Page 8 of Under His Guard

I plaster on that practiced bedside manner smile and watch him head for the door. Luke gets a few steps away when I call out without thinking.

“It’s Clara. So…” I swallow around the lump that’s formed in my throat. “Yeah.”

Luke chuckles, the sound lovely and relaxed, and as he smiles, he licks his lips. “See you tomorrow…Clara.”

When he’s gone, I turn back to the nurses behind the desk to get my next assignment. Unfortunately, I’m treated to Denise’s barely restrained grin.

“Oh, shut up. I’m just helping someone out. Okay?”

She holds up her hands in surrender, the corners of her mouth turning down. “No judgment coming from me, boss. Here you go.”

I take the patient clipboard from her and sigh. What have I gotten myself into?

* * *

The remainder of my shift passes by in a blur. More sutures, an appendectomy, suture removal, all pretty standard stuff.

Once I’m good to go home, I hurry through the parking lot as a summer storm picks up.

I, of course, haven’t brought my umbrella, so when I sit down behind the wheel in my sedan, I’m drenched.

“Gross. Wet socks.” I frown to myself, cranking the heater and choosing the vents by my feet.

Quickly enough, the car warms, and I pass under the familiar red and green lights on the side streets.

The rain comes down in sheets, and I have to flick my wipers on as high as they’ll go.

It’s not a long drive, thankfully, and I’m over the highway and through the metaphorical woods in just a hair longer than I would be without the rain.

Still, I pass an accident on the side of the road near my exit. I’m about to stop when I hear the sirens behind me. They’ve got it. Get some rest.

Driving around to the back of the small shop, I find my usual parking space near the dumpster. I try to find something to protect me from the rain, but all I have in the car are case reports and a box of tissues.

Ugh. Okay, shield the notes.

Pulling the collection of folders against my chest, I do my best to cover them with my light jacket and make a break for it.

Dashing through the nearly empty lot, I hurry for the metal stairs that lead directly to the second-floor apartment I call home.

Mr. Chen is probably still at the shop, despite the fact that no one will be looking to hunt for antiques while it’s pouring, and I anticipate the knock that’ll come before he goes to bed.

Sweet old guy.

On nights when I’m home, he always checks to make sure I got in okay, and that’ll go double for a rainy summer evening.

Scrambling to get my key into the lock and head inside, I shift the weight between my feet. Why is it you always have to pee the second you get home?

I burst inside, tossing my keys in the catchall basket and putting the case reports on my coffee table. The small bathroom is just down the hall, and I practically sprint.

When I’ve relieved the pressure squeezing my bladder, I realize I’ve left the door wide open and go back to shut it and lock it back up.

“Oh, so much better.”

Rain patters on my window, and I decide that a cup of tea and a shower are in order. I push off my sneakers with either foot and then stoop to pull off my soggy socks.

My toes are frozen. Definitely a shower first.

I pad to the bathroom again, pulling my scrub top over my head and tossing it to the floor when I get inside. The air is chilly, and when I shuck the bottoms, a shiver makes me jerk.

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