Kim waited a beat, then nodded toward Room 5.
“Dr. Sheppard brought a patient in a little while ago. I think he came straight from the employee lot—his shoes were... pungent. You might want to check in.”
Before he could press her, she turned and walked away at a fast clip.
Bryce turned toward Room 5—but paused at the flicker of movement in his periphery.
Crystal.
She stood a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes narrowed—clearly replaying everything she’d just overheard.
Their eyes met. She didn’t look away. Didn’t smile. Just tilted her head into that calculating look he remembered all too well from their time outside the hospital settling into place.
“Huh,” she murmured. “Interesting.”
Then came the smirk—sharp, conniving—and she vanished down the hallway, leaving behind a knot of unease as Bryce turned toward Room 5.
Inside, the sight stopped him cold. Eric was treating a deep laceration at Beth’s left temple, just along the hairline, cleaning the wound in preparation for sutures.
“What happened here?” Bryce asked, working to keep his voice steady.
Beth didn’t look up, but her cheeks flushed pink. “It’s nothing,” she muttered.
Bryce raised a brow at Eric. “One of our nurses is bleeding from a head wound and says it’s nothing?”
Eric replied dryly, “She hit her head on her car door, then puked all over my shoes. The cut’s deep—needs stitches. But the smell—she’s all yours” He balled up the soiled gauze he had been using and took off his gloves, wrapping them around the dressing before tossing everything into the biohazard trash. He bolted out the door, only pausing long enough for a squirt of hand sanitizer
Heart racing, Bryce stepped in. “Did hitting your head cause the vomiting?”
“No.”
“Then what happened?”
“I dropped my keys, bent down to get them, and my car door attacked me.”
He bit back a smile. “Did you yell at the door?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Do I really need stitches? We have liquid skin for a reason.”
“Sadly, you’re not hard-headed enough. It’s too deep.”
“Hilarious.”
“I considered stand-up.”
“Don’t quit your day job.”
“Why not? I’m a stand-up guy.” He winked and finished cleaning the wound.
“Keep going and you’ll have me in stitches.” Her comeback
caught him off guard, making him laugh—loudly—and pause mid-stitch.
“You sure it’s wise to make the man with the needle laugh this hard?”
“Probably not. Just keep the stitches clean and small.”
He nodded, still grinning. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll have you fixed up and home in no time.”
