by Molly Evans
Although the area was the designated distance from the entrance for smoking, she could smell the ash a mile away. Unable to leave gracefully and maintain her dignity, she resigned herself to having to at least acknowledge Chase as she went by him. Denying the kick in her pulse at the sight of him just wasn’t honest.
She clipped her badge to her gi and got out of the car.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked as she approached him.
“Taking a smoke break.”
She scoffed. “You don’t smoke.”
“No, but I’m entitled to the breaks, so I might as well take them, right?”
What? Humor from the very serious Chase? “Uh...right.” She kept moving. “See you later.”
“Not going to work in that getup, are you?”
That made her stop and face him. “Obviously not, and I’d appreciate you not insulting me.” Boundaries. Boundaries. Boundaries. Boundaries were everything now. In the past she’d have let it slide, but not now, and not with him.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did. You don’t understand it, so you make fun of it. I get it.” She’d dealt with that attitude since she’d started martial-arts training.
“I just didn’t know what to call it.” He moved closer and they fell into step together toward the hospital.
“There are any number of things you could have called it, aside from ‘getup,’ such as uniform, or outfit even, but you didn’t.”
“Sorry. Really. Sometimes I just don’t know what to say to you.” He huffed out an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“I understand, but you don’t have to say something insulting or sarcastic just because you’re uncomfortable around me. In fact, we don’t have to see each other at all. Ever.”
“How’s that gonna happen? We’ll be working together.”
“We can be professional. Outside of that, I don’t want to see you, Chase.” Boundaries. Remember the boundaries. Very wide, very tall and very strong.
“Now, just wait a damned minute.” He stopped, and moved as if he were going to grab her by the arm, then recalled her previous warning. “I work here. This place is my home. You’re the outsider here, not me. I’m not going to walk around on eggshells just because you decided to come back here on a whim.”
“A whim? This is my home, too, and I have a right to be here just as much as you do.” She faced him, ire warming her blood. It felt good to let it out. To hold that anger in her hand and unleash it on him. “It was no whim that I needed to finally close out the chapter of you in my life.”
“Then I suggest we be cordial, polite and professional.”
She gave a slight toss of her head. “Fine.”
“Good.” Uh-oh. When women used to use the word fine things were anything but.
“I’m going to ask the charge nurse to assign me to patients who aren’t yours.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Watch me.”
“You know it doesn’t matter what the assignments are—when it hits the fan, you work with whoever is there. The patient is the important part of the scenario, not us.”
“Then I’ll ask to switch to nights.”
“No. Don’t do that, either. You can’t work nights.” In fact, she never could. Messed up her system and biorhythms too much.
“I’ll deal with it.” Pride lifted her chin and made her say things she didn’t mean.
Chase sighed and some of the fizz went out of him. “No. Now, look. Don’t do that.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated beyond belief. “I don’t want you to do that. It messes you up too much.” He paused until she looked at him. “How about this? I just be professional, and you just be professional, and things will be just fine. You’ll leave in three months, and we’ll both move on with our lives.”
She glanced away and crossed her arms over her chest. “I was thinking of staying here. Moving back home, I mean. Permanently.” She shrugged. “It’s my home, too.”
“Really?” That surprised him. When she’d left it had been like she’d been shot out of a cannon. He’d never expected to see her again, let alone be working with her again. Now he knew the definition of the word gobsmacked. “Wow.”
“Yes, wow.” She took a breath and let it out slowly. “I’m taking the place for a test drive. See if the memories are too much for me. See if I can handle it again.” After a sigh, she looked into his eyes. “I need to be home again. I miss it. I miss the people here. I need to put us to rest for good.”
He paused a second, observing her expression, trying not to let any memories of her find their place inside him. “How’s it going? Are the memories bad?”
“Not so far.” She looked away. “Look, I just came to have a visit with Mrs. Billings, to see how she was doing.”
“Well, as the surgeon, I can give you an update. I was going to see her again after my break, so now’s good.”
“Let’s go.” This reminded her of the old days, when they would round together on their mutual patients. It had given their work a structure that she’d liked and respected. Now this familiar pattern warmed her a little, and she sighed, feeling the irritation of a moment ago dissipate. It just wasn’t important.
“Nice, eh?”
“What?” Had he read her mind?
“This getting back to our common ground, the things we knew, the way we used to do it?” He shrugged. “It’s nice, right?”
“It is. Thank you.”
They moved through the ER and to the elevators designated for staff. The elevator doors closed and the energy pouring off Emily was almost palpable in that confined space. “So, what kind of martial arts do you do, aside from hap...hap...?”
“Hapkido. Do you really want to know?” She turned curious eyes on him. Could this man be a genuine friend again? Could they put their past behind and be friendly? Only time would tell.
“Yes, I do.” And he did. She was somewhat of a puzzle to him now. Not what he’d expected. And that intrigued him. Most people he could figure out in an instant, but this was a new Emily, and one who was puzzling him from all directions.
