This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2017
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Contents
Start Reading
PART ONE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
PART TWO
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Acknowledgments
Dear Reader,
I initially wrote “Healing Touch” as a novella for the Night Shift anthology in 2015. I was one of six authors who came together to write brand-new novellas for a book whose proceeds benefitted several charities.
The thought of writing a novella was daunting to me. Though I’ve written a lot of shorter nonfiction, with fiction, I’d never written anything but full-length novels. I didn’t know how to structure a novella. I didn’t know who to write one about.
I decided to do something unique with my novella. Rather than revisiting characters from one of my novels, I created brand-new ones. All six novellas in the collection were to be set in New Orleans, at Tulane Medical Center, and I knew I wanted a female doctor to be my heroine. I wanted to do something fresh, though, so I made my hero someone from outside the typical hospital setting. And I designed their story to take place entirely over the course of one night. It was about an instant connection between two wounded people and the healing they could both find from that one night.
It was a thrill for me when “Healing Touch” was praised in reviews of Night Shift. I’d been concerned that readers wouldn’t like a story that took place over only one night, but they did. A few people asked me if I planned to write more about the characters Joss and Carson, and I said no. I’d done what I wanted with “Healing Touch,” and I was happy with it.
But then I put “Healing Touch” on Wattpad, where it was featured and put in front of lots of readers. I was floored when my Wattpad following soared from around a hundred followers to more than a hundred thousand because of “Healing Touch.” Readers there really connected with it. Their comments and repeated pleas for more absolutely blew me away. I’ve never had a response like that to any story before. Joss and Carson needed more, readers told me, and I realized they were right. There was more. My mind started imagining the two of them beyond that night, and the rest of their story was born.
Thank you to every reader who loved this story and has waited so patiently for its conclusion. Your support means more to me than I can say. Another big thanks to Amazon Publishing for publishing this expanded volume of “Healing Touch.”
I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Best,
Brenda
PART ONE
Chapter One
Joss
Heartburn.
I’d learned all about it in medical school—it’s caused by the abnormal relaxation of the lower esophageal sphincter, allowing stomach acid to flow back up into the esophagus.
But that definition seemed like bullshit when I saw my now ex-husband nuzzling his voluptuous nurse/girlfriend inside a hospital doorway. That—the crushing feeling lodged behind my ribs, the sick feeling that made me want to crawl under the covers for the rest of my life—that was heartburn.
But I had to get used to this, especially since we all worked at the Tulane Medical Center. The only saving grace was that my ex, Dean, and his girlfriend worked in the ER, so I rarely saw them. Unfortunately, tonight was one of those times when I couldn’t avoid them.
I pressed my back to the wall and rolled my eyes skyward. Right now, I needed a signature from Dr. Portia Reed to authorize the ob-gyn research project I was expanding tomorrow. Trouble was, she worked in the ER, just like Dean and Nurse Nipples.
When my husband left me almost a year ago, my friends on the OB floor had immediately pointed out that his new girlfriend, Amanda, had freakishly large nipples that were usually visible through her thin bra and scrubs. And they also told me that she snorted really loudly when she laughed.
He’d taken a lot from me when he walked out the door. The new flat-screen TV, the best coffeemaker I’d ever owned . . . my pride. But Dean wasn’t taking this research project, too.
With a deep exhale, I put on my game face and emerged from my hiding spot. Of course there was only one path to the part of the ER I needed to get to, and of course Dean and Nurse Nips had chosen that precise location to canoodle in. Who used the word “canoodle” anymore, anyway? Just grouchy senior citizens and me—the oldest twenty-nine-year-old in the world.
Dean had his hand on Amanda’s waist, and he was whispering something in her ear. I looked straight ahead as I walked by, hoping to pass unnoticed. I had almost run the gauntlet unscathed when instinct made me turn my head at the sound of a snort.
“Joss,” Dean said, dropping his hand from Amanda’s tiny waist. “What are you doing down here?”
I plastered a smile on my face and wished to hell I’d combed my hair. “Oh, just getting a signature from Reed.”
“Oh.” He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, his sheepish expression making me want to kick him in the junk. Because seriously. He’d been screwing around on me for three months before I found out, and the entire hospital had known weeks before me. Dean apparently had no shame, and I didn’t appreciate him suddenly acting like he did.
Amanda leaned her hip into Dean’s and shot me a coy smile. I wanted to give her a dirty look, but that wasn’t me. I just ignored her and walked on, hoping the entire ER wouldn’t see my flaming cheeks.
Portia Reed was deep in a conversation at the main ER desk, but she did a double take when she saw me coming.
