Page 25 of Night Shift

Her eyes narrowed. Hopping off the railing, she moved to stand in front of me. I leaned back, placing my elbows on the wooden plank behind me. She crossed her arms defensively over her chest and then raised her hand to chew on the tip of her thumbnail as she scrutinized me. “First of all, don’t call me a girl. I hate it when men call a woman baby or tell them they’re a good girl, as if we’re not fully formed, intelligent adults. When does someone go from girl to woman anyway? When does one earn enough respect to be considered an equal?” She paused, jutting her chin up in the air defiantly.

Damn, her eyes were as fiery as her hair. I had to run my hand over my mouth to hide what I was thinking—that her bold audacity reminded me of how she’d taken control in my dreams. In my experience, the saucier a woman’s bravado, the more obedient she became upon surrender. I bet she’d love being praised as a good girl, knowing that she was adored—the object of my strongest desire.

Letting out a loud huff, she continued. “Look, I may be poor, but I’m not desperate. Being poor doesn’t mean I’m weak or needy. I managed to get myself educated, and I have a job that pays well, has long-term security, and gives me a sense of doing something important for people who are suffering. Nursing is hard, and I’ve got a lot to learn, but I don’t need a man to take care of me. Being independent and standing on my own two feet is all that matters to me right now.” Her voice was growing more passionate while her hands gestured wildly in my face.

“Besides, in my experience—and trust me, you’ve made it perfectly clear that my experience in both nursing and sex is limited—most men are concrete thinkers who are self-absorbed. They only see women and, well, everything in life as transactional. It’s all about what they get. It’s never about an equal partnership. Maybe if I ever meet a man who’s different, I’ll change my mind. I get that sounds judgmental, but that’s my opinion. Besides, I think sex is overrated. Maybe it’s just me, and I don’t have the right competence… Who knows, I’m young. Maybe I’m wrong and I’m missing out on the greatest thrill ride on earth, and a sexpert will come along and enlighten me.” She threw her hands up in the air, turned, and started walking back the way we’d come.

I stood there, dumbstruck by the force of her words. A few paces away, she abruptly stopped and whirled around to throw me a defiant glare. In truth, I was completely disarmed by her candor and strength—a rarity for me. It surprised me that a woman so much younger than me was able to affect me this way.

Even though her words stung, I admired her fire. She was fiercely independent, a survivor, and she wasn’t about to let anyone make her feel small or inadequate. I realized how wrong I had been to try to impose my opinions on her, to assume I knew what was best for her simply because I was older and more experienced. But then again, I did have a lot of experience pleasing women, and she barely knew how to please herself. Why was I second-guessing myself with her?

“Sam, wait.” I sped up, reducing the distance between. “I’m sorry,” I said, taking her by both shoulders. “You’re absolutely right. I didn’t mean to make such sweeping assumptions about you. It’s not my place to tell you how to live your life or what to think about men and relationships.”

She studied my face before nodding, accepting my apology with grace.

“Samantha,” I said slowly, dropping my hands and trying to find the right words to convey what I was thinking without pissing her off further. “You‘ve shown incredible courage in the face of adversity. I’m sorry for making stupid statements about you based on your age and background, and I apologize for being condescending or dismissive.”

For a few seconds, she regarded me cautiously. “Thank you,” she replied softly. “That means a lot to me.”

The tension between us eased slightly.

For reasons I couldn’t quite explain, I was compelled to share something from my past. “You know, Sam, I understand more than most how you feel. I lost my mother when I was fifteen. She passed away suddenly, and it was a devastating blow to our family. I’ve spent years burying the pain and focusing on my career, but seeing your resilience makes me wonder if maybe I haven’t coped as well as I thought. You’re handling everything with much more grace and strength than I ever have.”

Sam tilted her head and knitted her brow. It seemed she was reassessing her opinion of me. She chuckled and nodded, as if she’d just had some great epiphany.

“Now I get it, Atticus. You’re so painfully obvious. Simple, really…you’ve never gotten over the death of your mother. Whatever happened has caused you to lock away all your trust in women and throw away the key. You’ve developed quite the savior complex.” She leaned in and placed her hand squarely on my chest and patted it. “You act like you’re a connoisseur of sex, but I have to wonder just how great it is for you if you’ve never trusted a woman. Maybe you’re not the expert you think you are.”

Damn, she was blunt. I pulled back a little, stunned. Running my thumb over my lip, I studied her for a moment. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll give you that much,” I conceded. “But at least I’ve gotten off with a woman. Hell, it’s usually multiple times. And not to brag or anything, but I know how to make a woman come. I’ve never walked away from a woman without fully satisfying her. In that, I’m an expert.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open, but words failed her. I chuckled at her flustered expression. From the gleam in her eye, it was clear she was struggling to devise a clever retort, but it just wouldn’t come.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s head back to the car and go to the cabin. That is, if you’re still game?”

She gave me a mischievous grin. “Absolutely, I am. You promised me a fabulous dinner, remember?”

We continued our hike in companionable silence, lost in our thoughts as we navigated the trail and reflected on the revelations we’d just shared.

Opening up to Sam had been both humbling and liberating. It made me question the emotional walls I’d built around myself over the years. In her, I’d found an unexpected source of provocation and a reminder that insight could sometimes be found in the most unlikely places.

“Sam,” I said, stopping at a little bend in the path as we approached the end of the trail, “I want you to know that I truly appreciate your honesty and willingness to share very private things about yourself. I hope we can learn to trust each other.”

A genuine smile spread across her face. “I’d like that, Atticus.” Then she started down the trail again with a pep in her step.

“Besides, I’m guessing that you’re the one who needs saving,” she said, giving me a playful shove when I caught up to her. “Seeing as you’re about to hit forty and have never had a loving relationship with a woman. Like you said, you’ve kept things simple—only sexual gratification. I bet you’re now questioning if it’s all been worth it. Basically, I think you pride yourself on being a transactional man, always calculating what’s in it for you. But look at what it’s cost you—real connections, the chance to experience love. That’s more than just a trade-off, if you ask me. When was the last time you felt truly loved, not just needed for what you can provide?”

My breath caught in my throat, and I swallowed hard. She was right. But how could she know all this? It was as if she had reached into my soul and pulled out my deepest fears and insecurities. As I struggled to come up with a response, my foot snagged on a root, making me stumble like an idiot. What was going on here? How had she turned the tables on me?

“Sam, I—” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “You’re right. I’ve never allowed myself to love or be loved.” I paused for a moment, gathering my thoughts. “My entire life, I’ve been driven to help people, fix people, to make things happen. And mostly, I’ve done just that. But I can never seem to fix the bigger issues that are really hurting people.”

Unable to meet her gaze, I stared at the trees further up the trail. “There are always those people I see over and over again in the ED—not because I don’t give them good treatment but because they don’t get their underlying issues fixed, like drug or alcohol addiction, or because they can’t afford the general care they need. I do the best I can, but I sometimes wonder if my life will ever be anything more than a revolving door. Just a temporary band-aid.”

“Anyway,” I said abruptly, forcing a smile onto my lips and changing the subject, “we should finish our walk and get to the cabin. I’ve got a fabulous meal planned for later: my grandmother’s Swedish meatballs.”

Sam laughed, and the sound was like music. “All right, Dr. Thorin. You can change the subject. But just so you know, I still think you deserve better than just going through the motions.”

“Okay, Sam. I hear you,” I murmured. “And maybe you should be willing to experiment and live a little before you grow old, like me.”

She elbowed me in the side. “You’re not that old, and I’m not some pansy.”

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