Needing Him Read online

  Copyright © 2018 Kennedy Fox

  www.kennedyfoxbooks.com

  NEEDING HIM

  Bishop Brothers, #2

  Cover Photography by Wander Aguiar

  Cover Design by RBA Designs

  Literary Editor: Mitzi Carroll

  Proof reader: Jenny Sims | Editing 4 Indies

  All rights reserved. No parts of the book may be used or reproduced in any matter without written permission from the author, except for inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

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

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to another person except when loaned out per Amazon’s lending program. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then it was pirated illegally. Please purchase a copy of your own and respect the hard work of this author.

  Contents

  Newsletter

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  What’s Next

  Chasing Him Synopsis

  About the Author

  Connect with us

  Books by Kennedy Fox

  Free Book

  All good boys go to heaven but bad boys bring heaven to you

  * * *

  -Julia Michaels

  SIGN UP FOR OUR NEWSLETTER TO STAY UPDATED ON ALL THINGS KENNEDY FOX!

  SALES, NEW RELEASES, PREORDER LINKS, GIVEAWAYS, AND MORE!

  Kennedyfoxbooks.com/newsletter

  Prologue

  EMILY

  FOUR MONTHS AGO…

  “Dr. Bell!” My eyelids snap open, and I blink the fog away before realizing I fell asleep sitting up on the couch in the lounge again. Olivia, one of the ER nurses, stands in front of me with a stack of charts. I give her a sheepish smile, then take the charts from her hands before heading to the ER.

  I’ve wanted to become a doctor since I was five years old. Dressed in scrubs, I took my toy doctor kit to career day in kindergarten. My eighth-grade presentation was on healthy heart rates and blood pressure. In high school, I wrote a twenty-page paper for my senior final on why I wanted to become a doctor and how I was going to achieve my goals.

  Being in this profession is in my blood especially since my dad’s a top-ranked fertility doctor in Houston. Only the wealthy elite who want to get pregnant see Dr. Bell. He has the highest success rating in the country, and couples from all over book appointments months—sometimes years—in advance. I’ve idolized him for as long as I can remember, but that doesn’t mean it’s been easy living in his shadow.

  My older sister, Annie, is an OB/GYN with an eighteen-month waitlist. She followed in our dad’s footsteps, and they often share the same patients. My younger brother, Daniel, is in medical school but wants to become a plastic surgeon. He’s already been accepted into a residency program once he graduates. However, as an adrenaline rush junkie, I wanted a more exciting specialty. After my residency, I got my license in emergency medicine and started my fellowship in Houston. I don’t think anything could’ve quite prepared me for working in the emergency room other than diving in head first.

  Saving a life is the biggest high I’ve ever felt. I experience it each time an unresponsive patient starts breathing, or their heart beats again. There’s nothing in the world like it, and though doctors are constantly on their feet and are married more to their jobs than their significant others, I wouldn’t change anything.

  It’s been twenty-eight hours since I started my shift. I’m on my sixth cup of coffee, and I’m ready to collapse. New Year’s Eve always brings out the dumbasses who drink themselves stupid and think they can fly off the roofs of cars. Then there are the ones all cut and bruised from getting into bar fights and black out before they’re even admitted.

  “I’m taking twenty,” I tell one of my interns, Georgia, so she’ll cover me in the ER. I need to splash some water on my face and grab a drink. “Room fourteen needs discharge papers,” I remind her before grabbing my phone from my pocket and walking toward the elevators.

  Checking for new messages, I click on my boyfriend Justin’s name and see he hasn’t responded to the text I sent six hours ago. It’s not uncommon for us to go days without speaking because he’s a doctor, too. We both work eighty-hour weeks and spend our dates in the cafeteria catching up.

  For most people, dating a doctor would be hard, but since we both understand the commitment and hours it takes, it works. We met during my first year of residency, and he was a second year OB/GYN resident under my older sister. They’re both working their way up to become fertility specialists, so there’s usually plenty to talk about during our rare family dinners. Justin and my father easily get wrapped up in conversations for hours. I love that about him. He looks up to my dad just as much as I do.

  Once I’ve used the bathroom and grabbed a fresh bottle of water from my locker, I head toward the labor and delivery floor where I know Justin is on call tonight. I’ll probably get less than five minutes with him, but it’ll be the most I’ve seen him all week.

  “Hey, Miranda!” I smile at one of the nurses sitting behind the counter at the nurses’ station, and she smiles back. “Have you seen Dr. Hayes lately?”

  The corner of her lips falls, and her eyes widen. “Um, no. Not for a while.” She swallows before licking her bottom lip.

  “Okay. I’ll check his office; maybe he’s napping between patients.” I chuckle.