“Joss.” Her grimace held an apology. “I never signed off on your project. I’m sorry.”
I waved a hand and smiled. “No big deal. I’ve got it right here for you.” I passed her the clipboard.
“I would’ve come upstairs,” she said, reaching for a pen, her implication as obvious as my embarrassment. I hated seeing the pity in her big brown eyes. Portia was a mentor to me, and I’d been reduced to a scorned woman in her eyes. Just like I had been for everyone else who knew about my failed marriage.
People really don’t know what to say when your husband leaves you for the woman he’s been banging in the break room. I’d gotten lots of awkward looks and mumbled apologies at first. Now, it was old news up on my floor. But I guess whenever Dean, Amanda, and I were in close proxim
ity, the history would always create a stir.
“Anything else you need?” Portia eyed me over the top of her glasses.
“Nope. Thanks.” I took the clipboard she held out to me. “I’m not actually working tonight. I’m just here to set up for tomorrow.”
“Set up? For the research meeting? I can get some help sent up for that.”
I waved a hand. “I like doing it myself. That way I’ll know right where everything is for tomorrow.” Plus, it’s not like I have anything else to do. The words were unspoken, but their truth still rang in the air between us.
“Dave and I would love to have dinner with you soon,” Portia said.
I smiled and turned back toward the dreaded hallway, glancing over my shoulder at her. “Sounds great. Let me know when. Have a good night.”
“Good luck tomorrow,” she called. “You’ll be great.”
I waved and walked double time down the hallway. Mercifully, Dean and Nips were nowhere to be seen. The elevator doors were open, and I stepped in, relief washing over me when the doors closed and the ER disappeared from view.
When I got back to the main-desk area of my floor, my friend Hattie looked up from the computer she was working at.
“You run into Nurse Wretched?”
“Yep.”
She gave a disgusted look and shook her head.
“I think Dean’s lost more hair since the last time I saw him,” I said.
“Hopefully, it’s all gonna fall out of his head and sprout on his back and in his ears,” Hattie said. “Lousy bastard.”
Her southern accent still made me smile. Anything Hattie said came out sounding sweet, even if she was talking about Dean, whom she never said anything nice about.
I was a transplant to New Orleans. Dean had been assigned here during med school, and I’d followed. It was very different from my native city of Detroit, but damned if the place hadn’t grown on me. And my research project on maternal blood sugar had gotten started here. Coupled with my work at this hospital, NOLA was my life.
And that meant I’d never be far away from Dean and Nips. Surely they’d break up soon and get jobs somewhere else. Then I could stop being gossiped about, stop being the scorned ex-wife. And I sure didn’t want him back. Absolutely not. Never. Just the mere thought of it sent a shiver up my spine.
“You okay?” Hattie asked.
“Yeah.” I sighed. Was I okay? Pretty much. Other than still feeling stupid once in a while and being mad at having been taken advantage of and worrying about not ever turning a man’s head again, yeah, I guess I was okay. Damn Dean. He’d also walked away with my confidence.
Carson
I blew on the small, flat panel I’d pulled from the furnace. Dust particles flew into the air. Does anyone ever clean the fucking furnaces in this place? I’d been told when I started work here almost a month ago that this furnace was haunted. No matter what anyone did, it was unreliable. Apparently, cleaning it hadn’t occurred to the brain trust.
Ah well. I’d take a look at it. Replacing an industrial furnace of this size would cost a ton of dough. Fixing it would score me points with my boss, John. Like me, he was an army veteran, so I’d felt an immediate loyalty to him.
I set to work cleaning and checking sensors, losing myself in the work. I was qualified to do police work since I’d been honorably discharged from the military after completing my service, but I hadn’t felt any desire to go down that route. This job was a better fit for me. I was a night owl who loved fixing things. And not worrying about getting my ass shot at for the first time in two years was a nice bonus.
My work phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to check the message.
Hi! It’s Tracy in Ambulatory Surgery. My printer is going bonkers. Can you fix it??????
I knitted my brows together skeptically. I was supposed to refer all computer issues to the IT department, but the guy on call tonight was a douche nozzle. And Ambulatory Surgery had kick-ass coffee. I packed up my tools and headed for the stairwell.
Tracy was grinning at me as I approached the desk. “Hey, sugar,” she said, winking. “Thanks a bunch.”
I nodded silently, and she started chattering about the printer, reenacting its malfunction even though I could see the blinking red “feed error” message on the screen.
“I smacked it real good, which usually works, but not this time,” she said. “That damn thing gives me fits.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.
“You are such a doll.” Tracy sat down at the desk and turned her chair to face me. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“Uh . . .”
