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Beta'd by HollettLA

Howdy! Welcome to "After the Storm"! Miss Riders? Well, then this will be a treat. It's a compilation of Future-takes, starring the Storm characters. This starts out following the Maggie outtake, entitled "Destiny" which is attached to Riders on the Storm...This Damion piece was originally 40k words, so I broke it up into six chapters.

Enjoy!

Summary: Nowadays, I'm a lover, not a fighter . . . I'm a dad and a husband, a boring, taxpaying yuppie, and I drive a Prius. I'm the happiest I've ever been, but it's a contrast in comparison to what my life used to be. This is Damion's story, a glimpse into his adult life. Drama, mostly humor, and some romance. (Includes all the lovely characters from the Storm Series)

Riders on the Storm

"Life's Little Moments"

by

SexyLexiCullen

Damion POV

Sneaking up onto the maternity floor, I tried to channel my inner ninja skills as I skulked around in the shadows—trying to find my wife. My shift was over, and my objective was to leave on time and with Jordan.

She's currently an attending here at NYU in Obstetrics and Gynecology. I chose to do a surgical residency. A couple of years ago, I decided to choose pediatric surgery as my specialty. It required another year of residency while my wife is actually on staff here.

I'm in my last year—a senior pediatric surgical resident.

After my long day in the operating room, and knowing we had three consecutive days off—together, had me aching to leave this place. No call, no nothing but Jordan and Izzy, my family, for the entire Labor Day weekend, including Monday . . .

I saw Jordan before she spotted me. She was gorgeous, her mouth moving a hundred words a minute as she spoke to her team, which included two residents, an intern, and two medical students. Jordan, my big shot attending, was confident as she gave report, alerted her team to their future tasks.

Once they dispersed, her pager went off, and she pulled it from her pink scrub top to read it.

I watched, since it's my favorite thing to do.

She's just…beautiful and confident, and I couldn't wait for shit to slow down, so I could see her more often.

When she reached for her cell and I saw her mouth "Bella," I left the corner I was hiding in to meet up with her.

She stiffened, always knowing when I'm behind her, and my hands reached out to palm her stomach—pull her back against me.

Able to hear Mom through the phone—actually, I was able to hear all the background noise, too, my nieces and nephews along with Izzy. I knew there was no cause to be concerned. Paging us is the smartest way to get ahold of us while we're here.

Apparently, Mom and Kylie were taking the kids camping, and Izzy wanted to go.

The weirdness of it made me chuckle.

My mother and sister camping?

As the conversation wore on, we learned that Pop-Pop and Na-Na—my parents—had gone to Walmart to get all the necessities they'd need to camp out in their backyard.

"Can Izzy stay over?" Mom sounded like she was asking after one of her friends, not her granddaughter.

Jordan giggled. "Of course." Then she turned to raise a brow at me, and I was quick to agree with her—suddenly ecstatic of the prospect of our empty home.

I love my daughter. She's the most beautiful and smartest three-year-old—although Izzy would argue she's closer to four—the most gorgeous child in the world, who has her daddy by the balls.

I love spending every moment with her.

But a night alone with Mommy…?

No work the next day?

We can be as loud as we want to be…?

Fuck me, man.

My cock was hard in an instant.

Jordan beamed as she ended the call, her eyes meeting mine. "We'll get KFC, watch a movie—"

I grasped her hand. "You ready?" I pulled her. "I'm down—fried chicken, a side of you."

My wife laughed, stopping me. "Not yet…I have a patient at eight centimeters. She should start pushing at any minute."

I shook my head, pointing to my watch. "You're off at seven, not on call. The on-call OB Rez—"

"Damion…" she sang my name. "If it all goes according to plan, I'll be outta here in forty-five minutes." Jordan did a silly dance, shimmying those bad boys—my breasts—into me. "Gravida 2, para 2, should be no complications. This is her third baby. He's gonna slide right out." She did the home run signal, pursing her lips. "Then, you and me…" She waved a finger between us, still dancing. "Bow-chicka-wow-wow!"

