Chapter 1
Brooklyn
The shrill ring of my cell phone, too near my ear, awakened me from my much-needed nap after a thirty-six-hour shift because my relief doctor called in sick for two shifts, and we had an influx of patients in the emergency room. Squinting in the dim fluorescent light over my head, I picked up the phone.
“Where are you? You know who is back?” Denise, the charge nurse for my current shift, whispered.
“Carter St. Patrick?” My heartbeat increased at the thought of that gorgeous specimen of a man inhabiting our halls every blue moon. “Is he okay, or is it his son?”
“His son, but not for sickle cell. Think he broke or sprained his ankle. Look, Dr. Flores is still not here. It’s your chance to meet him.”
“Not like this.” I jumped up from the hospital bed and looked in the mirror above the sink. Not too bad for only four hours of sleep in a day and a half. My eyes were bright, and my face remained clean. I’d carelessly clipped my shoulder-length twists into a messy ponytail. At least I didn’t look like I just woke up.
“Girl, don’t be stuck on stupid. You’ve been crushing on this man. You were the one who told me how great an athlete he was when all I could see was a fine ass muthafucka.”
I giggled. “I hope no one can hear you. I’ve never crushed on him. I happened to love football and admired his talent.” I tucked the cell against my shoulder as I grabbed a few napkins out of the dispenser.
“Can you be human for once and admit that you would kill to have that man sex you down one good time? Just one good time, then you can die happy.”
“Please, please, tell me you’re alone at the station or better yet in your office.” I turned on the water and wet the napkins.
“Everyone’s running around like a chicken with its head cut off. I’ve been covering for you so you can rest, but the patients are screaming for their doctor. Most are standard emergencies. An eighty-year-old has a concussion from a slip. Another has blood clots in the lungs. He’s being given the standard treatment while we wait for the vascular doctor.”
The napkin's coolness on my face refreshed me and helped me shake off the residual exhaustion. “Then Mr. St. Patrick can’t be a priority.”
“He donates to the hospital. He is always a priority.” Denise reminded me.
“And this is why I don’t have a crush. He’s arrogant and spoiled. And all alpha. Comes in here making demands as if his family is the only one in pain. As much as he looks good in person and on paper. We would bump heads every single time. I don’t deal well with entitlement.”
“Brooklyn, all those years in med school got you stuck on stupid. Alpha men love a challenge, and you’re the ultimate challenge, a woman who thinks she doesn’t need him.”
I grabbed a small bottle of mouthwash that we gave patients from under the sink and scoffed, “I see how you slipped in ‘think’. I don’t need him or any man. Never have. My life is good. I’d rather be single and at peace than settle or be in a toxic relationship for the sake of saying I have a man.”
“Okay. No one is saying you have to marryanyman. Just have some fun. When’s the last time you got out of the scrubs, got pretty, and went on a date? Better yet, had some mindlesssex?” At my silence, she continued. “That’s what I thought. Crickets. At least get you some with him or some man?”
“You act like I have a chance with him simply because I’m the treating resident. Carter St. Patrick doesn’t know I exist, and he’s here worried about his son. I can’t be that thirsty woman seizing my chance to shoot my shot.” I swished the mint liquid around my mouth.
Denise scolded, “He doesn’t know you exist because you refuse to let him or any man really see you. You’re gorgeous and brilliant, yet all you do is work and hang out with your mama.”
I scoffed. “Until Mama finds a new man, which should be any day.” My mother, who lived with me, never had a problem with dating. She took the end of a relationship much like she did with my father as a blip in her history with men.
“Exactly. Even your mama knows you have to get out there if you want a man,” Denise exclaimed.
“I don’t believe in looking for a man, unlike my mama.”
“Well, guess what? You don’t have to look. He’s sitting in the room with his son, waiting for his doctor. It’s fate.” Then I overheard my meddlesome colleague say, “Dr. Kelley is about to check on the patient in 24E. No worries. She knows to be discreet. We really need you to check on the blood clot patient in 18A, Dr. Craviz. Dr. Kelley has been here since yesterday morning, and we don’t want her to make any mistakes because she’s tired.”
“No, you didn’t,” I hissed.
“Yes, she’ll go home after she checks in 24E,” Denise said to my fellow resident before addressing me smugly, “You’re welcome. Now get your ass here. Mr. St. Patrick has pressed the button twice because no one is tending to his son. The son’s vitals and bloodwork are complete and look good. No high white blood count, so the body isn’t fighting off infection. Only waiting for your IV orders. X-Ray tech on his way.”
Taking one last look in the mirror, grateful that my purple scrubs fit better than most of my casual outfits, I pulled the clip out of my hair, pulled on my lab coat, and hurried to the other side of the ER. I passed several rooms full of people in varying degrees of medical crises. Weekends were always like this, especially as the holiday season approached. Thanksgiving is in two days, and I relish the busyness of it all. Kept me from drowning in my incessant thoughts about my decision to give up being an obstetrician or that I lacked a social life.
Taking a deep breath when I approached 24E, I walked in briskly. Bedside manner and professionalism covered my eager smile. I mean...the brother was fine. Carter St. Patrick looked up when I entered the room, and his dark gaze swept my body before settling on my face. He didn’t smile, though his eyes radiated warmth. “We’ve been here over an hour with no word. Time is of the essence with my son, and this hospital knows that.”
“My apologies. It’s incredibly busy during the holidays. I hope we have been kind to you and your son while you waited.” I bit down the retort that most people waited hours for a non-threatening emergency like a sprained ankle on a day like this. Yep, spoiled and entitled, but oh so sexy even with that Dodgers baseball cap on his head.Focus. “I’m Dr. Brooklyn Kelley, the attending doctor for your son.” I nodded at him before focusing on the patient: his beloved son, who’d been a patient due to his disease off and on over the years. “Good afternoon, Sekani. Am I pronouncing your name right?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” The handsome teen, whose dark eyes and smile were similar to his father’s, tucked his head sheepishly. “Trying to catch a pass that my father threw wide, I twisted my ankle. I’m fine, but this worried old man made me come here.”