“Oh no, I’m not asking for me!” she said, laughing so hard her ample bosom shook with each note. “I’m married, sugar. And I’m old enough to be your mama. I’m asking for my daughter Lila. She’s nineteen. Goin’ to college; gonna be a fashion major.”
How could I tactfully tell this woman I had no interest in dating her daughter? Tact wasn’t my strong suit. Neither was dating.
“I’m twenty-six,” I said dismissively. “Nineteen’s too young for me.”
Tracy was about to respond when someone called her name. Thank fuck. I was disassembling the printer, and I had to stay focused so I could remember how to put it back together.
“Duty calls,” she said with a sigh.
I said nothing, hoping to discourage further conversation. All I wanted was to get this printer working again and get back to the furnace problem.
Chapter Two
Joss
A faint lemon smell greeted me when I opened the door to the room I’d commandeered as my new research hub. I closed my eyes and smiled. It was nice and clean. I’d had two dozen gourmet cupcakes delivered to Domestic Services along with my request that they fast-track the cleanup of this former storage room, and they’d come through.
I flipped on the light switch, and a bright glow filled the room. This was going to work out after all. I’d had my doubts when I first checked out the dusty space crammed full of outdated equipment, but it was perfect. Now I just needed to set things up for tomorrow.
When I stepped farther into the room, the lemon smell got stronger, and the warm, stuffy air made me wrinkle my nose. The place needed some air. I checked all four plain white walls for a thermostat but couldn’t find one.
Well hell. It didn’t matter how clean the room was if it felt like a jungle.
Stepping back into the doorway, I took a deep breath and collected my thoughts. My patients wouldn’t be here until ten tomorrow morning. Maybe a simple check of the air vents would fix this. I needed to page Mechanical Services.
OB was quiet tonight. We didn’t have anyone in labor, and that always created a more relaxed mood. And we tried to keep our floor quiet, anyway, because new moms and babies need their rest.
I sat down in front of a computer and typed out a message to Mechanical Services. Hopefully, whoever was on call could come right away. I wanted my first research meeting to go well tomorrow, and I didn’t want my patients fainting with the heat. Pregnant women were always hot, even under the best of circumstances.
Since I was sitting at the computer, I couldn’t resist the urge to check my email. Not surprisingly, there was nothing exciting there. A shipment notification for some shoes I’d ordered, several ads, and a reminder from my gynecologist that it was time for my annual pelvic exam.
I shook my head and blew out a breath. That was going to be the most action I’d had between my legs in quite a while. More than ten months, but who was counting? And even then, it’d been perfunctory sex with Dean, and I hadn’t even gotten off. It’d been well over a year since I’d had decent sex.
“Dr. Drake?”
The sound of a deep voice made me look up. Was the clenching of my lady parts due to my thoughts about sex or him?
Him, I decided as my gaze wandered from his dark, close-cropped hair to his chiseled cheekbones and dark eyes. He wore a gray button-down shirt with short sleeves that g
ave me a view of the lines of his biceps. On one pocket was a patch that said “TMC Mechanical Services.” And on the card hanging from his lanyard, I scanned the letters of his name: Carson Stephens. He wasn’t smiling in his hospital ID photo.
“I’m Dr. Drake,” I said, clearing my throat. “How can I help you?”
His brow furrowed. “I’m here to help you. You paged me? Something about a stuffy room?”
My cheeks warmed. “Right, sorry. I got wrapped up in something here, and . . . anyway, it’s this way.”
I led the way to my reclaimed storage room at the end of the hallway, where I’d left the lights on. Carson followed me in, glancing around wordlessly.
“It’s hot in here, don’t you think?” I said. “And no windows in here or anything. Could the thermostat be broken?”
He ignored me, instead getting on his knees to look under some chairs. When he stood, he pushed a filing cabinet aside as if it were full of feathers.
“Yeah, there’s no air return in here. I don’t see any vents, either. So there wouldn’t be a thermostat.”
“No return? So that’s bad?”
He shrugged and looked at me. “The air’s stagnant because the air-conditioning’s not reaching this room.”
Helplessness set in, morphing into panic within seconds. “But I have people coming tomorrow for interviews and tests.”
“Might need to find a different spot.” This guy was a man of few words.
“No, there is no other spot. This is my spot. Any other location in the hospital would require a request to administration, and I don’t have time for that.”
He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. “Maybe if you leave the door open it’ll help.”
My lips parted as I looked at him. “I can’t leave the door open. I need quiet and privacy for my interviews. It can get loud out there when patients are in labor.”
Carson shrugged and looked down at the screen of a cell phone he’d pulled from his pocket.
“Look, I’ve gotta go,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t have better news for you.”
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