by Amity Cross
“I’m super lucky,” he drawled, staring at me.
“C’mon. Let’s have a look at you.” I guided him to a gurney, helped him sit, and slid the curtain around to give the guy a little privacy.
“What’s your name?” I asked, pulling up a stool in front of him.
“David,” he replied. “You’re pretty for a doctor, you know.”
I smiled and shook my head, pulling on a pair of gloves. “You’ve had a nasty knock to the head. Let’s have a look at that cut, hey?”
He let his hand fall away from the wound, and I began to dab at it with a wipe. The moment the cloth touched his broken skin, he hissed and pulled away.
“That stings like fuck,” he exclaimed.
“I’ve got to clean this up so I can see what you’ve done,” I scolded him, and he sat still, his eyes screwed shut as I cleaned the site, flushing out any dirt and bacteria. Once I was done, I got out my light and checked his pupils. Other than a headache and a slight concussion, he was all good. I’d just have to stitch him up, and send him on his way.
“Do I need stitches, Doc?” he asked, beginning to look pale.
“Yes. A couple. You’re not going to die if you’re worried about that.”
He opened his eyes and peered at me. “The pretty Doc is a comedian.”
“Hardly. What were you doing?” I asked, getting the suture kit ready.
“Would you believe me if I said I was rescuing a kitten that was stuck in a tree?”
I snorted, covering up a laugh. “If you’re asking if I’ll be impressed, probably not.”
“How old are you?” he asked. “You look pretty young to be a doctor.”
I smiled, not put off by his flirting. “I’m old enough to do my job.”
“Okay, okay. I get it. It’s the brush off.”
“Okay, David,” I declared, getting back to the task at hand. “I’m going to give you a local anesthetic to numb the area. Apart from a slight pinch, you won’t feel a thing.”
“Good,” he said. “Needles and things going through flesh make me feel sick.” He began to pale.
“Don’t think about it,” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
His gaze fixed on mine, and he swallowed hard. “That’s easier said than done.”
“You’ll be fine. I’ll look out for you.”
He took a deep breath. “Good. That would be nice. My mates left me to come in here on my own.”
“They left you alone bleeding like that?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. It had undercurrents of Josh, not as dramatic or dire, but it still brought him into my mind’s eye.
“Assholes,” he cursed.
“Sounds like you need new friends.” Rising to my feet, I retrieved the syringe on my tray and drew the anesthetic out of its little vial.
“Fuckers. We were out having a laugh after a shitty week, you know?”
I nodded and gestured for him to continue. It’d keep his mind off the needle I was about to stick him with.
“My girlfriend broke up with me,” he said. “Was cheating behind my back.”
“I’m sorry,” I offered. “That has to suck.”
“Have you ever been cheated on, Doc?”
He stared up at me as I brandished the syringe, and I hesitated. The image of my ex fucking that nurse from behind, which had been burned into my retinas, flashed before me, and I shook my head.
“Well, it sucks,” David said, taking my gesture as a denial.
Injecting the anesthetic into his brow, he flinched slightly but held firm.
“See?” I asked. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”
“You distracted me.”
“Worked, didn’t it?” I smiled and sat down on the stool again, adjusting the height so I was level with my work.
Once he was patched up and loaded with a couple of paracetamol tablets, I sent him on his way and called it a night. By the time I rolled into my apartment, it was pushing three a.m. Way too late to message Josh.
Sliding into bed, I buried under the covers and breathed deeply. I’d call him tomorrow. I had to.
It wasn’t too late to try to fix my mistakes.
* * *
Sometimes good intentions aren’t good enough.
I was going to call Josh the first chance I got, but I was woken at seven a.m. after four hours of sleep to come back to the hospital and cover in the ER again.
There’d been a virus running through the hospital that had struck down half of the staff, which was want to happen in our line of work, and I was one of the few who’d been spared. That meant I had to go in and cover or the ER would get overloaded.
Loading myself with coffee and sugar, I toiled away in ground zero, stitching and setting broken wrists, checking heart rhythms, and doing X-rays until I lost track of time.
“Ugh,” I declared, leaning on the wall next to Gunner, who was looking just as tired.
“Some days, I wish I’d become a hairdresser,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “If I see another kid that has swallowed something it shouldn’t have, I just might.”
Despite how weary I was feeling, I laughed. “At least you can get the interns to sift through their crap.”
She raised her hands. “Hallelujah!”
Smiling, I cast my gaze over the waiting room and was glad to see it had lulled for the moment, hence the short breather. Then my gaze found a familiar face, and I pushed off the wall.
“I’ll catch you later,” I said to Gunner as I approached David, the head wound guy from the night before.
“Hey, Doc,” he said as I approached him.
“David,” I said. “Is everything okay? Your head—”
“It’s cool,” he said with a shrug. “I was hoping to speak to you.”
Oh… I glanced over my shoulder at Gunner, but she’d disappeared.
