One whose future rests in my hands?
“You just made a very inappropriate comment, Dr. Cocker.”
“Myers, hate to tell you this, but it might not be sexual harassment if it’s coming from the ground up. You’ve got all the power and I’ve got none.” A full-blown, gorgeous-as-fuck grin spreads. “And I gotta ask, how is a man supposed to ask a girl out if he can’t even find out if she’s interested first? Are you interested?”
Twisting the handle, I breathe, “No!” back out, shut the door, and stand just outside it wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do now.
Can I change my answer?
Sharon rushes up. “Dr. Myers, did you hear about the Metro accident?”
Instinctively I want Caden on this. But I remember suddenly that he’s over his hours.
Frustrated, I tell Sharon, “Let’s go!”
We sprint for the stairs.
CHAPTER 9
C ADEN
Dragging a hand through my hair I stare at the door.
She wants me.
I’m certain of it.
This isn’t great.
I mean it feels fantastic, but no good can come of this at all for me. I am holding a flapping fish above a shark’s open mouth with this move, and expecting not to lose my hand.
“Dumbass.”
Adjusting myself, I grab the doorknob, still warm from her touch. Pausing for a second I replay our exchange, and feel another twitch below.
“Dammit.”
She could’ve left well before she did. If Myers wasn’t interested, without a doubt I would have been scrambling after her, apologizing. But I know chemistry and ours was intense. Now how am I going to work underneath her without obsessing about being on top of her?
“And behind her. And under. And on the side. Caden, you dumb fuck.”
The corridor outside is unusually quiet. My brain is buzzing so loudly, I don’t even notice.
Dr. Collins runs by, turns around and jogs backwards. “You hear about the Metro accident?”
My pace slows a second before I break into a run with him.
The cacophony of noise in our emergency room is ear-shattering—sirens of new ambulance drop-offs mixed with people wailing and doctors barking orders.
I’ve got to help.
She told me to go home.
I said I would.
Searching for her, I see Myers removing glass from a woman’s forehead, rapidly instructing nurses.
What’s that old saying?
It’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission.
I rush to an older man sitting alone in a corner.
“It was a green light,” he croaks.
Kneeling, I ask him, “Are you hurt?” and notice the work-badge on his jacket. This guy’s the driver.
“It was a green light,” he repeats, eyes distant and locked on the memory. “Green. Not red. It was green.”
Taking my flashlight I shine it on his pupils. No reaction. Pulling up his shirt to see if he’s hiding any cuts or bruising under here, I shout to Ray, “Call Psychiatric!”
With an urgent nod he vanishes.
Dr. Myers heard my voice. Across the room we lock eyes. I stand very still. She gives me a nod to keep going.
Do my job.
Don’t go home just yet.
I see the silent plea: We need you.
And that’s exactly the fuel that gets this engine going. Especially that it’s coming from her.
After countless hours and thirty-two casualties later, Myers walks up, exhausted and guarded after what happened between us when we were alone. “You did good. But you have to go. Chief just said…”
“I understand. Thanks for letting me pitch in.”
We hold a look before I turn on my heel and walk away.
So many things I want to ask her.
This isn’t the time.
I hit the staff bathroom door hard on my way in. Splash my face a few times and blink the dripping water away so I can get a good gander at myself. This is a great example of what confusion looks like.
We lost no one today, but there were close calls. I had a young kid—age ten—go Code Blue, but I got his heart up and running again. It was Myers who I searched for when I wanted to celebrate. Not in a big way, just acknowledging I beat the Reaper one more time. A shared look was enough.
She’s the only one who knows I’m seriously considering changing specialities, and this young boy was in line with that. I saw it in her eyes that the coincidence didn’t slip by her. Even with how well she holds her shit together, there was a gleam of excitement in her eyes before she went back to working on her patient.
My own heart is beating pretty steadily. Sometimes—most times—I’m unaware of its rhythm, just take it for granted. But now at three o’clock in the morning I might as well have a stethoscope pressed to it. Every palpitation is as audible as the toilet flushing behind me.
Collins walks out of the stall, jogs his chin. “That was intense.”
A smile flashes at his understatement. “Walk in the park.”
He grins, “Yeah right,” and bends to wash his face with cold water, too.
Walking to one of the air-dryers I ask, “Have you eaten?”
Collins takes over the other one, raising his voice to compete with the obnoxious noise. “Stupid me thought I could grab a bite during my break. I was running behind yesterday on my way in and didn’t stop. Last time I make that mistake.”
“Didn’t realize you were hungry until it was all over, though, did you?”
He gives me a knowing smile. “Nope.”
We walk out together with satisfied smiles. There’s no better feeling than this.
You can eat any hour of the day—it’s no big thing. Everyone does that. Sleep, the same. But spending your time amped-up because you’re doing what you love, there is no better thing in the world.
Except maybe sex.
In the locker room I change out of my scrubs, roll up my long coat that’s not so white anymore, and toss it into
