Um, thanks, but no thanks, playboy.
I like sidestepping the nickname skank. But most women around these parts are hard up for riders. They’d do almost anything to get with one and would most definitely kill to keep one with the prefix Doctor.
Dev doesn’t seem to be a one-woman kind of guy, though. He’s completely content with his steady stream of revolving women. Or so he tells me. Correction, brags to me. Not sure what he’s trying to accomplish there. Trying to make me jealous? Maybe? It’s not working. It just makes me urge him to get tested for STDs.
I resign to keep him in my fantasies where he’s solely mine and disease-free.
I stop at a red light at an intersection by the main highway. I use the word highway loosely. It’s really just a main route with four lanes.
The quiet serenity of the desolate street is suddenly interrupted when a loud, street bike pulls up behind me. I’m surprised it took this long for one to show. The nice weather usually has riders rolling out in droves. I stare through the rearview mirror as the guy adjusts his gloves then has the audacity to pull up right next to my driver’s side door. The street is barely wide enough for my truck, let alone this pompous ass who thinks he owns the road. I glare at him as he sits casually on his white bike. You don’t usually see many of those. He has a white helmet to match, with a blacked-out face shield. If you look closely enough, which I’m definitely not, you can make out translucent flames on the body of the bike and the headgear. I tap my finger impatiently against the steering wheel waiting for the light to change. This guy is just too close for comfort. I want to scream ‘Share the road!’ Friggin’ bikers think they own the place. I try to ignore him, but he revs the engine obnoxiously, forcing me to look in his direction. He’s staring right at me through his visor. I don’t shy away. Like hell am I going to let him intimidate me. I’ve scraped more roadkill off the cement than he’d care to know. I rev my engine back just for the hell of it before the car behind me lays on his horn. I look forward to see the light has turned green and a blur of white zoom out in front of me, making a left on to the highway. I roll my eyes and follow at a normal person’s speed.
I drive down the hilly road with the white motorcycle ten car lengths ahead. He weaves between lanes and even does a wheelie as he hits a straightaway. What a fuckin’ show-off.
At the next red light, we meet again. And again, he’s way too close for my liking. I can practically reach out and touch the leather of the backpack strapped to his shoulders. I try to keep my focus on the road, but he continually opens the engine as if trying to get my attention. I finally relent and look over at him. This time, his shield is up, and a pair of arresting blue eyes are staring back at me. My heart actually flutters. I swear those eyes have looked at me before. I don’t get much of a chance to inspect them further as the biker is suddenly slammed into from behind. He’s catapulted through the red light into cross traffic. It all happens wickedly fast, while at the same time in slow motion. The bike barrels into the driver’s side of a moving car, and the rider is flung from his seat, flying right over the hood of the sedan. I don’t see him hit the ground, but I do hear the screeching of tires and the blowing of horns. I instantly react, attempting to open my door, but it jams. The car that creamed him is flush against my driver’s side. I see the driver’s head bobbling all over. Drunken cocksucker sideswiped me. His jalopy doesn’t even look like it’s legal.
I rush out the passenger side and book it straight to the mangled man on the pavement.
“I’m a nurse! Call an ambulance!” I shout as I brush past two bystanders. “Out of my way!” I drop to my knees and check his vitals.
He has a faint pulse. “Sir, can you hear me?” I don’t shake him or move him in any way in case of a spinal injury. “Sir!” I yell again with no response. Then I feel warm liquid beneath my palm. Blood. Lots of it. I look him over, finding a small rip on the inside thigh of his dark jeans.
“Shit!” I tear them open to expose the wound. Fuck, he’s bleeding so much it looks like he nicked an artery.
“Does anyone have a belt, rope, cable tie, anything? I shout at the onlookers as I apply pressure to the wound. If I don’t compress it rapidly, I fear he’s going to bleed out.
