“MedStar thought a sports star case would draw in more viewers, so here I am.”
“That simple, huh?”
“That simple.” Molly wiped her face on her towel then slung it around her neck, her nerve endings on high alert with him sitting so close. “Why are you so against the media?”
“I was raised to keep my head down and stay humble. Doing good should be its own reward. And I’ve had some bad experiences with reporters in the past.”
Jake leaned against the wall beside her, his arm brushing Molly’s and sending a fresh explosion of sparks through her system.
“So... Molly Flynn. Daughter of the famous Roger Flynn?”
She cringed, staring across the empty gym. “Yes.”
“We spent a whole semester in medical school studying his suture techniques.”
She gave a derisive snort and he narrowed his gaze, his expression thoughtful.
“Must be hard, living up to that kind of perfectionism.”
“You have no idea.” Head lowered, Molly poked the toe of her running shoe into the carpet. “Everything in my household was performance-based. Everything.”
“Ouch. I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Outside, the world might be pure chaos, but in here with him all seemed oddly private and safe. But cracks were appearing in the logical wall she’d built to keep him away—the one that told her touching him, tasting him, would be wrong. Jake was so close now that Molly could see the tiny flecks of gold in his stormy gray eyes, and all her practical ideas and reasons evaporated.
“For what must have been a tough childhood,” he said, his voice gentle, husky as he leaned closer still.
She didn’t move away. “It wasn’t like I was abused or anything.”
“No.” His gaze lowered to her mouth. “But I bet you weren’t nurtured either.”
“Nurtured?” The invisible cord between them tightened, the word squeezing Molly’s heart like an embrace. “N-no. I wasn’t.”
“Such a pity...” Jake frowned, his lips hovering over hers for a brief second before capturing them in a light kiss.
Warning bells clanged in the back of Molly’s mind, telling her this was happening too fast. Telling her she’d only be hurt by this man who saw too much, who fought as fiercely for what he believed in as she did. But instead of pushing Jake away Molly twined her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, craving his taste more than she craved her next breath.
Jake groaned low and slipped one hand around her waist while the other cupped the back of her head as he deepened the kiss. Molly opened her lips, welcoming the gentle sweep of his tongue and his minty, sweet flavor. It was nice and wonderful and...
Over.
Cursing, Jake pulled away and grabbed the cell phone clipped to the waistband of his shorts, blinking down at the screen with a frown. “Sorry. I’ve got a critically ill patient in the ICU. He’s stabilized enough to get a CT scan. They’re taking him now.”
Still woozy from the emotional hurricane raging inside her, it took Molly a moment to let the words penetrate her haze of lust.
Patient. Critically ill. CT scan.
Work. Yes. That’s why I’m here.
Silence fell between them once more as they gathered their supplies. Kissing Jake had probably been a mistake, but Molly couldn’t bring herself to regret it as Jake walked across the hall to the men’s locker room.
* * *
After a quick shower and a change into a fresh set of scrubs, Jake made a beeline for the ER. Each time he licked his lips he still tasted Molly there—sugar and bright lemon, her flavor zinging through his veins like a narcotic. He’d dropped his guard, despite his resolve, and now he’d have to deal with the consequences. Like knowing that, instead of making him less distracted, experiencing even a tiny taste of her had all but guaranteed he’d never get her out of his head.
Which wasn’t helpful at present. With a gravely injured patient, Jake needed all his wits about him.
He made a pit stop at Wendy’s desk on the way to his office. “Any word from CT?”
“Let’s see.” She clicked a few keys on her computer. “Looks like they’re finishing up with your patient as we speak.”
“Thanks.” Taking the stairs two at a time, he emerged into a bright hallway on the third floor moments later and headed to Radiology.
One of the techs waved Jake into the viewing room, then pointed at her screen. “Doesn’t look good, I’m afraid.”
She stood, and Jake sank down into her chair, staring at the glowing images. The bullet they’d been searching for was lodged snugly in the patient’s brain. Right smack in an area critical for breathing. No amount of trauma surgery would heal that level of damage.
“Can you send these to me?” he asked, his attention frozen on the screen.
“Will do, Dr. Ryder. Sorry the outcome wasn’t better.”
“Not your fault.”
Spirits heavy, Jake called Neurosurgery to have them confirm the dismal prognosis. Two hours later he led the patient’s family into a private conference room and told them the heart-wrenching news. Doing his best to keep his emotions out of the equation, Jake answered their questions, deferring to the neurosurgeon when needed, and finally left when there was nothing else to say.
All his training for these scenarios never made them any easier. Bone-deep weariness and a gnawing sense of failure haunted him all the way back to his office. Thankfully his shift was done, because all Jake wanted now was the solitude of his home and his bed. He quietly packed up his stuff and left with only a mumbled farewell to Wendy.
Following a hot shower and a cup of soup for dinner, Jake slipped between his sheets. His eyes felt scratchy from fatigue, but as he drifted off that kid’s arrival in the ER replayed in his head. Maybe if he’d done something different, if he’d gotten to the bullet sooner, if...
Slowly the hospital scenes dissolved into his last day in Kandahar...
