by Dee Palmer
“For how long?”
“An hour.”
“Where did you go?”
“I have no one.” Her shoulders shake with a fresh wave of sorrow. I drape my arm and pull her into a hug. She clings to me like she’s drowning.
“Where did you go?” I repeat softly.
“I just wandered the street, feeling numb.”
“Lyla, it’s okay. You did the right thing bringing him here.” I tell her something, anything positive that comes to mind in the hope she can draw some comfort at a time she probably couldn’t feel any worse.
“Is he going to die?”
“Dr Prescott is the best.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“I’m not going to give you an answer, because I don’t know.” She sucks her lips in tight and gives a short nod. Pulling my arm free, I pat her clasped hands and shuffle to stand. “I’m going to go and check how he’s doing. I’ll come and get you soon, okay?”
“Okay.” Her eyes fill with more tears, and I don’t think there’s enough tissue in the whole world to absorb the guilt and pain on that girl’s face.
I round the corner and freeze when I hear Joel’s booming voice. His profile is rigid and almost fills the space at the nurses’ station; the phone at his ear is gripped with white angry knuckles.
“Yes, I believe the child is in danger. I wouldn’t be calling if that wasn’t the case.” I jump the top half of my body across the desk and slam my hand over the receiver, cutting the call dead.
“What the hell, Regan?” He spins to face me, fury darkening the familiar handsome features of his face.
“What are you doing?” I look around to check we are alone. I slide back to my feet and rush around so I am standing closer to his towering frame and I don’t have to shout.
“Calling Child Protective Services. What did it sound like I was doing?” His dismissive condescension riles me, but I don’t rise to the bait. This isn’t the time, and with people approaching from all directions, this isn’t the place. I grab his hand and pull him toward the fire escape. Once the heavy door clicks shut, I release his hand.
“You don’t know anything about this case.” I start my defence and am immediately met with a tight jaw, a barrier of crossed arms and an impassive expression.
“I know she told the ER staff that she dropped her son deliberately, what more do I need to know?”
“The rest of it, you need to know the rest of it, Joel, before you jump to conclusions.” I exhale, frustrated. “Did he have any marks, any bruising? Did he look malnourished? Did he look abused in any way, in your professional opinion?”
“No, but she said—”
“She was distraught and terrified. Is he going to be okay?”
“Suspected meningitis, just waiting on the test results.”
“So bringing him in has probably saved his life, and for that, she’s going to lose her kid?” He sniffs, seemingly dismissing my concerns; however, his expression tells a whole other story. “Don’t you raise your brow at me like I’m overreacting. She’s seventeen, on her own, and with a damning recommendation from you, yes, she’ll lose her kid.”
“You think I should let it slide? You can live with that when next time he comes in with—”
“With what, Joel? He doesn’t have a mark on him, he barely has a fever, there was no vomiting and that rash has only just started to develop.” I point out because I checked when I first examined him.
“She dropped him,” he argues, but I can see the conflict of inconsistencies begin to trouble him.
“She did, and that woman couldn’t feel any worse than she does right now.”
“Cry me a river. It’s my job to do what’s best for my patient.” Oh, maybe conflict isn’t the right word, stubborn dick.
“Then do it, and go and talk to her! She deserves five minutes of your judgmental time before you ruin her life and your patient’s.”
“Ruin?”
“Yes, ruin. We all make mistakes, Joel, and everyone deserves a second chance.”
“Even if he’s in danger?” He slaps my face with the ridiculousness of his counterargument. How could he even ask me that?
“No, not if he’s in danger, of course not! But he isn’t, and you’d know that if you’d put that gavel down for a moment before you pass sentence.”
“And you know that for sure? You’re a hundred percent on that, Regan? You’d let her look after Ruby, would you?”
“God, you can be an asshole sometimes,” I mutter, feeling the futility of defending the indefensible. “No, nothing’s a hundred percent, and not that I’d ever need a stranger to look after Ruby, but yes, I believe Ruby would be fine in her care. She’s a young mother, on her own, and right now, she’s terrified you’re going to do the one thing that she fears the most: take her baby away.”
“You believe her?”
“I do, and you will too. Just talk to her.” I reach for his arm but stop myself. I don’t want to confuse this with personal favours; this is my professional opinion, and I want him to respect that for what it is. This is nothing to do with us. “She’s scared, and I can point her in the right direction to get support. She doesn’t have to be alone.”
“I’ll talk to her.”
I release a long breath I had been holding and nod, relief making me smile. That’s all I wanted. “I won’t press for an intervention, but what she said is still going on his record. I won’t risk him slipping through the cracks because she might not do it again. I’m sorry, I won’t risk him, and I’m surprised you will.” His tone is more curious than accusatory, and I accept that. I understand where he’s coming from, but not every case is the same, thankfully.
“I don’t believe it’s a risk, but I understand it needs to be on the records. It won’t be a problem, I know it.”
“Always seeing the best in people.” Despite my attempt to keep the distance, he tramples through my weak defence and pulls me into his strong arms. Like an oversized blanket, I welcome the warmth and comfort, even find myself nuzzling into his scent before I regain my sense and push myself out of his hold. He holds the fire door open, and I pass underneath, keeping a better distance than last time.
