Page 106 of His Last Shot
The subtle way she references one of my greatest loves resonates deeply. “So, you guys scratched on the relationship?”
She nods, finishing the stitch. “Something like that.”
“But the beauty of pool is that you can always re-rack the balls and try the shot again. It doesn’t have to be your last.”
“I would love to play the game again someday.”
“I bet he would, too.”
The uncomfortableness returns, but it seems like it unlocks something inside of her. She drinks in a tight breath as the mood shifts. “I saw in your chart that you’re single. Is that still accurate?” She swallows. “Is there anyone at home to help you with the after-wound care?”
I smile at her subtle probing.
Call me crazy, but I love this little dance we are doing right now. It’s a little playful yet also hurts, all tied up in a neat bow. Funny how I wanted to get out of here only twenty minutes ago, but now, this ER is the only place I want to be.
I smile and answer her. “I live alone.”
“So, no girlfriend to assist?” she continues her investigation while pausing mid-stitch.
My heart rate increases. “No. No girlfriend.” Not since Rachel. Never if I can help it.
Her cheeks pink as she grins while keeping her head low, sewing my skin back together, clearly happy with my answer.
“Well, find someone to help and keep the wound clean and dry so it can heal properly.”
“My cousin’s wife Laura can help,” I say, playing the part. “She’s a nurse, too.” But God, how I want it to be Rachel.
“Good.”
With time running out and only a few more stitches to go, I need more information about her. So I probe. “How about you?”
“How about me what?” The thread glides through my flesh.
“I can’t look in your chart. Are you single?”
She smiles. “Now, Mr. Givens, watch yourself. That’s inappropriate for you to ask, and besides, I don’t date patients.” With an evil smirk, she glances up. “Yes,” she mouths while shaking her head, trying to stifle her laugh.
Thank the good Lord above.
She’s reached the end of thirteen stitches, knotting the thread, which means our time is almost over. Who knew cutting my hand would lead to the best thirty minutes of my whole life in the past three years? This whole encounter has me swaying and feeling unsteady.
She cleans and wraps my hand with such tenderness and ease while spouting off the instructions on what she just did, so I can wrap it at home.
I heard none of it. All I watched was her lips moving.
Lips I haven’t kissed in three and a half years. But seeing her in her element, it’s as if she has been a nurse for decades. This is what she was meant to do. Meant to be.
She’s a star. My north star.
I soak in her every move as she tidies up her metal cart, tossing bloody gauze into the trash. She turns and weeds through some papers resting on the sink, clicking her pen and writing some notes.
“Alright, Mr. Givens, you are all done.” She hands me a bundle of stapled papers. “Here is your after-visit summary that has all of your wound care instructions.”
“Is your phone number on it?”
She snorts out a laugh. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“I’ll never give up.”
