26

As I parked in the staff facility, Bloom drove to the general parking lot, but I asked him to wait for me at the entrance. Normally, I would take the corridor meant for staff only. It ensured quicker access to my office without colleagues or families of patients who demanded answers to cases I didn't know about yet stopping me.

I'd arrived early to catch up on what I might have missed during my absence yesterday, when I'd taken the day off to spend with Bloom. We'd lazed around the house, gone out for dinner at a cozy Italian restaurant, and watched a spy thriller at the movie theater. Crowe had checked up on Bloom like he'd said but hadn't stayed for long. The man had looked so tortured that I'd done something against my nature and told him, if he wanted to talk, he could call me. I was under no illusion his anxiety had anything to do with the man he'd killed. From his brief conversation with Bloom I'd overheard, he was worried about his friend in rehab.

When I approached, Bloom pushed off from the wall. Last night had been much better for both of us. I had to guide him back to bed only once. While he dressed this morning in his usual ensemble—black on top of black with chains paired with more black—I'd watched him. I'd never been more turned on than the sight of him adding layers of clothes to cover himself up.

His movements were so graceful, so measured, without him having a clue how much his gestures made me want him. When he'd dragged his jeans over his plump cheeks, I'd been on the verge of fucking him.

At his mischievous grin, I shook my head.

He scowled. "What?"

"I know that look."

"You can't possibly know what I was thinking."

"I don't need to know exactly what. It always results in the same—trouble."

He gasped. "Have I not been good these last couple of days with you?"

I smiled. He'd behaved well, but then, the more time we spent together, the less anxious he seemed.

"You have. You might even deserve a reward." I held the door open for him. He slipped under my arm, but not without touching my thigh.

"I know how you can reward me." He made an obscene gesture with his tongue and fingers. I glanced around me to see if anybody had noticed. It didn't look like it, thankfully, all too caught up in their worries and tasks.

"Behave," I said, trying to keep a stern face. "And that's not a reward. I'm happy to do it."

Who wouldn't be? Whenever I played with his hole, he transformed into a little slut. And while he'd turned his nose up at bottoming in the past, he now was always eager for it. I woke up from a nap yesterday with his bare ass in my face and his plea to "do that thing with your tongue."

"Don't make me think about it, or I'll be stopping by your office after my session with Dr. Simms."

"You can drop by, but no more than ten minutes. I can't have you distracting me while I'm at work."

He pouted. "Fine. I have to check in at the clubhouse anyway."

I touched his shoulder at the intersection of the corridor where we would go our separate ways. "Are you sure you don't want to sleep at the clubhouse tonight? I won't be getting off work until seven." The idea of him being alone with his nightmares for so long unsettled me. I had no choice, though, since I had to do my job, but guilt gnawed at me that I wouldn't be there for him.

"I'll be fine."

"And you'll sleep downstairs just like we talked about?"

"Logan, I'm not a child." He let out a frustrated huff. "I've been taking care of myself before you."

I took his chin in my hand. "I'm sorry if me caring makes you feel that way. It's not my intention to treat you like a child, but I want you to be safe, and I'll always do whatever it takes to make sure you are."

The hard glint in his eyes and the stubborn clench of his teeth eased. "I'll sleep downstairs." He pushed himself up on his toes and pressed his lips to mine. I stiffened, a warning blaring in my head that I was at work and this was inappropriate. But then I gave in and kissed him back.

He looked pleased when we separated. Footsteps echoed down the corridor, so I released him. Dr. Simms rounded the corner, eyebrows pinched.

"Dr. Collier." He nodded at me and then turned to Bloom. "You're going to be late for our session if you don't get a move on. Come along."

"But we're not finished talking yet."

"Didn't look like talking to me, or did you invent a new language the rest of us don't know yet?"

I frowned. Damn the man. He had no business scolding Bloom. He might not approve of my relationship with Bloom, but we were well within our rights to be together. He was old enough, and he wasn't my patient.

"Go with the doctor," I said to Bloom. "And remember, be good."

"Until I'm not," he muttered but hurried after Dr. Simms.

I continued to my office and logged into my computer to check the latest patient files and reports. I was halfway through when a knock sounded on my door.

Bloom? He couldn't be done with his session already.

"Come in."

James entered my office, grinning from ear to ear and with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Groaning, I returned my attention to the screen.

"What do you want?"

