Crash & Carnage by Emma Slate

Chapter 15

A few days later,I walked into the lounge and immediately went to the coffee maker. The coffee in the pot was old and cold so I dumped it. While I was filling the appliance with fresh water, Peyton came in.

“Hey,” she greeted. She headed to the fridge, opened it, and set a Tupperware on the top shelf, and then closed the door.

“Hey, yourself,” I replied.

She was wearing light blue scrubs with a pink starburst pattern, her shiny red hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and her cheeks were rosy.

“You look…” I trailed off, surveying her from head to toe. “Different.”

A slow smile crept across her face. “Different how?”

My jaw dropped open. “You totally got laid!”

“I might have,” she said.

“But—but how?”

“You want me to draw you a diagram?” she asked with a grin.

I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Well, after you came over for dinner, my alter ego had an intervention with my normal everyday self. It was weird, because I was standing in my kitchen, arguing with myself. Out loud, mind you.”

Laughing, I said, “Then what happened?”

“I called someone who’s made it very clear he would be happy to, ah, scratch my future itches.” A blush stained her cheeks, making her look young and joyful.

“Well, hot damn,” I said with a chuckle. “Good for you.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Now, is there anything you want to tell me?”

Even though I was worried about the things Boxer had explained to me about his life, I couldn’t stop my own telling grin from spreading across my face.

“Oh my God,” she squealed.

“Stop,” I said, looking to the door. “We can swap stories later. Right now, I have to get down to the ER.”

“With Dr. Sawyer?”

“Hmm. Yeah.”

“Sounds super fun,” she said with a grin.

“The funnest.” I shook my head. “I wish he wasn’t such an ass.”

“Don’t take it personally,” she said. “He’s an ass to pretty much everyone.”

“That actually doesn’t make me feel better. Why is he such an ass?”

“He wants Chief Nelson’s job when Nelson eventually retires. I think Dr. Sawyer is trying to assert dominance. Like the biggest dog in the dog park.”

“So, I shouldn’t take it personally that he rags on me all the time?”

“Definitely not.”

As if summoned by a spell, Dr. Sawyer entered the lounge. “Ah, Dr. Ward. Glad I found you.”

He was tall, and I used to think tall men were imposing. But after being around Boxer, I realized that wasn’t always the case. Boxer moved like he owned the space around him, swaggering with arrogance, but with the goods to back it up and not in a way that was ever forced. Dr. Sawyer reminded me of a deflated birthday balloon that was trying desperately to hold onto the last bit of helium, bobbing up and down, struggling to stay afloat.

“I was just coming down to the ER,” I said, trying to fend off a reprimand before it started.

“I need the biopsy results for my patient with the kidney tumor and then meet me in the ER.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned, and stalked out of the lounge.

I sighed and shook my head at Peyton. “The biggest dog at the dog park…and I’ve definitely become his bitch.”

* * *

The young woman sat on a hospital cot, her brown hair falling over her face as she held her shoulder with one hand.

“Ms. Carrington?”

She didn’t look up right away and when she did, I could see the dark smudge of a bruise at the corner of her right eye.

I pulled the curtain shut around us to give the illusion of privacy.

It was hard to tell her age. She looked like she could’ve been in her late teens or early twenties. The way she hunched over, along with her injuries, told me everything I needed to know.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I fell down the stairs. I hurt my shoulder.”

Classic excuse.

I examined her as gently as I could, but she winced in pain and then began to cry. Her shoulder was dislocated and needed to be put back into its socket, but from her reaction I guessed there was ligament damage and there was a good chance she needed surgery.

“Give me just a second,” I said, pushing the curtain aside.

I went to the admin desk and waited for the nurse to get off the phone. “Hey, Dr. Ward.”

“Hi Shelia, will you page Dr. Stillwater? I need an ortho consult. A young woman with a dislocated shoulder. It doesn’t look good.”

“Sure thing,” she said, picking up the phone.

I went back to Ms. Carrington who’d clearly been abused. I’d seen this so many times.

Scared. Alone. Wide eyes. No one to turn to.

I pulled the curtain shut again and took a seat in the chair next to the bed. “Betty, do you want to tell me what really happened?”

She didn’t look surprised that I deduced the truth. Betty inhaled a shaky breath. “I burned his dinner…”

“Who’s dinner?”

“Dominic’s…”

“Is Dominic your boyfriend?” I asked gently.

“Dominic is my son. His father is the one who—”

It was bad enough when a woman was being abused, but when children were involved, it made everything worse.

