God, what’s with the delayed gratification today? Everyone’s a tease.
Forcing a grin, I nod, walking away, and after rounding the corner, I find the door to bed ten and halt. They’re messing with me. There are no officers here. It must be a prank for my last week of work.Well, guys…you got me.
With a laugh, I knock on the door and open it an inch, calling out hello before listening for a response.
“Hello?” I call again. But nothing.
Grabbing the chart as I enter, I flick through the pages and frown at the notes. Knife wound. In and out of consciousness on arrival but stable since. And, sure enough, in bright red letters stamped across the page…Police custody. Meaning, no one comes in or out unless they have clearance.
And I just waltzed through the door without question.
I’m confused as I glance up at mydangerouspatient, and freeze at the sight of him. My heart jolts before picking up speed, racing as I take in his light brown hair, styled in a now messy mohawk, my eyes drifting to the intricate tattoos peeking out from beneath the sterile hospital gown. A panic takes over me when I see the gold ring on his pinky, knowing that if I were to move it an inch, I’d find a tiny burn scar hiding underneath. As though no time has passed.
Zane Fitzpatrick.
The one that got away.
Oh, God.
Red and blue lights flash in the distance, and a gut-wrenching pain rips through my middle, feeling like I’ve had the breath knocked out of me. I double over, my hands clenched at my stomach, but it doesn’t help.
I couldn’t stop the sting if I tried.
I knew.
Call it intuition, call it a sign from some divine order…but I knew. And I’m devastated to be right.
With a wheezing breath, I take off running again, reaching the crash site just as the jaws of life cut through the windshield.
An EMT climbs onto the hood, stomping over a truck I hold dear to my heart, and I choke back the tears.
“Noo.” I sob uncontrollably as my legs give out, a pain shooting through me when my knees hit the dirt.
“Save him. Please. You have to save him.”
The crash of a metal supply cart, somewhere in the hallway, drags me back to the present and a shiver runs down my spine. Shaking off my thoughts, my eyes dart to Zane’s chart and I run through the checklist.
My heart lodged in my throat, I switch over to clinical mode and get on with my job, the job I’ve been doing for over a year now. A job that I love.
He’s just like any other patient.He’s just like any other patient.
In fact, staring at him now, while he’s sleeping peacefully, it’s easy to pretend he’s a different guy. That I’m not standing beside the hospital bed of the boy I once knew.
A vivid image of Zane brushing hair away from my face seeps into my mind, and I fight not to let it break me. Not to let my cheeks heat, because I can still feel the welcoming burn of his touch, all these years later.
God, I’ve spent countless hours thinking about him. Wondering if he’s okay.
On the inside anyway.
On the surface, he’s fine. He’s the NFL’s bad boy. He’s on TV. In magazines. The news.
I want to know about the feelings he keeps hidden, the secrets he holds deep within his soul.
Has he moved on? Or is he still a little bit broken like I am?
I’m desperate to find out, but at the same time, I shouldn’t be here. I’m not ready to face him.
Ican’tface him.
