Page 3 of No Greater Love
"For you? Always." I gathered my keys and badge. "Mrs. Swanson will make sure you don't miss the bus." I dropped a kiss on the top of Paige's head. "Homework's in the green folder."
"I know, Dad." Another eye roll, but she hugged me quickly. "Don't get puked on today."
"I'll do my best." I nodded to Mrs. Swanson. "Thank you, as always."
"Go save lives," she replied with a warm smile. "We'll be just fine."
As I backed out of the driveway, I could see them through the kitchen window—Paige animatedly talking, Mrs. Swanson listening intently. The familiar comfort of knowing Paige was in safe hands settled over me.
My hand had stopped trembling completely by the time I pulled into the hospital parking lot at 0638. The nightmares might still come, but the daylight hours were firmly under control.
This was the life I'd built for us—predictable, safe, carefully structured. No room for variables, no space for surprises.
No room for failure.
I parked in my usual spot, Section C, Row 4, third space from the end. Exactly eleven minutes from doorway to time clock if I maintained my standard pace.
My phone buzzed as I gathered my bag. A text from Meghan, my backup sitter for Thursday.
Hey Mr. C, so sorry but I can't make Thursday morning anymore. Got asked to cover a study group. Can still do pickup tho!
I stared at the screen, the carefully constructed scaffolding of my week already beginning to wobble. On Thursday, Mrs. Swanson had her garden club meeting. I'd need to find someone to make sure Paige got to school, and quickly, or else find someone to cover the first part of my shift in the ER.
The tremor in my hand returned, faint but unmistakable.
One problem at a time. I'd handle this. I always did.
I tucked the phone away and headed inside, my pace exactly as practiced, counting steps until the familiar rhythm steadied my hands once more.
The ER was already humming with morning activity. I clocked in at 0646—a minute later than my usual, but still within acceptable parameters. The night shift looked tired but relieved to see the day crew arriving.
"Morning, Nate," called Kirsten from behind the charge nurses' station, already deep in her handoff notes. "We've got a full house. Five admits waiting for beds upstairs, one discharge teaching in progress, and a lovely gentleman in Room 4 who's been asking for 'someone competent' every ten minutes since 0500."
"Charming," I said, pulling up the patient list on my tablet. "What's his story?"
"Post-op hip replacement complications, probably discharged too early, now waiting for a bed. Thinks nurses are his personal concierge service." Kirsten's expression was carefully neutral, but I caught the edge in her voice. "He's... particular about his care preferences."
I nodded, scanning over the digital greaseboard detailing patients and their chief complaints. Mrs. Brooks in Room 2 with chest pain, ruled out STEMI, now waiting for serial troponins. Mr. Rodriguez in Room 6 with diabetic ketoacidosis, stable but grumpy about the insulin drip. The usual morning mix of emergencies and frustrations.
"Where do you want me?" I asked.
"Triage," Kirsten said immediately. "University Hospital went on divert twice yesterday, and I can’t imagine they’ll skip it today. We need someone who can keep the waiting room from becoming a riot. Tasha is handling Fast Track, but she's..." Kirsten paused, glancing toward where I could see Tasha moving efficiently between patients. "She's in one of her moods today."
I followed her gaze and immediately understood what Maria meant. Tasha's professional mask was firmly in place, but there was something sharper in her movements, a defensive edge I'd learned to recognize. Someone had gotten under her skin.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Mr. McAllister in Room 4 happened. The one I mentioned." Kirsten's voice dropped to a whisper. "And Tasha... well, you know how she gets when people are assholes."
As if to emphasize this, the call bell chimed from Room 4. Kirsten responded immediately.
"How can I help you?"
"I need a nurse to come hold me," came Mr. McAllister's voice through the intercom. "I can't use the urinal by myself."
I saw Tasha's head snap up from her charting, her expression darkening. Kirsten looked uncertain, glancing between the room and the nurses' station.
"Perfect," I said, already moving toward Room 4. "I got it."
