Page 24 of Night Shift

“No,” I said quickly, not offering anything more. She let out an exasperated huff of frustration at my lack of detail.

“Come on, Atticus. You have to give me more than that,” she insisted, sticking her tongue out playfully.

“All right, all right,” I conceded, allowing myself a small smile. “I’ve never been married because I’ve always been focused on my career. Relationships are just too time-consuming for me to navigate alongside the demands of being an emergency-room doctor.”

That answer seemed to satisfy her, and for a few minutes we walked in a comfortable silence with the wind rustling the leaves overhead.

I really wanted to know about her past, but I didn’t want to bring up any more painful memories.

“Sam, let me ask you this,” I said, taking a deep breath before launching into my next question. “You mentioned that, before the wreck, your father was already a heavy drinker and could sometimes be abusive to your mother. Can you tell me more about how that affected you growing up?” I mentally rolled my eyes at the clinical way I was speaking to her. God, I could be such an uptight asshole sometimes. It was high time I learned how to approach these things with more empathy, especially with her.

Sam hesitated for a moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was tinged with sadness. “Yeah, my father was always drunk. And when he drank, he’d get violent. My mom tried to protect me as best she could, but there’s only so much you can do against someone like him.”

Her steps slowed and her thumb ran over the back of my hand as she took a minute to respond. “After the car wreck, everything just spiraled out of control. With my mom gone, there was no one to shield me from his fists. I had to grow up fast, learning how to take care of myself and avoid his rages. It was…hard, to say the least.”

Her words resonated within me, stirring up my own memories of loss and pain. I couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been for her to endure such hardships and violence at such a young age. At least I’d had brothers. She didn’t have anyone. That deep-seated need to fix her, to protect her that lived within me, came boiling to the surface.

Sam gave me a playful nudge. “Now it’s my turn to ask you a question.” She leaned into my side and glanced up at me. “Why don’t you build connections with women? Like, serious connections? I know I joked around earlier about the whole ‘wham bam thank you ma’am’ thing, but there must be a reason.”

I wasn’t ready for this.

As I attempted to formulate a response, I suddenly realized how tightly I was gripping her hand and tried to relax. “Let’s just keep walking.”

After several minutes of silence, I knew I needed to start talking, explain this to her. It was only fair, since she’d been so open with me. “Obviously, I’m a lot older than you—and I’ve spent a lot of years working in the emergency department. You understand how demanding it is and all the crazy hours we work, especially doing shift rotations. When I was in school and first working, there just wasn’t time for relationships. After that…I guess it became a habit. And to be honest, I find women too demanding, they all want to set up house and have babies. I just don’t know if I’m the commitment type, much less up for being a parent. I’m sure some psych doc would say I was fixated at some stage or another. It’s just easier for me to keep things simple, you know?”

I hadn’t told her the truth about the real reason I avoided relationships, because I was nowhere near dealing with all the emotional baggage I carried. She had no idea how deeply I understood her childhood trauma or that I knew how badly parents could fuck up their kids’ lives.

The silence that followed my answer seemed to stretch on for an eternity. I could tell that Sam was mulling over what I’d shared and struggling with her own thoughts and questions. Finally, after a few more minutes of walking, I broke the silence.

“Sam,” I began hesitantly, “I have another question for you, if it’s okay.”

Her crystal-blue eyes met mine, and although I sensed she was worried about what I might ask next, she gave me a small nod, signaling for me to continue.

“Based on what you’ve been through and the discussion I overheard between you and Bethany, do you feel your…let’s just say, your less than satisfying encounters with men were a result of limited experience, or rather trust issues?” I hoped I hadn’t crossed a line with my bluntness. But who was I kidding? Most of the time, I just couldn’t help myself.

Sam’s face flushed a deep crimson, and she looked away from me, focusing her attention on the trail ahead. As we approached the wooden bridge that marked the halfway point of our walk, she remained silent. The water glistened from the sunlight filtering through the trees, while a squirrel scolded us from a high branch for disturbing it. The normalcy of the scene belied the maelstrom of emotions swirling within us.

When we reached the bridge, Sam stepped up onto the first slat of the railing with her toes, leaning over the edge to watch the water below. I stood next to her, resting my elbows on the handrail, careful not to touch her as she gathered herself to speak.

“Atticus, that’s…that’s really personal,” she choked out.

“Remember, you’re the one who made the deal…a question for a question,” I reminded her, my eyes searching hers to see if she was going to back out of our little deal.

I kept replaying her story in my mind, and as I did so, the pieces clicked into place. Her wariness of intimacy, her insistence on independence…it all stemmed from a childhood of neglect and abuse at the hands of the man who should have been her protector.

Rage simmered in my gut, rage at the injustice of it. If Mac Sheridan crossed my path again, I didn’t know if I could restrain myself from violence. He deserved to suffer for what he’d done.

But indulging in fantasies of vengeance would serve no purpose. I was determined to prove to Sam that not all men were like her father.

“Both,” she finally answered. “I’ve only been with one guy, in college, and he was…let’s just say, young and inexperienced. He only wanted a quick fuck, and I was so afraid of making him angry or upset that I focused solely on him. Honestly, I don’t understand what the big deal is with sex; it mostly just hurts or is embarrassing.”

With a cynical chuckle and a shake of her head, she glanced over at me and said, “And as far as trust goes…I don’t trust anyone. My father blamed me for my mother’s death and his conviction. He hated me after the wreck, and when he drank, he’d beat me. I learned to run fast and hide well to get away from him.”

She took a deep breath before she continued. “I guess I’ve become an expert at hiding—not just from my father, but from my own emotions. I think that’s why I’ve never allowed myself to truly let go and be with a guy. I’m afraid of giving someone the power to hurt me like my father did.”

Her raw honesty cut straight to my heart. At that moment, I saw Sam for who she truly was—a strong woman who’d had to deal with unimaginable pain.

“I’m guessing you think all men are bad because of your father, how you were raised, and your impoverished circumstances. Or maybe you’ve just never met a man who knows how to treat a woman right.” I wanted her to know that not all men were like her father. I wanted her to be open to the idea that sex could be an enjoyable experience when shared with the right person. “You just need to find a man who will worship you, someone who can guide you to explore the most amazing aspects of sexuality, like building trust, experimenting safely, and discovering new pleasures together.” I said this in an attempt to comfort her, but my words came out all wrong, twisted with unintentional condescension. “Just so you know, I think you’re a beautiful, smart girl.”

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