“Here!” A woman unbuckles her belt. With clumsy fingers, she gets it off and hands it to me. I use the thin leather strap as a tourniquet while keeping pressure on the wound, an active attempt to slow the bleeding. “Hang on, moto.” I clench my jaw as I kneel above him for what feels like forever until the ambulance arrives. I shake off the flashback. The blood, the wreckage, the limp, lifeless body. I break out in a cold sweat but hold my position.
Luckily, we aren’t far from Mercy, so the response time is quick. Before I know it, lights and sirens surround us, cops are directing traffic, and the injured biker is getting lifted into the back of the bus.
“Scottie!” I yell to one of the officers on the scene. “Can you move my car? I’m going with! Keys are in the ignition!”
He gives me a salute and continues to take statements. Between my aunt being a well-respected detective in town and me working night shifts in the ER, I know almost every police officer in the area.
The doors close and the ambulance pulls off as the other two medics and I work on John Doe. We start a line and stabilize him. I worry about his blood pressure, which is dangerously low.
The ride back to Mercy takes mere minutes, and when the ambulance doors swing open in front of the ER, Dr. Hale, the attending physician, and two male nurses are awaiting our arrival. One of the medics recites John Doe’s stats, then hands him off.
“Back so soon, Kayla?” Dr. Hale asks as we wheel the unconscious patient down the hallway. She’s a well-kept, middle-aged woman, who quickly became a role model for me when I started at Mercy.
“You know me.” I smile at her. “I just can’t stay away.”
On the way to the exam room, I grab a fresh gown and a pair of gloves. No way am I not seeing this through.
Once in the room, we transfer the unconscious man from the gurney onto the bed and immediately X-ray him. He’s still fully dressed— helmet and all— minus the huge rip in his pants. We can’t remove the helmet until we know he has no spinal injuries.
Dr. Lipschitz enters the room as Dr. Hale examines the X-rays. Dr. Lipschitz is the trauma surgeon on duty and immediately begins to close the gaping wound in the man’s thigh. It takes several heart-pounding minutes to sew it shut, but he does so beautifully. He’s a brilliant doctor, but a grade-A, Ivy League asshole. We all keep our distance. Once he’s done, he drops the instruments and leaves the room without so much as a word.
Freddy and Lex—the two other nurses—and I all exchange the same communicative glance. Douchebag.
“Spine and CT is clear!” Dr. Hale suddenly announces. “But his leg is seriously messed up.” She places the films up on the screen.
Ouch. Both bones in his lower leg are broken and wrapped around each other.
“Get that helmet off, and let’s wrap this guy. Lex, twenty of morphine. Unconscious or not, this is going to hurt.”
Lex, Freddy, and I all take on our respective roles. Lex administers the ordered meds, Freddy cuts the man out of his clothes, and I remove his helmet. After which I nearly drop it.
“Dev?” I gasp.
“That’s not Dev.” Freddy looks at the man on the table, almost star-struck.
“Then who the hell is it?” Dr. Hale demands.
“It’s the phantom.”
“Who?” Dr. Hale and I both respond in unison.
“That’s Reese Dane. Dr. Dane’s twin brother. He’s a legend, on and off the track,” Freddy divulges.
“Track? What the hell are you talking about?” Dr. Hale asks, utterly confused.
“He’s a motorcycle racer. World famous, badass, Moto Grand Prix champion.”
“Why do you call him the phantom?” I ask.
Both Freddy and Lex look up at me and smirk. “Because you never see
him coming, baby.” Lex flashes an overconfident smile. “He sneaks up on you just like a ghost.”
I roll my eyes so hard they nearly get lost in my head. Just what the world needs, a second Dane with an even bigger ego.
“Contact Dr. Dane,” Dr. Hale instructs Lex. “I’m sure he’ll want to know his brother has been in an accident. As for you two, let’s get Mr. Dane patched up and into recovery.”
We all nod at the doctor’s orders.
It takes close to an hour to reposition the bones in Reese’s leg and then cast him. On top of his injured lower extremities, he also had a dislocated shoulder that we needed to be popped back into place. All in all, it wasn’t the worst motorcycle accident I’ve seen. He managed to hang onto his life.
