by Gemma Hart
Slowly, I remembered the outline of a strong arm, holding me in the confines of my chair. I remembered a clean, spicy masculine scent that had surrounded me, providing me with an inexplicable sense of security and protection.
“It’s dangerous to be sleeping in a place like this.”
His deep voice laced with concern and amusement rang through my hazy memories.
“Every time you see a stupid man—and trust me, whoever did this to you is a stupid man—it’s God’s way of showing you that evolution is real. Man had to come from apes and you just met one.”
I snorted. Funny stranger.
That tall physique with clearly defined muscles that spoke of limitless strength. Strong stranger.
I remembered how he had instantly caught me as I nearly fell out of my chair and how he had quickly thrown me behind him when the bar fight had broken out.
The bar fight!
I opened my eyes in sudden remembrance again and once again, winced as the light hit my pounding head.
That’s right. There had been a bar fight as well.
I could barely remember it but I remembered the stranger’s strong back as he pushed me into a safe corner. I remembered—
A loud ringing noise pierced my quiet bedroom making me hiss in pain. Why couldn’t the sun take a break today? Didn’t it know that I was about to throw up in nausea?
Keeping my eyes closed, I reached around the expanse of the bed before my fingers felt the hard edge of my phone.
With my eyes closed, I answered the call, not even checking to see who it was.
“Hello?” I croaked.
“Oh you’re alive!” Margie sighed in relief on the other end.
“Debatable,” I said, feeling like I my brain was swimming in a pool of pudding.
“Well, you’re breathing,” Margie corrected herself wryly. “I’m glad Tammy was able to get you home okay. I was worried but she texted me after she dropped you off and got you tucked up in bed.”
“Tammy took me home?” I asked in surprise. My tiny little nurse friend looked like she could hardly lift a Chihuahua let alone me when I was passed out drunk. But then again, she was a nurse. And nurses had incredible stores of strength when needed.
Margie clucked in judgment. “Still a lightweight, aren’t we, Dr. Lyon?”
“That’ll do, nurse,” I grumbled. “Anyway, what’s with the wake up call?”
“I wanted to make sure you remembered the morning meeting today.”
“The morning meet—”
That was right. Normally we only had meetings once a week for the heads of departments and lead doctors to touch bases. But yesterday, after watching Edward get congratulated left and right on his engagement, we had been told there would be another special meeting the next morning and that we would all be required to attend.
“Oh god, that’s right,” I groaned. “Crap.”
“Right,” Margie said not without sympathy. “So get your little tushy up and get down here as soon as you can. And make sure you put on a little extra make up. Something tells me you’ll need it today.”
“Thank you, nurse,” I said in annoyance before hanging up. Ah dependable Margie. The hospital would fall apart without her.
But she was right. I’m sure I looked awful and the last thing I wanted to do was look how I felt in front of Edward. I needed enough time to get ready.
Cracking my lids open, I looked up at my phone for the time. But instead of the time, I saw something black smeared across my forearm.
“What the—”
I sat up and pulled back the covers. Down the length of my right forearm was writing in what looked like black Sharpie. It was a little smeared around the edges but still readable.
Make sure you drink a lot of water and take some an aspirin or two if you can, Doc. And if you feel like testing the waters with a man instead of a monkey, why don’t you give this number a try.
And below that was a phone number and a crude drawing of a monkey smiling at me.
My heartbeat sped up suddenly. It was as if I could feel his arms around me again. I breathed in deeply, almost able to smell his spicy scent again.
So that hadn’t been some kind of weird drunk hallucination. This man had been real and if he was half as engaging and charming sober as he was when I was drunk, I’d be crazy enough to fall in love with the man.
And crazy it would be. My heart was still shattered into jagged pieces from Edward and the pain still resonated within me. But this number and this man made the pain a little less sharp.
And I didn’t even know his name.
I traced a finger over the smudged letters. When had he written this? I could feel a smile tugging at my lips. He certainly was no monkey, that was for sure.