“I was a bit out of it last night,” David went on.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Listen, I know this is probably left of field considering everything…”
I narrowed my eyes, starting to feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t the first time I’d patched up someone, and they’d tried to ask me out. Not that I thought highly of myself, it was just people tended to latch onto those who showed them kindness after a traumatic experience. David had been dumped by his girlfriend, then left to wander into the ER on his own by his deadbeat mates. I was nice to him, and he thought I was pretty, so he’d come back hoping for a shot. Even if Josh weren’t on the scene, I’d still decline.
I opened my mouth to interrupt him, but he finished his question before I could do anything about it.
“Do you want to get coffee sometime? Or dinner?”
“I’m really flattered,” I began, and his expression crumpled.
“It’s okay,” he muttered, backing away. “I get it.”
“David…”
“It’s cool,” he called out and turned, striding from the ER.
Gunner appeared beside me and raised an eyebrow. “Breaking hearts, Blue?”
“He was the guy from last night,” I said, feeling bad.
“Head wound dude?”
“Yeah. His girlfriend cheated on him, and his mates got him a concussion and ten stitches for his trouble. Left him to come in here on his own.”
She whistled. “There’s some real winners out there, that’s for sure. You wouldn’t even give him a pity date?”
“Gunner,” I scolded her. “Encouraging patients like that is bad news. Last thing any of us need is a—”
“Stalker?”
I sighed. “Yeah, that.”
“Don’t worry, Blue. He won’t be coming back.” I gave her a look. “Did you see the poor guy’s face?” Laughing, she wandered off to see her next patient, and I got back to mine.
Thirty minutes later, an ambulance screeched up outside, and I was pulled into emergency surgery for the rest of the day. Mending a femur that had been obliterated in a car accident was delicate work that required lots of pins
and elbow grease to get back into place.
When I finally scrubbed out, I was beat.
“There’s something at the nurses’ station for you, Holly,” Nurse Judy said, tapping me on the shoulder as I shuffled through the ward like a zombie.
“Me?” I asked, blinking.
She winked. “Someone’s popular.”
Walking down the hall, I wondered what was going on, and when I saw what was waiting for me, I paused, a frown creasing my forehead.
A giant vase of white lilies sat on the bench, a little white envelope with my name written on it in elegant cursive taped to the edge. I glanced up and down the hall waiting for the punch line. Who would send me flowers? My thoughts instantly went to Josh, but I wasn’t sure it was his style, not after the incredible date we’d had last month. Fuck, was it a month ago? No wonder he was shitty with me. I should be sending him an apology gift, not him.
Plucking the envelope from the vase, I pulled the card out to see who it was from.
Reading the message, I frowned. You are the stitches in my broken heart.
I flipped the paper over, but there was no name anywhere. Instantly, I thought of David, the guy I’d stitched up last night. Then my mind went to my ex back in New York. I hadn’t heard from him since the night I found Josh on the street. He’d sent me a half-hearted Facebook message asking if I was okay, but it had undercurrents that stunk of an ulterior motive, so I’d ignored him. Why wait three months to send flowers? Something wasn’t adding up.
I stared at the lilies and felt a creepy shiver run down my spine. Best thing to do was toss them in the bin and forget about them. Whoever they were from, I didn’t want anything to do with it.
Archer appeared beside me. “Nice flowers, Hol.”
I clutched my hand against my chest and took a few deep breaths. “Fuck, Archer. Don’t be such a creeper.”
He laughed and turned his attention back to the tablet in his hand. “Whatever you say, Hol.” He wandered off, his attention turning back to whatever he’d been doing when he’d seen me standing here like a dork staring at a bunch of flowers.
Shaking my head, I grabbed the vase, rounded the nurses’ station, and dumped the whole thing into the nearest bin.
Staring at the mess, I began thinking about Josh and our awkward exchange in the Outpatient Clinic the other day. He’d been mad at me for not seeing him sooner. Three weeks was a long time considering the amazing sex we’d had all over my apartment. The memory of his cock inside me had my body quivering, and I glanced around, my cheeks flushing. Thankfully, I was alone.
Checking my phone, I saw that it was eight p.m. Finding a quiet corner in a supply closet, the first thing I did was call Josh. It had been far too long, and I hoped I hadn’t blown my chance.
The call rang so many times I almost gave up that he was ever going to answer. My heart sank lower and lower with each beep, and I began to regret my stupid career choice if it was always going to keep me from being completely happy. I loved being a surgeon, but was it everything? Once upon a time, it had been, but ever since I met Josh, I didn’t know anymore.
Finally, the call connected, and I straightened up, hope brimming that it wasn’t his voicemail.
“Sparks.” My name was a sigh on his lips, and I felt even more pitiful, but it was Josh in the flesh, so at least there was some hope if he still wanted to talk to me.
“Josh,” I said. “I’m sorry about the other day.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He sounded defeated.
“I will,” I retorted. “I have some things I need to talk to you about. I should’ve called you sooner… Can I see you?” A moment passed, and I began to think he’d hung up. Checking the screen, the call was still connected. “Josh?”
“Friday,” he replied.
“Friday?”
There was a slight pause before he asked, “Do you even know what day it is?”
“Tuesday?” I offered lamely.
