Part 12 (1/2)

Tonight-Valentine's Day.

That nice little reminder felt like a knife jabbed into my heart. We were supposed to have plans tonight, but that all changed when I caught him in a lie.

”What a nice guy you are,” I sneered sarcastically.

”Christie, why are you making such a big deal about this?” He seemed truly startled, which set my teeth on edge. He didn't have the right to be taken aback. He should have known he'd get caught eventually.

”I don't know,” I said with a dramatic wave of my hand. ”Maybe because I haven't seen you since I stopped taking your calls.”

”I realize that, Chris.” He looked angry, getting that crinkle between his eyebrows and that stubborn set to his jaw. He always looked so hot when he was angry.

d.a.m.n it!

”Well, that wasn't a mistake.” I placed my hands on my hips, trying to seem more confident than I felt. I hated confrontation, especially with someone who'd hurt me so gravely. It was hard to seem confident in front of someone who'd cut me so deep. ”I haven't worked with you because I requested a different schedule. So, like I said, what are you doing here?”

”What? Why would you do that?”

I fidgeted with my hair as I tried to think. Despite everything, I still cared a great deal. Just another reason to hate him. ”Because, Mitch, things didn't end well. And frankly, I didn't want to be around you.”

”That's a little harsh, don't you think?”

”Not from my perspective.” I turned to walk away, but I felt his large hand wrap around my upper arm to stop me.

”Chris, why won't you talk to me? Just tell me what happened!” His tone dropped into one of soft desperation. For a moment, I wavered.

Not here, though. I wouldn't do this here.

”We need to get back to work.” I pulled away, avoiding his eyes. ”Finish getting our a.s.signments.”

”Chris, please.” The pain in his voice almost got to me. Images of him at the restaurant, where his lies were revealed, quickly came to my mind, and I stiffened my resolve. I turned around and all but marched back to the a.s.signment board, ready to begin my day. I hoped that bit of confidence would stay with me, but with twelve hours to go, it seemed almost impossible.

Grace had a.s.signed me two rotating beds and one ICU patient to start the morning. To say I'd been happy with that a.s.signment was a grave misunderstanding. I hated having critical patients along with two fast-track beds. It was hard enough making sure all my i's were dotted and t's crossed for those picky ICU nurses, but to have two beds that were constantly filled with people who had a nagging cough or the constant runs put this day on my ubber-bad list.

Today my critical patient was Mr. Thomas, a frequent flier in our ER. It seemed Mr. Thomas liked to drink like a fish and smoke like a chimney. As an eighty-five-year-old man, he didn't give a c.r.a.p about dos and don'ts when it came to his health. The elderly gentleman felt that his congestive heart failure and chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder were just fancy terms for ”he's had an off day.” This time, however, he'd presented with full-blown respiratory failure and had to be intubated and placed on a breathing machine. It seemed his off day went from bad to downright crummy, much like mine.

”Hey, are you okay?”

Rob, the respiratory therapist, stood beside me running a check on the patient's ventilator. I'd been performing my initial a.s.sessment on Mr. Thomas and hadn't heard him approach. Truth is, I'd been leaning over my patient with the stethoscope pressed to his chest and listening to lung sounds for probably longer than I should as my thoughts lingered on my confrontation with Mitch. I glanced at Rob with the scope plugged into my ears and offered him a weak smile.

”Yeah, just a little tired this morning.”

”You sure?” He quirked his eyebrows as he stared at my awkward hovering position.

I straightened up, cleared my throat, and removed the buds from my ears. ”Yeah. Hey, what time was his last ABG drawn?” I knew the docs would want a fresh set of blood gases before they made their rounds this morning.

Rob made some adjustments to the ventilator. ”Five-thirty. He's a little acidotic. Think he needs more bicarb?”

”I'll run it by Dr. Peterson, see what he wants to do.”

”So, what was that about this morning?” I felt my face heat as I turned away abruptly and fiddled with the monitor. Maybe he'd meant something else. I didn't think anyone had noticed.

”I don't know what you're talking about.”

”Um, the flash move you pulled-one minute here, then gone the next.”

d.a.m.n it! So much for that wishful thinking.

”Something sure spooked you.”

I tried to fish for a plausible explanation. ”Oh, I had a call. An emergency. Family emergency. I had to take it.”

”Yeah, sure.” Rob snorted, but luckily he dropped the topic. Being a freshly made bachelor, Rob knew when to dig into people's problems and when to b.u.t.t out. Thankfully, he changed the subject and saved us both from an awkward situation.

”What are your plans tonight?”

Ugh. I did not want to talk about Valentine's Day.

”I'm working, Rob.” I gave him a stern expression, hoping he'd read my body language and drop it.

”I know that, Miss p.i.s.sy Pants.”

I snorted. ”p.i.s.sy pants? Really?” What were we, five?

”Yeah. You're moody.”

”No, I'm not.”

d.a.m.n it! d.a.m.n it! This was the entire reason I didn't want to work with Mitch. He screwed up my concentration and my mood, and people were noticing.

”Yes, you are.”

”I'm sorry.” I sighed, offering him a more genuine smile. ”Rough morning, I guess. Haven't had my coffee.”

”I guess so.” Robert nodded. He had a pensive look, and I stifled a chuckle, knowing what that meant. ”Maybe you're having a bad vibe.”

Lord, here we go!

Rob had a theory that anytime someone mentioned the words quiet, slow, calm, or mellow in the emergency room we were doomed to receive a ma.s.s casualty catastrophe. He also had a thing for moods, which he now applied to his theory about me and my c.r.a.p with Mitch. Good, maybe it'd keep him off the topic of my love life.

”None of your voodoo nonsense, please.”

”Seriously. I read an article about how humans can sense something is going to happen, kind of like the calm before a storm or how a bee can sense a person's fear.”

Now I felt bad. Soon he'd get riled up with superst.i.tion, so I held my hands up to stop his lecture on the theory of bad mojo in relation to frequent weather patterns before it began.

”I'm fine, Rob. I promise.”

He slapped his hand to his forehead. ”Oh, no! The death words . . . 'I'm fine.' Watch, a five-car pile-up is going to happen and fill us up with vics. And it will all be your fault. Normally, I wouldn't mind the work so much, but it can't happen 'cause I've got a hot date tonight. By the way, nice try with the diversionary tactics.” He glared at me playfully as he handed me a heart-shaped piece of wrapped milk chocolate.

”And we're back to this?”