Wounds That Won’t Heal

by Calle J. Brookes

  Jillian shut her mouth. Well, when she wasn't eating, that was. She eyed him like the snake she suspected he was every time he moved. And it took him far too long to let go of her knee.

  Finally, her half-hour break was almost over. She balled up her trash, and stood.

  For some reason, it didn't surprise her that he had stayed with her even though he was obviously finished with his own meal. He stood when she did. "I'll walk you back to the ER. And I'm heading out. Stay inside the lobby until that car of yours arrives. Promise me that."

  Jillian just nodded. He shocked the hell out of her when he wrapped his fingers around the end of her braid and tugged gently. Her head immediately went back, and she stared up at the giant next to her. She half feared he was going to make good on his threat. Instead he trailed his hand up the braid and cupped the back of her neck. "You can run from me, Jillian Beck. But only for so long. Once I finally decide what I’m going to do about you, well, we'll just figure that out then, won't we? Stay safe tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow."

  Jillian fought the instinctive shiver that ran down her spine. Something about this man…

  It was only after he'd dropped her off unceremoniously at the ER and walked away that she realized his hand had been directly over the scar on her neck and wrapped around her hair and she hadn’t totally flipped out. Not one bit.

  In fact, other than her brothers-in-law or her father, this was the only man who had touched her in weeks whose touch had not repulsed her.

  Or frightened her.

  Who had made her want him to touch her even more.

  She had no clue what it meant.

  70

  Jess righted her shirt and tried not to puke from the disgust filling her. What she had just done to keep that damned hired goon from taking off her head made her want to puke.

  As it was, she needed to brush her teeth. And shower.

  Wash the feel of his hands off of her.

  She locked the pharmacy behind her and started to the stairs. She’s swing by the ER locker room—the showers were better in there—and clean herself up before she headed home to take her mother to the Wednesday night service at her church.

  Jess ran her hand over her lips, trying to get the taste of that jerk out of her mouth one more time.

  Her attention caught on a flash of red.

  She bit off a curse when she realized who it was.

  The Poster Girl of FCGH. Again.

  Jillian had had to see, hadn’t she?

  That asshat hadn’t closed the pharmacy window all the way, even though she’d asked him to. He’d liked the risk, he’d said.

  And she hadn’t been in the position to argue with what he’d wanted.

  Not with several thousand dollars of product now missing. Damn Dr. Holden-Deane for sticking his nose into her business. Damn him for ruining everything!

  And damn Jillian Beck.

  Jess doubted that perfect little bitch had ever worked for anything her entire life.

  And now she had Dr. Rafael Holden-Deane panting over her.

  Like she was entitled to him or something.

  Jess hadn’t missed those photos everywhere of Jillian and Dr. Holden-Deane in The Snotty Garlic.

  She knew what it most likely meant for Jillian Beck.

  A hot, wealthy, prestigious husband connected to the damned governor was in Jillian’s future.

  All Jess had was a man who could have been Chief of Medicine but wasn’t.

  Jess reached one hand out when Jillian paused in the stairwell.

  The storm must have covered the sound of Jess saying the bitch’s name. The shadows must have kept the bitch from seeing her.

  Not that Jess wanted the bitch to look at her.

  She just wanted someone to pay for all that Jess was about to lose.

  She wanted Jillian to pay.

  Jillian, with her better than perfect fucking life.

  71

  Jillian had taken the backstairs by the pharmacy again. Sometimes it was just quicker to use stairs than it was to wait for the elevator. Especially when there were large crowds of people filtering through the ER. Which was still happening.

  The surgical staff, already short two people thanks to Lanning's attack on Lacy, was backed up completely. She'd filled in with them on the surgical ward before. After ER, Trauma Surgery was her preferred department. She could also fill in for Obstetrics when needed.

  Tonight she was afraid she was going to end up working overtime, and that she might end up in any department. It happened. There were certain times when the ER—and the hospital in general—was just hit too hard.

  Tonight threatened to be one of those times. As thunder shook the entire building—which said a lot, considering the size of FCGH—she paused at the top of the stairs. She checked her texts quickly, just making sure that everyone she loved was safe at home where they belonged.

  Nasty storms would do that. One of the main drawbacks of living in Finley Creek was that they were right smack in the middle of Tornado Alley. After everything Brynna had gone through with Chance back in October—running for their lives during the middle of some of the worst tornadoes in a long time—Jillian wasn't going to be easy in storms for a very long time to come.

  She was safe at the hospital. Of that, she had no question.

  Here she was, a great big weenie over a little rain. She had less than four hours left on her shift. A lot could change in that time.

  She had just rounded the landing when something struck her from behind, and sent her sprawling. Jillian's head cracked against the metal rail, and darkness overtook her as she fell.

  72

  The afternoon bus crash had segued into a second four-car pileup on the old highway that connected Finley Creek to Value. And now they had an entire group of children facing food poisoning from snack time at their local Vacation Bible School event.

  To make matters worse, the weather reports were not good. A Texas summer storm, complete with tornado watches, was ready to strike at any moment.

  Storms always brought injuries.

