago. I’d known Whit since she was a kid with braces and a habit of tagging along after her big brother, Wes, who I’d befriended back when Presley and I first met at seventeen.

Deion and Whit’s relationship only really bloomed once he started working at BBMC earlier this year. They apparently had history—a history that had a knack for bleeding out into the ER.

“Well, get your rest,” Deion said, closing his chart. “Whit and I did. Overslept a little, but we’re here.”

I smiled. “So, you’re behaving with my girl?”

Deion laughed. “Of course. I’m in love. All I can do is behave. Plus…” He playfully tapped my 

chest. “I’m not trying to get jumped by Wes or her fake big brother who’s grilling me right now.”

I snorted. “Aye, I’m just doing my job. Wes ordered me to keep an eye on you. I gladly took the assignment.”

“I bet you did.”

I smirked.

Deion was good people. Whatever thing he and Whit had going on—the kind that could’ve turned toxic—had thankfully mellowed out. Since making it official, the two of them had been good. And if they weren’t, I’d know.

Deion glanced at his watch. “Straight home after this?”

“Yep,” I said, reaching for my chart. “Presley has a meeting with her contractor tomorrow morning to get the damage timeline for her brownstone.”

“Right, right,” Deion said. “I remember you mentioning a flood.”

“Yeah,” I said, eyes on my writing. “She and my son have been staying at my place, so I’ve been spending more time here. Slept in the on-call room last night so I could be here for the morning.”

“Hmph.”

“Anyway,” I continued, “with her meeting scheduled, I figured I’d switch shifts. I want to be at the meeting too… for Junior.”

“Hmph,” Deion huffed again.

I glanced up just in time to catch him doing that corners-of-his-mouth shrug he did when he was trying to make a point without making a point.

I blinked at him before going back to my chart. “What’s the face?”

“What face?”

I shot him a look. He chuckled.

“It’s nothing,” he said, closing his chart and passing it to a nurse. “I think it’s cool that you and Presley’s relationship is solid enough for y’all to show up for each other like that.”

“I’m not going to the meeting for Presley, Deion,” I said, shutting my chart. “I’m going for Junior. It’s his home too.”

“Uh-huh.”

Deion smirked as he pointed over his shoulder. “I’m gonna go check on my patients. I’ll see you later.”

I kissed my teeth, which made him laugh. He tapped my shoulder as he walked off.

“Get some rest,” he said, creating distance between us.

I was quiet for a moment, and in that silence—beneath the beeping monitors and scattered conversations—I wondered…

Was I really making an effort to attend this meeting just for Junior?

Or… for her too?

I closed my chart and handed it to the nurse, thanking her before walking off.

I made my way to the attendings’ lounge to grab my stuff. Rest was non-negotiable at this point.

Deion’s words kept replaying in my head as I changed in the lounge. In my mind, I justified everything: giving Presley space, keeping my promise that she’d barely see me at home. BBMC kept me busy, but not that busy. Not so busy that I’d only returned home once in the four days she and Junior had been staying in my brownstone.

I pulled my sweater over my head and smoothed it down.

The truth was, I didn’t want to be in my house while she was there.

Not because we couldn’t coexist… but because we couldn’t coexist without me reacting to her presence.

That one late evening I spent at home before heading out to my shift—where we all shared space for barely an hour—my heartbeat had jumped every time Presley looked at me for too long.

Truth be told, Presley and I never spent a lot of casual time together over the years. It was always for a reason. Always quick. Always about Junior.

Except for that night…

The night of my fiancée Karmelle’s funeral.

I swallowed hard as I grabbed my bag and tightened my grip on the strap.

That night changed something in me I never dealt with.

The whole day had been an out-of-body experience. I’d put the woman I thought would be my wife in the ground. I was used to facing death in my profession—cold, clinical death—but never hers. Never someone I loved.

When she came in after the collision…

When they wouldn’t let me in the OR to try to save her…

When she died at my own hospital…

By the night of her funeral, I felt like my whole world had inverted.

Presley wasn’t the first person to climb into my bed that day. It was the only way anyone could speak to me. When I got home, all I wanted was my bed.

My mother, my father, even a young Junior—too little to fully understand—had climbed in beside me, trying to get me to talk.

So when Presley got in, it was nothing.

Felt like everyone else.

Until it didn’t.

Until she… until we…

I dragged a hand down my face and sighed.

“Have a good one, Dr. Harlan,” one of the security guards said as I approached the hospital entrance.

