“Hello?” he says.
“Hey, babe,” I say. “I hate to bother you at work, but my car just died, and I’m running late for an evening shift. Do you think you could give me a ride?”
The line is silent for a couple of seconds.
“Be there in three minutes.”
The line goes dead.
Not one to fail in keeping a promise, Brett screeches to a halt in front of my house exactly three minutes later.
“That was fast,” I say while fastening my seat belt.
“I was working from home today. Paperwork, blueprints, contracts. Boring stuff.”
“So sorry to take you away from all of that—you seem devastated,” I say, smirking, and he grins back.
“I would’ve called Sam or my mom if I could. I even thought about calling for a taxi…”
“Soph,” he chastises. “It’s okay. Besides, I welcome the distraction.”
He peeks at me from the corner of his eyes.
“What?” I say, laughing.
“You look incredibly hot today.”
He can’t be serious.
I’m wearing ratty blue scrubs, and my hair is tied in a messy topknot. I look like I’m getting ready for bed.
“Whatever does it for you,” I say.
“You look good in scrubs. Really good.”
“Don’t tease me. I know these aren’t the nicest ones I have. I’m doing laundry, and these were the only clean pair I had, and…”
Is he…laughing at me?
“You don’t know how to take a compliment, do you? I like how you look in your uniforms.”
Pfft—yeah, right.
“Maybe someday, you can be my naughty nurse.”
I whip my head over to look at him. He simply gives me a sideways grin and winks.
“Ugh…don’t torture me with something you can’t offer,” I groan.
“Well, I did say ‘someday.’ ”
Someday.
Naturally I start planning my naughty-nurse routine. I’ll begin with a slow, seductive striptease in my uniform.
First, I kick off my orthopedic shoes, complete with arch supports. Then, I leisurely pull my scrub pants down, rubbing the deep red indents left on my stomach by the tight elastic waistband.
I’ll slowly pull my name tag in and out of its retractable clip.
“You like that, baby?” I’ll ask, my voice husky.
I erupt in a snort of laughter. Real sexy.
Minutes later, we pull into the hospital parking lot.
“I’ll see if Samira can give me a ride home. She’s off work this evening.”
“Nonsense. I’ll pick you up.”
Hmm. I dunno if I should let him start doing things for me. Independence is a good thing. Because what if I got used to having his help available all the time? And then, one day, he suddenly wasn’t around to help me anymore? What would I do then?
I don’t want to be there again.
He smiles at me, and raises a thumb to my forehead, smoothing out the worry lines.
“You are so cute,” he says.
He plants a soft, unhurried kiss on my lips. “See you tonight.”
—
It’s the following morning. My shift went well last night, and as promised, Brett was there to pick me up after work.
A few of the evening nurses were standing outside with me, waiting to see (err, ogle) my “mysterious” new man.
I’m almost afraid to bring him onto the unit. I don’t know what they’d say or do to him if he exited the safety of his truck. When you’re surrounded by disease, vomit, and wrinkled balls all day, you tend to notice when someone young and good-looking walks by.
My car is still dead in the driveway. Best to get reinforcements (aka my Auntie Alex).
“Hey, Auntie, how are you?” I say into the phone.
“I’m good,” she says. “We’ve missed you. When am I going to see you?”
“How about today?”
I explain my car trouble. Alex is a mechanic, and owns her own garage. When I was a teen, she showed me how to change the oil and filters, and how to diagnose basic problems with the engine.
She’d probably kill me if she found out I take my little car to Mr. Lube for oil and filter changes now.
—
“How are you getting to work?” Alex grunts from under my car hood. Pieces of my engine are sprawled all over my driveway. I’d be completely screwed if I had to put this back together myself.
“My boyfriend is taking me,” I reply absentmindedly.
“I wondered when you were going to mention him,” she says.
“How did you know about him?”
She cranes her head out from under the hood.
“I got a phone call from the Julie hotline as soon as you confirmed you had a new lovaaah.”
Figures.
I hear the purr of a familiar engine rumbling down the street.
“My lovaaah is here,” I say.
She whistles as Brett exits his truck.
“Damn…you sure know how to pick ’em.”
I chuckle along with her, and turn at the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the driveway.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I say.
“Fancy that.”
He smiles down at me, and I’m transfixed.
Yup, definitely falling for him.
Alex clears her throat behind me.
“Brett, this is Aunt Alex,” I say, “Alex, this is Brett.”
Brett nods at her. “Pleasure meeting you.”
“Thanks for fixing my car,” I call out.
“Don’t thank me yet,” she corrects, and clangs another piece onto the driveway.
Brett and I settle into the cab of his truck, and he pulls me to the middle seat.
“That’s better,” he says. He leans over and nibbles on my ear while I fasten the seat belt.
“Stop that, or else I’ll want you to drive me to work every day,” I tease.
“I can manage that,” he whispers, while tracing my jawline with his teeth.
“Put the brakes on, Romeo, or I’ll never get to work on time.”
