Page 26 of My eX-MAS Emergency

Worse than spiders? I knew it wasn’t trauma, like a heart attack or a car accident. They would have paged me to the trauma room immediately. I braced myself, waiting for her to say something or other was stuck up an intimate orifice. Or maybe it was a Viagra patient. Oh man, draining blood from … well … never mind … was never a treat. Or … “Is it a worm in the eye?” Those always freaked me out.

“It’s your ex,” she blurted, squinting her eyes.

I felt all the blood drain from my face while my heart pounded erratically. “What do you mean, my ex?” I stuttered.

“You know, Tristan Granger,” she whispered. “Everyone knows you used to date him back in the day and that it didn’t turn out well.”

Of course she knew. “What’s wrong with him?” I prayed it was something we needed to call in a consultation for. Anything so I didn’t have to be the one to treat him.

“Um … well … he needs stitches,” she said apologetically. “Lower lat laceration about seven and a half centimeters long and one and a half deep. Just below his tattoo.”

Well, crap. “Are you sure?” I only asked out of sheer terror. Of course she would be certain, but I was grasping at straws. Also, tattoo? When did he get a tattoo? I bet his parents were livid about it. To them, only lower-class miscreants got tattoos. If they weren’t so expensive, I probably would have gotten one back in the day, just to upset them. I had to admit I was curious to see what he’d inked on his back. Yet, I could live with the suspense for the rest of my life if it meant not having to walk into that room and treat him.

She rubbed my arm. “Yeah. Sorry. But the good news is he’s in a gown, and I got a peek at what’s under there and ooh la la.” She giggled. “Sorry, that was totally unprofessional. I don’t objectify our patients,” she swore.

I smiled. “I’m not worried in the least.” Besides, she wasn’t wrong. I was sure it was like a winter wonderland under that gown. The only thing she was wrong about was it being good news. This was the worst news ever. I didn’t need to see Tristan half-naked again. How in the heck did he even cut his back?

She patted my arm. “Good luck. He’s in exam room one.”

Oh, joy. I stood frozen for a moment, feeling as if someone had cemented my feet to the floor. How could this be happening? Quinn didn’t have anything to do with this, did she? She wouldn’t cut her uncle just so I would look at him. Right? I mean, not even I would go that far to enact a plan.

Lucy said it was his back, so I could keep my solemn oath not to look him in the eye. Yes, yes. I would keep my head down and speak minimally. Surely that wouldn’t count as breaking my oath. I had no choice here. I could get the hospital and Deidra—not to mention myself—in serious trouble if I refused care.

Ugh. This was not how I saw the Christmas season beginning for me.

I steeled myself before tiptoeing over to exam room one. It felt like everyone was staring at me. Did they all know who was in there?

The Darth Vader death march sounded in my head as I made my way. When I came to the door, I stood there staring blankly at it, praying this was all just a bad dream and I would wake up soon. No luck. I had to see this nightmare through.

I swallowed down my racing heart and knocked on the door. “Can I enter?” I eked out.

“Yes,” he chuckled, like he darn well knew it was the last place I wanted to be.

Before I opened the door, I visually pictured where the exam table was and where I should keep my focus so as not to look at him. Slowly, I inched the door open, feeling like cardiac arrest was a certainty.

Like the moron I was, I kept my head down when I walked in and went straight to the sink to wash my hands without saying a word. How could I speak to him after all these years, when his last words to me still pierced my very being? Save Quinn, I’d loved no one more than Tristan, and he so easily tossed me to the side. Even after I’d told him how sorry I was for the getting arrested thing. But I thought he’d wanted to take the fall to protect me. I could still never figure that one out. Especially since he broke up with me in the most hurtful manner possible. At first, I’d thought he was lying, but I saw the disdain in his eyes. He hated me.

I turned on the water and pumped too much soap into my hands. Anything to keep me distracted. I scrubbed my hands like I was heading into surgery without gloves. Which I would never do, of course, but no germ survived after I was done.

When I reached for the paper towel, Tristan spoke.

“Calista,” he croaked.

I stilled, my hands dripping wet over the sink.

“I know I’m the last person you want to see.” He had that right. “But maybe we can call a truce.”

I ripped the paper towel out of the dispenser. “A truce would indicate we were at war or had some sort of disagreement. Neither apply.” When he broke up with me, he left no room for discussion. All I got to say was I would never look at him again. He didn’t protest. In fact, he made it easy and walked away. There was no fighting, no war. Just deep heartache.

He blew out a large amount of air but didn’t disagree with me.

I turned, doing my best not to look at him, but I noted he was sitting on the end of the examination table with his long legs dangling over the edge. “Let’s just get this over with. Shall we?”

“Yeah, sure. Of course.” He sounded nervous.

I carefully approached him, not even bothering to pull up his records. This needed to be over with as quickly as possible. Especially considering I was going to have to remove his gown and see him in nothing but jeans and boots. There was something about a man in only jeans and boots that did me in. Not just any man, but him. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

“I’m going to have to remove your gown,” I spoke into my chest.

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