“I practice several. Started in hapkido, but moved on to try judo, karate and kung fu. There are benefits to each one, but the best for me right now is the hapkido.”
“I hadn’t heard of it, not until you mentioned it the other night.”
“It’s the best self-defense for women. It’s Korean, but came to the States around 1980.” She shrugged. “Probably why you’ve never heard of it. Relatively new.”
“I’ll have to look it up.”
“You use some weapons, knives and swords, but the use of your body as a weapon is the most important. You might not always have a weapon but, no matter where you go, your body is always with you.”
“True.” He smiled at that.
The elevator stopped at the fifth floor, which housed all the critical-care units, including Trauma, Cardiac, Medical-Surgical and Pediatrics. Together they entered the medical-surgical ICU.
Emily paused when Chase stopped beside a patient room. She could see the patient inside whose bruised face from yesterday looked worse today. Pretty typical with the way hematomas evolved, they looked worse before they looked better. “Have you seen her this morning?”
“Yes. On early rounds.”
Emily nodded for him to give report to her as a colleague.
“As you know, she’s a forty-four-year-old female, entered the ER yesterday after being assaulted about the face and abdomen by her drunken husband.”
“Yes.”
“We opened her up and discovered, after your accurate assessment, that she indeed had a tear in her liver. By the time we got her to surgery she’d bled quite a lot. Once inside, we discovered that she appears to have some
alcohol history of her own, but we managed to save her and the liver.” He indicated the IV fluids hanging around the bed. “We have her on the DT protocol. Don’t need her going into withdrawal while she’s so critical.”
“Certainly. I’d like—”
The cardiac alarm emitted its obnoxious call from Mrs. Billing’s monitor. “She’s crashing.”
One look at the monitor and Emily saw the evidence of Chase’s assessment. Lethal rhythm. They rushed into the room. There was no need to hit the code button as she was already in the ICU. Staff rushed to their side, alerted by the alarms.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. You’ll have to leave.” One of the nurses spoke to Emily. “No visitors now. I don’t know how you got in here in the first place.”
“I’m her—”
“Doesn’t matter who you are, you need to leave.” The older woman pointed to the door. “Now.”
“Kim, she’s with me. Emily was the ER nurse yesterday. She stays.” Chase got all highbrow surgeon on the woman, leveling a stare at her. O-o-o-h... It seemed like he practiced that look, probably on the poor medical students, too. If things weren’t so serious right now, she’d laugh.
“Oh.”
“Get the crash cart,” Emily said, also taking charge.
“Open up the fluids till she gets here with the cart.”
Emily did as instructed, programming the IV pump to infuse at a higher rate. As long as the kidneys were working, they could always get the extra fluid off the patient later.
Kim rolled the massive tool cart on wheels into the room and opened the top drawer. “Ready.”
“Get the defibrillator charged and give her one hundred milligrams of Lidocaine.” Emily took the medication Kim handed her and plugged it into the IV, pushed hard until all of the medication had been infused.
“Lido in.”
“Charging. Two hundred.” The whine of the machine signaled its readiness. Though she usually cringed at that sound, having Chase present decreased her anxiety.
Chase pulled the paddles from their cradle and pressed them against the patient’s chest, one midsternum, one left side of the ribs. “Clear!” He squeezed the paddles, releasing the electricity into the patient’s chest through the heart and hopefully disrupted the whacked-out electrical signal causing the chaos.
The monitor paused for a second, then beat, paused, beat again, then settled into a rhythm that was no longer deadly. “Check her pulse, make sure she has one,” Emily said, and placed her fingers on the patient’s swollen wrist, Chase listened with his stethoscope to her chest for a moment, then nodded.
“Good.” He nodded and swung the stethoscope around his neck. “What’s her Metoprolol dose going at now?”
Kim supplied the answer.
“Double it for the next four hours, get some blood gases, hematology and ’lights. Call me when they’re back.”
“Well, I had hoped she was going to be more stable than that.” Emily spoke as they moved out of the patient room to the ICU doors.
“With the kind of injury she sustained, then surgery, then possible withdrawal, she’ll probably be having more episodes, but I’m hopeful she’ll survive.”
“Yes, well, thanks, Doctor.” Without meeting his gaze, she looked away.
Chase let out an irritated sigh. “I hate it when you call me that. It sounds so formal, so...old.”
“Oh.” She paused, uncertain how to proceed. “Then what should I call you?” Your Royal Ass-wipe just didn’t have the right ring to it. But she’d come to make peace and continuing to annoy him wasn’t in keeping with her quest. With a sigh, she let go of that, too.
“Chase, please. Just Chase.”
“It’s hard not to call you by your given name, but it adds familiarity I’m not sure I’m comfortable with right now.” Not at all. But what had she expected? Obviously, she hadn’t thought this plan through all the way.
“Doctor sounds a bit formal for us, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” Maybe she could get used to it. To saying his name without the emotional attachment to it she used to have. “I’ll try.”
“Are you going to head home now?”