He leans back, laughing quietly to himself.
“I personally think that was more fun than work,” he says as he pulls away from the curb.
“Did I drag you away from another thrilling day of paperwork?”
“Nope. Was on-site today.”
“Argh! I feel awful. I know how much you love your job.”
“For the last time, please don’t worry about it. It’s one of the many perks of being the boss. I can make my own schedule.”
Well, I suppose when he puts it that way.
“Okay,” I relent, and relax into his side.
For the first time ever, I actually wish I worked farther away, so I could stay in this moment longer.
When we pull into the hospital parking lot, Brett gets out of the truck with me.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He slings my work bag over his shoulder. “Walking you in.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. They’ll eat you alive.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Hand in hand, we walk through the hospital corridors. With Brett at my side, even the boring paint colors and the cheap artwork look exciting today.
We approach the unit desk, and I retrieve my work bag from Brett. I feel about ten pairs of eyes watching us.
He shoves his hands into his jean pockets. “See you at eleven?”
“On one condition,” I reply.
“And that is?”
“In return for your chauffeuring services, you let me repay the favor in any way I choose.”
He eyes me curiously. “Any way?”
“Don’t worry. Nothing bad,” I promise, crossing my heart.
He pulls me into a tight hug.
“I never know what to expect from you. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”
Gulp. “There are many t
hings?”
“Yep. I’d give you the full list, but time is running short,” he says, nodding toward the clock. “To be continued,” he whispers, and plants a soft, too brief kiss on my lips.
A chorus of “oohs” and “awwws” sound behind me.
“It seems we have an audience,” he mumbles happily.
“You’re lucky that’s all they’ve done. I thought for sure they’d tie you up and keep you here as unit mascot. Or walk you around as eye candy to cheer up the older female patients.”
He puffs out his chest. “You know me, always willing to help those in need.”
I back away toward the report room.
“See you later, babe,” he calls as he turns away.
I’m about to enter the report room when tonight’s charge nurse pulls me aside.
“Do you think you could work in ER tonight? They’re really short-staffed.”
“No problem.”
And with that, I pack up and head toward the emergency room.
The shift goes well enough. Around 9 P.M., I get a new patient in bed four. Thirty-five-year-old male, recently involved in a bar fight. The triage notes say he has contusions to his face and a long, deep laceration to his left forearm.
I walk toward his bed to start my assessment.
He has short, light brown hair, and is wearing dirty jeans and a bloodstained T-shirt. His face looks like it’s been through a meat grinder.
“You should shee the erther guy,” he slurs, smiling.
Alcohol oozes from his pores. He seems like a happy drunk. I wonder what he did or said to warrant such a beating.
“Can you tell me what happened tonight?” I ask, my pen poised above the chart.
My patient points toward a tall, skinny man with long greasy black hair seated in a chair beside his bed.
“Itsh all this guy’s fault,” he mumbles. “If you hadn’t of shot off your fucking mouff, I wouldn’t have got the shit kicked out of me.”
The greasy-haired guy punches his friend in the shoulder.
“And you should learn how to fight.”
“Are you in any pain, Mr….”
“Call me Billy. And this ash-hole over here is Keith,” he grins, pointing at his friend. “Hey! If I say I’m in pain, can you get me some Oxy?”
Keith’s eyes light up at this.
He must mean OxyContin. Oh, joy.
“No. I can only give you what the doctor prescribes. How would you rate your pain on a scale of one to ten?”
“Pain? What pain? I’m feeling nooooooooo pain!” He laughs. “I’m invincible.”
Thank God I’m near the end of my shift.
“Okay, Billy, I’m going to get some bandages and clean up the cuts on your arm and face.”
He looks excitedly over at greasy Keith. “I have cuts on my face? That’s so badass!” He starts exploring the contours of his face with dirty fingers, searching for his newest battle scars.
“Uh—maybe don’t touch those. They might get infected.”
Billy either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care, and starts fondling a deep gash on his forehead.
“Keith! My face feels swollen as fuck! You got a mirror?”
Keith shakes his head, his snakelike eyes never leaving me. A cold shiver runs through me. He notices, and smiles imperceptibly.
“Okay then, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I say hurriedly.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Keith calls out after me.
Gathering saline and bandages from the supply room, I steel myself and head back to bed four, where Billy is examining the gash in his left arm.
“Ain’t that a beauty?” he marvels.
“Yeah. Super.”
Keith stands menacingly at Billy’s bedside, looking down at me through a greasy curtain of black hair.
He won’t move.
I clear my throat, hoping he’ll get the hint and get out of my way. His lips curl into a sneering smile. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Summoning my most confident posture and voice, I ask him to move out of the way.
“You don’t have to ask me twice, sugar.” He slithers away to the chair beside the bed, and winks at me.
Ugh. What a creep.
I manage to dress all of Billy’s wounds without further incident, and I finish charting with lightning speed.
“Do you mind if I leave a bit early?” I ask the charge nurse. “The guys over by bed four are starting to freak me out.”
