Trauma Alert

by Radclyffe

  “You’re slick, Firefighter Cross,” Ali said. “I don’t imagine many women can resist you.”

  “Other women have nothing to do with this.” Beau had absolutely no idea what the hell she was doing. All she knew was that she couldn’t stop herself. She was in the midst of stripping naked in a public place, emotionally speaking—something she would never do even with a woman she was about to get literally naked with—and she couldn’t stop. “Go out with me. Give me a chance.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ali said, carefully sliding her chair away from the table. “You’ve had one hell of a day. I appreciate your compliments, but I’m not who you think.”

  Beau stood up as Ali picked up her tray and turned to leave, but she didn’t follow her. She made sure her words did, though.

  “Maybe I’m not, either. Why are you afraid to find out?”

  Chapter Eight

  Ali dumped her tray on top of the pile stacked on the conveyor belt leading to the cafeteria kitchen and didn’t look back to see if Beau was behind her or not. She had at least eight more hours of work ahead of her, and the last thing she needed was more of Beau’s unsettling presence. She took the stairs two at a time up to the first floor and was halfway down the block-long hallway to trauma admitting before she realized she needed to settle down before her colleagues saw her. Wynter especially was far too perspicacious not to notice she was upset, and she doubted she could lie effectively enough to convince her otherwise. Not now, not when she’d looked across that small table at Beau, with her irresistible smile and cocky attitude, and seen Sammy. God, Sammy. Her eyes burned and to her horror, she felt moisture on her skin when she brushed the back of her hand across her face. Those could not be tears. She did not cry, had not cried for years. Abruptly, she made a right turn and hurried outside into the enclosed courtyard between the Rhoads Pavilion and the medical school library.

  A few ground-level lights illuminated small shrubs in concrete planters, but the flagstone courtyard was otherwise dark and deserted. Stone benches ringed the square and she settled onto one, willing the shadows to swallow her memories. The night air was so sharp and cold she could almost see ice particles in the hazy clouds of condensation that slowly drifted away after each of her ragged exhalations. Bracing her elbows on her knees, she dropped her head into her hands and concentrated on taking a few deep breaths, appalled by her lack of control. She had absolutely no explanation for the sudden barrage of emotion. Sammy was a constant in her life—a cherished presence, even though she might go days, weeks, without thinking of her. While remembering always hurt, she would never want to lose a single moment they had shared, and she never allowed the pain to unnerve her.

  “You’re wearing scrubs and a lab coat,” Beau said quietly, sitting down on the stone bench beside Ali. “You’re going to freeze.”

  “At least I’m not in the river,” Ali said without looking up. She should be cold. She wasn’t.

  “I had more clothes on this morning.” Beau shrugged out of the Philadelphia Fire Department windbreaker she’d been wearing when she arrived at the hospital to see Bobby and draped it over Ali’s shoulders.

  “I told you I’m not cold,” Ali protested, while automatically pulling the jacket closed over her chest. The remnants of Beau’s body heat wrapped her in a warm embrace, and for a fleeting second she imagined a strong body against her back and protective arms enclosing her. Her stomach quivered with sudden expectation. Bewildered, she retreated to the safety of irritation. “Now you’re going to freeze.”

  “I’m used to working outside. And I’ve still got more clothes on than you do.”

  Ali rested her cheek in her palm and gazed at the woman beside her. Beau leaned back, arms braced behind her and legs stretched out with her ankles crossed, her head canted toward Ali. Her profile by starlight might have been drawn from a textbook on classic features. Strong forehead, angular jaw, deep-set eyes, and straight nose. Her nondescript regulation shirt and trousers did nothing to detract from her form. Ali recalled quite vividly that Beau had the body to match her striking face.

  “Are you following me?” Ali challenged, needing to block out the vision of Beau’s sculpted nude torso. Sleek and beautiful—and scarred from whatever peril she had put herself in.

  “Not intentionally. I was going back to Bobby’s room when I saw you go outside. I thought something might be wrong.” Beau swiveled around on the bench, straddling it, her knees grazing Ali’s hip and thigh. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Why ‘of course’? Aren’t you allowed not to be all right?”

  “What?” Ali asked, disturbed on so many levels. Beau had bothered her from practically the first moment she’d seen her, when she’d arrived late for the TER-OPS class with a whole lot of attitude that said all she needed to do was smile and all would be forgiven. Right now, Beau was inside her personal space, way inside. In the operating room, Ali spent hours with her body pressed against the other surgeons and OR techs, their limbs entwined as close as those of lovers, and it never bothered her. There was no intimacy, only efficiency, in their closeness. The slight press of Beau’s body against hers made her pulse race. Ali edged away from the contact. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “You said ‘of course’ as if there was no possibility that anything could be wrong.”

  “You’re trying to create something out of a non-issue.”

  Beau laughed. “You’re sitting out here in the dark in the middle of the night in near-freezing weather. You tell me who’s creating a non-issue.”

  “Are you always this annoying?”

  “No.” Beau reached over and brushed her thumb over Ali’s cheek. “Do you know that your tears sparkle like diamonds in the moonlight? If I didn’t know they were caused by something hurting you, I’d think they were incredibly beautiful.”