Her antics had me smiling wide. Jordan must have had a good day, in a great mood. "According to plan?"

"Don't jinx." She hopped to peck my lips, and then she took a wary glance around.

I didn't give a fuck, pulling her into me to kiss her deep.

After the long day, the long week, I missed my fucking wife. People know we're married—that there are two Dr. Cullens up in this bitch. "Is that peanut butter?" I asked; she tasted good.

Jordan hummed, licking her lips and keeping her eyes closed as she leaned away. "God, I love you, Cullen." Her calling me that turned me on even more—like it always does.

"As I love you…Cullen." I reached under her lab coat to get two handfuls of ass. "I'll wait for you? Or, you want me to head to my parents' to bring Izzy her PJs?" That latter thought entered my mind, and it was a sound plan. "She doesn't have Fozzy, either," I spoke of Izzy's teddy bear.

She grinned up to me. "You know she can't sleep without your singing to her."

My poor baby jumps awake some nights. Our daughter knows when Daddy is home, when I get in late. Izzy loves my voice, which should be of some concern. I can't really carry a tune, but she digs her night-night song.

I sighed. "Mom knows the song, too." Since I was on call last night, we had two vehicles in the parking lot, were going to drive home separately anyway.

Jordan had wide eyes, making a face our daughter does. "It's s'not the same, Daddy." She mimicked Izzy, and she told the truth. Even if Jordan sings, she'll still want me to sing again if I'm not there for bedtime. "Get the chicken, too." She swayed us. "I'll call when I'm on my way, and you can start the Jacuzzi."

I groaned, thinking about Jordan, fried chicken, and our hot tub. "That's—that sounds amazing."

We'd been content to live in that apartment on Fourth Avenue, saving our money, not sure what the future would hold, in regard to our careers, knowing we'd contemplate moving if either one of us received any prestigious offers.

But as luck would have it—about six months ago—the family next door to Sonny decided to move.

My father and brother were all over me, trying to sway Jordan, too. Mom was the worst, as the idea of having all three of her children within a few blocks' radius was a dream come true.

Especially since, if we bought the house, we'd definitely be staying in New York—in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.

Jordan, who's actually grown to fit in very well with my family, was more into the idea than me. Of course she was, since she'd already accepted NYU's offer.

It wasn't that I wanted to move; I just didn't want my wife and me to miss any opportunities.

But I had to admit, sharing a back fence with Sonny, living next door, was a pretty cool concept.

I relented, of course.

Our home isn't a mansion like my brother's, or my parents', but it's…home. With four bedrooms, and two-and-a-half baths—including a Jacuzzi—I fucking love our house.

I also have my own home office that I don't get to spend that much time in.

But…it's there waiting for me, the privacy, even if I'd rather study up procedures and do paperwork in the living room while Izzy and Jordan do whatever they do.

She bit her lip, sighing, her eyes slowly focusing on my chest to trail up to my eyes—fucking me with those peepers already.

This woman drives me insane.

"Before you go…" She stuck out her tongue, rolling her eyes. "This nurse in the ER was hounding me for my signature. Medical Records brought it up earlier, and I forgot. That emergency—crash C-section from yesterday? I forgot to sign off…Anyway, just give it to Nurse Fowler." She went to hand me a chart.

I chuckled. "Have one of your minions do it." That reminded me. My minion scrub cap—from Izzy's favorite movie, Despicable Me—was nowhere to be found. I lost it somewhere. Even if that movie's old, my daughter loves it. She's a Disney freak like her old man used to be, too. Also, all those cartoon movies are timeless classics. "Have you seen that scrub cap?"

"Just on your way out…leave through the ER." She shrugged.

"My scrub cap?"

"It's in the dryer—at home."

"Yes!" I fist pumped the air.

"Geez, I haven't done the laundry in forever." She palmed her forehead, giggling. "I should get back. My teams gotta put on our catchers mitts."

"Yeah," I agreed, pulling her back into my arms. "Yo, I can work with ten minutes if…homegirl can hold out." My head whipped up and down the empty hall, knowing we could find a closet, or an available on-call room.