“It’s Wednesday night, Sparks,” he said before sighing.
Fuck it. “Well then, it’s probably a good thing if we get together and talk.”
“I’ll say.”
I swallowed hard. “I can’t stop thinking about—”
“Don’t say it,” he interrupted. “A month, Holly.”
I didn’t like it when he used my real name. When he called me Holly, I knew he was pissed. I didn’t know him that well yet, but it was how he told me he wasn’t happy without actually saying it.
“Friday,” I declared, feeling tears prick at the back of my eyes. “Can I see you Friday?”
“Yeah. Friday.”
17
Josh
Sitting in my car, I stared out the window at Pulse Fitness.
It was this huge warehouse space, not far from The Underground, that was all brickwork with shiny modern fixtures. Described in a single word, it was posh.
I was still off-kilter after Sparks’s call last night. I’d pretty much given up on ever seeing her again. I’d imagined her hooking up with that douche, Archer, and that had done nothing but make me fly into a rage. The mirror would never be the same again, and I definitely wouldn’t be getting my bond back on the apartment. He was much more suited to her considering the statement that had come from her very own lips. Surgeons dated surgeons. Of course, they fucking did.
What use was it pining over Sparks when I still didn’t know what I was going to do with my life. Thinking about the fight last week, I knew it was smart not to go back in there, but without The Underground, what did I have? I didn’t have Sparks. I just had myself and a long, bleak existence to look forward to.
Once, I’d trained so I’d be powerful. I’d failed so many times because I’d been weak, and I’d built up my strength, only to have it fail once more. I’d landed in hospital, and now my back was fucked up. Did I care? I should.
Sliding out of the car, I shuffled toward the doors of the gym, still not entirely sure I was going inside.
I knew the rumors that had flown around The Underground about Ash Fuller, aka Maverick. I’d never known the guy, apart from the beating he gave me, but we had a lot in common if what people said were true. A bleak past, no future, and a fuck load of demons. Layers of anger and regret that had sunk so deep there was no end.
Staring up at the facade of Pulse, I wondered if I could turn my life around like he did. He had a successful business, a woman to love, and someplace to go. What he also had was the million dollar winnings from a Championship fight. I had a couple of thousand bucks that I’d won the week before. Without the prospect of another bout, I had shit all.
I was a small fry compared to that guy. Attempted murder had nothing on the real thing, no matter what label the suits put on it.
Shaking my head to clear it from the cobwebs of the past, I opened the front door and stepped inside, hoping I might find some answers inside.
The smell of leather and sweat smacked me in the face as I crossed the threshold, the muted sounds of music floating through from the main part of the building. Through the windows that separated the foyer from the gym itself, I caught sight of the usual rows of cardio machines. Bikes, treadmills, cross-trainers, and most of them were full. Considering it was six a.m on a weekday, it was kind of surprising.
The front desk was unattended, so I rang the bell and leafed through the flyers littered across the surface. Personal training, nutrition, fitness classes, some stupid yogalaties bullshit… Typical gym lineup.
The music increased in volume as a door opened, and a tall, statuesque woman with long, dark hair appeared. She was beautiful, but I also recognized her as Ren Miller, one-time AUFC fighter who turned down the gig for that cesspool that left me out on the street for dead. I didn’t know how she could stomach it, but I guess she had this place now.
“Hey,” she said brightly. “Welcome to Pulse Fitness. Are you interested in a membership?” She looked me up and down and nodded slightly.
“Yeah,” I muttered, realizing sh
e didn’t know who I was. Probably a good thing to keep it that way.
“You look like you already know your way around a gym,” she went on. “We have the full setup and then some. If you’re into MMA, traditional boxing, or Thai kickboxing, we’ve got instructors and classes.”
“I’m just looking for a quiet place to work out,” I said, going along with the charade.
“Well, we’re not exactly quiet in the traditional sense of the word, but you’re welcome to come in at any time and do your own thing. All the programs are optional. Here.” She picked up a flyer from the haphazard stack and handed it to me. “We have memberships for every kind of person. From casual visits to the whole shebang. There’s a free pass for a week so you can give us a shot to see if you like it here.”
Peering at the flyer, I actually began to warm up to the idea. Their prices were better than the shithole I currently trained at. Pulse was further away from my place than the other joint, but if there was a free pass…
“If you want to come and have a look, I’m more than happy to show you around,” Ren said, sensing my deliberation.
Peering through the glass into the gym, I wondered if it was actually healthy that I’d come here. What if Maverick recognized me? Did I want him to? I had no idea what I’d hoped to achieve by coming here. Closure, hope, direction? Who the fuck knew.
“Yeah,” I heard myself saying. “That sounds good.”
“Great!” She smiled widely at me, bouncing on her heels. “I’m Ren, by the way. My husband owns the place.” She stuck out her hand, and I shook it.
“Josh.”
“C’mon,” she said, waving me forward. “Grand tour starts this way.”
She opened the door to the gym, and I stepped through into the large space. The roof seemed to be a thousand feet high, the rows of skylights letting in more light than any fluorescent tube could.
