Page 13 of Under Southern Stars
I pull out my phone to call in the report, and despite myself, I’m hoping Sophia’s working the desk today. Her voice over the radio is one thing, but an actual phone conversation…
I dial Metro General’s direct line, pulse quickening slightly as I wait for someone to pick up.
Thompson moans. “They think I’m drug seeking. They always think…”
“Not today, mate,” I assure him while the phone rings. “Today you’ve got something real, and they’ll see that.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
SOPHIA
The phone rings at the charge desk; EMS calling report again. I grab it, already juggling three other things.
“Emergency department.”
“Kia ora, Sophia.” Once again, that honey-warm Kiwi accent flows over the line. “Got a transport for you.”
My brain stutters for half a second. Jack. Of course it’s Jack.
“Go ahead with report,” I manage, keeping my voice professional.
“Thirty-four-year-old male, chronic pain patient, presenting with acute right lower quadrant pain, fever of 101.2, positive rebound tenderness. Vitals stable, IV established. Patient’s convinced you’ll think he’s drug seeking.”
“Roger that.” I’m updating the computer, but his accent is doing things to my concentration. “ETA?”
“About ten minutes out.”
“Copy that. And you can call back anytime with that accent.”
The words are out before I can stop them. My hand flies to my mouth. Did I just—?Oh my God.
Silence stretches across the line. My face burns. I’m the charge nurse. I don’t flirt with paramedics. I especially don’t accidentally proposition them over recorded hospital lines.
“I mean—to give report. You can call to give report. About patients. That’s what I—”
“Sophia.” The way he says my name stops my babbling. I can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll hold you to that.”
The line goes dead. I stand there, clutching the phone, wondering if anyone else heard that trainwreck.
Manny, one of our techs, walks by with a knowing smirk. “Smooth, boss. Real smooth.”
Great. Just fantastic.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JACK
Metro General’s afternoon shift is in full swing when we arrive. I spot Sophia immediately—she’s at the nurses’ station, managing three conversations at once while typing. That dark hair’s escaping its tie again, wisps framing her face.
She hasn’t looked up yet, probably still mortified from our phone call earlier. I can’t help but smile remembering her flustered backtracking: “I mean—to give report. You can call to give report. About patients.”
An idea strikes. Probably stupid. Definitely risky. But Rodriguez’s words echo: “Haven’t asked anything to be shut down from.”
“Room twelve,” Priya directs us. “Dr. Chen’s waiting.”
We transfer Thompson, and I give report to Melissa Chen. She agrees—looks surgical. Thompson nearly cries with relief when she says she’ll order a CT.
“See?” I tell him. “Sometimes the pain is real.”