  After finding his office empty, I decide to call him, but it goes straight to voicemail. As I walk down the hall toward the elevators, something in my gut tells me to look in the on-call room. We used to have quickies in there when we first started dating, but now we use our spare time to sleep instead.

  I turn around and head toward the other hall. Noises come from behind the closed door, and as I step closer, I hear moaning and bodies slapping together. Figuring I don’t want to interrupt, I spin to leave but freeze the moment I hear his name.

  “Justin! Yes, yes!”

  My eyes widen, and blood drains from my face.

  That can’t be right. I must be hearing things. I’m sleep deprived.

  Yet I walk back and press my ear to the door.

  “You greedy whore. You like that, don’t you?” The voice is deep and familiar. Before she can respond, a loud smack echoes. The woman giggles as another smack rings in the air.

  Now I know, without a doubt, Justin’s in there. With another woman. He always spanks my ass when he’s trying to hurry things up.

  Most women would cry at a moment like this, but I’ve learned to push my emotions back for so long that I’m not even sad. I’m fucking pissed.

  With my ear close to the door, hearing him fuck her, I figure I have two options right now. I can walk away and preten
d I didn’t hear a thing, living obliviously to the fact he’s probably been cheating on me for a while, or I can barge in and catch the rat bastard in the act. Knowing Justin’s love for my father, he’ll tell me it meant nothing. Or that it’ll never happen again. Or it was a one-time mistake. Whatever bullshit he tries to feed me, I won’t be eating it.

  I like to think of myself as a nice person. I’m caring and thoughtful, and sure, I have my moments, but right now, I’m sleep deprived, hungry, and PMSing. Not to mention, I haven’t had sex in over a month, yet this asshole finds time with another woman in the same damn hospital we work in. I think “nice” Emily isn’t the version Justin’s about to see right now.

  Twisting the knob the dumbass didn’t even bother to lock, I push the door and watch as it opens. Justin is bare ass naked as he bends a girl over the bed. They’re both moaning, not even realizing I’m standing in the doorway watching. My jaw clenches when I watch his fingers grip her hips as he slams harder inside. His eyes are closed, and I can tell he’s close by the tight expression on his face.

  Eyeing their clothes piled on the floor, I formulate a plan. Timing it just right, I wait for the perfect moment to make my presence known. His hands shift to her shoulders, pushing in deeper, which means he’s seconds away from release.

  “I hope you wore a condom,” I blurt out. Both of their heads turn toward me as their bodies freeze. “I’d hate to see another STD breakout.”

  “Emily.” Justin’s voice is strained as he tries to catch his breath.

  “Oh my God,” the girl squeals, twisting her body so she’s standing behind his tall frame.

  I step into the room, invading the space. The smell of dirty sex fuels my anger even more.

  He places his hands over his junk. “It’s not what you’re thinking.” Yep. Called it.

  “Oh really? Is having sex with patients a special form of fertility treatment? A new kind of sperm donation? Or an alternate payment plan?”

  “It’s not like that,” he insists, taking a step backward as I move closer.

  I purse my lips, nodding as if I actually believe his bullshit lies. The girl looks terrified, as she should be, but Justin looks like he’s trying to put out a fire with alcohol. Absolutely clueless.

  “Oh yeah? Why don’t you tell me what it’s like then?” I challenge, knowing he’ll come up short.

  “Just let Isabel go, and we can talk this out.” I cringe when he says her name.

  “Hmm…” I ponder, eyeing the distance from their pile of clothes to the door. “I don’t think so. However…” I quickly bend down and scoop up their clothes, pressing them to my chest as I walk to the door. I feel his cell phone and pager in the pocket of his scrubs. “You two can spend all the time together you wish!” I smile as I back out into the hallway, knowing he can’t chase me without being seen.

  “Emily!” he shouts, rushing to the edge of the doorway. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “Oh, I’m ridiculous?” I muse. “Perhaps you should’ve thought about that before using your dick as her personal egg fertilizer.” I flash a smug grin and walk away. He shouts my name as I round the corner and walk toward the elevator.

  The moment I step back into the ER, I ditch their clothes into one of the soiled baskets and get back to work.

  Chapter One

  EVAN

  “Shut the hell up,” Jackson says, glancing down at me as he stands on the top step of the ladder.

  “What happens if you fall off and break your neck right before the wedding?” I try to reason with him, but he’s impossible. Though I’m holding the ladder steady with a death grip, it won’t help a damn thing if he loses his balance and comes toppling backward.

  “Then I guess I’ll be glad you went to that fancy medical school so you can fix me right up.”

  I roll my eyes at his snide comment. “It’s dangerous, and that’s not how it works if you break bones. I can’t just whip up a solution to fix you by Friday,” I remind him. Being a doctor doesn’t mean I can magically repair bones like some shit out of Harry Potter. It’s much more complicated than that.

