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“You could try,” Amanda said. “It wouldn’t matter, though, because Boxer is all about Team Linden.”
“Oh, I see,” Lizzie said slowly. “I get it now.”
“Get what now?” I asked, my brow furrowing.
“You’re a snob. Amanda? Will you hand me that pen—”
“Hold on a second,” I interrupted. “I’mnota snob.”
“You are,” Lizzie stated with a nod. “It’s okay. Don’t hide from it.”
“You think I’m a snob because I won’t date a biker?”
“No, I think you’re a snob because you won’t even give him a chance,” Lizzie countered. “You need to shake things up.”
“I’ve shaken things up plenty,” I insisted. “I just broke up with someone a few months ago. I took a job across the country and moved my entire life here. I’m more shaken up than a dry martini, okay?”
Amanda sighed. “You went on a date with that lawyer guy, Parker, remember?”
“Yeah? So? What does that have to do with anything?” I demanded.
“It means you might’ve moved across the country and taken a new job, but you’re not really into taking risks,” Amanda said. “You went on a date with your usual type, didn’t you? So how much have youreallyshaken things up?”
“I never should’ve gone to happy hour with you guys that first week I moved here.” I shook my head. “You guys seemed too innocent and sweet.”
“We got you drunk on purpose,” Amanda said with a grin. “We wanted you to spill your guts.”
“You’re one of us now, Linden,” Lizzie added. “Which means we look out for you and tell you like it is. And, you need to have some fun with Boxer.”
“I’ll think about it,” I lied.
“No, you won’t,” Amanda said with a feigned sad face.
“No, I won’t,” I agreed. “Can I get back to work now, please?”
* * *
“Time of death, 11:57,” I said, my eyes on the clock. I removed my gloves and threw them down on the instrument tray and ripped the surgical mask off.
I didn’t meet anyone’s gaze as I stalked from the operating room, anger pumping through my veins.
I took death personally.
Every time I failed to save a life, I imagined the Grim Reaper laughing in my face.
It was a mockery of my craft, sadness, and failure all rolled into one, and it didn’t matter how much schooling or training I had. But, inevitably, there were times when the circumstances were beyond my control and no amount of training or modern medicine could fix them.
Losing a patient never got easier, no matter how many times it happened. A loss was a loss. And for some reason I couldn’t quite pin down, the deaths seemed to outweigh the lives I’d saved.
I walked by the nurses’ station and met Amanda’s eyes. She knew in an instant that I’d lost my patient.
Her gaze was somber, and she nodded.
I turned in the direction of the waiting room, walked a few feet and paused, and then pushed through the doors.
“I’m looking for the Martinez family,” I called out.
“Sí—yes.” A young woman rose from her chair, her blonde hair tied up into a messy bun, her face devoid of any makeup. Her eyes searched mine and before I’d even gotten a word out about the fate of her husband, she broke down into tears.
