A stretcher barreled past, a paramedic rattling off vitals. The unit jumped to life again, pulling my attention like a tide.
“You’re good,” I said quietly. “Good enough to be remembered. But you won’t be, not the way you could be, if people only remember you as an asshole with great reflexes.”
Landon opened his mouth, probably to joke, to deflect, to turn it into something shiny and painless. Whatever he saw on my face made him stop.
For a beat, the noise around us seemed to dim.
“You don’t know what it’s like out there.”
“But I know you have it in you to handle it better,” I countered.
Parker appeared at my elbow. “Nicole. We need you in bay three.”
“I’m coming,” I said.
I looked back at Landon. He looked less polished now. More human. It suited him.
“Thank you,” he said, quietly enough that only I heard.
“For what?”
“For not letting me get away with it.”
I nodded, then turned toward the chaos, my body slipping back into motion as easily as breathing. Behind me, Landon stepped aside, finally understanding where he was.
The trauma unit swallowed me again, and I accepted it with relief. This was the kind of tension I could navigate with my eyes closed. The kind I didn’t have to think twice about. Minutes stretched, and my hands worked of their own accord, feet following familiar paths as I fulfilled my duty for the doctors on call.
I came out of bay three with adrenaline still buzzing under my skin, gloves peeled off and stuffed into the bin, when I looked up and into his face again.
“This probably counts as loitering,” I said, going over to Landon. “Either you move, or security will make you.”
He tipped his head. “I decided to stay and make sure you took five minutes.”
“I’ll take five when people stop needing me.” But my voice lacked its usual bite.
Before I could decide whether to shoo him away or surrender to the weird comfort of his presence, his hand brushed my elbow. An unspoken question. I hesitated, then nodded once.
He led me to the stairwell at the end of the hall, the one no one ever used unless an elevator was down. He pushed the door open and guided me inside, the noise of the unit muffling instantly behind us. Quiet pressed in. Concrete walls. The faint echo of our breathing.
“You can’t keep pushing like this,” he said, already stepping closer. “You’re a ball of tension.”
“This is a hospital. Everyone has tension.”
His hands settled on my shoulders anyway. Warm. Solid. He started rubbing slow circles, thumbs pressing into knots I hadn’t even realized were screaming out for attention. My eyes slid shut before I could stop them.
“Landon,” I warned, but it came out soft. Useless.
“You’re running on fumes,” he said. “You forget to eat. You forget to sit. You forget you’re human. I may not have the scrubs, but trust me, I know the deal.”
I let my head tip forward an inch, giving him better access, hating how good it felt. The stairwell smelled faintly of disinfectant and concrete dust. His jacket brushed my arms when he leaned in, close enough that I could feel his heat at my back.
“This is highly inappropriate,” I murmured.
“Pep talk,” he said. “Very professional and thus, totally appropriate.”
I huffed out a tired laugh. “Careful. Someone might think you’re interested.”
Then his hands stilled. For half a second, neither of us moved.