After carefully copying down the phone number onto a piece of paper, I tottered towards the bathroom to quickly clean up and get ready for the meeting. I needed all the psych up time I could get. I had to face Edward as an engaged man and no matter how many drunken nights or mystery men I met, it would always be a painful challenge for me.
With a deep breath, I slipped into the shower.
***
“Dr. Lyon, don’t you look…well,” Dr. Stevenson of pediatrics said, giving me an odd look.
I smiled at him. “Thank you,” I said, trying to look winsome and casual and not at all like my skull was trying to implode within my head.
I found Doc Jones trying to hold back an amused smirk and sat down next to him.
“What?” I said immediately.
“You look like you’re about to go clubbing in Reno with a retired showgirl as your gal pal,” Doc replied colorfully. He looked over my face carefully. Maybe I had gone a bit too heavy on the make up. Normally all I did was throw on a few swipes of mascara and called it a day. So putting on anything more than that always perplexed me a little.
“Wanted to come prepared for battle, eh?” Doc said with a sympathetic gaze. No matter his dry humor or sarcastic comments, Doc Jones had a soft side and it peeked through now and again.
I gave a small smile and said. “But maybe I put on a little too much armor,” I said.
Doc huffed a laugh.
I was about to make another comment when I saw Edward walk into the room. Lean and sleek, Edward always looked like he was about to go to a yachting party, no matter how many white coats he wore. And it made sense. His family was from a modest but well established fortune and he came from a long line of bankers and investors.
The only reason why Edward was a doctor was because he wanted to rebel against old family traditions. That’s the kind of family he came from where rebelling meant med school.
But that’s all Edward wanted from medical school—a sign of differentiating himself from his father and older brother. He was also gifted in medicine but Edward could hardly care less. He liked the status symbol of being a doctor more than anything else. He liked the attention he got from colleagues and the gratitude he received from patients.
When a surgery went poorly, he wasn’t upset that the patient suffered; he was upset that his perfect surgical record had been tarnished.
There were so many signs of how wrong he was for me but after having spent so much time together, I just felt like we were meant to be together. Like it was destined. So I ignored the signs and waited for the moment when he would finally and whole-heartedly pick me as his one and only.
Of course that moment never came.
I watched as Edward took a seat near the head of the table. He was keeping his gaze averted from my end of the table. My heart clenched a little as I heard Dr. Stevenson give a belated congratulations towards Edward’s engagement.
“I’m a lucky man,” I heard Edward reply with a smile.
My hands clenched into fists. This had to be what the seventh circle of hell felt like—being trapped in a room with your ex-boyfriend as he basks in happy engaged bliss with the woman he cheated on you with.
I started as Doc Jones gave one of my
fists a quick pat. I looked up at the older man and he gave me a stern look that clearly said, buck up. Show him some of that armor.
I straightened up in my seat and pasted a smile onto my face just as Eric Listrom, head of the hospital, entered the meeting room.
As soon as Mr. Listrom entered, the room fell quiet as we waited for the meeting to start. There was another man in a white polo and loose cargo pants standing behind him. He stood out in the room full of professionally dressed or scrubbed doctors and hospital administrators. His face was round and weather beaten but friendly looking. He stood behind Mr. Listrom, his hands clasped behind him, as he waited for the head of the hospital to speak.
“I’m glad you all are here,” Mr. Listrom said without really looking around the table. He sniffed daintily, straightening a sleeve. He was very particular about how he dressed and looked. Whenever he was inspecting a part of the hospital, Mr. Listrom was always careful he never touched anything lest he contaminate himself.
“I’ve called you all in for a special opportunity that has been presented to us,” he continued.
Everyone in the room tensed. ‘Opportunity’ usually meant some kind of forced voluntary overtime. And none of us wanted to be the sucker who got pulled in. Last time an opportunity came around, a group of us were rounded up into a team that had to come up with a fun song and dance for a medical crediting bureau conference that was holding a “fun” talent competition. No man had ever sung Randy Newman as angrily and as grumpily as Doc Jones had that day.
