Page 11 of Forbidden Romeo

Chapter Three

Aimee

“Dr. Maguire, we have a nine-two-two trauma call coming in. How fast can you get there?”

I look up at my attending from where I’m sitting, finishing up a chart for a young man with a back injury. She looks back with an expectant stare. Dr. Lous is a firm woman who I discovered quite quickly has a distaste for pagers.

“Two minutes,” I reply distractedly, scribbling faster.

“Take one,” Dr. Lous says as she walks on from the room without so much as a goodbye.

I curse under my breath, handing the chart over to the nurse to finish.

“Kyle, you’re with me,” I say to my intern as I leave the room and head over to our station. It didn’t take long to learn the layout of the hospital, and it helped that I’d examined the floor plan on more than one occasion before we even left LA. It never hurts to know how to get out fast.

A moment later, I hear the telltale scurrying of feet behind me. “I haven’t done a nine-two-two before.”

“You ever done a nine-one-one?”

“Yes, but—”

“It’s the same thing, just less people in the room,” I say firmly.

Kyle, at least, seems reassured by that. Out of all the interns, he’s been the most consistent with trauma calls—and right now, I need every pair of hands I can get. The four years I interned in LA were some of the hardest days of my life. But the sheer volume of calls in this place is overwhelming. I only took two weeks off to move here, but I can probably count the times I was at the gym on one finger. God knows I’m paying for that now.

When we enter the room, the nurse is already there setting up. I’ve seen her enough times this week to recognize her behind her mask—which reminds me to pull mine on too.

“Any word?” I say in greeting.

“Bullet graze to the shoulder. ETA is about two minutes,” the nurse replies, not stopping her preparations.

Kyle pulls on his mask with a frown. “Is a bullet graze a nine-two-two?”

“No,” I reply. “Dr. Lous must have misheard.”

The nurse snorts. “Lous needs to get over her whole pager thing.”

I smile at that. “Could I get your pager then?”

“Sure,” she says, reeling off her pager number for me to memorize. “You’re the new resident, right?”

“Aimee Maguire,” I reply automatically. “And yes, I’ve seen you around.”

“My name is Aisha. Anesthetist.”

I nod my head, “That’ll be easy to remember, at least.”

Her eyes crinkle above her mask. “You have good taste in interns.”

We both turn to examine Kyle, who just stands awkwardly in the corner of the room. He’s an impressively tall guy with a flop of curly, dark hair that doesn’t look like it’ll start receding any time soon.

“Thanks,” I reply. “My sister is looking for a boyfriend. If he survives the trauma calls, maybe he’ll survive her.”

Aisha makes a thoughtful sound. “Maybe. But I heard he had a thing going with a couple of the girls in pediatrics.”

“A couple? Jesus, Kyle,” I say, more to Aisha than the man in question.

Kyle splutters, “I’m right here!”

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