“Mr. Dane won’t be doing much racing.” Dr. Hale pulls off her gloves and discards them.
“No, he won’t.” I look down at the unconscious man. The resemblance is uncanny. Every feature the exact same as Dev’s. Dark wavy hair, high cheekbones, strong jaw, long thick eyelashes, and tons of ink. The most intricate designs I’ve ever seen. The entire right side of his body is covered—arm, chest, torso, thigh, calf. It looks like he’s half machine. Just like the Terminator when his fake flesh was pulled off his body.
“See something you like, Nurse Kincade?” Dr. Hale teases me.
“Huh?” I look up realizing I’m inspecting Reese a little too closely. “Oh.” I step back and clear my throat. I feel like I was just caught with my hand in the cookie jar. “I’ve just never seen a tattoo like that before.”
“You’ve never seen Dev without his shirt off then,” Dr. Hale purrs.
My face drops. “Not you, too.” I thought she had more respect for herself.
“Oh, God no. I have my own bad boy at home. I saw Dev changing his shirt in the parking garage after work one night. Lord.” She fans herself. I can’t even. It’s like Dev emits pheromones. “It’s definitely at least worth a peek.”
“I’ll remember that.” I scrunch my nose. The last thing I need is to be looking at Devlin Dane without any clothes on.
We walk out of the room together as Reese is wheeled into recovery. I can’t believe Dev has a brother. An identical twin. He never even hinted he had a sibling. I can’t get over the craziness of it all.
Dr. Hale makes her way back into the ER as I escort Reese. I’m not technically on duty, so there’s no place pressing I have to be. Except the gym. It’s close to ten p.m. by the time everything settles down. It’s a slow night in recovery, so I figure the nurses are probably catching up on charts—or chitchatting. Take your pick. It’s just me, a comatose Reese, and the guy snoring across the room.
As hard as I try, I can’t bring myself stop looking at Dev’s twin. It’s like I’m staring at a carnival attraction.
I lean in closer without even thinking and inspect the mechanical tattoo some more. It’s so detailed. Not one centimeter of skin is showing. I touch the lifelike metal gears and springs, marveling at the 3D effect, when Reese suddenly wakes with a start, latching onto my arm.
“Ouch!” He squeezes so hard I know I’m going to bruise.
“Where am I?” he demands in a panic.
I struggle to get free but his hand is like a steel vise. Maybe he really is part robot.
“Where. Am. I?”
“The hospital.” I jerk my arm. “You were in an accident. You sliced your thigh and broke your leg.”
“Who are you?” He looks directly into my eyes, his hand still clamped around my bicep. He’s holding me so tight, my limb is starting to go numb. If he didn’t just sustain life-threatening injuries, I would punch him just so he’d let go.
“I’m Nurse Kincade, and Mr. Dane, you’re fucking hurting me,” I grind out.
He releases me immediately. He may be Dev’s brother, but he definitely doesn’t share his bedside manner.
“Where’s my brother?” He looks around the room, skittishly. Geez, wake up on the wrong side of the bed, did we?
“He’s on his way,” I assure him in a calm tone.
“He’s right here.” Dev’s voice echoes behind me. “It would behoove you to be nice to Nurse Kincade. She saved your sorry ass.”
We both look up at Dev.
“You heard about that already?” I ask.
“I think the whole hospital heard, superstar.” He nudges me.
I bite my lip. I wasn’t trying to do anything heroic, just my job. “Say thank you, you schmuck.”
Reese sneers at Dev. “Thank you.”
That was heartfelt.
I look back and forth between the two of them in awe; it’s like gazing into a mirror.
“You’re welcome.” My response is actually genuine.
Reese glares at me circumspectly, as if he doesn’t know what to make of me. It’s a little unnerving. And frankly, rude.
“What happened exactly?” Dev asks.