“I’ll do my best,” I replied, giving him a dap on my way out.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about sex with Presley since we started raising Junior.

We’d had close calls, moments where it could’ve gone too far but we pulled back. Like after cleaning up from Junior’s first birthday party at her parents’ house. Or when she moved into her brownstone and needed help lifting things.

Just small moments—her wiping cake from my mouth, brushing lint off my shirt, taking one step too close—but we always stopped it.

But that night… with her in my bed… offering to take the pain away when it felt like it was crushing my entire chest?

I folded.

We folded.

And it’s been a night I’ve found damn near impossible to bury in the back of my mind.

I unlocked my Audi with the key fob, tossed my bag onto the passenger seat, and sank into the driver’s seat.

As much as I pretended we were just co-parents, my body always had its own reaction to Presley.

I’d joked about her flirting, warned her not to do it with me—but the truth was my resolve with her had never been that strong.

She had a place in my heart. A permanent one. Guys rarely admit it, but we don’t forget our firsts either. And maybe sleeping with her that night had something to do with wanting to redeem myself. I didn’t last my first time with her, and I got her pregnant.

I don’t know.

A lot went through my mind that night. All of it revolving around her.

Because I loved Presley, more than I’d ever have the courage to tell her.

And thankfully, I wouldn’t have to.

We had that meeting tomorrow, and from what her contractor told her on the first walkthrough, she might be able to stay in her house while the repairs happened.

Soon, all of this would be behind us.

I pressed the start button and gave the car a little gas as I pulled out.

“Please God, let her house be ready soon,” I whispered.

Because I could only stay out of my own house for so long.

And if I was stuck under one roof with Presley?

Ain’t no telling what that would mean for either one of us.

***

So much for that prayer.

“Six to eight months?!” Presley said, chest rising and falling fast. “What do you mean it will take that long?”

“Structural damage,” her contractor, Raphael, explained. He pointed above us. “Structural drying is still in progress. You also have moisture behind your walls, which means mold is definitely present.”

Presley gathered her coils into her hands, wrapping a band around them to keep them in place.

She was freaking out.

And every time she was about to lose her shit, she needed her big hair out of her face.

She was doing better than me, though, because inside, I was absolutely losing my shit… quietly.

We’d arrived at her brownstone earlier than scheduled and walked straight into a full-on construction zone. The damage was worse than we imagined. In the four short days since the flood, mold was already spreading across the exposed beams behind the demolished walls.

Her beautiful brownstone looked like something out of a neglected neighborhood, nothing like the place she’d poured herself into for years.

“The damage upstairs isn’t as extensive,” Raphael continued. “But after opening the walls, we found mold there as well. Those beams and walls will need to be replaced, too.”

Presley dropped her head back and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Between the required demolition of the other damaged sections and the repairs, the soonest this project can be done is in four months. Add your renovation plans—which I recommend with your home already in a construction state—I’m estimating six to eight months… minimum.”

“Minimum,” she whispered, hands at the sides of her head. “Minimum.”

She turned away and grunted.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Blake,” Raphael said.

“No, no.” She turned back, taking his hand and patting the back of it. “It’s not your fault. You’re doing amazing. It’s me and my dumbass because why didn’t I change the fucking pipes!”

“Aight,” I said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re good.”

“I am not good, Mal.”

“You’re good,” I repeated, locking eyes with her.

I held her gaze long enough for her to let out the breath she’d been holding. She closed her eyes and took another—a deep one this time.

“Thanks, Raphael,” I said to the contractor, shaking his hand and patting his shoulder. “Y’all do what you gotta do. We’ll get out of your way.”

Raphael offered a nod and walked off to rejoin his crew.

“This is so fucking bad, Malik.”

I licked my lips, swallowing back the urge to agree. Because we both couldn’t be panicking. One of us needed to stay level.

“It’s aight,” I said. “You and Junior will stay with me.”

I swallowed even harder. “As long as you need.”

Jesus, help us.

“No.” She shook her head hard. “No. You’ve accommodated me long enough. Junior can stay with you. I’ll figure something out.”

“Look, it’s nothing. I promise.”

Fuck that. It’s everything. This is not sustainable. I cannot be in that house with her every damn day.

“It’s fine,” I said instead. “We’ll be fine.”

Shit, I hoped so. Because if I was being real? This was a terrible idea… but dammit, I couldn’t let my son’s mother struggle. What kind of man would that make me?

