Touch And Go - Aiden Bates Page 0,1
as always at our banter, handed me a file from the triage desk and motioned to the far bay where my next patient was waiting. Shae chomped up the last of her candy bar and followed me as I flipped through the chart.
“I’m just saying.” She paused to chew, then swallowed and went on. “You’re one of the best, but you’re stuck here, patching up these ER patients and shipping them off to the surgeons who get all the credit. You should be up there with the big guys and their big cash bonuses.”
“Hm, sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me, Nurse Harris.”
She clucked her tongue. “Sensitive.”
The truth was I loved being in the ER in one way or another, I’d been training to be on the frontlines since I was a kid, and the ER was a lot easier to navigate than the foster system I’d been through. Surgery was an option but working in emergency kept me on my toes. Sure, every day when I went to work I knew I’d been dealing with drug overdoses, gunshot and stab wounds, and mental health crises, but there were plenty of curve balls, too.
Curve balls like the handsomeness of the young man who sat in bay six, and the shockingly bright green eyes he flashed at me as I pulled the curtain back. His beauty hit me like a slap to the chest and for once, I was lost for words.
“How you doing, Mr. Lane? That pain relief kicking in?” Shae nudged me as she pushed past and broke me out of my trance.
“Yeah, it’s feeling okay, I guess.” His voice was gravelly but lilting, hoarse in an airy way.
With his gaze on Nurse Harris, I was able to collect myself and take in what was written on his chart. Sebastian Lane. Twenty-two-year-old male with a suspected broken wrist.
Action time. Stage smile. A happy doctor leads to a chatty patient, and chatty patients reveal more about the causes of their injuries, which leads to better healing. In theory. “Sebastian. What have we got here? Injured wrist, huh?”
“Hey, doc. Call me Seb.”
The minute he turned his gaze back to me, my knees attempted to buckle. Sheer will alone kept me standing. Get it together, Derek. I was out as gay, but I’d never crossed the line with a patient, and I sure wasn’t about to start now. Not for fatigue. Or hunger. Or low blood sugar. Or the fact that he was beautiful.
“How’d this happen?” I pulled up a stool and scooted to take a look at Seb’s wrist, resting on a pillow in his lap. I lifted the ice pack he was holding against it. Bruised. Swollen. Tender to touch. My gut said sprained, but it looked nasty, and I wasn’t surprised the triage nurses suspected a fracture.
“Ah, it was just a stupid accident. I took a tumble off the curb. Fell right onto my arm. I’m really, really clumsy lately.”
Nope. This was a well-practiced speech if I’d ever heard one. And I’d heard plenty. I caught a glimpse of older bruises on his other arm as he laughed nervously and ran a hand through his blond hair. Most certainly his story was bullshit.
I sat back and looked him over. I’d seen plenty of similar injuries in my time in foster care, and even now the roar of white noise filled my ears and the first nips of panic bit at me. Even with my brothers all grown, and even after the number of cases I saw as a doctor, signs of abuse still triggered me. I bit down the rising tide of nausea in my gut and returned Sebastian’s everything-is-fine smile with an understanding nod.
“Nurse Harris? Could you get us a new ice pack, please?”
She took the hint and skedaddled, the candy bar wrapper poking out of her pocket as she went. I wanted him to look at me again, but his eyes were trained on the floor.
“You’re nice to your nurses.” His voice was soft, and he dragged his gaze up my body to look at me from under his raised brows. I hoped he liked what he saw, and then admonished myself for the thought.
“My nurses?” I pasted on a smile and cocked my head. “Do you know where you are? My name isn’t on the door.”
“No? You’re not Dr. George Town?” He smirked through a pained grimace that twisted his face into an adorable wince and made my heart beat faster.
“You’re clumsy and bad