Page 5 of Halo

I slowly pivot, flashing her a smile—that promptly falls. She gestures toward the sleazy suit standing next to her. “Nick, I'd like to introduce you to—”

“Declan,” I say, jaw clenched with a tight grin.

Ugh. This smarmy chode … He is the quintessential pharmaceutical representative, the epitome of why they have a bad rap. He’s never actually done anything wrong to me. I just don’t like his smug ass.

He takes my hand, shaking it earnestly. “Good to see you again, Dr. Crawford.”

“You too,” I lie. “Didn’t realize you were back. Run out of balloons in the sewer?”

He lets out a boisterous laugh, his teeth a little too large, too white for his mouth. He slings his arm around my back, not quite tall enough to reach over my shoulders. “Can you believe this guy?” He pats my chest. “Always a hoot!”

Casey nervously chuckles, glancing back and forth between us. “I didn’t realize you already knew each other.”

“Unfortunately,” I murmur, casually shrugging out of his chummy bro-hug.

“I made a few stops here when Rockstyn was your primary supplier.”

“Oh … are you not from Houston?” Casey asks.

“I am—right down the road, actually … but I was never really home before. I spent more nights in hotel rooms than at home with my wife.” He grows serious, adjusting his necktie. “Fortunately … for all of us—” he chuckles—“Aquila had a home-based position.”

“Declan is our newly assigned representative with Aquila BioSolutions,” Casey clarifies. “He’ll serve as our primary point of contact going forward.”

“Lucky us,” I grumble.

“And since I’m here in town, if y’all need anything—and I mean anything—you just give me a call on my cell.” He hands me a business card, which reads, ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’

Is this douche for real? He actually quoted the damn Bible … on his fucking business card. He passes this shit out to clients—hospitals and rehabilitation facilities with multi-million-dollar contracts.

I clear my throat. “Well, this has been riveting, but surgeons generally prefer their patients asleep during procedures.”

Declan laughs again, slugging my arm. “What did I tell ya, eh? Hey, we’ll do drinks soon.”

We will not do drinks soon.

Casey pinches her eyebrows together before giving me a lazy grin. “I’ll text you later,” she whispers.

I glance at my watch before high-tailing it to the central nurse’s station to check out the surgery board. Our surgery center has sixteen operating rooms, and with our full schedule of procedures, I’m one of six MDAs working today along with our staff of nurse anesthetists.

Most patients I meet the morning of their surgery, but occasionally, I'll have a repeat—sometimes a complete fluke, but oftentimes because they want me to take care of them again.

“She's excited to see you,” the surgery coordinator mentions quietly, handing me paperwork for my next case.

I'm excited to see her, too.

I give a small salute before I strut over to the second-to-last bay—and my heart instantly warms when I hear the laughter inside. I rip open the curtain. “Who's making all that racket in here?”

“Doctor Nick!” Ainsley St. James beams from behind her pink frames, her dark hair a chaotic explosion of curls. Her parents jump to their feet along with Rory, one of the hospital's child life specialists.

“It’s so good to see you, Dr. Crawford,” Mrs. St. James says as I shake her husband's hand.

“Likewise, but we really need to stop meeting like this. Dinner would be a much cheaper co-pay.” This earns me a room full of laughs as I grab a rolling stool and take a seat.

Ainsley was an infant patient I observed during one of the lowest times of my life. She was born with a cleft lip and palate, and at just a few months old, she had her first reconstructive surgery. During her hospital recovery, the St. Jameses were exhausted, but felt a parental need—and guilt—to stay awake to watch their daughter. Chart audits were keeping me company late into the night, so I offered to keep an eye on Ainsley while they napped. It couldn’t be that hard, plus I was a doctor; I was ready for anything.

Except I wasn’t prepared. Not to hold her or rock her or count her chunky little fingers that would grip my thumb so tightly. But most of all, I wasn't prepared to want a memory so badly.

Her parents returned a couple of hours later, and since then, we've kept in touch. Ainsley has now had three other surgeries, including an alveolar bone graft two years ago. I don’t provide anesthesia care for younger pediatric patients, but I always made it a point to visit her in the hospital, a salve in its own right to my heart.