* * *
Holden couldn’t understand the enigma that was Dr. Leilani Kim and it bothered him.
Figuring people out was kind of his thing these days. Or at least attempting to understand what made them work, before they did something completely unexpected, like shoot up a room full of innocent people.
Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair before heading down the hall to check on his abdominal pain patient. Each step sent a fresh jolt of pain through his nerve endings, thanks to that kick from Dr. Kim’s patient.
He stopped at the nurses’ station to grab his tablet and give his right leg a rest. Honestly, he shouldn’t complain about the pain, since he was lucky to still be breathing, let alone walking, after an attacker’s bullet had shattered his right femur and nicked his femoral artery. He could have just as easily bled out on the floor of that Chicago ER, same as David...
No.
Thinking about that now would only take away his edge and he needed to stay sharp, with a twenty-four-hour shift looming ahead of him. Bad enough he still had that argument with Dr. Kim looping through his head. There was something about her excuse for knowing all those obscure facts about air bags that didn’t ring true. And sure, he loved documentaries as much as the next person—in fact, those things were like crack to an analytical nerd like himself—but even he couldn’t recite back all the information he’d learned in those films word for word like she had. It was odd. And intriguing. He’d had a good reason for discovering all that information, namely for an article he’d written for a medical journal. But her?
Not that he should care why she knew. And yet, he did. Way more than he should.
Irritated as much with himself as with her, he shook his head and pulled up his new patient’s file. The last thing he needed in his life was more puzzles. He already had more than enough to figure out. Like where he planned to live after his stint here in Hawaii was done. Like if he’d ever walk without a cane again. Like when the next attack might occur and if he’d be ready this time or if he’d become just another statistic on the news.
The area around the nurses’ station grew more crowded and Holden moved down the hall toward his patient’s room and open space. He didn’t do well with crowds these days. Preferred to keep to himself mostly, do his work, handle his cases, stay safe, stay out of the way and out of trouble. That was what he focused on most of the time. Which is what made his choice to charge into Dr. Kim’s trauma bay so strange. Usually, he wouldn’t intrude in another colleague’s case unless he’d been called for a consult, but then he’d overheard her arguing with her obviously intoxicated patient and something had smacked him hard in the chest, spurring him into that room before he’d even realized what he was doing.
Holden exhaled slowly and dug the tip of his cane into the shiny linoleum floor. His therapist back in Chicago probably would’ve said it was related to his anxiety from the shooting. After all, the gunman back in Chicago had been intoxicated too. He’d wanted opioids, just like Dr. Kim’s patient was demanding. There was a major difference this time though. No firearm.
He took another deep breath. Yes. That had to be it. Had to explain his weird fascination with finding out more about Dr. Leilani Kim too. The fact she was beautiful, all dark hair and dark eyes and curves for days on end—exactly his type, if he’d been looking—had nothing to do with it.
He definitely wasn’t looking.
It was simply the stress of being in a new place, and his posttrauma hypersensitivity to his surroundings. He’d only been here a month, after all. Yep. That was it. Never mind his instincts told him otherwise. Holden didn’t trust his instincts. Hadn’t for a year now.
Twelve months had passed since the attack on his ER in Chicago. Twelve months since he’d lost his best friend in a senseless act of violence. Twelve months since he’d failed to keep the people closest to him safe.
And why risk getting closer to anyone again when they could be lost so easily?
The tablet pinged with his patient’s results and he pulled them up, scrolling through the data. Pregnancy test negative. White blood cell count normal, though that didn’t necessarily rule out appendicitis. Amylase and lipase measurements within normal limits. Next steps—an ultrasound and manual exam.
“Hey, Pam?” he called down the hall. “Can you join me in Trauma Three for a pelvic?”
“Yep, just give me a sec to finish up calling the lab for Dr. Kim,” she said, holding her hand over the phone receiver.