  Every exam room was full, every waiting room was full, and they were actually almost forced to see patients out of the cafeteria itself.

  Someone was going to have to step in and deal.

  That meant him. And Rafe knew it. The entire hospital was jumping when he made it back inside from speaking with the media about the sick kids.

  He’d headed out to the parking lot after dinner with Jillian, and Fin had paged him back before he made it halfway home. Fin met him in the lobby. "We have sixteen in trauma, eight scheduled for immediate surgeries as soon as we get surgeons in to them, nineteen sick little boys and twenty-seven sick little girls. All between the ages of five and twelve. Not to mention your assorted parents demanding answers. I already have maintenance making certain we have enough fuel for the back-up generators, just in case. And...we seem to be down an ER nurse. I’m not sure who is missing, but someone is. No one knows who—they’re all too busy to count each other. And no one has any answers."

  "Get the sick kids into the largest waiting room. We'll see them one by one. We’ll go to them. Trauma, prioritize, as always. Surgical, as well. Can we see about diverting any of these to Wichita Falls? Or Finley Creek County? What about Barratt County Hospital?"

  "We've already diverted what we can. We’re diverting walk-ins to County. It's not ideal, but… We have policies in place. It’s time to implement them."

  "Good. Every department head that can meet me have them meet me in the next fifteen minutes."

  The normally unflappable Fin gave him a bewildered look. "Where?"

  "Waiting room 117. Off the surgical department. Clear out anyone in there, divert them to the larger one down the hall. We’re going to use that waiting room as command central. Have Wanda take a few minutes and find her nurse." Rafe avoided the crowd swarming in front of the elevators. He needed to get up to his office for a moment, then get his ass back down.

 
The stairs would be much quicker.

  He took the stairs two at a time, and had just made it to the floor outside the surgical department when he saw her.

  He saw the shoes, and legs first.

  And then he saw the red. Blood.

  The red hair made her instantly recognizable to him. The braid he’d tugged just an hour or so earlier was hard to miss.

  He’d just found Wanda’s missing nurse.

  Rafe ran up the remaining steps and knelt beside her. “Jillian!”

  Someone came up the stairs a few seconds behind him. Rafe looked over his shoulder at Allen Jacobson. “She’s hit her head pretty hard. We need to get her downstairs.”

  “I’ll get a gurney.”

  Rafe looked down at her as she shifted. As her eyelids fluttered and pain-filled brown eyes looked at him. She tried to sit up, indicating to him that she hadn’t injured her spine or her neck. At least not too seriously; there was always the chance… He watched her for a quick moment, cataloging her movements. Most likely just her head.

  “Rafe? What bus hit me? I feel like that time Brynna knocked me down the stairs for taking her favorite Curious George doll.”

  “Allen, that’ll take too long. I’ll carry her.” Rafe lifted her as gently as he could, being careful not to jostle her too much. “Hang on, baby, I’ve got you.”

  Her arm went around his neck and he held her close. Jillian just rested her ahead against his shoulder and rocked him to his core.

  Rafe’s arms tightened around her.

  73

  When Jillian opened her eyes again Rafe was leaning over her, staring at her. She squeaked. Then lifted a hand to her aching head.

  She recognized where she was—Trauma B. With Rafe and Allen looming over her. Well, Rafe was looming. Allen wasn’t quite that close. What she didn’t know was exactly how she’d gotten there. "What happened?"

  "I was hoping you could tell me." Rafe took his penlight and waved it first in front of her left eye and then her right. "How's the head feeling?"

  "Like it cracked into something. Did I fall?" Jillian tried to sit up but strong male hands prevented that. They were gentle hands, and he let them linger far more than he should have. She didn't care.

  She wanted the connection at the moment, thank you very much.

  Jillian had just gotten her bell rung, after all. If she shifted just a bit to her right, she could use his big body to block out the light-of-doom right over her head. Could lay her head right there on that shoulder and just rest.

  She was tempted to try just that.

  Jillian had no doubt he’d be able to get her where she needed to be at the moment without anything else going wrong.

  Allen stepped out, and Jillian just stayed where she was for a few long moments.

  "What do you remember? We stitched up your forehead. I don't think it will scar too much. We did cut a tiny bit of hair around it. I found you in the stairwell about thirty minutes ago. You’ve been in and out; do you remember? I've already ordered some tests. You're not going anywhere for a while, so don't even think about trying. I'm going to drive you home, as soon as Jacobson gives the all-clear."

  "You don't have to do that. I must've tripped, hit my head on something. Right? The last I remember was having dinner in the cafeteria with you."

  "That was almost forty-five minutes ago. There are no security cameras in that stairwell. So we have no way of knowing. I'm more worried about what damage you've done to yourself to care about how it happened. Follow my finger."

  "I know the drill. I'm fine. Rafe, why are you here so late? I thought you left after dinner." She finally did as he instructed, then did as she wanted.

  Her head landed on his shoulder and she tried to block out the light and the sounds and the smells of the ER around them. She’d rather just smell him for the moment.

  "Code black conditions tonight. Every hand on deck. Especially me. Any nausea?"

