Page 10 of Sweet Heart

“Let me finish my coffee and sign off on that report.”

“Perfect,” she exclaims.

And just like that, she is beaming at me again.

I finally close the incident report and hover my mouse over the close button when my eye catches one of the recently viewed charts. Van Achthoven, M.F.A. 03/16/88. My breath hitches as I stare at the name, and my mind is flooded with multiple thoughts.

Will she check her levels tonight? Will she do anything we discussed at all? Why doesn’t she have a GP? One thing is certain. This woman is stubborn. So stubborn that she even refuses to stop when her levels are low. Did I do the right thing by medically clearing her?

“She was no longer in acute danger,” I whisper halfheartedly, but my brain stutters.

Everything in me screams to let it go, to let her go. She is no longer my responsibility. Mary—no, the patient—even said so herself. I patched her up and sent her on her way. Treat them and street them. That’s the business I am in. That has never bothered me before. There is great value in my work, and I can only perform it to the best of my ability as long as I don’t attempt to take on the tasks of other healthcare professionals.

“Stay in your lane, Cat,” I murmur as I clench my jaw.

I should. Stay in my lane, that is. But that look on her face… That stubborn tilt of her chin, that glint in her eyes. What if she lets her body crash just to have a reason to visit my ER again? I can’t have that.

Before I can stop myself, I pull up her file and go over her information. My eyes fall on her phone number, and I stare at it for a beat. Maybe I should write it down and check in on her, for her safety, her well-being. Yeah, tell yourself that, Doctora.

I freeze. Her voice echoes in the back of my mind. My hands stiffen at my sides as I stare at the screen in utter shock. What in the world am I doing?

In a flash, I move forward and hover the mouse over the X to close the file. I almost click, ready to put this, her, behind me. But her phone number is right there. My heart is pounding so hard that I can feel it in my throat. I rub the palms of my hands along my slacks as I try to steady my breathing.

Don’t. I grab my personal phone and add her number.

I look back at the screen, ready to close her file, when the light suddenly changes. My gaze instantly moves to the door, where Carmen is leaning against the frame. When in the world did she come in? I didn’t even hear her open it.

“What ya doin’, Kitty Cat?” she taunts, and I feel myself go pale.

I swallow hard and rapidly click to close the file, my hands still shaking.

“Just wrapping up,” I reply, but my voice sounds strained even in my own ears.

“Wrapping up with your phone in your hand?”

“Carmen…”

She goes quiet for a moment, and I hesitantly move my gaze back toward her. As soon as our eyes meet, hers widen. Her mouth falls open as if she is starring in some cheap telenovela, and she lets out a huff of air.

“Don’t,” I sneer instantly and turn away from her to grab my bag and keys.

“Tell me you didn’t…”

My body seizes, and my breath gets caught somewhere between my chest and my throat. Not once in my life have I told a lie to my best friend. Not as a kid, not as a grown-up, not even when it would have been easier. I am not starting now.

I force myself to breathe and continue collecting my belongings, but my silence speaks for itself, and Carmen knows exactly how to read that. She knows me better than anyone else.

“¡Coño, Katherina! Are you loca?” she hisses between clenched teeth and immediately closes the door behind her. “You know I was just fucking with you, right? What the hell?”

A white-hot sensation spreads through my chest, and I instinctively clench my hands into tight fists. I turn around slowly to face her. Carmen’s eyes scan me with worry and something that looks a lot like irritation. I shake my head.

“I have done nothing I would not have done for any other patient,” I state, and I mean every single word of it.

If I felt that a patient was a danger to themselves, I would take the appropriate action. That’s why I made Mary come in a second time. That’s why I took her phone number. Okay, that one might be pushing it a little bit, but I haven’t even used it.

“Oh yeah?” Carmen asks and folds her arms across her chest. “Then why do you look as guilty as you did on the day we took your dad’s vintage car for a spin and crashed it?”

My cheeks flush instantly at the memory, and I scowl at her.