“We were stopped at a red light. A drunk driver just barreled into him from behind. He went flying into some oncoming traffic and slammed into a car. He flew over the hood, but I didn’t see him land.” I reiterate exactly what I saw, leaving out the engine fornication moments before.
“Wow. You’re lucky, bro. I swear, it’s like a four-leaf clover is shoved up your ass with all the crashes you’ve lived through.” Dev crosses his arms and shakes his head incredulously.
“Yeah, real lucky.” Reese drops his head on the pillow and stares up at the ceiling.
“Can I have some alone time with my brother?” Dev asks.
“Absolutely.” I immediately start to walk backward. I can imagine the emotional trauma Reese is probably experiencing right now. It has to be disconcerting to wake up in a hospital bed with a cast halfway up your thigh and have absolutely no recollection how or why you got there.
“See you tomorrow,” I tell Dev. “Feel better,” I throw out at Reese. They both reply with the same answering head gesture, and my tailbone tingles unexpectedly.
Holy shit. Not one Devlin Dane, but two.
Have. Mercy.
Dev
I watch Kayla hurry out of the room. She’s still wearing her pink scrubs from earlier with my brother’s blood smeared all over the front. I’m glad it was her. The girl is smart as a whip and knows what she’s doing. It’s probably why she stays the hell away from me.
“Got a crush or something?” Reese asks snidely.
I turn to face him. “She’s a colleague.”
“And that’s stopping you why?” he grunts.
I shake off the idiot remark. Who I want to fuck is irrelevant at the moment.
“How do you feel?” I redirect.
“Like I just got hit by a car.”
I peer down at my snarky brother.
“Seriously.” I pin him with a stern glare.
“A little bit of pain,” he discloses.
“Where?”
“My leg and shoulder.”
“What about your chest?” I narrow my eyes.
“No, none there,” he grumbles.
“Perfect. Just what I want to hear.”
“Where’s my stuff?” Reese asks tensely, possessively.
“Relax, your precious backpack made it through the accident unscathed.” The fucking thing is like his security blanket. “I can’t say the same for your clothes, though.”
“I don’t give two shits about my clothes. My backpack is all that matters.” He settles down a bit. “How long am I down for?” he cuts to the chase.
It’s my turn to grunt. “You broke both bones in your leg. You’re out for the rest of the season, man.”
“What?” Reese nearly jumps out of bed. “Isn’t there anything we can do to speed up the healing process? Cortisone injections? Hydrotherapy?”
I shake my head vigorously. “This isn’t a torn muscle. I know you understand that. It’s highly unlikely you’ll race again soon.” I deliver the bad news.
Reese punches the mattress. I know how devastating this is for him to hear. Ev
er since I can remember, racing has been his life. It’s like he breathes it, and this year, he was a shoo-in to take it all home, again. To defend his Grand Prix title. Winning is what drives him. “Recover the right way and go back even stronger next year.” I place a consoling hand on his shoulder.
Anger radiates from his body. I know if he could get up, he’d wail on me. And I’d let him.
“I want a second opinion. What the fuck do you know anyway? You’re a cardiologist.” He lashes out, jerking his arm.
I huff. “You forget my first concentration was sports medicine. I’ve seen this. And I know how long the healing process takes.”
He bristles, fighting back the bubbling emotion.
“I’m going to get you set up in a private room. A little peace and quiet and some rest will do you good.”
“I don’t want peace and quiet. I want fucking fast.” He pulls on his hair with both hands.
I sigh sympathetically. “I know you do. But that’s not an option at the moment.”
Reese makes a sound in this throat like a perturbed cat. This is killing him.
“Want me to stick around a while? Keep you company?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He turns his head away petulantly. For a world famous motorcycle racer, who is a pillar in the Grand Prix community, he can act like a sulky child sometimes. I’ll let it slide this time. His season, and whole reason to be, just went up in smoke.
“How come you never told me you had a brother? A twin brother?” Kayla asks as I exit the hospital room. She’s leaning against the wall, obviously waiting for me.
Keep This Promise Page 143