He nodded, then leaned a shoulder against the wall to wait. Ohana Medical Center was relatively quiet, compared to the busy downtown ER he’d come from in Chicago. Back then he’d loved the constant hustle, but after the shooting, going back to work there had been too painful. So, he’d chosen the locum tenens route instead. And it was that choice that had eventually reunited him with his old friend, Dr. Helen King. In fact, she was the reason he’d ended up at Ohana. He owed her a debt he could never repay, but he’d wanted to try.
Which explained why he was here, in the middle of paradise, wondering how soon he could leave. Staying in one place too long didn’t suit him anymore. Staying put meant risking entanglements. Staying put too long made you vulnerable.
And if there was one thing Holden never wanted to be again, it was vulnerable.
A loud metal clang sounded down the hall and his senses immediately went on high alert, his mind throwing up reminders of a different ER, a different, dangerous situation. His best friend lying on the floor, bleeding out and Holden unable to stop it because of his own injuries. His chest squeezed tight and darkness crept into his peripheral vision as the anxiety took over.
No. Not here. Not now. Can’t do this. Won’t do this.
Pulse jackhammering and skin prickling, Holden turned toward the corner, trying to look busy so no one questioned why he was just standing there alone in the hall. He’d spent weeks after the attack learning how to cope with the flashbacks, the PTSD. Sometimes the shadows still won though, usually when he was tired or anxious. Considering he’d slept like crap the night before, he was both at the moment.
“Sorry for the holdup,” Pam said, near his side and breaking through his jumbled thoughts. “Things are a bit crazy right now, with tourist season and all.”
He nodded and hazarded a glance in her direction.
Her smile quickly dissolved into a frown at whatever she saw in his face. “You okay, Doc?”
It took him a moment to recover his voice, his response emerging more like a croak past his dry vocal cords. “Fine.” He cleared his throat and tried again, forcing a smile he didn’t quite feel. “Isn’t it always tourist season in Hawaii?”
“It is,” said another voice from the staff break room across the hall. Leilani. Crap. He’d been so distracted he’d not even seen her go in there. Adrenaline pounded through his blood. Had she seen his panic attack?
When she came out of the room though, she thankfully gave no indication she’d seen him acting strangely. She just walked past him and headed for the elevators as radiology wheeled out her inebriated patient.
The lingering tension inside Holden ratcheted higher as the patient continued to shout at the staff while they wheeled him back toward the trauma bay. “Pain meds! Now!”
Leilani headed behind the desk at the nurses’ station once more. “Let me check the images.”
Holden followed behind her, the pain in his leg taking a back seat to his need to prevent a possible calamity if her patient got out of hand again. He reached the nurses’ station just as Dr. Kim pulled up the patient’s images on the computer. “No embedded glass in his scalp, cervical vertebra appear normal. No damage to the spinal cord or—”
“I’m getting the hell out of here!” A jarring rip of Velcro sounded, followed by a resounding crack of plastic hitting the floor. “And I will take everyone down if I don’t get my meds!”
The cops st
ill waiting near the doorway tensed and Holden’s heart lodged in his throat.
Oh God. Not again.
Undeterred, Leilani took off for the patient’s room. “Time to get this guy discharged.”
“Wait!” Holden grabbed her arm. “Don’t go in there.”
“That’s my patient, Dr. Ross.” She frowned, shaking off his hold. “Don’t tell me how to do my work. We need that bed and he’s cleared for discharge. He’s the cops’ problem now. Excuse me.”
She continued on down the hall, signaling to the officers to follow her into the room.
“I want my OxyContin!” Mr. Chambers yelled, followed by a string of curses.
Holden breathed deeply, forcing himself to stay calm, stay present, stay in control.
This isn’t Chicago. This patient doesn’t have a gun. There are police officers present. No one will get hurt.
From his vantage point, Holden saw the patient sitting up on the side of the bed, his neck brace on the floor. Leilani approached slowly, her voice low and calm.
