“Mmhmm.” They didn’t believe me. I didn’t believe me either. “Don’t stay too late, Harper. Remember, you like to go to war over people.”
“Yes. I know. I’m going to finish this, send it off to Dr. Rice, and go home.”
“Promise?”
A few minutes and pinky swears to go home in an hour later, Rowan left, pulling my door closed behind them.
They were right. I’d been running on coffee and not much else and it was not doing me any favors.
Over an hour later, I’d finally assembled everything Dr. Rice had asked for. I sent them over, waited for the cursory acknowledgement, then backed everything up and shut down my laptop. I needed to drop off some paperwork in the ER on my way out, so I grabbed the folder from my desk and headed downstairs.
The ER had a mood to it. I felt different when I walked into that department. I wasn’t sure I could spend a career in that unit, but some people were clearly born for it.
I weaved between gurneys and staff to reach the unit clerk’s station. Behind the counter sat a vaguely familiar woman, her fingers hammering the keyboard at warp speed.
“Help you?” she called.
“Harper Sutton, Risk Management and Patient Advocacy,” I said, extending the folder. “Dr. Smith requested this paperwork.”
She glanced up just long enough to take it. “I’ll see he gets it.”
I turned to leave and walked straight into a wall of muscle.
Cole was in rumpled scrubs like he’d been wearing them all day, sleeping in them all night. A stethoscope hung around his neck. His beard was unkempt and his eyes were bloodshot. He seemed tired but alert, like he was running on too little sleep and too much caffeine.
My stomach flipped and flopped at the sight of Cole Vaughn. Relief. Anger. Want. All of it hit me at once and made me dizzy.
“Hey.”
Chapter Nine
COLE
I’d been at the hospital all weekend long, save a few hours of actual sleep grabbed in increments between cases. Friday night had ended with a multi-vehicle pileup on the interstate. Three critical patients, all coming in hot. I’d been fighting to keep people alive and hadn’t come up for air until Sunday morning.
By then, I felt like an asshole. The kind who kisses a woman, gets her all worked up, then runs off to be a hero and goes radio silent. I was exactly the kind of doctor I’d complained to Harper about at dinner.
I thought about calling her, but I knew I only had one chance to get it right and didn’t know what to say aside from, “I’m sorry, I got busy.”
That sounded weak.
And right when I was about to dial her number, a gunshot wound came in.
Then a pedestrian versus car. In addition, the flu had decimated the ER staff, so the rest of us were running on fumes. Suddenly it was Monday and I was delirious.
The lounge door opened and Dr. Banks stuck her head in. “Hey. We’re getting a couple patients in—Metro is full.” I groaned. Metropolitan Community Hospital always claimed they were full and couldn’t take more patients, diverting them to RMC. “You here or nah?”
“Nah. I’m burnt to a crisp. I don’t even remember where I live anymore.”
“A’ight. Go home before someone sees you. I’m here and Pat cut his vacation short. He’s about a half hour out.”
Thank God. Dr. Pat Mendoza was an angel. If I thought he would stand for it, I’d kiss him.
I could go home. I could sleep for twelve hours straight.
I could call Harper and grovel properly.
“Yeah. That sounds like a great idea.” I pushed myself up off the lumpy lounge couch, every joint protesting. I wasn’t in my twenties anymore. Hell, I wasn’t in my thirties anymore. I couldn’t do too many of these marathon weekends.
