I give him my flattest stare, the one I reserve for drunk patients who hit on me and idiots who waste my time. “I don’t.”
“I’m Grayson Wolfe.” He says it like it should mean something, like I should be impressed.
I’m not.
And because he’s really getting under my skin, and I’ve been awake for fourteen hours and smell like vomit and pee, I let a sly smile curve my lips.
“If I don’t know you,” I say sweetly, “guess you must not be that relevant.”
His face goes red. It would be funny if it weren’t so satisfying.
“I’m the star hockey player,” he says through gritted teeth. “For the Silverpeak team. We won the championship last year.”
“Do you need applause?” I thread the needle, preparing for sutures. “I don’t care if you’re a flying monkey. I have other patients to look at, and you’re taking up my time.”
“You’re a terrible nurse.”
“I’ll go work on my bedside manner when I have time to spare.” I apply the numbing cream before making the first stitch,pulling the thread through his skin. “Now hold still unless you want me to stab you with this needle.”
He does, watching me with those burning amber eyes. There’s something about him that sets my nerves on edge, makes my skin feel too tight. It’s not just his arrogance, though that’s certainly part of it. It’s something deeper. Something I can’t name.
I finish the stitches in silence, my hands steady despite the way my pulse has started racing. When I’m done, I bandage the wound and step back.
“Keep it clean and dry for twenty-four hours. Come back in a week to have the stitches removed.”
Grayson stands, pulling his pants back on carefully. He then reaches for his cap and whips it off. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he pulls out a silver Sharpie and scrawls his signature across the brim.
“Here.” He tosses it to me. “As a thank you.”
The arrogance is stunning. Truly stunning.
I catch the cap automatically, staring at the messy signature, my voice dry. “Wow. Your handwriting is terrible.”
He limps toward the door, favoring his injured leg. “Try to contain your excitement.”
Then he’s gone, disappearing into the chaos of the ER.
I look down at the cap in my hands. The signature is barely legible, all loops and flourishes. I wonder how much I could get for it if I sold it online.
The thought makes me smile for the first time in hours. If he’s as famous as he says, I might make some money off this.
I turn to toss the cap onto the counter to pack up the supplies when something small and metal catches the light on the exam table. It’s a keychain, a tiny teddy bear made of soft brown fabric, attached to a silver ring. It must have fallen out of Grayson’s jacket when he was getting dressed.
I grab it and rush out into the hallway, scanning the chaos for dark hair and broad shoulders. The ER is still packed with patients from the collision, nurses and doctors moving between exam rooms in organized chaos. I catch a glimpse of the hockey team’s blue uniforms near the entrance.
“Wait!” I call out, pushing through the crowd.
But by the time I reach the doors, the bus is already pulling away from the curb, its taillights disappearing into the dark June night.
I stand there for a moment, the keychain heavy in my palm. The tiny bear stares up at me with black button eyes. It’s worn, the fabric faded in places like it’s been carried for a long time. There’s something about it that tugs at something in my chest. Something important.
I should drop it off at the lost and found. I make a mental note to do exactly that. Once I’m done with my patients.
I shove it into my scrub pocket and dive back into work. There are still patients to see, wounds to clean, vitals to check. The next few hours blur past in a haze of controlled chaos. By the time the last patient is stabilized and the ER finally quiets, it’s three in the morning.
An hour past the end of my shift.
Dragging myself to the break room, every muscle in my body screams in protest. The keychain is still in my pocket. Pulling it out, I turn the tiny bear over between my fingers. This really should go to the lost and found. But the idea of taking it all the way there makes me groan. My legs are jelly at this point.