  “Dangerous is my middle name.” Jackson looks down at me, flashing a shit-eating grin in my direction as he continues to hang strings of lights in the tent with both feet on the top step. Our youngest brother Alex’s wedding is in two days, and Jackson has a death wish today. If he makes it through this afternoon without hurting himself, I’ll be surprised.

  “You know there’s a warning sticker for that right here. DO NOT STAND ON TOP STEP. You’re the only dumbass around here who gets on a twelve-foot ladder and stands on his tippy-toes.”

  Jackson shoos me away with one hand.

  “Fine. Do whatever you want, but if you fall, I’m taking a step back. I’m not your damn landing cushion.”

  Jackson pretends to lose his balance, and I’m ready to climb up the ladder, drag him down to the ground by the collar of his shirt, then give him a good ole Southern ass whoopin’. I’d make sure not to punch him in the face, though; can’t have two black eyes for the wedding. With a daring look in his eyes, he stares at me with a smile. Sometimes, I don’t know how we’re related.

  “Go ahead. Fall then. Crack open your head. Might actually knock some sense into you,” I say over his laughter just as he finishes hanging the last strand of lights.

  “You’re gonna hurt yourself,” John says, carrying folding chairs across the tent as he looks at Jackson being an idiot.

  “The both of ya need to live on the wild side every once in a while.” Jackson finally climbs down the ladder and rolls his eyes at John. As they stand in front of one another, it’s as if they’re looking in a mirror, but personality wise, they’re Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—complete opposites. Jackson is daring and reckless while John is reserved and responsible; it’s the only way to tell my twin brothers apart.

  “Are you three bickering in here?” Mama asks, tucking hair behind one ear as she carries a tray of sandwiches with her other hand. “There’s barely been anything done in here other than a few chairs stacked and the lights hung. We’re running out of time. Rehearsal is tomorrow,” she reminds us, setting the food down on a table. The wedding day stress is making its rounds already.

  “Yes ma’am,” I say, giving my brothers a look, hoping they don’t open their mouths and dig a hole for us because if they get Mama worked up, we’re all dead. I’ve learned over the years that sometimes agreeing is the best response. Getting her annoyed when we only have days before the wedding isn’t a good idea because if she can make our lives heaven, she can surely make them hell. Something none of us have time to deal with at the moment.

  We go to the food like vultures and finish off the sandwich halves as Mama walks around and gives us more shit to do. She was meant to be a lead foreman the way she barks orders left and right. Every day I realize how much of a saint my father really is.

  “I expect all the tables and chairs to be set up before dark. The dance floor needs to be laid and speakers hung as well. Lanterns and lights placed in the oak tree. Chairs set up outside for the ceremony. Do I need to come out here and supervise you boys?” she asks with just enough attitude in her tone to instill the fear of God. “Please have it done before the sun sets.”

  “No ma’am,” John responds, smiling. “We’ll have it all taken care of, Mama.”

  Jackson bursts into laughter, and I nudge him hard with my elbow. Mama shakes her head and walks out of the tent, leaving us with a laundry list of tasks and a deadline.

  “You’re asking for it,” I tell Jackson.

  “I’m always asking for it,” he admits. “Makes things more colorful.”

  “And this is why you’ll be single forever. No woman’s gonna take your shit for the rest of their lives,” John adds, walking out of the tent toward the lowboy full of tables and chairs that need to be set up.

  This time, I’m the one chuckling as Jackson’s demeanor slightly shifts.

  “You’ll be single forever too!�
�� Jackson finally yells, and I know John heard him because I can see him flying the bird high in the air. Just as I follow them outside, Alex pulls up and gets out of his truck with a big smile on his face. It’s been there permanently since his engagement to River. At least one of us Bishop boys isn’t doomed to the single life. After meeting in Key West last year, River and Alex have been inseparable since finding out they were expecting their little boy, Riley. She moved here from Wisconsin, and they’ve been a clichéd ending to a romance novel ever since.

  “Finally!” John shouts over Jackson’s bitching.

  “You knew I’d be here to supervise,” he taunts. “Just kiddin’. Couldn’t let y’all do all the back-breaking work alone. Just had to make sure the animals were fed first,” Alex tells us, grabbing as many chairs as he can carry.

  Behind him stalks his best friend, Dylan, who’s shaking his head. “I’m a ranch hand, not a damn party planner.” He grunts.

  “If Mama hears you say that, she’ll slap you upside your head,” Alex warns.

  Jackson and I carry tables across the grass into the tent, then finish setting them up over spray-painted X’s on the ground that Mama laid out for us. She takes her party planning to the next level. Once the tables and chairs are placed, it actually looks like a real reception area. I’m sure tomorrow we’ll be responsible for setting tablecloths and centerpieces too. After we have electrical cords run from generators and the dance floor laid, the four of us walk inside and let Mama know our progress.