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Chapter 1
Clara
God, this shift sucks monkey balls.
My feet hurt, my evening is far from over, and this is shaping up to be one very long night.
Coffee. I need more coffee.
Starting for the vending machine, I nod at Patricia, the other medical resident on call covering the wing with me, and she offers a weak smile.
She’s been stuck with an elderly woman with an impacted bowel for, like, two hours, and I do not envy her.
The smell of fresh cleaning solution wafts up as I step past the Wet Floor sign to the coffee dispenser.
I choose the largest cup it offers and wait less than patiently while it doles out twenty ounces of mediocre caffeinated juice.
“Stewart!” I look over my shoulder to see the attending, Dr. Carter, rushing down the hall. “Multiple arrivals incoming. Altercation in a warehouse. We’ve got code blues, lacerations with heavy gashes, and stab wounds. Move!”
Snapping into action, I leave the coffee and run after her to the emergency room.
Several patients are being wheeled into rooms on gurneys by paramedics, and nurses and physicians are already scurrying about numerous bedsides.
I follow my attending until we split ways, with her heading to a serious thoracic injury on the opposite side of the room.
I go to a patient with a nasty slice through his side, donning my gloves and utilizing the necessary sterilization tools. Then, I get to work dealing with the bandage transfer and sutures.
“Fucking hell!” I snap my face up to the guy, not changing a thing about the pressure I’ve applied to his wound.
“Got yourself pretty good there, Mister…?”
“Shaw. But please,” he hisses as I get more of the clotting agent and some disinfectant going. “Call me Luke.”
I nod. “Okay, well, I’m Dr. Stewart. You’ve got a pretty bad gash here, so I’m going to have to suture the injury. Can you tell me what caused this?”
The patient’s dark eyes track over toward my attending, then to another person from the warehouse incident on the bed across from us.
I take just a second to note his attire, comparing it with the several professional criminals I’ve treated before. Curious.
When I turn back to Mr. Shaw, I notice his clothes are much nicer. He doesn’t come across as a thug for hire in the slightest, and I have to assume he was the “victim.”
Not that it matters. Everyone gets the same treatment.
“Pretty sure it was the pointy end of that guy’s switchblade, but I could be wrong.”
I crack a smile, nodding as I prep his wound for stitches.
When I glance up at him, I see the numbing agent is doing its job and relaxing him, and I have to actually shake my head to refocus. Between this guy’s sandy-blond hair, hazel eyes, and toned muscles, he’s beyond distracting.
It’s been a hot minute since I’ve treated anyone so…attractive, especially since I’m working on my cardiology specialty, and most of those patients are elderly.
His hair is ruffled, with bumps and bruises covering his face and arms. I can tell he’s been in a fight, and still, his eyes are practically sparkling, his obvious good looks not remotely dimmed.
Mr. Shaw holds my eyes momentarily before I track mine back down to his side and start sewing.
“I’ll get you all patched up. No need to worry.”
My voice sounds decidedly tight, and I try to ignore it.