  Ali jerked back. “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Probably. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing…I…” Ali rubbed her face, eradicating the traitorous evidence. “I have to get back to work.”

  Beau stood when Ali did. “Did I do something? Say something back there to…cause this?”

  “No.” Ali started away, then realized she still wore Beau’s jacket. It was cold outside. More than cold. Freezing. Beau had come after her because she was concerned about her. A generous and kind gesture. She’d gallantly offered her jacket so Ali wouldn’t be cold. Beau wasn’t responsible for Ali’s lack of control. Sighing, she stopped and turned.

  The moon chose that moment to come out from behind the clouds, illuminating Beau in a shaft of silver light. She stood with her hands in her pockets, a pensive expression on her face. Why did she have to be so damn beautiful?

  “Look,” Ali said abruptly. “It’s not you. You remind me of someone. Caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

  “Why were you crying?”

  “I wasn’t. Not really. I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Okay.”

  The easy acquiescence caught her off guard, and she should have been relieved, but she felt oddly disappointed. Shaking her head, she said, “Good night, Beau.”

  “Good night, Ali,” Beau said softly.

  Ali turned to go.

  “What was her name?”

  The question floated gently to Ali on the midnight air. She could pretend she hadn’t heard. She could keep walking away, keep her silence, as she had so many times before when she might have told someone she trusted more than this stranger. Easing Beau’s jacket from her shoulders, she pivoted and held it out, intending an end to a conversation she wasn’t going to have.

  Beau was so still she might have been a statue, and when the moon slipped back behind the clouds, her figure blurred and disappeared into the shadows. Suddenly, Ali feared she might disappear forever.

  “Sammy. Her name was Sammy,” Ali said, her voice so hoarse she barely recognized it.

  Beau stepped near, closing one hand o
n the jacket Ali still held. “Did she break your heart?”

  Ali laughed shakily. “Every damn day for almost twenty years.”

  “Long time to be hurting.”

  “Oh, she didn’t hurt me. She was the best thing in my life.” Ali pushed the jacket into Beau’s hands. “Thanks for this.”

  “You’re welcome.” Beau pulled it on, her eyes never leaving Ali’s face. “I’m listening.”

  Maybe because she didn’t push. Maybe because she was willing to stand outside in the dark as if she had all the time in the world. Maybe because she had no reason to care but seemed to anyhow. Maybe because she was safe and Ali could walk away from her when it was over.

  “I was only ten months older than Sammy, which made me the big sister.” Ali smiled wryly. “I don’t know if it’s because I was older, or just the way I’m put together, but I was the responsible one. Always did my homework, always in by curfew, never colored outside the lines. We were practically twins, but somehow I got the parent role because ours weren’t in the picture much.”

  “The good girl,” Beau said. “I take it she wasn’t?”

  “Completely the opposite. Life was a game.” Ali half-smiled. “God, she only had one speed—full out. Everything was about the ultimate experience—boys, drugs, sex. She was wild, gorgeous, so full of life.”

  “What happened?”

  Ali was grateful for the dark. She didn’t want to see compassion or tenderness, not for a loss that was all her fault. “All I wanted was to keep her safe, but I failed. She got mixed up with a boy a few years older than her. A biker. I came down hard on her, tried to convince her he was bad news. All I accomplished was to push her deeper in with his crowd. Nothing mattered to Sammy but the moment. Right up until the moment somebody decided her boyfriend and his biker buddies were cutting in on their territory. She was with him when he got ambushed. She would have been twenty in a few days.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yes, so am I.” Ali shook her head. “I don’t know why I told you all that.”

  “Maybe because I was here.”

  “Maybe. But I’m sure about this—I get plenty of adrenaline junkies in my trauma unit every day. I don’t want them in my personal life. Good night, Beau.”

  “Good night, Ali.”

  This time, when Ali walked away, Beau did not follow.

  *

  “Hey, Size Man, I’m back.” Beau settled into the chair by Bobby’s bed. Everything was just as she’d left it less than an hour ago. Bobby was in the same position, the monitors beeped along steadily, the hushed voices of the night staff still murmured in the background. Nothing had changed, except her. She raised her jacket to her face and breathed deeply. The fragrance was faint and she closed her eyes, trying to capture it. Vanilla and cedarwood. Clean and strong, like Ali.

  She balled the jacket into her fists and propped her elbows on her knees, resting her chin on the garment as she looked at Bobby. “You’re gonna win your bet, bud. I’m the last person she wants around.”

  Beau turned sideways in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position on the impossibly uncomfortable furniture. She pushed her jacket between her cheek and the hard frame and stared at her silent partner’s profile. She wished he’d wake up so he could tell her to find her balls, to pull out the old charm and convince Ali a night with her was just what she needed to chase the ghosts away. Trouble was, her heart wasn’t really in it. She’d seen Ali’s sadness, heard her pain. She already knew she fell into the same live-for-now category as Ali’s sister, and Ali knew it too.

  End of story. Just as well.

  Beau closed her eyes and waited for Bobby to wake up.

  *

  “I thought you went to bed,” Wynter said when Ali returned to trauma admitting.

