Page 3 of Something Like Love

The ER is eerily quiet when I walk in for my shift. Passing the nurse’s station, I wave and say hello, then I head into the locker room.

“Dr. Wallace,” Dr. Murphy says, putting his stethoscope in the pocket of his white jacket. He’s older than me, and even though he’s new here, he’s biding his time until someone higher up the chain leaves. He’s power-hungry, and the two of us don’t get along that well.

“Dr. Murphy.” I turn my back to him, fiddling with the lock on my locker until it opens.

“I saw your boy’s win on Sunday. Quite a game, but it must be different watching it live.” I look over my shoulder to find him staring at himself in the mirror, fixing invisible strands of hair that have gone awry. “How do you get all his home games off?”

I roll my eyes because my head is buried in my locker, and he can’t see me. This isn’t the first time he’s asked me about Cooper. It’s well known that Cooper is my best friend, but usually people ask me for tickets, and that’s not what he’s implying.

“As soon as the schedule’s out, I ask for the days off.” I toe out of my gym shoes and put on the clogs I only wear in the hospital, then I take out my white coat.

“So organized. So on top of everything. Doesn’t hurt that Daddy is the head of the department, right?”

I turn around and slam my locker shut. “Just say it, Clay.”

He finally stops admiring himself in the mirror and faces me. “You get special treatment, and you know it.”

He has no idea how many times I was reprimanded in front of the other residents about the decisions I made. I got it harder, not easier, because of who my dad is. Other residents would be told “excellent job,” and I’d be told I didn’t go far enough into the diagnosis.

“If you think my dad gives me special treatment, you’re mistaken. You haven’t been here long enough to know.”

The latter part is the truth. Dr. Murphy only joined the team last year when he came to us from another hospital. The only thing he knows is that my dad heads the emergency department.

“I get the same number of days off as everyone else, and I trade shifts all the time. Hell, I’m here way more than you.” I head toward the door, not in the mood to work an entire shift with him.

“Man, you’re easy to rile up,” he murmurs under his breath.

I stop right before opening the door and take a deep breath to stop myself from turning around and stomping back over to him. There are few people I hate in this world, but Clay Murphy is right up there at the top of my list.

I open the door, and my friend and fellow doctor, Alice, stands on the other side. “Whoa, I was just about to come get you.” She must see Dr. Murphy behind me because her smile drops, and she turns away from the door. “Oh, I see.”

“Something must’ve happened because he’s back on the whole ‘daddy’s girl’ thing again,” I say under my breath as we head down the hall.

“Why does he care? I think he might like you.”

I stop and stare at my friend. We became residents the same year and formed an instant friendship. At least if I have to work with Dr. Murphy today, I get to work with Alice too.

We both laugh. “We’re not in the fourth grade anymore, Al. The boys shouldn’t flirt by being mean.”

“He seems like the type though, no?”

He walks by us, his cologne wafting behind him as if we were crop-dusted.

“That cologne is just god-awful.” I cough into my elbow.

“Really? I kind of like it.” She stares at his backside, and I stop at the intake desk, watching her for a moment.

“Oh my god, you like him,” I whisper-shout.

How could she?

Okay, so Dr. Murphy is attractive. He has a runner’s body, but the muscles in his biceps suggest he lifts weights too. His hair is always styled to perfection, and his skin has this glow to it. And… his smile is nice, although it’s never pointed in my direction. I’ll admit, I can see why my friend is attracted to him. Most female patients go gaga for him when they come in. A lot of the men too.

“No,” she says in a way that I know means she’s lying. It’s the same way she denies she ate the last of the candy in our communal drawer.

“I can see it, liar.”

“Funny,” she says under her breath, sitting down and waiting for the physician’s handover.

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