“Area’s secure. No snipers. Nothing suspicious. Ready for transport,” Bobby had said as he’d helped clear a space for the helicopters to land safely and retrieve the wounded.
Jake had just finished hooking up an IV when the first bullet had whizzed past him. Next thing he’d known it had been raining ammo like hailstones.
“Get down! Keep the victims covered.”
The enemy had seemed to be everywhere—on the roofs, in the walls, behind each corner. Choppers had swooped in and returned fire.
There’d been a village nearby—local civilians who’d been kind to the troops. One house had taken a direct hit, going up in flames while the people inside screamed for help. Without thought Jake had taken off across the battlefield. Behind him Bobby had yelled for him to stop, yelled for his men to provide cover, yelled as three soldiers had crumpled to the ground—dead.
Jake had successfully rescued the trapped family members, after seeing to his own troop’s fallen warriors, when white-hot pain had seared up his leg. Dazed, he’d stared down at the wound in his thigh. Must’ve nicked the femoral artery, he’d thought dazedly, judging by the amount of blood.
It had been as if it was all happening to someone else. Then Bobby had been there, tying a tourniquet, hauling Jake behind a pile of scrap metal, saving his life as agony hacked through Jake like a machete.
“I—I need to h-help them. N-no m-man left b-behind...” Jake’s words had trailed off as his world had gone cockeyed. The smell of gunpowder and the salty taste of fear had filled his senses and his consciousness had slipped.
The last thing he remembered was Bobby’s words—“We’ll make it, bud!”—and an earsplitting boom.
Eyes snapping open, Jake threw back the bedcovers and rushed to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, swallowing hard against the bile in his throat. He took deep breaths in and out, in and out, until his thu
dding pulse slowed and his mind cleared.
Yeah. Maybe being by himself right now wasn’t the best idea after all.
By the time he made it back to the bedroom and checked the time it was nearly 5:30 p.m. With his odd schedule he’d learned to catch a snooze whenever he could, but he’d not expected to sleep away most of the day. He sank down onto the edge of the mattress and rubbed his eyes. His favorite local pub would be open. He could grab a real dinner, have a drink. Be around people, life, laughter.
Decision made, he pulled on some clothes, then headed out.
The Snaggle Tooth Pub had always been his and Bobby’s go-to hangout. People greeted him as he passed, no one commenting on his messy hair or haunted eyes.
“What can I get you, Doc?” the bartender asked as Jake took a seat on one of the stools.
“Pale ale, please.”
“Sure thing.” The guy returned with an icy bottle of cold brew and a menu.
Drink in hand, Jake swiveled to survey the room—cheesy retro décor and moose antlers covered the walls, and the tang of whiskey and greasy bar food filled the air. This pub had the best salmon nachos in town. He ordered a plate from a passing waitress, then took a long swig of his beer, feeling some of his tension abate.
Then the bell above the door jangled and in walked Molly. Jake swiveled away quickly, but not before he’d caught her eye. Images of their heated kiss swarmed in his overtaxed mind and his body responded before he could stop it. How had she heard about this place? Was she meeting someone here? It would be better if she was. Not because he didn’t enjoy her company, but because he was coming to enjoy it more than he should.
“Is this seat taken?”
Molly’s cheerful tone washed over him. He closed his eyes, knowing he should tell her yes even as he shook his head no and hazarded a quick side glance at her. Damn if she didn’t look adorable, in jeans and sneakers and some silly green sweatshirt with the symbol for Pi on it, surrounded by the words “Too much gives you a large circumference”.
Jake took another swallow of ale, feeling the alcohol swirling through his empty stomach and creating a nice buzz. In fact Molly looked almost as cute tonight as she had in those yoga pants in the workout room. Or in scrubs. Or that T-shirt that first night. Honestly, the woman would look gorgeous in anything.
Or nothing at all...
Jake coughed to clear the sudden constriction in his throat.
She ordered a glass of white wine instead of the frou-frou drink he’d expected. Kellie had always gone for those ridiculous glasses of fruit juice and fairy dust.
Molly’s light touch on his forearm made the whole right side of his body tingle.
“I heard about your gunshot patient. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” The word emerged as more of a grunt.
“Bobby’s doing okay, though,” Molly continued, filling in for his silence. “I checked on him again before I left.” She met his gaze, held it before looking away. “You were right.”
“Excuse me?”
She frowned—something she always did when she was thinking. “About too much work making me a dull person. Did you know a new study shows a significant difference between being engaged in a task and being addicted to it?”
Yep. There went her brain again. He’d worked with a few guys like her in the military. Brilliant at what they did, but no social skills at all.
“You’re saying I’m compulsive?” Jake took another sip of ale, realized he’d drained the bottle. “I’m the best at what I do.”
“So am I.” She toyed with the stem of her glass.
He couldn’t help wondering how those graceful fingers would feel against his chest, his abs, lower still...
“I have a question for you. More of a proposition.”
Her voice cracked a little and he felt the vibration clear to his toes.
Stick around, Bolt. I might have a proposition for you too.
Jake stared at the sticky bar top. That was the alcohol talking—loosening his inhibitions, pushing him to do and say things that were not in his best interest. Apparently one ale was more than enough for him tonight.