“I can help you,” I said quietly. “I can make a call—”

“And what?” she asked, her dark eyes finally showing some fire. “What good will that do? So someone can take away my son? So his father can kick me out of our apartment after he beats me again? I’m a waitress at a shitty highway diner. I don’t have a lot of options here. Besides he hasn’t done this in a while… I should have been more careful.”

“This isn’t your fault. You must know that. There are places you can go…shelters. We can get you safe.”

She snorted. “Those places are worse than what I’ve already got. Don’t do me any favors. Just fix my shoulder so I can get back to my life.”

I knew better than to push. If I pushed, she’d leave before even receiving treatment. And she needed her shoulder fixed.

The curtain around the cot was pulled aside. “Dr. Ward,” Dr. Stillwater greeted. She was an attractive middle-aged woman who wore her brown hair in a neat chignon. “You asked for a consult?”

I nodded and introduced her to the patient.

Dr. Stillwater kept me posted on Ms. Carrington’s surgery. Her shoulder was back in its socket, and she would be discharged the next day.

Eighteen hours later, I walked into my condo and dropped my purse onto the floor. I hadn’t bothered showering at the hospital. I’d wanted to leave as soon as possible and had driven home like the devil was on my tail, haunted by the memory of the young woman I couldn’t save. A young woman who had been dealt such a bad hand in life that she wasn’t capable of saving herself, even when help was offered to her.

It was midnight, I was still in scrubs, and the residue of impotence clung to my soul.

Sometimes people came into the ER who were beyond saving. They either died on the operating table or found out later, after the surgery, that they were terminal. Other times, there were patients who I called husk people. The hope had gone out of them long ago. Their bodies still functioned, and they talked, walked, and moved normally. Their hearts still pumped blood, their kidneys filtered out toxins, but nothing could fix the true problems within. Life had beaten them down so much that they never bothered to get up off the grungy floor. They stayed down, just hoping to survive another day.

The husk people were the hardest ones to face.

How did you save people who wouldn’t—couldn’t—save themselves?

My phone buzzed in my pants pocket. I fished it out and looked at the screen.

Boxer: Hey, darlin’.

I could hear his drawl in my head, but it still didn’t bring a smile to my face.

Hey, I texted back.

A moment later, my cell rang.

“Hi,” I answered.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just walked through the door. I’m exhausted.”

He paused. “You can talk to me about it. I’m a good listener.”

My ex had pretended he wanted to hear about my days, but he was never able to hide the glazed look on his face when I talked about my patients.

Boxer wasn’t Jeff.

I stood in the living room, gathering my thoughts and then decided to level with him. “This young woman came in,” I began. “Dislocated shoulder. Bruises on her neck and cheek. A black eye.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Her X-rays showed so many healed breaks. I gave her my cell phone number to call me if she wanted help.” I paused. “She’ll never call, Boxer. None of them ever call.”

I fell silent, and he didn’t reply.

“You asked,” I accused.

“I did,” he agreed.

“I became a doctor because I wanted to help people. I wanted to fix things that were broken. Surgery can do that. But how do you repair someone’s soul?”

I’d been trying for years to fix my own issues, but I was starting to believe they’d never be resolved. Were we all doomed to being imperfect people patched together, concealing the rot beneath?

“It makes you a good doctor,” Boxer said.

“What does?”

“Feeling the losses. You let them cut deep. It means you care. It means you want to make a difference.”

“Adderly Ford,” I murmured. “You are a constant surprise.”

“The name is Boxer.”

“No,” I said emphatically. “Not right now it isn’t. Right now, you’re not the charming playboy biker. Right now, you’re…”

“I’m what?” he asked gruffly.

I sighed. “Exactly what I need.”

* * *

“Linden!” Amanda called. “Over here!”

I grabbed my lunch tray, stalked across the cafeteria, and plunked it down at the table. Emily smiled around the juice box she was drinking from, and Peyton scooted the empty chair out next to her.

“Hey,” I said. “What are we talking about?”

“Emily’s birthday next month,” Peyton said.

“I usually keep it low key,” Emily said. “Have friends over, grill, drink some beers.”

“That sounds fun.”

My phone vibrated across the table. I caught the flash of Boxer’s name, and I instantly scooped up my cell and set it in my lap. I discreetly opened my phone to read the text.

Boxer: How long has it been since I’ve been inside you?

I squeaked and dropped my phone into my lap.

Peyton look at me and frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I said.

“You’re blushing,” she noted.

I touched my cheek as my phone buzzed again.

Boxer: I’m waiting.

My fingers flew across the screen to answer him. Three days.

Boxer: Jerking off isn’t cutting it. I need to see you.

“Oh my God,” Amanda exclaimed. “You’re totally sexting!”

