Page 103 of His Last Shot
Sorry, Doc.
But I nod at his instructions, anyway.
“Okay, great. I’ll send in our suture nurse, and we will get you patched up and out of here. Sound good?”
Still not good. With that, Doogie Howser opens the curtain, marches out into the busy ER, and slides it shut behind him.
I glance over at Scott, his ankle resting on his uncontrollably bobbing knee. “Go ahead. Get it off your chest.”
“I can’t believe you were that careless. Why weren’t you wearing your cut-proof gloves? Do you even know the paperwork you have caused me? And now, you are out of commission for two whole weeks, and to make matters worse, the job has to be pushed back … again.” He lets out a huff. “Don’t make me micromanage you.”
My chest rises and falls at his tongue lashing because he’s right. I rest my head against the scratchy pillow and close my eyes, crossing my feet at the ankles. “Feel better now?”
He pauses, then lets out a chuckle.
“You didn’t have to come, you know,” I say, eyes still closed.
“Who else is going to hold your hand while they stitch you up?”
We erupt into a fit of laughter, the sound mixing in with the ER commotion.
Ride or die. Always.
Just then, the curtain flicks open, and Doctor Teenager peeks in. “So, our suture nurse is out sick. I’m going to have to call down a surgical nurse to come in. So, it may be a little longer of a wait. Sound good?”
Oh, my God! Why does he keep asking me that???
Send in whoever. I don’t care. Just get me out of here so I can go home and sulk.
I give him a thumbs-up.
The curtain closes again with the sound of metal against metal doing little to calm my anxiety.
After an hour, I’m starting to get fidgety because, dear Lord, this is taking forever. This place is swarming with workers. Why is this taking so long? Someone came in about twenty minutes ago and gave me a shot to numb my hand. Now, Scott’s scrolling through his phone, as I sit and watch the small TV up on the wall. I don’t have the energy to reach for the remote, so I’m watching ESPN talk about how poorly Pittsburgh played the night before.
I don’t care.
The obnoxious curtain sound causes me to whip my head toward the room entrance, and my heart drops to my stomach. Because standing there with a metal cart full of medical stuff is quite possibly the most gorgeous nurse ever.
Rachel. Wide-eyed and mouth gaping open.
She takes a step back and glances around to the other rooms, probably checking to see if she has the right patient.
I hope she does. Please, God, say that she has the right room and no other lunatic was dumb enough to cut his hand and need stitches. Just be me. Please.
Scott catches my attention from my peripheral, and his head is pinging back and forth between the two of us.
She stands, blinking rapidly, sharing the same shock as me. Then, her expression softens, unlike the storm erupting in my stomach. My nerves are about to burst out the longer we stare, my chest heaving.
Because I haven’t seen Rachel since her graduation. Somehow, she has gotten even more beautiful. Her hair is up in a messy bun with minimal makeup. As for what she’s wearing?
Scrubs. Black ones.
Rachel in scrubs is next level.
I’m dead.
My mouth has gone completely dry.
