He rubbed his temple, feeling the brewing of a headache. “I submitted the form this morning. Getting HR involved is merely going to make this situation bigger than it needs to be.”
They had been going back and forth for the last hour. The shift had already gone into overtime after a city bus accident on the freeway, which had filled their ED with crash victims.
“John, I understand, but I need you to look at this from my viewpoint—” Tanya began.
“I’ve been trying for the past hour, and frankly…” he shook his head, exasperated. “I can’t.”
Tanya’s dark brown eyes widened, and her back straightened indignantly. Tanya was his boss, the director of the entire hospital. John was forced to deal with her or Sean, her boss, on almost a daily basis these days. The bureaucracy of the hospital was beginning to bleed into his ED, and it was getting ridiculous. The politics of the business side of running a major city hospital was his concern to some extent, but right now, he didn’t fucking care.
“You’re wanting me to jump through extra hoops because you’re afraid I might sue,” John said sharply.
Tanya blanched.
“That’s exactly it, isn’t it? You’re afraid I’m gonna sue on the grounds that after months—no, years—of complaints, I’ve personally taken to HR about my concerns, I might actually have a case now. Jesus Christ, Tanya, this could’ve been prevented had you listened to me—to us. Instead, more nurses are quitting because they know this hospital doesn’t protect them. More violence is happening in the lobby because we’re short-staffed, and not only violence, but deaths. Preventable deaths, because we can’t keep functioning on a skeleton crew. And you’re more concerned about fucking paperwork. That’s your concern? We don’t have enough beds, nurses, or security. The attack is not the issue here! It’s about the systematic fucking failure of this hospital, and your leadership that borders on negligent indifference.”
Slow, loud clapping erupted from behind him, and he realized he had laid into Tanya, in public at his workstation, for the whole night crew to hear. He glanced up and saw Dr. Walsh leaning forward on his elbows on the workstation only a few feet away, wearing his all-black scrubs and a long-sleeved shirt beneath, which made his pale skin look even whiter under the glow of the fluorescent light. The only color on his body was from his reddish-brown hair. And he was wearing his sunglasses still, sliding them off to look directly at John, and then back up to Tanya, an insolent smirk dangling from his lips.
“What he said,” Dr. Walsh said, with a faint hint of his original Irish home.
Samuels cleared his throat, and John turned to see that he hadn’t left his shift yet either, and had intentionally placed himself at the central station, eavesdropping on Tanya’s conversation with him, while the rest of the day shift had gone home.
John suddenly felt very proud of his crew—especially the two men who led when he couldn’t.
His gaze flickered over to Samuels, whose gruff face was handsomely sporting a now fully matured, ridiculously bushy mustache, and maybe because he was tired, or fed up with talking in circles and just wanted a hot shower and the firm press of Lawson’s hands on his body, John began to laugh. It sounded hysterical, and he didn’t care. Because clearly he had lost his damned mind, having impulsively agreed to another night with Lawson.
What the hell was I thinking?
This is so stupid.
Fuck.
More weak hysterical laughter bubbled out of him like an uncontrollable creature.
Samuels and Tanya watched him in mild alarm as tears formed in his eyes, holding a hand over his face, trying not to look at Samuels’s ridiculous Tom Selleck mustache.
“Is this conversation amusing, Dr. Donnelly?” Tanya snapped.
“Yes—no,” he said, smothering his laughter. “Shit, I’m sorry, Tanya, it’s been a long day.” He shook his head, eyebrows furrowed, yet an exhausted smile tightened his lips. “Can we pick this up tomorrow? Let me sleep on it, okay?”
Tanya looked like she was about to protest when Dr. Walsh interrupted.
“I’d listen to our cap,” Walsh drawled darkly. “I wouldn’t want to be on this man’s bad side.”
“He doesn’t have a bad side,” Samuels retorted irritably.
Walsh cocked his head to the side, his dark brown, nearly black eyes narrowed over John. “The nice ones always have the biggest snap, and it’s mighty marvelous to behold. I’ve always prided myself on being able to tell when someone’s a breath away from snapping.”
Samuels snorted, “Only because you’ve got a screw loose.”
Walsh seemed to consider this and gave a slight nod. “I think we all do. I just don’t hide it behind a mustache or kindness.” He glanced between the two men and winked, and strolled off to his night nurse, ready to take command.
Tanya’s rigid stance softened, and she stood, gathering the infamous zipped binder she carried everywhere, its digital tablet filled with notes, constantly dinging with updates or emails.
“Yes, of course. I’ve held you over long enough. Have a good night,” she said with a clipped tone, and promptly left. John wondered if it was what he had said—or what Walsh had said.
“Walsh is looking extra vampiric tonight,” Samuels muttered, before casually side-eyeing John. “So, how’s things?”
John sighed, still feeling the silly urge to laugh again. “Better now that that conversation has ended.”
