Page 134 of Wicked Proposal
Then he stalks off.
The residents glance nervously at each other, unsure of what to do. They’re fresh out of med school—probably started today, judging by the lost expression on their faces—but God forbid Adams actually do his job andteachthem.
I take a deep breath and take charge. “C’mon,” I tell them, grabbing the gurney on one side. “Help me roll him inside. I’ll show you how to prep him.”
I go as quickly as I can, giving instructions to the young team of doctors, letting them handle the minor stuff and showing them everything else, including how to plug a rebar hole with their fingers to staunch the blood flow. It’s not the most effective lesson—we’re up against a ticking clock, after all—but by thetime we’re heading to the OR, they seem to have regained their composure and remembered their training.
“Thanks,” one of them—a young woman with glasses—exhales as we roll the gurney through the white hallway. Her white coat readsDr. Park.“Dr. Adams can be a bit…”
“Pain in the ass?” The two guys suppress a snort at my comment. “It’s okay,” I continue. “I know. Best surgeon out there, though, much as it pains me to admit it. Make sure to learn all you can from him.”
“Are you a surgical resident, too?” one of the others—a Dr. Shaan—asks with bright eyes.
“Nope.” I grin. “Nurse practitioner.”
“OR nurse?” the last young doctor asks, with a thick Scottish accent and hope in his eyes. “We could use you in there. Keep Adams in line and the patient breathing.”
“Sorry.” I shrug. “The ER owns my soul. But feel free to shout for me if you ever need help with anything. God knows it’s hard to find your feet in here.”
After I’ve dropped the surgeon puppies back on Adams’s doorstep with the patient, I grab a fresh set of scrubs and head back to the ER.
“Crisis over?” I ask Kallie, noticing much less shouting than before.
“Yeah,” she sighs. “At least until the next impalement. Ever feel like we’re in 1400s Romania?”
“Maybe that’s what the R in ER stands for.”
“And the E?”
“The E stands for Enough Chitchat,” Gwen’s steely voice cuts in, making us jump. “Nurse Kathri, help the patient in Bay D to the Maternity Ward. Nurse Winters, Bay C is all yours.”
“Yes, Gwen,” we answer in glum unison.
Kallie’s patient is already in a wheelchair. She wheels her into the elevator and disappears from Gwen’s all-seeing eyes.
“Hello!” I greet brightly, pulling back the curtain on Bay C. “What seems to be the?—?”
Problem.
The word gets stuck in my throat. Like a splinter, or a rusty piece of rebar.
Because there’s no way, right?
There’s no wayhe’shere.
“There you are, sweet thing.” Brad’s smile slices his face in half, sharp as the crescent moon. “I’ve been waiting forever.”
It’s been a month since that night.
A month since I’ve hide or hair of Yulian.
A month of my texts getting radio silence or the rare noncommittal answer about how the next event hasn’t been fixed yet, how he’ll let me know if he needs me again.
And a month since Brad saw us.
He looks perfectly healthy in his crisp, cream-colored suit. After all these years, it’s still all he seems to wear: shades of white, blinding enough to mask the darkness lurking beneath.
“Well?” he demands, crossing his legs impatiently. “Aren’t you going to examine me?”