Next to me, I felt Doc’s spine stiffen as he narrowed his eyes towards Mr. Listrom, clearly remembering the song and dance number from hell.
Mr. Listrom, unaware or unconcerned with the tension in the room, gestured towards the man behind him. “This is Mr. Thomas Carew. He’s here with Unchartered Relief Aid, an international medical charity that helps provide medical aid and care to regions that have recently been devastated by natural or civil disaster.” Mr. Carew stepped up and nodded at us, an open and friendly smile warming his lined face.
“And he has come to us and our hospital to seek out a new team of doctors and staff members to head over to Qunar on a humanitarian mission,” Mr. Listrom finished.
Qunar? Everyone stared at Mr. Carew in surprise. No wonder the man looked as worn out as he did if he had just come from Qunar!
The small Middle Eastern country was suffering from the affects of its neighboring country’s civil war. A devastating civil war in Pakresh was sending hundreds of thousands of refugees into Qunar. This was putting a tremendous strain on the tiny nation as it tried to house and feed all these refugees. Many of them were coming injured, having been hurt from one of the many bombings.
But this was a dangerous mission to be invited to. Along with the many refugees, there were some Pakresh activists sneaking in with the masses, causing bombings in some of the refugee camps.
I had no doubt the situation was dire there. Dire and terrifying.
I stared at Mr. Listrom. This was more than just a song and dance number in some hotel ballroom. This was potentially risking our lives.
Mr. Listrom cleared his throat and gave each of us a meaningful stare. “A team of doctors from our hospital participating in an Unchartered Relief Aid mission would not only help the refugees in Qunar but also provide this hospital with a fair amount of publicity. The attention we would receive for our humanitarian work could help us attract some investors who could expand our hospital and add a new wing or two.”
And no doubt, give you a raise in the range of a couple million, I thought cynically. And looking at Doc Jones’ stony face, I could tell he had reached the same conclusion as well.
Mr. Listrom didn’t care about the people of Qunar or the lives of his doctors. He cared about the bottom line and a handful of doctors could be worth tens of millions of dollars in investment and publicity.
“So what we’ll need is a few volunteers,” Mr. Listrom said, looking around the table at the doctors who suddenly all had something more interesting going on in their laps. “Once we finalize the doctors on the team, they can pick a handful of staff members of their choosing. Then Mr. Carew will give you the details on your departure timeline.”
There was a short and tense silence in the room before Edward interrupted it with a cough. “How long will this mission be for?” he asked.
“About three months, doctor,” Mr. Carew replied.
The entire room reeled. Three months! At most, I had been expecting an answer of three weeks. Three months was an enormous commitment. I felt terrible for the refugees in Qunar as much as the next person but three months in a country that was under strained resources and periodic bombings seemed like a sacrifice that I just couldn’t make.
It was too frightening.
Suddenly the image of the tall, dark stranger from last night popped into my head. I knew it was crazy and silly and probably more than a little selfish but I had the chance to move on from my broken heart here. Somewhere in L.A. was a mysterious man who I had had a moment with. A moment worth exploring. A moment worth staying for.
The doctors all looked around the room, none of them wanting to volunteer and yet none of them willing to refuse outright either.
Suddenly, Edward stood up.
Straightening his white coat, he said, “Mr. Listrom, I think that this is a very noble mission. And to better aid Mr. Carew and the people of Unchartered Relief Aid, I think that we should send the best suited doctors.” He cleared his throat, keeping his gaze fastidiously pointed away from my end of the table. “I suggest we send Dr. Lyon. She works in ER and has experience in sudden and traumatic wounds. She would be best suited for the environment Qunar would present.”
My jaw dropped.
Doc Jones’s hands fisted in outrage.
The tension in the room increased twenty fold and I could feel every doctor at the table staring at me. Except, of course, Edward.
