Page 7 of Deal with the Devil

Apart from my own mother, Wrenlee, and Candace, no woman had sparked that protective instinct in me. But once sparked, it’s not easily extinguished.

The sunshine girl hadn’t just sparked that instinct, she’d fucking doused gasoline over the wick before tossing a flame. Letting her drive away from me without even knowing her name had carved a chunk out of my self-control. Not hiring a P.I. to investigate the license plate number that burned in my mind tofind her identity and if she was okay, had been chipping at the remainder of my self-control all week.

The only thing that kept me from acting was the fact I’d be no better than a stalker if I did. What the fuck was wrong with me that I even memorized her plate in the first place? That shit wasn’t something the average man did. But I did that crap all the time. Took in the little details, noted them, committed them to memory. Tried to burn those memories to cinders with sex and booze and the melody of something dark and rough and intoxicating. Tried to obliterate the very serious, sometimes scares-the-shit-out-of-me monster that lurks beneath my flesh with the face of a player, the tone of a joker, the one-night, good-time guy.

But that’s not me. Not really.

Sometimes, I fucking hate my mind.

The curtain to my left shifts and I catch sight of Candace. Her mass of tight curls is twisted into a bun that’s seen better moments as she scuttles across the floor in her squeaky white runners, making grabby hands absent of the black polish she’d once been known for. Now, the only time I see that polish is when she’s in the crowd at a show, dolled up to look like Ian’s rocker princess.

Here in the ER, you wouldn’t recognize her.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme.” I lean in to kiss hercheek before I hand her the coffee. She sighs in pleasure as she throws back a long sip. “It’s been. A. Day.”

“Yeah?”

Bobbing her head exaggeratedly, she gives me ‘you have no clue’ eyes. But I really don’t have a clue, so I give her a chin dip to agree. “When’s the shift up?”

I know when her shift should be finished, but she’s always doubling up when Ian’s out of town. I figure there’s a good possibility she’s done that today.

“The usual. Three.” Her eyes shift to the side as a doctor enters through a curtain. When her face falls, I frown as she gestures to the curtain where the doc disappeared. “I want to see that patient through, though. So, I might stay late. Even if just to make sure she’s okay.”

It’s not my place to ask about the patients in this ER, but there’s something about the way Candace is looking at the curtain that has my gut clenching uncomfortably. For some reason, I want to know who is behind that curtain and how they put that look in Candace’s eyes.

It’s not that Candace isn’t a softie, because despite the shell she paints in shellac over every inch of her exterior to keep from feelingtoo much, most of it still seeps in to infect the ooey-gooey center. Though we all pretend she’s a cool cucumber, untouchable by most everything. Tough as rock. Hard as granite.

“Yeah?” I try not to sound too interested, leaningan elbow into the counter as I lean over it to give the charge nurse a wink.They all love me, here.I’m careful to flirt with all the ladies equally, and even some of the men I know swing that way. I might not swing that way, but if I’ve learned anything, those men can be a hoot if you’re in for a good time. And I’m always up for a good time—at least, that’s what I want the world to see.

Old habits die hard.

When Miranda gives me her eyes, blushing cherry red under my stare, I ask, “Tell me I’m not breaking my best friend’s heart when I tell him Candy, here, is crushing on some dude in the ER.”

Candace hits me in the arm. “Jerk.”

I waggle my brows at Miranda, and even though she’s worn her wedding rings for the last thirty years, she gives me a cheeky grin of her own. But when she leans in, there’s nothing cheeky or even fun-filled about her words. “Really is a girl behind those curtains, like Candy said.”

“Honestly, guys,” Candace whines. “I don’t understand this Candy, thing. I don’t even eat candy.”

We ignore her as Miranda gestures to the two officers standing on the other side of the curtain. “They’re here for her.”

My face changes, brows falling as my protective instincts kick in and I straighten. “She a criminal?”

“Not from what I can tell. She’s the victim of aviolent break and enter last night.” Miranda leans over the desk. “She won’t talk. But that’s not unusual for victims of assault.” Sadness crosses through her eyes. “Candy’s got a soft spot for victims like this, after what happened to your friend.”

A flash of scraped fingertips, cold dirt, and death-gray skin flash in my mind. Before I can restrain it, I flinch.

Candace touches my arm. “We’re all scarred by that day.”

I shake my head, more to shake out the vision than anything else.

“Your girl now—she won’t talk to the police?”

“Won’t talk to anyone. Just says she’s here to get stitched up.” Miranda sits as the doc moves on the other side of the curtain, his shoes coming into view. She has the sense to look a little bashful as she whispers, “We shouldn’t be discussing the patient, though.”

I flash her another flirty grin, because it’s not the first time I’ve overheard conversations about patients between the ER staff. It’s also not the first time I’ve actively been a part of these conversations, being a frequent visitor, and all. The docs and nurses alike enjoy when I pop by. They enjoy it more when I do something like order in pizza for everyone, because Candy is family, and I enjoy treating my family.

Still, I can’t help myself as I look over my shoulderat the curtain where the girl who has pulled Candace’s heart strings lays in a hospital bed. The doc is about to leave the room, I can tell by the way he’s talking to her. I don’t know why, but I can’t look away as I wait for him to exit—for a glimpse into the room—of the girl behind the curtain.

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