“Lucky for you,” I joke, elbowing him lightly in the stomach for playful measure.
“Yeah, lucky for me.” The seriousness in his tone almost makes me turn to see what expression he has fixed on me.
I don’t, I daren’t.
The coffee shop in the hospital is crammed with the staff for the next shift, visitors, and patients stretching their legs. I’m nursing a much-needed latte after my shift and catching up with unavoidable gossip, hoping that I’m not going to be on the day’s menu. My encounters with Joel have become more troubling and charged with tension that I’m convinced everyone can feel. I will fight it until the cows come home. I have to, even if that means ignoring the raw chemistry and connection until I’m a wreck. I can’t let us happen, I won’t. Still, I’m only human, and at my weak moments, I have to wonder how much longer I can keep pretending. I need a distraction, or I need to move on, or maybe both.
“Who’s that?” Nora asks, dropping her head low on the table as if that will soften her outside voice. Scarlet rolls her eyes, looking over to where Nora’s eyes are now staring out on stalks.
“That’s the new cardio surgeon, Dr McCallister. First day today, and he’s already giving your guy a run for his money in the looks department,” Scarlet teases, and it’s my turn to roll my eyes.
“He’s not my guy; he’s an ex.”
“You invite all your exes around for Christmas?” Her stud piercing catches the light as she arches her brow nice and high.
“Those that help me out and are going to be alone, yes.”
“Riiight,” Nora chirps in and shares a knowing look with her girlfriend.
“And it wasn’t me that invited him; it was Ruby,” I clarify, irritated that it takes so little to rile me these days. Maybe it’s not these days, m
aybe it’s the subject matter.
“So you didn’t care whether Joel was on his own then?” Scarlet asks. The smugness seeps from her bright pink lipstick.
“I…yes, no, of course I cared if he was going to be on his own at Christmas, but that’s kind of irrelevant. The point is he’s not my guy. I don’t have a guy.” The volume and pitch in my voice have risen above the general white noise, and the whole conversation has kept me so distracted, I physically jump in my seat when the new doctor in question sits in the empty chair beside me.
“Glad to hear it. May I?” Both his question and my answer are redundant, given that he is now seated and smiling at me and my friends.
“Oh, yes, sure, why not?”
“Hope I’m not interrupting. I always find it best to just dive right in when making new friends, and since you were all looking my way, I didn’t want to ignore this golden opportunity.” He places a water bottle and a mug of coffee on the table. He shakes the sugar packet before tearing it open and pours the brown granules in a small mound that instantly sinks into the foam of his coffee.
“Golden opportunity?” I ask.
“To make new friends.”
“You know the doctors normally sit over there.” Nora points to the circle of white coats in the corner of the cafe. Scarlet’s eyes widen as do mine at Nora’s curtness.
“So they do. So what’s the verdict?” He casually stirs his drink, either oblivious or simply choosing to ignore the inference in Nora’s pointed comment.
“Verdict?” Confusion mixes with intrigue. Who is this man?
“How do I score? I’m hoping for a good six.” He sucks the foam from the spoon, a slow and deliberate move of full lips, sweeping tongue and the sound of stubble scraping. Oh, my. I cast a glance around the packed cafe and notice I’m not the only one transfixed by the new guy.
“I may bat for the other team but I’d give you—”
“Nora!” I interrupt my wayward friend just in time.
“I’m David, or Mac to some. It’s nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand to me, and I shake it and make the introductions. “I’m Regan. I work in Peds. This is Scarlet; she’s in ICU, and Nora is in Cardio, like you.”
“Not so much like you. I don’t have the pay packet or the penis.” Nora adds with a snort, crudely cupping herself.
“And you wouldn’t want one,” Scarlet quips. “Although the pay raise might come in handy if you did want the op, but then I’d have to find me a new girlfriend, and I kind of like this one, even with her foul mouth and no filter.” Scarlet leans over and ruffles Nora’s short spiked crop of black hair.
“You love my foul mouth.” Nora winks and blows Scarlet a salacious-looking kiss.
“Guys, I know I don’t get out much, but is this really how we behave in front of strangers?” I feel a friendly reminder is prudent, because, although this is mildly flirtatious for them, I know from experience it can very quickly go south in every sense of the word, even in public, even at work.
“Regan, you don’t get out period, unless it’s to take Ruby somewhere, and the day I change my behaviour is the day I start sucking dick for a living.” Nora’s voice echoes off the walls, and I sink a little in my chair, feeling the burn in my cheeks.
“Which would be when hell freezes over, in case that was unclear,” Scarlet paraphrases, which makes me chuckle, as if that was necessary.
“Nothing unclear about that.” David suppresses a smile, and his eyes flit from Nora to Scarlet and back to me. “I knew I chose the right table.” He tips up his bottle of water in an appreciative salute before taking a long draw. When he places it back on the table, he floors me with his next question. “Will you accompany to the Surgeon’s Ball this Saturday, Regan?”