He flagged down the bartender. “Can I get a cup of coffee, please?”
“Sure thing.” The guy grabbed a steaming pot and returned with a white ceramic mug.
“Anything for you, ma’am?”
“No, thanks,” Molly said.
“Great. Your nachos should be out in a minute, Doc.”
Once they were alone again, Jake stirred cream and sugar into his coffee, ignoring the burning weight of her stare.
“Will you take me to Dr. Dave’s party?” Her question rushed out in a nervous tumble.
Jake froze. “What? Like a date?”
“No.” Molly shook her head, sending a few tendrils of hair from her ponytail bobbing around her face.
He longed to reach out and run his fingers through them, but resisted.
“Not a date. More for protection.”
“Protection?” He scrunched his nose. “Someone’s put a hit out on you already, Bolt?”
She gave him a look. “No. My father will be there. I’d rather not face him alone.”
Was it his imagination or were her hands trembling?
All his defending instincts roared into life. As a department head, he’d been invited to the dinner party Dr. Dave had announced he was throwing for Molly’s father. Having a professional companion along would make things easier for them both. Still, he wanted to make sure he understood her reasoning.
“Why me? Why not take one of your crew?”
“Rob and Neal are busy with production. I already checked.”
“Oh.” He took a sip of his coffee. “You really don’t like your father, do you?”
“Things between us are...strained.”
Finally, he said, “Well, I suppose we could go together—as colleagues.”
“Yes. Colleagues. That’d be great.”
They sat there for a while, the silence between them growing heavier by the second.
“So, you and Bobby...” she said finally. “How did you guys become friends?”
Jake chuckled, staring down into his coffee. “We met in BCT—basic combat training at Fort Benning, Georgia. He and I went in as officers, because of our college degrees, but that didn’t save us from eight and a half weeks of hell. In fact, I think it made it worse, because they were harder on us.” Jake snorted. “Anyway, Bobby and I hit it off the first day. We had a lot in common, even though I was from Alaska and he was from the Midwest. My dad was a veteran—so was his. I was an only child—so was he. We both loved hockey and hated clowns.”
“Sounds like a match made in heaven.”
“Or hell! Bobby eventually had to drop out of Ranger School because of an inner ear problem. He went into the security forces and led the troop that traveled with my regiment. Trouble had a way of following him around even back then. Bobby loved playing practical jokes, and he thought it would be funny to pull a prank on our drill sergeant.”
“Is that a good idea?”
“No.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah. Of course I was such a cocky idiot that I went right along with his plan. In hindsight...? Big mistake.”
“Uh-oh. What happened?” Molly sipped her white wine, her eyes adorably wide.
“We got drunk on leave, then snuck onto base and broke into the sergeant’s barracks to booby-trap the shower. The guy was a huge Toronto Blue Jays baseball fan, so we filled the shower head with neon blue dye. When he turned it on it left him looking like a giant Smurf.”
“Oh, no!” Molly tried to bite back her giggles and failed. “I’m sorry. That shouldn’t be funny, but it is.”
“Yeah. We felt pretty proud of ourselves—until the next day at roll call.”
“W
as your punishment awful?”
“In the long run, not so much. Half a day in the major general’s office getting screamed at and a permanent warning in our files. But it sealed the friendship for Bobby and me. Later, on the battlefield—” He stopped himself, not ready to go further quite yet, after his awful day and the nightmare earlier. “Well, we stayed close over the years.”
“That’s great.”
The hint of sadness in Molly’s tone had Jake focusing on her again.
“All right. I’ve told you about me and Bobby. How about you share more about this scary father of yours? You said everything when you were a kid was performance-based. What exactly does that mean?”
She gave a small shrug. “If you didn’t meet my father’s standards you didn’t exist.”
“That can’t be right.”
“No, it’s not right. But it’s true.” Molly sighed. “He was gone a lot with his work—which was good. Because when he was home he’d trot me out to show off for his friends. It was bittersweet, because those were really the only times I spent with him. I hated performing—hated all those people staring at me, judging me. But I did it because it meant I’d have my father’s undivided attention and affection for those few precious seconds, even if it was all for show. Back then, I thought if I could prove to him that I was good enough, smart enough, he’d love me.”
“My God...” Jake whispered, reaching for her hand.
She let him take it, blinking hard. “It wasn’t that bad, really. I had food, clothes, a pretty house...any toys or books I wanted. Nothing to complain about.”
“Except love?”
“Except that.”
“Wow.”
Jake gazed around the bar, trying to figure out the most diplomatic way to ask what he wanted to. In the end he just said it, because he didn’t know how else to phrase it. “Why TV, though? I mean, for a person who hates being the center of attention it seems like an odd career move.”
She stared into the distance, as if deep in thought. “Originally I started the show as a means to prove to my father that I wasn’t the failure he imagined. Then later, once Neal and Rob became my friends, it meant more. I truly do enjoy my cases, even if the travel and filming portions aren’t my favorite. And I trust my colleagues to portray me in the best light.” She lifted one shoulder and looked back at him. “Does that make sense?”
One Night with the Army Doc Page 8