“Yes. I have other things to get done today, then I work the next three days. Off for the weekend, though.” Why had she told him about her schedule? Old habits, she supposed, the way they used to do. Easy enough to fall right back into them. She’d also fallen into step beside him, too close, so she moved further away from him as they returned to the elevators.
His eyes were serious as he looked down at her. It was always his eyes she could read and know what he’d been thinking. But now there was confusion and concern and something she didn’t recognize, couldn’t figure out, in his eyes. Curiosity?
“You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” Without meaning to, she raised her chin in defiance and felt the muscles in her arms tensing.
“You said that very quickly.” There was that unknown thing again in his eyes. Was it compassion or pain or grief? Or did he just feel sorry for her? She could tolerate a lot of things, but not that. Never that.
“What I’m doing is keeping an emotional distance from you—that’s not the same thing.” Really. She was not afraid of any man. Not any more. She could take care of herself very well now. She didn’t need a man to protect her.
They remained silent as they left the way they had come, back through the ER to the parking lot. “You didn’t have to walk out with me. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“What, are you a lethal weapon now or something?” He indicated her uniform. “I don’t know anyone in the martial arts, so I know nothing about it.”
“And you’re interested?” Seriously? Admitting that to her was a revelation. She didn’t think he was really serious, so she wasn’t going to waste any time with lengthy explanations. She owed no one an explanation about how she lived her life now. No one.
“Marginally.” He shrugged. “More curious than interested.”
“I see.” Then it wasn’t worth the explanation. “Then, yes, I’m a lethal weapon, if that makes it easier.” Actually, she was. Now that she’d been asked to teach a women’s self-defense class, she would be like Rose, the one students looked to for guidance. How could she be an expert when she didn’t feel like one?
Her attacker—she refused to use his name or hear it in her brain—had been convicted and had received life in prison. He was gone, but there were others out there. There would always be situations where women would be vulnerable and needing to defend themselves. How could she turn down women who were looking for answers the same way she was?
“What were you thinking about just now?” He peered at her, shading his eyes with his hand. “You were seriously gone.”
“What? Oh, nothing.” She waved it away with her hand.
“Didn’t look like nothing.” His voice was calm and reminded her for a moment of days gone by, when they’d had good times, when they’d cared about each other’s lives.
“Well, I’ve been asked to do something I’m not sure I am capable of doing or even if I want to.” Didn’t hurt to admit that, did it?
“What is it? Wait.” He held up a hand to stop her from explaining. “You don’t have to tell me, but the way I decide stuff like that is by asking myself whether it’s helpful or harmful.” He held up one finger and waited for her answer.
“Helpful.” Definitely.
“Do you like doing it?”
“Yes.” Absolutely.
“And would you learn anything from it?”
She sighed and let her shoulders drop, but her mind remained sharp and aware of her surroundings. That awareness never changed, would never change. “Yes.” Undoubtedly.
“Then I’d say your d
ecision is already made.” He dropped his hand. “Well, gotta go save the world.” He saluted her, turned away and returned through the ER doors.
She got into her car, started it up and drove away. Sticking to her training schedule kept her sane. Three times weekly she walked or ran five miles, twice weekly she practiced tai chi, hapkido was twice weekly, and she meditated every evening without fail. If work was stressful, she added an extra meditation.
Instead of taking medications for anxiety and stress, she worked it out at the dojo on the mat. Her mind and body were in sync and it had taken commitment and practice to accomplish what she had.
Her phone rang, and she knew by the siren ringtone it was Danny. “What do you want, brother?” She smiled when she said it. She figured it was her job as the older sibling to give him a hard time.
“Hey, big sister. Whatcha doing today?”
“The usual workout schedule. Why? You need something?”
“The station is hosting a spaghetti-dinner fundraiser tonight and I thought you’d like to come by with an appetite and your donation to a worthy cause.”
“Which is?”
“The Wishes And Hope Foundation for kids with cancer.”
She knew the charity and it helped kids who were dying from cancer achieve one fantastic wish. “Okay, I’ll come but I have a similar request for you.” Turnaround was fair, right?
“Should I be afraid?”
“Only if you’re allergic to a tux.” He was, and she knew it.
“Uh-oh, what do you have in mind?” Hesitation sounded clearly in his voice.
“Fundraiser for the Rape Recovery Center.” They had saved her ass after her assault and there was no way she could give them back what she had received, so this was a little help, something she could do for them.
“I see. Still helping out there?” The topic made him feel uncomfortable, but she wasn’t bothered by his distress. Most men were uncomfortable with talk of rape, especially with the women in their lives. Good guys had a hard time imagining such violence against the women they loved.
“Yes, on occasion. This is a black-tie event, get dressed up for an evening of dinner, dancing and coughing up some money for a worthy cause. I’ll cover the tickets, just say you’ll go with me so I don’t have to go by myself.” She held her breath. He was notoriously difficult to pin down due to his work schedule as a firefighter, his need to test his manliness in adrenaline-surging sports, and general lack of organizational skills.
