Page 37 of Night Shift

Trauma cases came in waves, keeping us busy. We handled a teenager who had a broken leg from a motorcycle accident, then an elderly woman with chest pains. Each case was a diversion from my tumultuous thoughts. I moved from patient to patient, administering medication and offering words of comfort, but my mind kept drifting back to Atticus. In particular, I wondered why he hadn’t texted me. The emotional whiplash of everything was throwing me totally off-kilter. For a while there, I’d been seeing him so much at work. Then we’d had mad, crazy sex, and now there was radio silence. I didn’t know how to process all of it.

The intensity of what we had shared was overwhelming. For the first time in my life, I’d experienced true sexual pleasure, and it was all thanks to him and his wicked ways. But it wasn’t just the physical connection that haunted me. Atticus had listened to my stories about my father and had seen me for the strong, independent woman I truly was. It was new to me for a man to treat me with such understanding and respect. He never looked at me with pity or acted as if I was beneath him, despite knowing about my mother’s fate and my father’s actions, because he, too, had endured similar trauma.

Yet the reality of our agreement—to not go beyond a one-night stand—hung over me, a persistent shadow clouding my thoughts. It was as if Atticus had vanished, leaving no trace behind except the memories that were etched into my mind. The idea that he could so easily adhere to our agreement, that he could detach so completely, left me with an odd sense of loneliness.

A part of me regretted making him agree to utterly deny the attraction between us. Perhaps his interest lay only in the thrill of the chase, and now that he’d conquered me, I would become just a forgotten memory. The idea that he might still want me, that he might reach out, was a fantasy. But I was torn between the professional boundaries we had set and my undeniable longing for his touch.

The shift dragged on, each hour a reminder of Atticus’s absence. I missed not only the physical intimacy we had shared, but also the emotional bond we had unexpectedly forged. The snarky banter, the shared understanding of loss, the way he had treated me as an equal—it had been a rare thing in my life. Dammit, couldn’t he have texted me? It was impossible to understand how he could bury his face in my most intimate places and then, in an instant, act like it was nothing more than licking a lollipop. Maybe I wasn’t merely naive but just plain stupid.

“Come on, Sam. Stop obsessing over some heartless old doctor,” I muttered as I sat at the nurses’ station trying to chart some notes about my latest patient.

When I clocked out at the end of my shift, the hospital corridors seemed cold and impersonal. In moments like these, when the few people I’d begun to connect with weren’t around, the reality that I was still an outsider here hit home. It was like the hospital was just a place to work, nothing more—with no friendly chats or familiar faces to break up the routine.

In the locker room, I shoved my arms into my coat and gathered my things. Then I headed out to my car. I had nothing to do except go home alone. It seemed Atticus had kept his promise perfectly—our night together had become a fleeting moment, and he’d already forgotten about it.

The weeks flew by, each day blurring into the next as I adjusted to working at St. John’s emergency department. The leaves outside shifted from vibrant shades of red and gold to a dull brown, a reminder that Thanksgiving was just around the corner. Since my night with Atticus, I hadn’t heard so much as a word from him. I had to assume that our passionate encounter had been nothing more than a one-night stand in his eyes, so I did my best to push it out of my mind.

My new job helped keep me focused on the present. Every day I grew more confident, and the feverish pace helped to keep me focused on the present. The feverish pace of the ED became my solace, drowning out any lingering thoughts about Atticus. I’d found my place among the night-shift team. They were a cool group of people, and their camaraderie and support were amazing.

There was Bethany, of course, who was unfailingly armed with snappy, sarcastic one-liners. I had also made friends with Jack, a fellow nurse with a wicked sense of humor, and Marissa, an experienced charge nurse who took me under her wing, patiently answering my questions and offering guidance.

“Sam!” Bethany called out to me one day as I came on shift. “A bunch of us are getting together for Friendsgiving this Thursday. You should come!”

“Friendsgiving?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“Yeah!” She grinned. “It’s like Thanksgiving, but with friends instead of family. Since most of us don’t have family nearby, we figured we’d celebrate together. What do you say?”

“That sounds really nice, actually. I’d love to come.”

“Yay, I’m so glad!” Bethany smacked her hands together excitedly. “Jack, Marissa, and Caleb—he’s a firefighter we’re friends with—are all coming too. It’ll be a blast.”

“Can’t wait,” I said. I was grateful to be included.

“Okay, I’ll add you to the group text,” she said as she left.

As Thanksgiving approached, I was riding a wave of optimism. My job was going well, I was making friends, and I was slowly learning to navigate life without letting the trauma of my past define me. Even the nightmares that had so often tormented my dreams had given way to a new form of torture—smutty wet dreams. I’d take those over the memories of my father’s fists any day. Although the memory of that night with Atticus still haunted me, I was determined not to let it overshadow the good things happening in my new life in Tacoma.

The night of Friendsgiving arrived. The restaurant we’d agreed to meet at was bustling with activity. “Sam! I’m so glad you could make it,” Bethany said, pulling me into a tight hug. “This is going to be such a blast!”

Marissa and a guy I didn’t know walked in, and Bethany threw her arms around each one of them in turn.

“Caleb, this is Sam. Sam, this is Caleb, one of my firefighter buddies,” Marissa quickly said in introduction. Before we could say more, a hostess directed us to follow her, and we were taken to a table near the bar.

Warm lights flickered above us, casting a cozy glow over our group. Caleb slid into the booth next to me while Bethany and Marissa, who were already deep in conversation, took seats across from us. Our server delivered glasses of water and special Friendsgiving menus. Tonight’s theme was a Mexican fiesta. I couldn’t think of a better way to celebrate Thanksgiving than with tacos and enchiladas.

Just as we settled in, the sound of hurried footsteps approached, and Jack finally made his appearance, sliding into the seat next to Caleb with a sheepish grin. “Sorry I’m late, guys. Time just got away from me.”

Marissa waved off his apology with a smile. Jack’s gaze shifted around the table, and he asked, “Where’s Kristen tonight, Marissa?”

Marissa took a deep breath, her smile fading a bit. “Oh, Kristen and I…we decided to go our separate ways,” she announced, a touch of relief in her voice. “Turns out, she was more into staying home and binge-watching reality TV than actually living life.”

Bethany quickly chimed in. “Speaking of living life, guess who’s got a new boy toy? Oh my God, Brad was so incredible in bed. I swear he has the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.” She winked dramatically, causing a ripple of laughter around the table.

“And he’s absolutely hot,” she continued, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin. “Like, could-be-a-model hot.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow and smirked at Bethany. “So, what you’re saying is, he’s almost as hot as me?”

Jack rolled his eyes and snorted, taking a sip of his water before saying, “Yeah, but does he know how to navigate a conversation without mentioning his abs every five minutes and grabbing his crotch?”

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