Jordan's cheeks flushed a bit. "Any minute…so no." She left my embrace to grasp the forgotten chart, pushing it toward me. "But you get the chicken. You give Izzy a bunch of kisses from me, and then I want you and that fat cock—" she brought her voice down, coming much closer, her tits squashed against my abs "—in that tub. You understand, Cullen?"

"I capisce," I whispered. "You, uh—" I cleared my throat, a horny fucking mess "—you don't play fair. At all, Mrs. Cullen." My wife had to know what she was doing to me.

"Dr. Cullen…?" Our heads snapped to the intern running out of the patients' room with a roll of paper tape from a fetal monitor. "You better look at this." Fuck. That didn't sound good.

Jordan turned to waggle her brows. "It's show time."

I grinned, watching my wife disappear into the birthing suite.

In street clothes, having already changed, I adjusted my backpack and grabbed the chart—ready to do the grunt work before leaving.

I was still excited as fuck, practically skipping down to the ER.

Knowing who Nurse Fowler was, I looked for her, trying to stay out of the way. It was pretty busy, and I knew there was a wait for operating rooms. Both departments are usually packed on Friday nights.

Nurse Fowler—the middle-aged woman whose face seems to be in a permanent scowl—was sitting at the information desk. "Dr. Cullen sends her apologies." I handed her the chart. The one thing I've learned is that you don't fuck with the nurses.

She took it from me, mumbling a "Thank you."

"Excuse me!" Some guy was frantic, approaching the nurses' station. "We've been waiting for hours—"

Nurse Fowler held up a finger, cutting him off. "We're just waiting for an operating room to be available." She lifted the phone.

This dude scoffed, palming his head and turning to me. "This is unbelievable."

Not knowing any info, I gave him a tight-lipped smile. But, apparently, he took that as a cue to speak, and I wasn't in scrubs—anything to indicate I even worked here. Oh, crap, my ID badge was visible, hanging off my shirt. I suck.

"G-Getting attention around here is like pulling teeth. This has been going on since yesterday, and we've been here for hours." He turned back to Fowler. "My child's in agonizing pain. I know it's late—"

"Hey," I said to interrupt, curious.

Nurse Fowler placed the phone down. "Sir, I apologize—"

"You say he needs a cast, and I don't understand why he needs surgery—needs an operating room. Can someone please explain that?" He had tears in his eyes. "Yesterday, we took him to Urgent Care where he was misdiagnosed. He spent the whole night crying, and our pediatrician sent us here early this afternoon—"

"Who's your doctor?" I asked.

He waved a hand. "Some…idiot kid…No offense." He eyed my badge. "You're a kid, too. Are there any real doctors here?"

"Sir, we've had more emergent cases," Fowler said. "An OR should be cleared in about an hour. I'll page Dr. Watson, have him—"

I scratched my brow, knowing Garrett wasn't the most promising of my second-year residents. "Gimme the chart," I said.

Fowler and her bitch brow handed it over silently.

I turned to lean back against the podium as I started reading. The patient was Max McManus, a five-year-old boy with a fractured femur. He's been treated with pain meds since he was admitted at four p.m., which was obviously hours ago.

The little dude was in agony . . .

"I'm Dr. Cullen." I put my hand out to shake Mr. McManus's. "I'll be taking over—overseeing Max's case. I'll be your son's new physician." My eyes landed on Fowler. "Is Ortho Room One clear?"

She nodded.

"Page an anesthesiologist. We'll do this here."

"Dr. Cullen—" she started.

I put my hand up to stop her. "I want an anesthesiologist here in five minutes. You have issues? Take it up with the chief." Sometimes being assertive is the only way to get shit done.

Sighing, I tilted my head, indicating Mr. McManus follow me. "I have to look at the films, but Dr. Watson's notes indicate he doesn't need surgery. But, setting your son's leg will be very painful. We need an anesthesiologist to put him to sleep first, which is why he needed the OR." We approached his son's bay. "But we can do this here—right away. I just need your consent."