“Really?” she asked in a whisper. Her beautiful brown eyes were bright as ever—even in a crisis—and the sight softened me in ways I absolutely could not afford to show. “Are you sure, Malik? Six to eight months. That’s like… after Junior’s graduation and close to when he goes off to college.”

I shifted my eyes off her, realizing I hadn’t thought nearly that far ahead.

See, that was Presley. On the fly, she measured the future and put things into perspective when it would’ve been easier to stay blissfully ignorant.

And her clarifying the timeline?

Did not help my discomfort.

Still, I said, “It’s cool. If that’s how long it has to be, we’ll manage.”

She stared at me, reading me deeper than I liked, and I forced myself to hold steady, offering a smile that eased some of the tension in her slumped shoulders.

After a moment, Presley nodded. “Okay.”

For the next few hours—surrounded by water stains, steady drips, and humming fans—she and I packed up some of her things.

Presley mumbled insults at herself, half-joking about manifesting disaster by wanting renovations in the first place.

Her spirit was low. It showed in her posture, in her eyes. I didn’t like it. Didn’t like it so much I felt like I had to do something—anything—to lift her.

I lifted one of her boxes. “What you got in this box, woman? Babies? Should I be concerned with what you’re bringing to my house?”

She looked up at me, pulled from her muttering, and a small smile curved her lips. It relaxed the worry lines in her forehead before she snorted.

“Shut up,” she said, giggling as she went back to packing, already less wound up.

I nodded to myself, pleased, because that was exactly what I wanted… her to be less tense.

Hours later, after Junior got out of school, we picked him up and came back to the brownstone to gather the rest. Then we loaded everything into the cars and headed to my place.

We arrived at my brownstone less than an hour later and started carrying boxes into their rooms one by one.

After a few trips, there was only one box left—a small chest.

It was heavier than it looked. When I lifted it out of my trunk and set it on the asphalt, the lid popped open slightly. I closed it before picking it up.

Inside my house, I nudged the front door closed with my foot and carried the chest to Presley’s room.

I’d cleared out my guest room, the one I usually used as a study space on my off days. I wanted to develop a research focus that could help me secure a fellowship at BBMC. I hadn’t landed on anything yet, but that room had been my brainstorming space.

That would have to wait now.

Because now the room was Presley’s, and she’d already made herself at home.

Silk sheets on the king-sized bed. Green plants on the floor and dresser. She even swapped my heavy blackout curtains for sheer white ones that let in way more light than I preferred.

But I was glad she was settling in. After everything she and Junior had been through, comfort mattered.

“Last one,” I said as I stepped into her room.

She was sitting on the floor, moving the folded clothes from her suitcase into the dresser drawer.

“Thanks, Mal,” she said, eyes still on her suitcase.

I set the chest down, and the lid popped up again. I leaned forward to close it—but paused when something sparkly and colorful caught my eye. A pile of shiny, vibrant things stacked on top of… other shiny, vibrant things.

I was being nosey when I lifted the lid to peek inside… and instantly regretted it.

“Whoa!” I stepped back, releasing the lid. My jolt flipped it all the way open. I threw my hands up. “What in the hell?!”

The shiny, colorful items were an array of toys.

Sex toys.

Some glass. Some silicone. Some that looked like stainless steel.

There were so many—all bold, all intimidating. One curved inward and looked heavy, more like a tool than a toy.

Presley whipped her head toward me. “What?” She shifted up on her knees. “What’s wrong?”

All I could do was point. My jaw wasn’t even connected to my face anymore.

She stood, stepped closer, and as soon as she saw the chest wide open with everything on display, she smirked, then lifted her gaze to mine.

I caught the smolder in her eyes.

It made me stutter a breath before I forced myself to recover.

“Oh, that?” she said, her smirk blooming into a sweet smile. “You can just put that right by my bed.”

And just like that, she turned and went right back to unpacking.

Like it was nothing.

My motherfucking soul left my body.

I had never seen so many sex toys in one place. Ever.

Now granted, I’d seen sex toys. I’d even been present when a patient had to have Ben Wa balls removed because she pushed them too far up. But damn. Why the hell did Presley have so many?

Still, to save face, I picked up the chest and carried it to her bed like she said.

And in the short walk, my mind erupted with questions I did not need or want to be thinking…

Does she use all of these?

All of them?

How often?

How long?

With what combination—

I heard giggling behind me.

