Page 16 of The Night Shift
Emily: I MADE IT TO FOOTBALL FINALS!!
Theo: A major accomplishment. Try not to get kicked in the face, yeah?
Emily: Don’t be a jerk. But thanks for the support... kind of
Theo:I'm just trying to keep you grounded.Remember,if you lose,it's not your fault.It's the referees’.
Emily: Very funny.
Theo: Always.
Emily: Are we still on for our call tomorrow? After school? Half-past three?
Theo: Absolutely.
Emily: Okay. Gonna go to bed now.
Theo: Hey, Em? I’m proud of you.
I see the grey typing dots flicker in and out for about ten seconds before a new message pops up.
Emily: I miss you.
I stare at the words for a second too long, then type out a response.
Theo: Miss you too. Go to bed. Talk tomorrow.
I don’t wait for a response. Instead, I slide my phone back inside my pocket and keep walking towards the doctor’s lounge, determined to ignore the heaviness in my chest out of existence. Which doesn’t take very long. Because fifteen seconds later, I reach the entrance of the lounge and just I’m about to stepinside, my feet come to a standstill. Because there she is. My peace and solace. Sitting on a couch with her back towards me.
Holly Moore.
Her short blonde waves frame the graceful curve of her neck. She has a pink, fuzzy blanket wrapped over her thighs, its edges barely grazing the floor. She lifts her hand. Takes a sip of her coffee, her slim, long fingers gripping the mug tighter than needed. A dark cloud hovers over her, I can sense it. Tension emanates from her tight shoulders.
The harsh light paints a warm glow on her pale blue scrubs. She moves. It’s a subtle shift of her head, a flicker of awareness in her posture, almost imperceptible, yet it sends a jolt through me like she just touched some live part of me. She gulps the remainder of her coffee and gets up to wrap the pink blanket over the armrest of the sofa, grabbing her bag and puts on her coat — a deep shade of purple. My favorite.
My knuckles rap against the door.
She spins around.
Our eyes lock and for a heartbeat, the world seems to tilt on its axis. “Dr. Moore,” I say, trying my best to sound like a normal human being. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
Holly frowns. A knot etched between her perfectly arched brows. “You weren’t expecting to see a doctor in the doctor’s lounge?”
I smile and enter the room. “How’d the surgery go? Word on the street is you lost a patient tonight?”
The words slip out before I can think twice. It’s a cheap shot — based on nothing, but my constant need to get a rise out of her. But it doesn’t take long for me to realize I’ve hit a nerve. Holly stands still, her shoulders tightening ever so slightly, her jaw setting.
Shedidlose a patient.
A twisted sense of satisfaction washes over me.
“That bad huh?” I go on. “It’s all right, Hollister. Losing a patient isn’t that big of a deal. Every surgeon goes through it. Not me, obviously. But it’d be unfair to ask you to aim for an unattainable standard.”
I pour myself a cup of coffee and bring the mug to my lips, sipping the hot liquid with exaggerated deliberation, watching the way her jaw tightens in response to that nickname.
“Don’tcall me that,” she says. Her words are clipped and cold, and the disapproval in her voice makes my blood a little hot.
“A surgeon?”