  "You know there is. I most likely have a concussion.” Jillian tried to move by herself, but his hands went under her armpits and he held her in place again. "You know, this whole size discrepancy thing between us… It's a little bit annoying."

  "Little is the special word of the day. You're lucky you didn't fall down the entire flight of stairs and kill your little self. The least you could let me do is make sure you don't sue the hospital for workman’s comp."

  "You know I wouldn't. I probably just tripped, and hit my head. It could have happened anywhere. But if we’re in code black, you need me out there." She tried to remember, but nothing was clear except looking into his dark eyes in the cafeteria and feeling that thrill of something she wasn’t going to identify at the moment.

  "Hell no, you're not to even think about working. If you do, I'll chain you to the damned bed. "

  "Kinky, kinky, kinky. I didn't know you had it in you, Holden-Deane." The joke was weak and she knew it. But it was better than thinking of the alternative, wasn’t it? He was right; she could have killed herself.

  "Now is not the time and place, but I'd love to show you just what exactly I'm capable of, involving a bed. I’ll make you a deal—you cooperate for the CT scan and I'll let you sit at the intake desk. But only until I leave, which will be after the storm. Your loss of consciousness concerns me. We both know the repercussions of multiple concussions in a short amount of time. We’re not risking it. Your pupils are dilating correctly. You’re now alert and cognizant. I’d put you at a thirteen of fifteen on the scale. No matter how stubborn you are, I'm going to take care of you." There was something in his eyes— remembered pain—that had Jillian cooperating. Had her putting her head right back down where she’d had it.

  Jillian almost wanted to cuddle him, too. Until they both felt better.

  "I need new clothes, these are filthy." And covered in blood down one shoulder. Her blood. Just how serious it could have been struck her. Secondary Impact Syndrome was a very real concern for those who’d had more than one concussion, especially in a short amount of time. If he had not found her, how long would she have been there? She fought the shock of that idea as best she could. "I have some in my locker."

  "I'll get them for you. What's the combination?"

  Well, if she couldn’t trust him with it, who could she? "1111."

  "Seriously? How secure do you think that is?"

  "First of all, how many people do you think use a single digit? It works. No one's gotten into my locker yet. There should be a pink bag with spare scrubs at the bottom."

  "Stay here, I'll get them for you." He looked up when the curtain was pulled back and Allen leaned back in.

  “See she’s awake.”

  “Hi, Allen. Would it freak you out if I told you I see two of you right now? Handsome as ever, but there are two of you.” Jillian put her head back down on the man pillow in front of her. She’d just take a minute or two to wait for her head to stop ringing and deal with everything else in a moment or one hundred. She pulled in a deep breath, smelling his aftershave and him, trying to forget the ache in her brain. “Don’t suppose I can get something for the pain?”

  “We can try Solpalm—”

  “No. No Solpalmitraln. Not for her,” Rafe interrupted, then went on to name another pain reliever. Jillian just kept her eyes closed while the two doctors debated what to give her.

  It didn’t matter what they gave her at the moment.

  She just wanted her head to stop yelling at her.

  74

  Rafe knew how dangerous concussions could be; he didn't want to leave her in anyone else’s care, but he had no choice. He had an entire hospital, filled with people, dependent on him at the moment.

  He compromised. If he left her in the midst of the ER, Wanda and the rest of the staff could keep a close eye on her. But they needed the bed in Trauma B.

  Leaving her with Wanda was the best he could do.

  She was awake, talking coherently, and insisting she get back to work. The CT scan showed a very small concussion and n
o damage to the brain itself. She’d be fine, barring any rare complications. She’d take that as a pass to go back to doing whatever in the hell she wanted.

  Stubborn—typical Jillian.

  The stubbornness reassured him more than anything else. If she felt good enough to argue, he reasoned that she was feeling good enough to sit up. He gave Wanda clear instructions about Jillian's care, then quietly told the older woman to just humor Jillian until Rafe could get free to take her home. And to keep her quiet and calm.

  The instant she acted like she was in too much pain, or anything else happened, they were to let him know. Immediately.

  Instead of dealing with the crowd waiting for him, Rafe hurried back to the stairwell. Had she just fallen? It was certainly possible. He took a look around quickly, but didn't see anything obvious to tell him what had happened. He saw the blood where she had lain. But there was nothing near where her head landed that she could've struck it on. He used the penlight he kept in his pocket, running it over the handrail. If she had struck her head, wouldn’t there have been some blood splatter somewhere?

  He found where her head had struck the railing quickly, but what had she tripped over? There was plenty of room on the stair landing for her to maneuver.

  Unless she had just slipped. Had an accident. There was nothing to indicate that she had. Or hadn’t.

  He wasn't a detective, by any means. But as it was, Rafe grabbed his phone and ordered the maintenance department to put the stairwell out of order. If nothing else, he’d ask Elliot or Chance to come and check it out themselves. Between the two of them, they had more than twenty-five years of law enforcement experience.

  Rafe wasn't certain why his instincts were flaring, but he'd spent the last three and a half years in territories where instincts were all that had kept him and others alive.