That was a mistake.
When Thad and I broke up, she had every opportunity to say I told you so. Instead, she offered to let me move in with her and helped me get my life figured out. I owe her more than I could ever repay. So, if she wants pedicures and lunch in Dogwood Cove tomorrow, that’s what she gets.
I just hope to hell and back we don’t run into those damn Donnelly boys again.
Chapter nine
Heidi
It's been a week since I ran into Max and his brothers. An exhausting and confusing week. Every shift with Max Donnelly is a rollercoaster, except I’m riding it blindfolded. I have no idea what to expect, especially after I caught him looking at me yesterday with something in his eyes that was very muchnothatred.
The intensity behind the heated way his gaze swept up and down my body made me gasp. And then that heat melted back into the contempt I’m used to.
Sleep did not come easily last night. I tossed and turned, visions of Max filling my head with fantasies I have no right having.
Waking up this morning, I’m determined to call him out on his bullshit. Part of me wants to do exactly that because I know I have every right to wonder why he’s being this way. But there’s still a voice inside my head telling me not to, that I should keep my head down and just do my job.
Then there’s the part of me that wonders what his domineering attitude toward me would be like in bed. Would he be dirty and a little rough? Or would that controlling personality be more sexy alpha?
I’m pretty sure option C, both, is the correct answer. And apparently, my body thinks so, too, and really wants to find out. It’s actually kind of inconvenient how my body responds to him, even when he’s being an arrogant ass. I never thought of myself as someone who could still be turned on when the man in question is so hot and cold.
But there’s no denying the shiver that runs up my spine when he leans in close and his light earthy scent hits me. It’s not overpowering at all, but it is intoxicating.
“Caroline, can you please print out a medication record for room twelve so I can finish their transfer orders?” He leans against the counter, giving the unit clerk a charming smile.
I twist in my seat to face him. “I already did that as part of his discharge package.”
He spares me the briefest of glances before looking back to Caroline. “And let’s make sure his most recent set of lab work is included.”
“Also already printed and in the envelope,” I say, that drive to call him out growing stronger and stronger. How dare he act as if I don’t even exist? This is a new low.
Slowly, he shifts and faces me. “Is that part of your duties as a resident?”
Oh boy, here we go. I put down my pen. “No, but I spent many years as a nurse watching the doctors on this floor workwiththe nursing staff as a collaborative team. In fact, I’m fairly certain I’ve seen you print out your own discharge package when nurses were short-staffed. I figured it was safe to do the same, seeing as you’re meant to be my mentor of sorts.”
“Fine. The important thing is that it’s done.”
I open my mouth, fully prepared to let him have it, to demand respect and gratitude for pulling my weight and then some, when the code bells start going off. One of our patients is crashing and all thoughts of snapping back at my arrogant boss are gone as we move into action.
When we reach the room, the nurse who called the code is leaning over the patient, her stethoscope in her ears. “Shallow breath sounds on both sides and he’s tachycardic. His labs are pending.”
I take a quick glance at the chart and realize it’s a new patient to the unit, here with a chest infection, but he’s also an oncology patient. Which makes things tricky.
“His platelet count was low on admission; we’re probably looking at a chemotherapy-induced cytopenia which is exacerbating the infection.”
Max gives me a nod. “Let’s page his oncology team stat.” A nurse runs off to do that as Max and I continue a rapid assessment. “Okay, his PICC line is blocked, we need access. Let’s get an IV going so we can keep him hydrated and start some platelets. I assume we have his blood type on file?”
“Yes, Dr. Donnelly. I’ll call the blood bank.” Another nurse runs out as I hand over the tray with an open IV insertion kit. Taking it, Max bends over the patient’s arm, but after a couple of minutes poking around, I can sense him getting more and more agitated. The stress in the room is already high and climbing.
“His veins are shot. This is a hard start, I’m gonna need a vein finder.”
But that’ll take more time that this kid doesn’t have. “Let me try,” I say, hip checking him out of the way. He steps away, but I know I’ll have to accept the repercussions later. Right now, it’s the patient that matters the most.
I manage to find a vein and get the IV in just as another nurse runs in with the vein finder.
“Start the saline, full bore, and get the blood going,” Max says, and one of the nurses lifts the saline bag onto the IV pole and starts the drip. “Good. Okay, let’s call PICU and get him set for a transfer, he’s going to need close observation for a while.”
I stay back as Max leaves the room, watching as the nurses get the blood hooked up and running, and do one more set of vitals just to satisfy myself that he’s stabilized.
