Page 11 of Worth the Shot

The day turns out to be quiet. Funny how boring feels like a luxury in this job, though apparently, “no one walking in with half their body mangled” is my new definition of slow. The hum of fluorescent lights fills the ER like static, and the coffee tastes faintly like burnt rubber, but it’s still home. During my break, I pull out my phone and see three texts from Emma.

The first is a picture of Luca, grinning in a long-sleeved onesie that says “My Aunt is Cooler Than Yours.” So true, really.

The second and third read:

Emma

Sooooo you and Brennan??

Adorable btw. Love him for you.

My heartbeat spikes. I text back so fast I nearly sprain a thumb.

Me

Who?

Oh, that new guy? Forgot his name. I do recall you ruining his flannel with your aggressive behavior, but other than that I don’t remember much about him.

My heart rate slows, and just like that, I almost believe the words I just typed. Chances are I won’t be seeing much of him anyway. Or at least not on purpose. And even if I do, I surely won’t be letting my hormones run the show.

Sure, he’s handsome. Annoyingly so. Maybe even funny. But the way he saw straight through my digs faster than anyone ever has? Dangerous territory I have no business wandering into.

Emma responds instantly with three laughing emojis. I shove my phone back into my scrub pocket, lean against the break room counter, and stare at the vending machine buzzing in the corner. The quiet presses in around me, familiar and hollow, like something inside me never quite filled back in. Then, somewhere between the hum of the machine and the smell of antiseptic, I realize I don’t actually feel empty, just tired. The kind of tiredness that isn’t fixed with sleep. I try to finish out the rest of my quiet shift pretending everything inside me feels just as calm.

I gather my charts from the night, already organizing notes in my head for the next nurse on shift, because if there’s one thing I’ve learned as a nurse it’s that the more details you give, the better. As I round the corner, I collide with Jack from pediatrics. He’s tall, handsome and unfairly nice. The kind of guy I occasionally catch myself staring at strictly for self-torture purposes.

“Delaney, I’m so sorry,” he says quickly. “I was rushing and didn’t see you there.”

“It’s fine, Jack. Really. No worries,” I say, shifting the stack in my arms. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.” I start to move but he stops me, gently reaching his hand out to touch my arm.

“Actually,” he says, “I was just trying to grab a snack before I get paged again. Care to join me?”

“I wish I could, but—” I gesture to the charts balanced against my chest.

“Rain check?” he offers, hopeful but careful. “Maybe we could grab a drink after your shift this week. Or maybe you’ll finally let me take you to that dinner I’ve been practically begging for.” He laughs nervously, still hesitant.

I absolutely don’t hesitate, though. I’ve learned the hard way that “great guy” doesn’t mean safe and chemistry doesn’t guarantee you forever. Sometimes the things that feel the most promising are the first to fall apart. People leave, plans change, and then someone is always left feeling like they didn’t get the ending they wanted.

“I’m sorry, Jack. I’m just not really looking to add anything to my life right now. Nothing personal! I think you’re great,” I add, forcing brightness into the end of it.

“I appreciate the enthusiastic rejection.” He laughs and I realize the sound doesn’t do a damn thing for me.

It only makes me wish it had been Brennan’s.

Crap.

Chapter Five

Brennan

I wake up on Shayne and Emma’s couch with a sore neck, a baby sock stuck to my flannel, and the vague sense that my life took a turn somewhere between the ribs and potato salad last night. Luca’s fault. Definitely his. The kid passed out on me practically mid–choo-choo train, drool soaking through my shirt. The little guy’s got trust issues down to zero. One look at you, and you’re family. I didn’t have the heart to move him, but after a half hour of baby snores Emma insisted on taking him up to his room so I could “make the most out of the night.” I didn’t realize how much weight that would hold, until I look down at the red wine stains on my sleeve.

I didn’t plan to sleep here, but half the team lingered late after the bonfire and by the time I realized how tired I was, Shayne was already tossing me a blanket and throwing me “one more beer, for old time’s sake,” while we reminisced about the good old days. We played together for a season years ago, both just rookies, praying we’d make it. Fresh faces, bright eyes, and probably a hell of a lot faster. I’ve been with Carolina ever since I was drafted, so seeing him again when I got traded here felt like a win before I’d even laced my skates.

I rub the sleep from my eyes and stare up at the ceiling fan, still spinning slow from last night. It smells like campfire smoke and baby wipes in here, which feels weirdly comforting. My mind goes back to her, even when I try to distract it.

Sharp tongue, dark humor and tired eyes that still manage to light up when you really pay attention. She walked in like she was trying not to be noticed and failed miserably. I’ve met plenty of women, but none who could throw sarcasm like a dart and still make me want to get hit. She barely looked at me at first, and I figured that was fair. Shayne told me enough about her and…well, about him.