“I cannot believe you,” she said, turning around with a grin. “Not Dr. Malik Harlan getting all flustered at the sight of some toys.”

“Some toys?” I said. “Pres, those aren’t ‘some toys.’ That’s advanced weaponry.”

She tipped her head back in a laugh so loud I got nervous.

I shut the lid quickly, too concerned about Junior wandering in here curious and discovering his mother owned a whole adult store.

“You see the gruesome of shit every day,” she said. “But you’re tripping at the sight of a few sex toys? Really?”

“Shh.” I held a finger up, walking to the door to pull it mostly closed. “You’re talking way too loud.”

She folded her lips to keep from laughing.

“See, now that,” I said, pointing at the chest, “is greed. Because there is no way you use all that—”

“I use them all.”

I waved her off. “No you don’t.”

“I do.” She bit her bottom lip in a smile. “Sometimes three at a time.”

I swallowed when I should’ve inhaled and choked hard, coughing uncontrollably.

Presley fell out laughing. Loud and dramatic on the floor.

“Man,” I muttered, turning toward the door, already done.

“Truth or dare?”

I sucked my teeth and turned back slowly. “Pres… no.”

“Truth or dare, Dr. Harlan?” she repeated, eyes low-lidded, smile fixed and dangerous.

Trouble.

That’s what Presley was sometimes.

Because whenever those words left her mouth, it transported me right back to that basement party in Brooklyn as a teenager.

A party I only went to twice, and on my second time there, I lost my virginity to the girl who had approached me the week before…

Asking for my number.

She asked me.

Bold, fun, outgoing. She was all the things I wasn’t. And because I wasn’t, something about that had her eyeing me instead of the guys who were eyeing her.

“Come on,” she whined. “Don’t be boring. Truth or dare?”

I tried to stop the grin tugging at my mouth but lost. Seems I always lose when Presley is the reason. “Truth.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like always.”

I chuckled.

Leave it to her to make a man feel like a kid again, even for a moment, especially after a day like mine.

“Is it true you’re imagining me using the three I mentioned using at the same time?”

Yes.

I didn’t say it out loud, but the way I blinked must’ve given me away because she busted out laughing.

“I’m not answering that shit.”

She giggled, smug.

“Let me get out of here,” I sighed, turning toward the door this time with real intention to leave.

“Mal.”

I stopped.

When I turned back, she was standing now, hands on her waist, hair pulled back, curves soft and dangerous. Head-on, Presley was too much to take.

I inhaled and pinched the inner corners of my eyes before they drifted where they shouldn’t.

How the hell were we going to survive six to eight months?

“You sure this isn’t a mistake?” she asked. “Me staying here and all? Are you… sure about this?”

“No— I mean, yes,” I said too quickly. I licked my lips and pressed a hand to my chest. “No, this isn’t a mistake. And yes, I’m sure. Pres, I asked you here, remember? We’re good. I promise.”

She held my eyes. Unwavering. Long enough to make my chest tighten under her stare.

Because what she didn’t know was that the feeling I got whenever she called me, or whenever we had to share space for Junior…

That feeling was hitting three times as hard with her only a few feet away.

And knowing she’d be just a few feet away for the next six to eight months?

My pulse was racing like a horse on something illegal.

A smile slid over her lips… cunning, classic Presley.

“I live with a big kid. I know how to be quiet and private.” She winked. “So I promise to keep it down when I play, okay?”

I sucked air through my mouth, needing more oxygen than I knew.

A literal pulse hit low in my groin, and I prayed to God it didn’t show.

“Unless…” she said softer, leaning into the moment, “you don’t want me to keep it down.”

Yeah… this is about to be something else.

She broke the tension first, laughing as she held up her hand.

“Let me stop playing with you,” she said, turning back to her suitcase. “You are too much fun to mess with. You make it so easy.”

I forced a laugh. Nothing about me was fine, but I needed the act.

Because… shit.

“I’m gonna order some Chinese,” I said, needing distance, needing air. “What do you want?”

“Veggie lo mein and spring rolls, please,” she said lightly, still focused on unpacking. “Thanks, Mal.”

I nodded, slipped out of the room, and closed the door behind me.

I exhaled hard as I headed for the stairs.

“We are absolutely not surviving this shit,” I muttered, jogging down the steps. “What the hell did I agree to?”

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A New Episode Of Truth or Dare Will Be Posted and Sent on Monday, December 8th!