"Thank you." He hugged me.

I patted his back.

Parents of children are the worst patients.

I hadn't spoken to Max yet, but I agreed with Dr. Watson's assessment. He didn't need surgery, just a cast.

Dr. Ramos, an anesthesiologist, came down within a timely manner. He agreed with me—that we could do this here, in the orthopedic room. It's like the trauma room, cut off from the rest of the emergency room, and it's filled with all the cast supplies.

While a nurse got busy doing my setup, I placed a procedure gown on, so I wouldn't ruin my clothes. Then I called Maternity, looking for the other Dr. Cullen.

Apparently, she'd spoken too soon, or maybe I had jinxed her. Unfortunately, her patient needed an emergent C-section, and she was already scrubbed. All of which had me feeling easier—that she'd be much later.

Still, I wasn't worried since we had all night, and I'd be out of here to do everything else within forty-five minutes.

Dr. Watson glowered at me, likely upset I stole his patient.

"You're doing it, and I'll watch—ready to step in if you fuck it up," I said. "I just got the ball rolling."

"I don't…want this case." He showed me his palms. "This patient's yours. You hijacked an anesthesiologist. You're about to do an unauthorized procedure in the pit—"

"Shut up," I snapped. "First of all, you talk too much. You don't wanna do it? Fine. But you'll see him outta anesthesia. You call me with any complications, and…like I told Fowler. You gotta problem? Tell someone." The location wasn't going to be ideal, but the alternative…? The alternative is this poor kid slipping through the cracks, in pain all night, while trauma after trauma rolls through to occupy every OR.

"Fine." He went to walk away from me.

I sidestepped to get in front of him, his chest nearly touching mine. "You do what you feel is best, but I promise you now. You wanna be a fuckin' rat, you won't see the inside of an OR for months." I smiled. "Fuck…You might as well pick another specialty."

We have one of the largest pediatric departments in the city. As a senior resident, I do both solo procedures and assist in specialty cases with attending physicians. I'm clocking more OR time than ever, and the kiss-asses are always trying to get in—to observe, assist, hold a fucking retractor, or fetch me coffee.

His shoulders drooped.

I pointed to the door. "Go get the patient."

"Yes, sir." He caught on, leaving the room.

"You're not wrong," Ramos said, getting his medications ready. A nurse had previously pulled in all the necessary equipment—an anesthesia cart, a respirator, and a portable x-ray. Within ten minutes, I had a makeshift operating room right here with everything we'd need.

Maybe I had plans and was excited to get out of here.

And I could have ignored Mr. McManus in my haste to leave.

But I didn't know if anyone else—although I know Garrett definitely wouldn't—would put forth the effort to move things along, do what I'm about to. Like I said, the location wasn't correct, but I could work with what we had—to ensure Max is taken care of properly.

"You peds surgeons are hardcore. And if my kid had a broken leg, was in so much pain…" He reached to pat my back. "You're excellent. You're not gonna catch any shit for this." He shut up when Garrett wheeled Max into the room.

His parents had tear-stained cheeks, not wanting to leave. "Um…how-how long—"

"Half-hour," I said.

"Thank you so much." Mr. McManus shook my hand with both of his.

I smiled, closing them out before closing the blinds. Then, I sat next to Max. He was crying, hugging his stuffed bear tightly. "You're Max, right?"

"Yeah," he cried.

"I'm Damion…who's this?" I asked, pointing to his friend.

He sniffled, his breaths shaky. "My bear—Lenny."

"Is Lenny scared, too?" I whispered.

Max nodded, his little face crumpling even more.

"You should tell him not to be. You guys are going to—" I reached for the oxygen mask "—make bubbles, like this." I placed it to Lenny's muzzle. "You're gonna take deep breaths and take a little nap. That's it. You'll be asleep, and you won't feel anything—no pain at all. How cool is that?"

"O-okay." His stomach trembled.

"See…? Lenny's okay, right?" I asked.

