Page 1 of Safe With You

Chapter One

Lainey

Some days I want to burn this hospital to the ground.

Not when there are any patients inside, of course. Or staff. Or anything of medical significance. But today marks the start of my seventeenth shift in a row, and if the building itself was gone, my flawed logic tells me I’d be forced to take a day to rest.

The only person I can blame for the extreme schedule is myself. When my full-time job wasn’t enough, I picked up a second one as an on-call nurse at one of the smaller community hospitals. The back-to-back workdays means that I don’t have time to dwell on the past. The nightmares of what I left behind don’t come as often when my body is on the brink of exhaustion. It’s a tactic that’s been working for one year, eleven months, and some-odd days, so I don’t plan on slowing down any time soon.

That means I won’t torch it—at least not today. Instead, I force myself to push forward, taking the stairs of the squeaky linoleum stairway one tired step at a time, letting the echo of my sneakers bouncing off the walls count down the seconds until my shift begins.

As soon as I crack open the heavy wooden door that marks the entrance to my unit, the piercing sounds of IV pumps ringing and call lights dinging slap me awake. When I first moved to the city and started working at Grace General, the hospital décor screamed 1970s. Over the last few years, they’d done a thorough renovation of the entire building.

Cream-colored walls have replaced the intrinsic ginger tiles that once guided me down the vast hallway to the nurses’ station. Framed pictures of vibrant pears and seaside landscapes cover the blank spaces in between patient rooms. From what I’ve been told, the goal was to have the hospital feel less sterile and more like a hotel, which is why they have maroon chenille armchairs situated outside a few of the rooms.

Fabric doesn’t belong anywhere near sick people.

“Morning, love.” I tug at the thick red braid hanging over my best friend’s shoulder as I pass by the first set of patient rooms and enter the nurses' station. With sixteen beds, our unit is one of the smaller ones, usually used as an overflow when specialty units, such as cardiac or orthopedic, are full. On the good days, I get to work with my two best friends, and judging by the room assignment board Meg’s working on, today might be one of those days. Meg responds with a grumbled “hello” as she adds another room number under my name.

“Hope you’re ready to run today; Margaret called in.”

My shoulders slump as I shove my purse and lunch into the corner of the small alcove that hangs off the station. It used to be a supply closet, but after renovations took place, we confiscated it as a tiny break room since we rarely got off the unit for an actual break.

I comb my fingers through my hair, pulling it up into a ponytail, and tightening the ends before I respond, “What’s the plan for today?”

She edits a few more room changes to the whiteboard and then stands back to admire her work. “We’re all starting with an extra patient today. Saving two beds for outpatient surgicals that will arrive this afternoon for recovery, then discharge home. Hopefully, the house supervisor sends admits elsewhere so it isn’t a complete shit show at shift change.”

Unlikely, but I appreciate her positivity.

“Remember, potluck tomorrow for Dr. Bruno since this is his last week with us; bring those s’mores cookies or I might shank you. They mentioned a night shift doc is filling Dr. Bruno’s day slot once he leaves.”

I grab a Post-it and scribble down my patient assignments, sliding into an open computer chair next to her. “Do you know which one?”

Meg shrugs. “They said some crazy last name that I can’t remember; I haven’t heard of him.”

“Is he new?” I’ve been at this hospital for almost two years now, having moved to Chicago on a whim from small-town Minnesota. I’ve become familiar with staff on other units, and even pick up the occasional night shift if I’m in the mood to burn myself out. I thought I had a general idea of who worked here.

“I’ve never met him, never even heard anyone breathe his name. I’ve asked around, but he keeps to himself. He does his job and leaves right away—no small talk. He’s not interested in making friends, so I’m willing to bet he won’t show up to the potluck with his grandma’s famous pasta salad.”

“Oh, great,” I huff. “Just what we need, another self-absorbed doctor running around.”

Meg nods in agreement, eyes flicking up to the clock, watching the hands tick by. “Jenna might be late today.”

“She technically has thirty seconds before—” I’m interrupted by a clunk and clamor, followed by a slew of curses as a cell phone slides across the floor, landing at our feet.

“Never mind,” Meg mumbles. “Jenna’s arrived.”

Jenna barrels into the unit, her jacket hanging from one arm and dragging behind her legs as her free hand rifles through the tote tucked under her arm. She blows a kiss to us as she breezes into the alcove.

“Will someone grab that?” she calls over her shoulder as she continues digging in her bag. “Aha!” she shrieks, pulling out her stethoscope and raising it above her head, the movement causing a few pieces of garbage and her ChapStick to fall to the floor. “I’m glad you two are here, you’ll never guess what I’ve done!”

Meg picks Jenna’s phone off the floor, eyes glancing at mine, neither of us willing to answer because we’ve learned that with Jenna, it could be anything.

“We’re still on for girls’ night this Friday, right?” She grabs the ChapStick from the floor and shoves it into her pocket before scooping up her garbage and tossing it into the waste basket. She waits for our responses, taking that time to twist her mess of kinky blonde curls up behind her, securing it with a claw clip.

“Maybe …” Meg hesitates, waiting to hear what Jenna has planned. She still holds a grudge against poor Jenna. The last time she was allowed to plan girls’ night, she convinced us that we needed matching tattoos to symbolize our friendship. We told her she was crazy, but after a few drinks, she dragged us to some hole-in-the-wall tattoo parlor with the promise that we would get something cute and minimalist. Instead of the series of small, interlocking hearts we begrudgingly agreed upon, Jenna drunkenly pointed to the wrong image.

It wasn’t until the artist was wiping the excess ink off the tattoo on Meg’s hip that we realized the error. Meg was so pissed and refused to go through a second tattoo to get it covered up. She then forced both of us to get the same one. Now we all have a matching Celtic star on our right hip.

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