“What the what now?” I cough and choke on my own coffee, failing to keep it contained. The liquid dribbles down my chin much to the amusement of my friends and David. “Sorry, what?” I use a napkin to wipe my face clean. The shock, however, would take a napkin with some industrial strength cleaner to shift.
“I was hoping you would be my guest to the Ball on Saturday. I have this invitation, and I don’t really know anyone.”
“You don’t know me,” I blurt, and a nervous laugh fills the silence at the table. My friends are comically set with jaws dropped and gapping mouths.
“True, but your friend just said you don’t go out, period, which is shocking, by the way.” He leans closer and whispers the last words in a teasing manner.
I explain my reason or at least my lame excuse for why I’m a recluse. “I have a daughter.”
“And she keeps you locked in a basement?” He nods in mock understanding. Scarlet snickers, and Nora bites her lip ring into her mouth, uncharacteristically silent.
“Not exactly,” I mumble.
“So she would let you out for one night?”
“It’s not that.” I shift in my seat, feeling the intensity of three pairs of eyes staring through my weak defence.
“Then what?” he asks, his smile is genuine and optimistic. Oh, god.
“Yes, Regan, what is it? Why can’t you go to the ball with the hot doctor?” Nora asks, her tone clipped with sarcasm.
“You’re not waiting on a better offer by any chance.” Scarlet pokes.
“I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes by asking you, am I?” A flash of concern passes over his face. His thick brows pull together, and his dark-rimmed glasses frame the intensity in his unusual blue eyes.
What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I say yes? Dumbass, you know why.
I close my eyes, and my mind races with the best way to say no when I hear it. It’s not even his voice; it’s hers. My stomach drops, because I know it’s him making her make that noise. I look over to my friends, Scarlet’s expression is filled with concern, and Nora looks like she could kill. And they don’t even know the whole sorry tale. They just know an ex is usually an ex for a reason and regardless of the reason, I’m their friend, and with them, it’s most definitely sisters before misters. I look in the direction of the sickly sound of girlish laughter, and lo…there he is. The small alcove hidden from the main thoroughfare is clearly visible from where I’m sitting. His profile is mostly in darkness but I recognise his shape, the way he leans over her and the flashes of his dirty blonde hair when he comes out of the shadow. Gift shop girl is plastered over his front preventing a full view as he manoeuvres her back into the darkness, but it’s him, and the last image is of his hand squeezing a sizeable chunk of her ass. I blink the image away and answer David’s question.
“No, you’re not stepping on any toes.”
“Then you’ll come?” His question is tentative and hopeful.
“I’ll come.” I flash a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
“Yeah, you will.” Nora mutters loud enough to be heard by everyone in a five block radius.
“Nora!”
Ground swallow me now.
“I can’t believe I said yes. What was I thinking?” I grumble to my best friends as I wave at the umpteenth car that has overtaken me, motioning toward the smoking exhaust. I grimace and shrug apologetically. It’s not like I don’t know my car is on its last legs. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s just the stubborn rust holding it together, but I can’t afford a new one and it does still get me from A to B.
“That you deserve a night out? That to dress up all glamorous and fancy might be fun? Or that dreamy Dr David just might be hot enough to knock Joel off of that pedestal you’ve set him on? Which one of those weren’t you thinking?” Harper asks flatly and without a trace of irony. It’s an unusual predicament, and even if I don’t agree with all of what she’s saying, she has a point. Why is this even an issue? I’m single, and I’ve never been to a ball.
“Trust me, Joel is not on a pedestal,” I clarify with my sternest tone. I can’t stare her down with added emphasis on the subject, since I’m also navigating my little car through the heavy Chicago traffic on the way to work.
“Not because he’s on a pedestal, more because I appear to be a slut.”
“One swallow doth not make a summer.” Cameron articulates in his best attempt at Shakespearian English. My jaw drops, mortified at his lewd double entendre. My face flashes so red with instant heat, I’m sure I’ve warmed the chilly interior of the car by several degrees. My narrowed gaze fixes on Cameron in the rear view mirror.
“Eh, Regan, it’s always the quiet ones.” Cameron wiggles his brow and knowingly nudges Harper through the small gap between the front seats. She’s already in fits of laughter. “You just gave me a boner, but we’ve been over this. Fucking one guy does not make you a slut.” He ruffles my hair playfully.
“But he’s not my boyfriend.” I swat his hand away and try to smooth the ponytail.
“And if we were in a Jane Austen novel, it would be quite the scandal,” Harper mocks and reaches her hand to my thigh to squeeze some softness into her assessment of my non-love life. “Look, Regan, no one in this car is judging you for getting some. Hell, it would be a crime if you didn’t tap that, so don’t beat yourself up for enjoying yourself. Not every relationship has to have a label.”
“It’s not a relationship.” I add, hating the wishful tinge my voice holds.
“You have history, so it’s not just a hook-up, either.” Harper is irritatingly insightful, and I flash a glance her way; she heard the tinge.
“At worst, you’re friends with benefits, and if that was the case you should be getting more action than you do. Trust me, your sex life is more than a little tragic.” Cameron pats my shoulder, the condescension thick and a little depressing.