Page 61 of Give Me What You Will

Sam stared dully at the patient board, not reading a single line.

He was exhausted. Beyond exhausted. He’d just done yet another double in the span of two weeks and was slowly becoming a workaholic. Wyatt had said something to him earlier, but quickly backed off when Sam had nearly taken his head off. Steph was also surprisingly quiet whenever he was at the nurse station, not saying anything about his overtime and doubles.

And the simple reason was…

He couldn’t go home.

He couldn’t sit in his empty house any longer. All he thought about was Frankie, and then eventually Papi, and how small his miserable little life was, and how empty it was beginning to feel.

The only person who seemed unfazed by his foul mood was Walsh. The Irishman almost seemed giddy every time he saw Sam, smiling like a fucking vampire, all pale skin and reddish-dark brown hair, with those piercing arctic-blue eyes. Normally he’d avoid Walsh, but lately, he didn’t mind the asshole.

“If you stare at it long enough,” Walsh said, fresh cup of coffee in hand, looking mildly amused. “It might actually change with you doing absolutely nothin’ to it. If you’re so lucky.”

Sam snorted. “Careful, Walsh, wouldn’t want anyone on the night crew to think you’re lazy.”

“Lazy…” The Irishman puffed out his chest, hand in his scrubs pocket, looking relaxed, and yet Sam could sense that he was alert and focused. Like a snake, unmoving and calm, watching its prey with those unfeeling eyes.

“I know perfectly well that I am not,” Walsh replied smoothly, taking a sip of coffee. “I suppose anyone next to you would look lazy.”

Sam glanced over his shoulder at him, gritting his teeth. Walsh wasn’t wrong. But it didn’t mean he liked being called out on it.

“How come you suppose ya don’t like me?” Walsh asked, eyes still on the patient board, yet his eyebrows were raised in question.

“Who says I don’t like you?”

Walsh finally looked at him, lips curling into an insidious smirk. “Me.”

“Fair enough,” Sam said, biting back a sigh. “You’re abrasive and blunt with your patients and crew. You tell bad news like you do good news. You could be nicer in the way you go about things. More… I dunno, considerate.”

“That’s not the reason you don’t like me,” Walsh drawled.

Sam glowered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Enlighten me, then.”

“It’s because you and me—we’re just alike. The only difference is that I don’t hide that I’m an asshole.”

“You callin’ me an asshole?”

Walsh shrugged, drawing out the reply by taking a slow sip of his coffee, irritating Sam. “You could be. If you tried a little harder.”

Surprised, he stared at him.

“If you don’t mind, Dr. Samuels, I think it’s time you went home. I don’t need an anchor dragging down my team tonight. So be gone with your tired and haggard self.”

He glowered openly at him, and Walsh merely winked, striding toward the central hub to check in with the night nurse, Nicole.

Frowning and now irritated, Sam headed toward the staff lockers and found Wyatt, backpack already over his shoulder, done for the day. His handsome face was shadowed by whiskers, and his sandy brown hair was tousled. He looked surprisingly refreshed and eager to leave work, and Sam knew perfectly well why. He had someone waiting for him at home. Sam’s best friend here in LA, Dr. John Donnelly.

“Hey,” Wyatt paused, sky-blue eyes searching him. “You okay?”

“Apparently, I’m not enough of an asshole, according to the biggest asshole here.”

Wyatt’s face pinched in a cringe, glancing over at Walsh. “He means well.”

Sam scoffed. “Since when?”

“Since I worked night shift with him for almost six months. He’s actually…” Wyatt frowned, considering his words carefully. “Kinda… great. He comes line dancing with John and me all the time.”

“You’re talking about Walsh, right?”