Change the word “annoying” to “interesting” and then it will no longer be a lie.
“Oh, really?” he teases. “So when you said, and I quote, ‘I really hope that she gets a paper cut every time she signs a form at work.’ Or ‘I think she just needs a really good, non-fatal fall down the stairs to get her head working again…’”
“Alright, I get it?—”
“Oh, or my personal favorite, ‘I hope that she manages to stub her toe every time she steps through a doorway.’”
I groan and stand up, leaving my annoying father laughing his ass off on the front lawn.
ChapterThree
OAKLEIGH
The ER is chaos tonight.
After a bus crashed between Liliton and Eaglewood, there was nowhere else for the survivors to come but here. And yes, I just said “survivors.” Unfortunately, not all the passengers were so lucky.
The floor is so loud that I can barely hear anything the attending is telling me. Or maybe that’s because of the blood pumping its way across my ear drums, telling me that my heartbeat is going faster than the driver was on the bus.
It’s moments like these that make me regret changing jobs and becoming a trauma nurse. Why the hell would I voluntarily put myself in this position? Put myself in a part of the hospital that contains more death than the rest of the building put together. But I needed something more than what I had upstairs. Upstairs in recovery was so boring. All I really needed to do was check on patients and administer meds when needed. It was so quiet that all I ever wanted to do was write more of my novel, but my supervisor, Linda, said that if she caught me writing one more time, I’d face suspension. So, I moved to where it was busy enough that I didn’t even have time to think about the red and white notebook that now sits in my apartment instead of my hospital locker.
Thoughts of my notebook bring my mind back to yesterday; the panic that had gripped my chest the moment I saw Finn standing in the doorway with a smug smile and that very notebook in his hand. But I also remember the way my skin came alive as I sat straddling him, reveling in that shocked expression on his face as I overpowered him. Ice washes through my veins as I think about how aware I was of his presence, the way his hand fit against the curve of my waist, just like it did eight months ago. I’d promised myself that I would never let another man have control over my feelings. I give my head a rough shake, because I’ll be damned if I forget that now.
My experiences with dating can easily be described as a catastrophic list of endless failures. I’ve never really taken the time to dissect whether or not I’ve brought this on myself. My life up until eight months ago had been fairly boring—nothing particularly necessary of relaying. I’m no FMC in a romance novel—no one is coming to love me despite my flaws, so I’ve happily (sort of) put to rest the possibility of a good man coming into my life.
My stomach turns as a gurney is wheeled into the bay beside the patient I’m checking on. A perfect physical representation of my love life, on it an older man lies on his side so that the bus handle sticking out of his shoulder isn’t being disrupted by the bed.
God, I wish I could turn off my peripheral vision sometimes. I want nothing more than to go home and snuggle in bed with a massive glass of wine and my cat, Ollie, snuggled beside me.
My patient groans in pain just as the needle breaches his skin, bringing me back to reality. Thankfully, even in my trauma-filled daze, I still managed to find the vein just fine.
“Deep breaths,” I encourage as the blood starts to fill the vial. We need to check his bloods as a precaution, since he has a bleeding disorder and is currently suffering from a gash running down his thigh. “You’re doing really well.”
He groans in response and I smile at him sadly. I can’t imagine the pain he must be in, the morphine barely touching the sides of what he’s feeling. I take a deep breath as I change vials, trying to push aside any of my own feelings so that I can focus purely on the man before me.
“Did you manage to call whoever you needed to call?” I ask, hoping to help distract him even a fraction.
The young man opens his eyes. He can’t be much younger than me, maybe twenty-six, twenty-seven? Bright blue eyes watch me hazily.
“Yeah,” he moans quietly. “I managed to call my mom. She’s coming with my boyfriend.”
I smile down at him. “How long have you been together?”
“Not long.” He hisses as the needle moves while I change the vial again. “A year and a half.”
“Well, that’s a year and a half longer than I’ve ever managed.” I chuckle wryly, and thankfully a pained smile dances across his face. “You love him?” I push.
He gives a jerky nod. “More than I probably should at this point.”
“Uh-uh. No one can tell you what kind of timeline to have when it comes to that stuff.” I gently pull the needle out now that I’ve collected all I need. “You love how you love.”
The conversation seems to be exhausting him. It must take a lot of energy to disregard the pain enough to answer questions, let alone have a discussion, but I’m just happy that it distracted him long enough for me to finish these bloods.
Because now comes the hard part.
“I’m going to have to sort that leg out now, Gregory.” I cringe.
He stares down at his thigh in horror, probably imagining the pain that will come with the whole lot of alcohol I’m going to have to put on it to clean it out.