Doctors eating their lunches a few tables away looked over in our direction. Including Dr. Sawyer. I didn’t need to give him any more of a reason to lord his authority over me.

“Shut up,” I hissed.

Amanda sighed. “I miss the days of sexting.”

“You and your husband don’t sext anymore?” Peyton asked.

She sighed. “No.”

“Why not?” Emily demanded. “I knew you and Martin when you guys were dating. What happened?”

“We had a kid,” Amanda said bluntly. “Nothing has been the same since Daphne was born. I keep hoping things will get back to normal, but they never do.”

I watched Peyton’s eyes dim as Amanda talked about her husband and child. Peyton had neither. I knew Peyton and her husband had wanted a family. My heart ached for her.

Another text came through my phone.

“Relentless,” Emily said with a grin. “Admit you like it.”

“I like it,” I said easily.

But this text wasn’t Boxer. It was from an unknown number, yet the words on the screen were familiar.

And I knew the sender.

“Linden? Are you okay?” Amanda asked.

“Fine,” I said, my tone clipped. “I’ve got to go.” I hastily stood up, grabbed my tray still full of food and dumped it into the trash, my appetite completely gone.

I set the tray on the top of the trash receptacle and left the cafeteria. Blood pounded in my ears, and I wondered why, no matter how far I fled, I could never escape my past.

* * *

Hours later, just as the sun was beginning to set, I walked out of the hospital and came to a halt.

Boxer was leaning against his parked motorcycle, a pair of silver aviators concealing his eyes. He wore his leather cut, a pair of dark jeans, and a green and black flannel shirt.

A smirk flitted across his face as he perused me up and down. When Boxer looked at me that way, my insides quivered.

“Hey, Doc,” he drawled.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“Yeah,” I drawled. “I bet you were.”

“Came to say hi.”

“Hi.” I waved.

“That’s not how I say hi. Come here.”

“I think I’ll stay over here,” I said with a wry grin, enjoying the teasing and the banter. “I read your texts. I’m afraid of what’s going to happen if I’m in your clutches.”

“You want to get over here so I can whisper it in your ear, otherwise I’ll say it out loud. What if your co-workers overheard me?”

“I was having lunch with the nurses when your dirty texts came through. They were very aware of your dirty texts.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. They approve, by the way.”

“Linden, get your ass over here.”

With a laugh, I stalked toward him, stopping when I was close enough to see the stubble along his jaw. I wanted to rake my fingers through his messy, dirty blond hair and then drag him close and press my lips to his.

There was something so incredibly freeing about being with Boxer. He wasn’t ashamed to admit what he wanted. There was no embarrassment about his desires.

Boxer reached his hands out to grasp my jacket and pull me toward him. I collapsed against the wall of his chest.

His lips met mine in a ferocious kiss. Three days apart had ignited his hunger, and I felt the same way.

My hand slid into the hair at his nape. Closing my eyes, I sank into the feel of him, the smell, the drugging sensation of being in his arms.

The sound of a car beeping reminded me that we were in public, and I was all but being mauled by a biker.

I’d been doing a fair bit of mauling myself.

When I opened my eyes, I saw Dr. Sawyer standing at the driver’s side door of a black BMW, but he was staring at me.

“Crap,” I muttered.

“What?” Boxer asked, his hands coming up to cradle my cheeks. “You’re cold.”

“I’m fine.” I sighed. “My boss just saw us kissing.”

“Who cares?” Boxer asked. “It’s none of his damn business.”

“Yeah. I know. I just like to keep my private life private.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Why do you care what others think about you?”

“How do you not care?”

He shrugged. “I just don’t.”

“Not helpful, but thanks.”

I looked over Boxer’s shoulder to stare at Dr. Sawyer. I waved.

He opened the driver’s side door with force and climbed in.

Boxer chuckled. “That’s the start of not giving a fuck.” His attention slid from me to stare at my boss. “Who is that? Wait, I recognize him. That’s the douche that yelled at you for having juice boxes with me. That’s Dr. Prick.”

“Yup.” I nibbled on my lower lip.

“Christ, woman, don’t do that.” He thumbed my lip. “It’s all I can do to pay attention and keep it decent.”

I smiled, but I was distracted. I didn’t like that Dr. Sawyer had seen me kissing Boxer. It had nothing to do with embarrassment, and everything to do with not wanting Dr. Sawyer to find another reason to give me hell.

Boxer’s hands went to my collar, and he flipped it up. “You look tired,” he noted.

“Thanks,” I remarked dryly.

“You know what the cure for exhaustion is?” he asked. “A massage, takeout, and a bath. But only after a good fucking.”

“Let’s go,” I said eagerly.