Page 56 of Razor's Edge
“I’ll take him back. He’s probably hungry. Thank you, Riley, for looking out for him,” the big man says before gently taking the fussing baby from my arms.
When his back is to me, I sigh and slump in my chair. “Not everyone is going to hurt you, cray. Stop being so jumpy.”
“You know, talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity.” He whispers in my ear as Flyboy’s warm scent surrounds me.
“Well, if it isn’t Doctor Casanova. We both know I’m a little crazy,” I sass with a shrug.
“No, my dear Riley, crazy you are not. I sure am crazy for you, though.” He chuckles.
“You’re an asshole,” I say, standing and heading for the door. It’s time to get home and get ready for my shift at the hospital.
“Where are you going, my dear?” Flyboy asks, grasping my fingers and turning me into his chest.
“Well, seeing as I have to work in a few hours, I was headed home to get ready. Now, if you will kindly let me go, I’ll be on my way,” I tell him.
“Wait, I thought you asked off for tonight?” His look of confusion is almost too cute for such a badass man.
“We both know my lovely boss would never allow us to be off simultaneously,” I say sweetly, batting my eyelashes at him.
“This is bullshit. Someone needs to put her in her place,” Flyboy growls.
“Until that day, I have a shift to get ready for, and you have a party to attend.” I pat him on the chest before turning and rushing out of the club.
I make it to the hospital and groan when I walk through the door, and none other than Dr. Madison and her blonde twin and head nurse, Nadya, stand at the desk.
“Good evening.” I smile, walking to the locker room to put my things away.
Once at the nurse’s station, my best friend and fellow nurse is standing there, iced coffee in hand. “You could have warned me the bimbo Barbie twins work tonight,” I say, hip bumping her.
“I would have, but neither one’ll stop glaring long enough for me to take my phone out. Tell me, how was the wedding?”
“For a biker wedding, it was absolutely gorgeous. Hell, who am I kidding? It was absolutely gorgeous for any kind of wedding,” I tell her as the tones drop, letting us know we have an ambulance enroute and it’s bad.
The doors slide open, and the paramedics come through, pushing a bed and shouting out stats. I rush over to help. I’m shocked by the amount of damage. The man on the bed has been in a terrible accident.
“What kind of accident was he in?” I ask.
“Motorcycle. A teenager was texting and driving and didn’t see him,” the older paramedic says.
One of my biggest fears working in an ER is that someone I care about will come through the doors on a stretcher, clinging to life. I finally make it to the head of the patient, and I can’t breathe.
My worst nightmare has come true.
I only left him smiling and laughing a few hours ago, and now he’s in front of me, coated in blood, coding. I come crashing back to the present when the frantic words of the paramedic register.
“I need a crash cart. We’re losing him.”
“You asshole will not fucking die on me. Do you hear me, Flyboy? You will not fucking die,” I growl as they restart his heart and wheel him into surgery.