  “I took a quick walk through the unit and then got something to eat.”

  “Isn’t Tony in the unit?” Wynter pushed to her feet. “I’ll go check on things up there.”

  “Stay put,” Ali said, motioning Wynter back down. “Everything is quiet.”

  “Then what are you doing here? I thought the deal was I slept all afternoon so you could get some sleep tonight.”

  “You know it’s almost the witching hour. One o’clock and the bars will close. We’re going to get busy, and I’m worse off if I have only an hour of sleep than if I have none.” Ali sat at the narrow counter and pulled a stack of charts in front of her. She needed the mindless routine to ground her in the present and banish the past to the recesses of her mind where it belonged. “Besides, I’ve got dictations to do.”

  Wynter slapped her hand down on the top of the pile. “They’ll keep.” She looked over her shoulder at Manny, who had his feet on the counter and a newspaper in his lap. “We’ll be in the lounge.”

  He waved his fingers at them and Wynter grabbed Ali’s sleeve. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  “What—”

  Wynter leaned close. “Don’t argue.”

  Admitting defeat, Ali got up and followed. The lounge was empty and she walked directly to the coffeepot, only to discover it was empty too. Muttering curses under her breath, she rinsed the pot and filled the coffeemaker, emptied the prepackaged generic grounds into a paper filter, and set it to brew. When she turned around, Wynter was ensconced on the mustard yellow sofa again, regarding her with narrowed eyes.

  “What?” Ali asked in exasperation.

  “You’re not yourself.”

  “Who would I be?”

  “Don’t obfuscate.”

  Ali laughed. “Been doing crossword puzzles again?”

  “Yes, in between my knitting.” Wynter hooked her clog around the metal leg of one of the molded plastic chairs flanking the round table in the center of the room and pulled it toward her. “Sit. Talk to me.”

  Not knowing how to escape, Ali obeyed. She automatically drew Wynter’s feet into her lap. “Your ankles are swollen.”

  “There isn’t any part of my body that isn’t swollen.” Wynter made a face. “Fortunately having a child makes you forget how miserable it is producing one. Ronnie is the most amazing kid, and I can’t wait for Pearce and me to have a baby together. She’s so good with Ronnie. But this pregnancy stuff just sucks.”

  “I think you’re amazing,” Ali said.

  “Thanks.” Wynter’s expression softened. “So tell me. What’s got you sad?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Your eyes don’t lie, Ali. I spend as much time looking into yours as I do Pearce’s. It’s the only place you can really tell what women like you are feeling.”

  Ali half smiled. “Women like us? Pearce and me?”

  “Uh-huh. The kind who never admit anything hurts.”

  “You know,” Ali said, feeling oddly unrestrained, “I’ve always thought I wanted to find a woman just like you.”

  Wynter blushed. “Wow. Thanks.”

  “Well.” Ali stared at the floor, wondering how what had started out as an ordinary day had become so fractured. How she had been tossed so far beyond her comfort zone she didn’t know how to begin resurrecting the walls that kept her life in order. “Sorry. I think that might have been inappropriate.”

  “No, it was actually really nice. I’m not sure I agree with you, though.”

  Ali looked over quickly. “Why not?”

  “Because we’ve been friends for what—going on four years? And we’ve spent maybe a hundred hours a week together, almost every week for the entire time?”

  “Something like that,” Ali said uneasily.

  “I’m not even sure I spend that much time with Pearce—in fact, I know I don’t. But I still don’t know where you go when you get that faraway look in your eyes. And it’s been there a lot lately.”

  “I…” Ali felt her face get hot, as if she’d been caught in a lie when it wasn’t that at all. But if she kept pretending nothing was wrong, it would soon become one. “I don’t know why I’ve never told you about Sammy.”

  Wynter watche
d her, her expression calm and expectant.

  “I don’t actually even know what to say,” Ali said, wondering how in the world she could have this conversation again.

  “Who is she?”

  “My sister.”

  Wynter frowned. “You don’t talk about your family very much, but I don’t ever remember you mentioning her.”

  “Probably because we were the invisible ones. My brother is five years older, the heir apparent. Growing up, everything revolved around his activities. Sports, academics, the girls he went out with—and got into trouble.”

  “Where were you in the chronology?”

  “Technically in the middle.” Ali eased Wynter’s legs onto the sofa and went to retrieve her coffee. While she busied herself finding a cup, searching out creamer, mixing and pouring, she gave Wynter an abbreviated version of what she’d told Beau moments before. When she braced her hips against the counter and sipped her coffee, she finally met Wynter’s eyes. “I was responsible for her, and I let her down.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Ali sighed. “I just loved her so damn much and when it mattered, I failed her.”

  “Okay, I’m going to cry. I’m sorry,” Wynter said, tears streaking her cheeks. “I can’t help it, I’m pregnant.”

  Quickly, Ali put her mug down on the table and settled next to Wynter on the couch. She put her arm around Wynter’s shoulders, and Wynter cuddled close to her.

  “I’m supposed to be comforting you.” Wynter tilted her cheek against Ali’s shoulder.

  Ali rested her chin on top of Wynter’s head. “You are.”