“Your X-rays were all negative. We’re going to release you into police custody.”
“Already told you,” the patient said, teetering to his feet. “I ain’t talking to no cops.”
Time seemed to slow as Holden moved forward, his vision blurring with memories of the shooting. So much blood, so much chaos, so much wasted time and energy and life.
Breathe, man. Breathe.
The patient straightened, heading straight for Dr. Kim. The cops moved closer.
Her tone hardened. “I’d advise you to stay where you are for your own safety, sir.”
“My safety?” The patient sneered. “You threatening me?”
“Not a threat.” Leilani squared her shoulders. “Touching me would not be wise.”
“Wise?” The guy snorted, his expression lascivious. “C’mon and gimme some sugar.”
The cops placed their hands on their Tasers, saying in unison, “Stand down, sir.”
Holden rushed toward the room, his cane creaking under the strain. He couldn’t let this happen again, not on his watch. He couldn’t fail, wouldn’t fail.
Just as Holden shoved between the officers, the patient turned at the sudden commotion and swung. His fist collided hard with Holden’s jaw and pain surged through his teeth. He stumbled backward. The cops pulled their Tasers as the patient grabbed Dr. Kim’s ponytail. Fast as lightning, she swiveled to face Mr. Chambers, slamming her heel down on his instep until his grip on her hair loosened. Then, as he bent over and cursed, she kneed him twice in the groin. The guy crumbled to the ground and the cops took him into custody.
Over. It’s over.
Holden slumped against the wall as time sped back to normal.
While the cops handcuffed Mr. Chambers and read him his rights, Leilani rushed to Holden’s side. “You’re bleeding.”
Confused, he glanced down at his scrub shirt and saw a large splotch of scarlet. Then the ache in his jaw and teeth intensified, along with the taste of copper and salt in his mouth.
Damn.
“Here.” Leilani snatched a few gauze pads from a canister on the counter and handed them to him. “Looks like there’s a pretty deep gash on your lip and chin.” She leaned past him to call out into the hall. “Pam, can you set up an open room for suturing, please?”
“No, no.” He attempted to bat her hands away and straightened. “I can stitch myself up.”
He was a board-certified trauma surgeon, for God’s sake. Though as the adrenaline in his system burned away, it left him feeling a tad shaky. His lip pulsated with pain. At least it was a welcome distraction from the cramp in his thigh. “Seriously, I’ve got it.”
“Don’t be silly. It will be easier for someone else to stitch you up.” She tugged him out the door and down the hall to the nurses’ station once more. “Just let me sign off on Mr. Chambers first so they can get him out of here.”
While he waited, he blotted his throbbing mouth with the gauze pads and admitted she was right, much as he hated to do so. He was in no fit state to treat anyone at the moment, including himself. Which brought another problem to mind. “What about the abdominal patient?”
“Let the residents take it. That’s why they’re here.” Leilani finished her signing off on her discharge paperwork, then nudged Holden toward an empty exam room. Behind him, the cops hauled Mr. Chambers, still cursing and yelling, out to their waiting squad car.
Leilani led him into the room Pam had set up, then shut the door behind them. “Take a seat on the exam table and let me take a look at your lip.”
He did as she asked, allowing her to brush his hand aside and peek beneath the gauze pad. This close, her warmth surrounded him, as did her scent—jasmine and lily. A strange tingle in his blood intensified. It was far more unsettling and dangerous than any punch to the face. She moved closer still to examine his cut lip and he jerked away, alarmed.
“Don’t!” he said, then tried to backpedal at her concerned look. “I mean, ow.”
He turned away and she walked over to the suture kit set out along with a small vial of one percent lidocaine and a syringe on a wheeled metal tray. “The spilt is through the vermillion border, so no Dermabond or Steri-Strips. Sutures will give you the best result—otherwise it could pop open again.”