So instead of dealing with the messiness of post-break up life like a grown up, he was volunteering to send me away to a country that was facing life and death dangers? He would rather me be in a camp that could be car bombed than two floors down in a hospital?
What. The. Fuck.
But Mr. Listrom seemed to be taking in the suggestion, nodding in agreement. “That is a good point, Dr. Kincaid. Especially with the trauma that she has seen in this part of the neighborhood.” He sniffed distastefully.
Yeah, well, I think gunshots and stab wounds are pretty distasteful too, buddy, I raged in my head. But so is poverty and violence. After having worked in the ER for as long as I have, I knew that a gang member was more than just his stab wounds and tattoos. He was a boy who had grown up with no examples and limited opportunities. He had started life on the back foot and so had made the decisions that he thought were best for his survival.
“Dr. Lyon?” Mr. Listrom said, looking my way.
Oh god, what could I say?
“Well—” I started off, trying to figure out a way to buy time. But Doc Jones beat me to it.
“I’m sorry but I have to disagree, Mr. Listrom,” Doc Jones said emphatically. “We are always short staffed in ER and need all the hands we can get. Dr. Lyon is one of the best on our team and losing her would be detrimental to our already small staff.” Doc Jones jerked his chin towards Edward, his eyes narrowed. “But Dr. Kincaid there is the head of surgery, a very large department. Skills like his would be invaluable in a place like Qunar. And his department is large enough to handle his absence.”
Edward’s eyes widened at Doc Jones’s recommendation then narrowed in annoyance. Doc Jones matched his gaze, his own eyes fiery with outrage on my behalf.
Mr. Listrom seemed completely oblivious to the exchange. He instead tapped a finger to his chin. “Hmmm…yes I can see that,” he said slowly. “And it would make a great headline piece. ‘Head of Surgery Volunteers in Qunar Relief.’”
Mr. Listrom’s eyes practically glowed at the free publicity he would be getting fr
om such a piece.
Edward quickly countered. “I don’t doubt that that would be a good piece, sir,” he said ingratiatingly. “But surgery is a specialized team. We have as many doctors as we do because we need so many specialists. ER, on the other hand,” he threw Doc Jones a contemptuous glance, “is more about general treatment and immediate action. Things that would suit Qunar. It would be much easier to find a doctor to fill in Dr. Lyon’s spot in ER than it would be to find a doctor to fill in mine.”
Oh that pompous asshole! What the hell did I ever see in him? How dare he try to minimize the work that my staff and I did? General treatment? Well, let’s see him and his precious specialists try to deal with a dozen stabbings, a rupturing pancreas, and a breaching baby all at once.
Mr. Listrom nodded, tapping his chin again. “That is true as well. Dr. Lyon, what do you say? Would you be willing to join Mr. Carew in Qunar?”
I swallowed. If I said no to the head of the hospital now, I knew I’d be on his shit list for the foreseeable future. Mr. Listrom valued publicity and money in that order and anyone who deters him from getting both would always be on his blacklist. And I was a young doctor. I needed to create a good foundation if I ever wanted to move up in the department.
For the sake of maintaining my future, I swallowed. “Of course,” I said hoarsely.
Mr. Listrom slapped his hands. “Excellent. Well then—”
“Then I volunteer as well,” Doc Jones interjected.
Mr. Listrom looked at him in surprise. I stared at Doc in similar surprise.
“That’s not necessary, Dr. Jones,” Mr. Listrom said. “Dr. Lyon will head the team and she can recruit some staff members to join her. We don’t need the head of ER going off as well. That’s too many from one department.”
Doc Jones’ jaw tightened as he said evenly, “Well, it’s only general treatment in ER. As Dr. Kincaid said, it will be easy to find replacements for us. If Dr. Lyon goes, then I go as well.”
Mr. Carew beamed. “Wonderful!” he said. “It’ll be a great help to have two such talented doctors on our team!”
