Page 6 of Can't Help Growling in Love
A car honks somewhere behind me, and I swerve, nearly swiping a trash can.
What am I doing?
I right my bike, my heart thundering, and pedal faster, putting as much distance between the radio station and myself as I can. Did I really make a casual drive-by to—what? Stalk the poor man who just wants to be left alone?
Face burning with shame, I make it to the hospital’s employee parking lot and shove my bike in the bike shed. I wave at Tommy, the night guard, and hustle for the locker room to change into my scrubs.
I don’t mean to check my notifications, but when I go to put my phone in my locker, Asher’s message lights up the screen. I tap it quickly, peering over my shoulder to make sure I’m alone.
Nice to meet you, June Johansson. I haven’t readDraculasince the Revelation either. Always thought it was ridiculous—where did humans get the idea that vampires turn into bats anyway? And thanks. For not being a dick about my privacy.
My belly flutters with butterflies for about four seconds before another wave of shame and guilt washes away all the cutesy feelings his message brought up.
Damn it, I almost stalkedthe man. And he doesn’t even know it.
A glance at the clock tells me I’m already a minute late for the staff meeting. But it always starts five past. I haven’t missed the beginning since that day four months ago. My bike’s tire blew out and I had to power walk all the way from home because I’d just bought a new washing machine to replace the old one thatbroke and I couldn’t afford to spend money on gas, not even to make it to work on time.
I hunch over my phone and type.
Hi! Just starting my shift. I don’t like bats, so I’m glad my friend doesn’t shift into one, yeah.
I send the short message, then stare at my screen, gathering the courage to?—
“June, is that you? What are you doing? Doc’s waiting, let’s go!” Peter sticks his head through the door of the women’s locker room, his hand covering his eyes in a dramatic attempt at giving me privacy. “Seriously, we have four wagons coming in. An accident at the saw mill. They’re prepping the OR.”
I curse and drop my phone in my backpack, slam the locker door shut, and sprint after him.
We fall in line, waiting for the first of the ambulances to arrive, and I exhale a deep breath, pushing all thoughts of Asher and my money pit of a house aside. Tia catches my eye and lifts a dark eyebrow as if to ask where I was, but I don’t have time for an explanation. The faint peal of the sirens pierces the night, and my body washes with adrenaline. Then the flashing lights appear from around the corner, and it’s on.
Seven hours later, I stagger from the locker room’s shower, wrapped in a towel, my stomach growling. Peter shoved a protein bar at me about two hours ago, bless him, but I haven’t had time to eat a proper meal. I groan as I put on a fresh set of scrubs. My shift’s not over yet, even though I’m exhausted.
My colleagues are just as wrecked as I am, so I don’t complain. I pass Tia, who’s sitting on a bench, drinking a canof synthetic AB-positive, her favorite blood type. Her eyes are closed, but she pats my back when I collapse next to her.
“Rough one today.” She stands and tosses the can in the recycling bin. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I dress myself, wishing I could crash on one of the bunk beds for twenty minutes, but I can’t. “Could have been worse, though. I’m glad the guy made it.”
We’d had to resuscitate a forty-eight-year-old human mill worker who’d lost a hand and alotof blood while his wife and three teenage daughters cried outside the OR, their sobs piercing through the door. Dr. Mishra sewed up the stump, and we gave him several bags of blood, then pumped him full of antibiotics to fight any infection that might set in.
“I checked on him ten minutes ago,” Tia tells me. “His blood smelled fine. I’m pretty sure he’ll make it.”
I manage a tired smile. “That’s good.”
For some reason, my eyes well with tears. If we couldn’t save him, those girls would have been left without a father. I’m usually better at keeping my shit together, but today just hit me hard.
Tia senses I’m crumbling, so she squeezes me in a tight hug, and I cling to her, my breathing choppy. But I pull myself back from the brink and grit my teeth against the thought that if anything happened to me, I would have no one crying for me in the hallway. Well, my parents might eventually make it to Harmony Glen if things were really dire, but they’re not the sobbing type.
“We should go out,” Tia says. “You, me, maybe Natalie, remember I mentioned her to you? She’s a gorgon and makes handcrafted jewelry as a side hustle. Pretty cool stuff.”
“Yeah,” I croak. “That sounds nice. Let’s find a day that would work with our schedule.”
I don’t know where I’ll find the time and the money for a girls’ night out, but I need one, desperately. I need a day of not worrying over expenses or house repairs or saving someone’s life.
In a lull between patients and rounds, I take a break and return to my locker to find another message from Asher waiting for me.
What’s it like, working at the ER?
I let out a bark of laughter, surprising Barbara, the cleaning lady emptying the trashcan. I give her an apologetic smile, then refocus my attention on the phone.