Holden stared at his reflection in the mirror nearby to distract himself, frustration and embarrassment curdling within him. He already felt like an idiot after getting punched by her patient. Having her sew him up too added insult to injury. Pain surged through his leg and he gripped the edge of the table.
“Any dizziness?” Leilani asked. “He hit you pretty hard.”
“No,” Holden lied. He still felt a bit light-headed, but that was more from anxiety than the blow to his face. Needing to burn off some excess energy, he slid off the table and moved to the nearby sink to splash cold water on his face. The chill helped clear his head and after drying off his face with paper towels, he plucked at his soiled scrub shirt. “I should change.”
“Hang on.” Leilani ran back out into the hall and returned with a clean scrub shirt a few moments later. “Here.”
“Thanks.” He limped behind the screen in the corner and stripped, tossing the bloodstained shirt on the floor before slipping on the clean one. It was too big and the V-neck kept slipping to the side, revealing the scar from his second bullet wound through his left shoulder. He fiddled with the stupid thing, glancing up to find Leilani watching him in the mirror on the wall.
He attempted to play off the awkwardness of the situation with a joke. “Checking me out?”
“No.” She looked away fast, but not before he spotted a flush of pink across her cheeks. His interest in her spiked again, despite his wishes to the contrary. She was his work colleague. Theirs was a professional relationship, pure and simple. Anything more was definitely off-limits. He made his way back to the exam table as she pulled on a pair of gloves, then filled a syringe with lidocaine.
“People can be unpredictable, can’t they?” Leilani said, jarring him back to reality. “Like Mr. Chambers. You think they’re going to do one thing, then they do something completely different. Lie down, please.” Reluctantly, he did as she asked. The sooner they got this over with, the better.
Leilani moved in beside him again and he did his best to ignore the heat of her penetrating through his cotton scrub shirt, the soft brush of her bare wrist against his skin as she stabilized his jaw for the injection. “Hold still and try to relax. This may burn a bit.”
“I know.” He did his best to relax and met her intent stare. “Hard being on the receiving end of treatment.”
She smiled and his pulse stumbled. “I understand, Dr. Ross. Doctors usually make the worst patients.” She leaned back, her gaze darting from his eyes to his left shoulder, then back again. “But you’ve obviously had treatme
nt before.”
He swallowed hard and looked away, anxiety still shimmering like hot oil through his bloodstream. “Obviously.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.” Her hand slipped from his jaw to rest on his sternum, her smile falling. “You’re tachycardic.”
“I’m fine,” he repeated, grasping her hand, intending to remove it from his person, but once her fingers were in his, he found himself unable to let go. Which was nuts. He didn’t want entanglements, didn’t want connections, and yet, here it was—in the last place he wanted to find one. Which only made his heart beat harder against his rib cage.
Get it together, man.
“Dr. Ross?” she asked, concern lighting her gaze. “Holden? Are you with me?”
The unfamiliar sound of his first name on her lips returned a modicum of his sanity. “Sorry. No, I’d rather not talk about my injuries. Bad memories.”
“Okay. No problem. I understand completely. I have a few of those memories myself.” Her calm tone, along with the understanding in her eyes, slowly brought his inner angst down to tolerable levels. She pulled her hand from his, then walked over to her tablet on the counter and tapped the screen. “How about some music? What kind do you like? Rock? Country? R & B?”
The change of subjects provided a welcome escape and he grabbed on to it with both hands. He stared up at the ceiling and couldn’t care less what she played, as long as it distracted him from the past and her weird effect on him. “Uh...whatever you like is fine.”
“Okay.” Ukulele music filled the air as she moved in beside him again, a twinkle in her dark gaze as she raised the syringe once more. “I know this situation is uncomfortable for you, Dr. Ross, but the sooner you let me get started, the faster it will be over. I’ll even make you a deal. Let me suture you up and I’ll take you to a real luau.”
“What?” He frowned up at her.
Falling For The Single Dad Surgeon (A Summer In São Paulo Book 2) Page 19