She nods. “Sure thing, honey. I think that one,” she says, pointing at Billy’s chart, “will be here for a while. You wouldn’t believe the things the lab found in his blood.”
“Oh trust me, I’d believe it,” I mutter.
I grab my work bag and hightail it out of there.
As I walk away from the ER, I feel someone watching me. My feet can’t carry me away fast enough.
I take the west exit and sprint through the well-lit parking lot toward Starbucks. It’s one of the few that are open late, and is very popular with the night staff.
Since Brett agreed that I could repay his chauffeuring services with anything I wanted, I figured I’d buy him a coffee. He still hasn’t tried a drink from there, and I’d like to surprise him.
“Two grande decafs, please,” I order.
Thoroughly pleased with myself, I walk back toward the hospital, steaming-hot cups of coffee in hand. I stand under a well-lit area just beyond the main doors, and I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Frig, where is he?
Since I don’t want to go back inside and risk seeing anyone (especially Keith), I leave the pool of light and lean against the cool brick wall running along the front of the building.
A sense of unease is gradually growing inside of me, but I can’t quite figure out why. From the shadows to my left, a sinister, velvety voice speaks.
“Aww, what a sweetheart. You brought me a coffee.”
The cherry glow of a cigarette shines in the darkness. He takes a few steps toward me, and my nose is filled with an overpowering smell of pot.
Definitely not a cigarette, then.
My pulse quickens, and not in a good way. What are my options? Can I make a mad dash toward the doors? Nope. He’s standing between me and the main entrance.
Come on, Brett, come on. Where are you!?
Be calm. Be smart.
I strive to mask the fear in my voice.
“It’s not for you, it’s for my boyfriend. He’s picking me up any minute now.”
He takes another step toward me.
“Boyfriend? Yeah, right. Stop trying to make me jealous. I know the game you’re playing at.”
“I’m not playing at any games.”
“Oh, but you are. We’ve been playing cat and mouse all evening. I’ve seen the way you look at me. You want it. Bad. And I’m going to give it to you.”
He takes another step toward me.
My blood turns to ice.
“STOP! Stay right where you are. We have security guards. I bet they’ll be here any minute.”
Yeah—speaking of which, where the hell are they?
“I don’t care. We can be quiet.”
I need to be out in the open. I start to run, but he’s too fast, and presses his body against me. My heart is pumping hard and fast, and I really, really regret not taking those self-defense classes last year.
What can I do to get out of this? I remember that I’m holding scalding-hot coffees in my hand. Please let this work.
I splash the contents of each cup onto his face. Burning liquid streams down my arms and splashes onto my uniform. I feel him back away, but only a few millimeters.
“You little bitch!” he erupts. Grabbing my upper arms, he slams me against the wall. I can feel each of his fingers digging into my flesh.
As I start to scream, a hand covers my mouth. I try to knee him in the balls, but he blocks me. Has he done this before? He seems to anticipate what I’m going to do.
O
h Lord, please, please help me.
“Hey! What’s going on over there?” a familiar deep voice calls out through the still night.
It’s now my favorite voice in the whole world.
“Mind your own business!” Keith hisses.
I let out a muffled scream through Keith’s fingers.
“Soph?”
My throat makes a broken, pleading sob.
The next thing I know, Keith’s body has been wrenched from mine.
“Get your hands off me!” he yells at Brett.
Brett drags him away a small distance, and Keith manages to right himself on his two feet. He squares up, ready to punch Brett.
“You’d better make it count,” Brett warns.
Keith swings at him. Brett ducks and punches him in the face. A sickening crunch echoes across the empty parking lot. Blood starts pouring.
Keith doubles over, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You broke my fucking nose!” he screeches.
Just then, a security guard walks by.
“Where the hell have you been?” Brett explodes. “This asshole just attacked my girlfriend!”
Pushing the bottom half of his T-shirt into his nose, Keith sprints into the parking lot shadows, the security guard in hot pursuit.
My wet, coffee-stained uniform is clinging to my skin. I squeak out a tiny cry of relief.
Brett turns his head at the sound, and rushes toward me. He holds me tight and I dissolve into a puddle of tears.
“Shh…shh…it’s okay now,” he repeats over and over.
When I’m eventually calm, he asks me, “Why were you outside?”
“I was in the ER tonight, and that guy was there. He was really freaking me out, and I just wanted to get away from him. So, I left early and bought coffee.”
I nod at the empty cups near my feet.
“I wondered where those came from,” he whispers.
“It felt like I was waiting for a long time, so I decided to lean against this wall. And that’s when he came along, and…”
I can’t finish.
“It’s okay,” Brett soothes, stroking my hair. He tightens his arms around me. “You’re safe now.”
“Where were you?” I ask.
“I went up to your unit and waited for you. Someone eventually noticed me, and said they’d sent you somewhere else. So I decided to wait in my truck.”
He sucks a deep breath inward, through gritted teeth.
“I was on my way back to the truck when…”
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