Max had calmed down, staring at his bear. "Yeah…"

"When you wake up—" I wiped some of his tears away "—you're going to be in a cast. Do you know what that is?"

In his history, it'd said he'd broken his arm months prior. Knowing little boys can play rough, I truly didn't think much of it. Though, I'd be writing orders for tests that Garrett can do after I leave. There are a couple reasons why bones can easily break.

This process was going to be quick, but Max and his family wouldn't be leaving until sunrise.

"Yeah, my arm." He showed it to me. "I-I fell off da monkey bars again, and, and my mommy tolded me not to. I la-like the top," he explained.

"But you're not in trouble, right?" I smiled.

"N-No." He shook his head. "Mommy's just sad I'm hurted."

"Yeah, that's what mommys and daddys do. They get sad when you get hurt, which is why you hafta be careful. You'll listen to Mom next time, right?"

"I promise."

"It'll be a little while before you can climb the monkey bars anyway." I poked his nose "I'm sure your mommy will let you and Lenny have as much ice cream as you want." I grabbed my prescription pad. "In fact, I'm going to write it down here. Your mom will have to—'cause I said so." I pointed to myself before scribbling on the paper. "She's gotta follow doctor's orders. What's your favorite kind?"

"Chocolate." He giggled at me, looking quite the skeptic. "Lenny can't have ice cream."

"Why not?" I asked, widening my arms.

"'Cause he's just a bear," he whispered, like it was a secret.

"He looks like a cool dude to me." I placed my hand on my chest.

"You're silly." He smiled.

I agreed, nodding. "Most of my patients say that. They call me Dr. Silly D." I tucked the prescription—for copious amounts of chocolate ice cream—into his chart.

"Can I call you that?"

"Of course." I left the stretcher to adjust his blankets. "What's your favorite color?"

"Blue."

"Did Lenny fall, too?" I turned to nod at the nurse, and she knew the deal. We'd be hooking Max up with a kick-ass blue cast.

Max looked to Lenny. "Yeah, but…"

"We'll give Lenny a cast. How 'bout that?" I raised a brow.

"Okay." Max laughed again.

"You ready to blow some bubbles? Take a nap?" I asked.

He hugged Lenny tighter. "Yeah."

Ramos adjusted his machine while I stood over the bed, holding the mask to Max's face securely. "Big bubbles—deep breaths," I crooned, and within three, his eyes were fluttering to a close.

Setting his femur and placing his cast didn't take long at all—forty minutes. I was also able to use the scrap pieces to hook Lenny up, too.

Jordan was, no doubt, still in surgery, and I was back at the nurses' station with a cup of coffee while I wrote my notes in Max's chart—writing orders and instructions for Garrett, too. It was only going on eight p.m., and all I needed to do was talk to the parents and get the fuck outta here.

They thanked me again, glad their son was all right, as I brought them back to the ortho room. I'd also expressed my concern, even though I know falling from the top of monkey bars to be a hard fall.

They seemed like nice people, and I did not suspect foul play, like they'd hurt their kid. Trust me; I've had to call social workers and CPS more times than I'd like. When I encounter those people, get those suspicions, I get heated as fuck.

Mrs. McManus was worried, too—more so than before—but I told them Garrett would answer any more questions they had after our talk, if they had any, could think of any. Kids can also be very clumsy, and I hoped all tests came back negative.

Ramos and a nurse would see Max through recovery here, since he wasn't in the OR.

Max was groggy, out of it with good vitals, and he didn't have any discomfort.

Garrett met me outside the room, where I handed him the chart. "This kid's my V.I.P., so dote—treat them well. Understand?" I know Mr. and Mrs. McManus—even if their son wasn't fatally injured—had been through hell since yesterday. Izzy's almost four, and her vocabulary is excellent, but she's still very much a toddler. And watching your kid in that much pain for hours…especially when they don't understand a whole lot? I sympathized.

"Yes, Dr. Cullen." He doesn't have to like me to respect me, not that I give a fuck.

"Call me with anything..." I patted his back, making my way out of the ER.

Thank you for reading.

Chapter Two will be posted real soon!