Page 14 of Trailer Trash

The woman steps beside him and looks down at me like I’m a bug she wants to squish.

“Personally, I found her conduct deeply unprofessional.”

My heart leaps into my throat.

4

Harlow

“Dr. Easton,” I whisper, my throat too tight to speak any louder. “Uh, you must be Killian’s parents.”

He holds up his palms, an attempt to calm me. His gaze meets the badge hanging from my lanyard.

“Harlow Anderson, CNA.” He extends his hand. “It is nice to meet you.”

I shake it, and from the corner of my eye, the woman still glares, making me shrink a little.

Inside, I’m screaming: Please don’t fire me.

If I lose this job, I lose everything. Not just my job, my dream of becoming a nurse.

Their attention turns to Killian. The woman with sleek dark hair and a navy dress, barrels past me as if I don’t exist. She throws her arms around her son.

“Oh, my sweet Killian.” Then, she gasps and carefully cups his jaw, her expression mortified by the damage. “What did those heathens do to you? Are you okay?”

“Of course he’s okay,” his dad answers. “He ruined our vacation. Again.”

“He did not,” she says. “Don’t be mean to him, Clark. He’s been through a lot.”

“Please, Christine, don’t coddle him. This is the fifth time he’s pulled a stunt like this — while we’re on vacation.”

“But look at his face.”

Begrudgingly, Clark steps closer and studies the stitches across Killian’s cheek and eyebrow.

“Hm. Not... great,” he mutters to himself.

“See? Fire the surgeon. It’s not good enough!” she hisses.

At this point, Killian is in another dimension, staring at a wall as if this has bored him into a coma. Evan used to do that when I fretted about him, too.

Clark must see it because he claps his hands to get his son’s attention.

“Why are you in this unit?” he says brusquely.

“Doctor sent me here.”

“Another one to terminate,” Christine growls. “We need to get him out of here.”

Out of treatment?

I am stunned. Killian just overdosed.

Christine undoes his restraints.

Him snatching my wrist flashes, igniting a mix of fear and shame. It’s a mistake at work I already buried.

Instinctively, I step forward. “Ma’am, you can’t—”