I walk up to the desk. I place the bag gently on the counter next to Silva’s oatmeal.
"Outlook good," I say.
Silva stares at the bag. Then he looks at me. He scans me for damage. He sees the single spot on my shoe.
"You got it out?" he asks, sounding genuinely annoyed that I’m not covered in waste.
"Manual extraction," I say, peeling off my gloves with a snap. "Patient is resting comfortably. He asked for the ball back. I told him his future was cloudy."
Mama Ortiz lets out a bark of laughter that sounds like a shotgun blast. She tosses a slice of orange at me. I catch it one-handed.
"Not bad, Princess," she says, nodding at the bag. "Most interns need the forceps. You got good hands. Soft, but strong."
"Thank you, Nurse Ortiz," I say, popping the orange slice into my mouth. "I played piano. Rachmaninoff requires excellent finger strength."
"Don't get cocky, York," Silva snaps, snatching the bag off the counter. "That was the warm-up. And fix your hair. You look like you just had sex in a wind tunnel."
"I looked fantastic in that wind tunnel," I correct, checking my reflection in the monitor. "What’s next, Chief? Do we have anyone who fell on a toaster?"
Silva steps into my personal space. He is tall. Annoyingly tall. And up close, his eyes are burning with a mix of exhaustion and a grudging, microscopic amount of respect.
"Go to the ER," he orders. "Bed 6. Disimpaction."
"Again?"
"You're good at digging for treasure," Silva smirks. "And until you buy hospital-approved shoes, you belong in the shit. Dismissed."
I salute him. "Aye aye, Captain."
I turn on my heel, my loafers squeaking slightly on the linoleum.
I make it three steps before I hear them whispering. The acoustics in this hallway are terrible for privacy, but excellent for my ego.
"He won't last a week, Mama," Lucas mutters. "Look at him. He’s practically vibrating with entitlement. He’s a York."
"The brother turned out decent," Rosa replies, her voice thoughtful. "Eventually. He was a stiff board until he got with Jax. That O'Connell boy fixed him good. Maybe there's hope for the spare."
"Max actually does work," Lucas argues. "This one is just... shiny."
"I give him a month," Rosa decides. "He didn't gag. And he caught the orange. I like him. He’s pretty."
"He’s a menace."
"He’s your problem,mijo. Eat your oatmeal."
I grin as I walk toward Bed 6.
Game on.
Chapter 3
Robin Hood in Gucci
PRESTON
Day Three
The problem with saving lives is that it is remarkably inconvenient.