"Jeez. Is that any way to talk to the person who helped you get a love life?" He sat on my desk. "Dare I hope you'll spill the beans? The hospital is buzzing with the news that Dr. Collier—man made of ice—has thawed for the rude boy who's been terrorizing the staff." He held up an imaginary mic in front of me. "Do you care to comment?"

"What is this? Did TMZ start a medical branch while I was away? I didn't realize my love life was headline material."

James cackled, his rosy cheeks turning a shade deeper as he pressed his palm against his chest in a dramatic fashion.

"TMZ has nothing on the nurses' station. The rumors they pick up are wild. Word has it you've been taking Bloom out on dates."

"He told you?"

James shook his head and sighed. "Unfortunately, as much as I've tried, Bloom doesn't confide in me or any of us. Someone saw you at the restaurant a few days ago, and someone else confirmed you were at the movies. There's even a picture going around of you doing some heavy kissing in front of your car."

"Jesus. Is there no privacy in this town?"

"Come on, Doc. You're the most eligible bachelor in Smoky Vale. Everyone's invested in who takes you off the market."

"Is there a reason you're here, James? And kindly remove your posterior from my desk. Bloom wouldn't like it."

James's mouth fell open, but he got off. "Damn. Bloom really has you whipped, doesn't he?" He laughed loudly, and I rolled my eyes in response.

"Isn't there a gunshot victim somewhere you need to take care of?"

"It's been a quiet two days. Quiet for Smoky Vale, that is. Truth is, I was mostly bored, so I'm here to make up for lost time."

"James?"

"Hmm?"

"Get out."

"Fine, I'm going. I was going to share my winnings with you, but now I won't bother."

"What winnings?"

"The club had a bet going on Bloom's love life, whether he'd wear you down. I had my money on Bloom, of course, and he didn't disappoint."

I scowled. He should be too ashamed to bring up that bet. Why were so many people invested in my love life anyway? All I wanted was a quiet life with Bloom, free from the prying eyes of our peers. Free from snapping photos that might end up in the wrong hands and ruin everything.

"So that's why you were so insistent on helping Bloom? Looking to make some money on the side?"

"Not solely, but the stakes were high, so I went hard. No need to thank me for all the orgasms you'll be having in the future. The sex is good, right?"

I shot to my feet. Laughing, James ran out of my office, slamming the door behind him. I resumed my seat, opened an incognito browser computer, and did a search on the Internet. When nothing came up with my face, I let out a breath, but to be on the safe side, I opened the secure messaging system on my phone and updated my contact on what was going on. They could scour the Internet far better than me and remove any trace of my face.

Time flew as I immersed myself in reports and charts. When Bloom didn't come to see me as he'd said, I worried, but I had no time to dwell on it because I had to make my first round. I left a message for him with the nurse. The hospital intercom buzzed, announcing an incoming trauma case.

I rushed out into the hall, where chaos had erupted. EMTs wheeled a stretcher in at breakneck speed, followed by two cops. On the stretcher was an unconscious man covered in blood, his chest riddled with bullet holes. Even in his bloody state and the ventilated mask, I recognized the familiar face of the head of one of Smoky Vale's notorious street gangs, the Blue Boys. The world around me narrowed to the man on that stretcher, every sound fading into a distant murmur.

We rushed him into the OR, where I donned my surgical gown and gloves, the familiar ritual grounding me, even as my mind raced ahead. The cops were stationed outside the OR as we worked to save the patient's life. Was it worth it? That wasn't my judgment call to make. I had made an oath to preserve life without discrimination.

As the room buzzed with activity, I grabbed a scalpel, its cold handle firm in my hand. The patient's chest was already prepped and draped, and I made the initial incision. Blood gushed from the wound, but I worked swiftly, suctioning it out of the way. My hands moved on their own accord, practiced from years of experience.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

"What the hell was that?" Manny, the anesthesiologist, whispered.

More gunshots echoed outside. My hands trembled slightly, but then I steeled my nerves. What was happening outside wasn't any of our business.

"Those were gunshots," Nurse Hatchett cried, her eyes wild with panic.

"Stay calm," I ordered sternly, not tearing my gaze away from the wound. "We have a patient's life to save, or have you forgotten?"

Pounding footsteps got closer and louder. The doors to the operating room burst open, and two men armed with assault rifles barreled inside. They were dressed in all black and wearing face masks that only showed their eyes.

The OR, a sanctuary of healing, had suddenly become a battleground.

"Nobody moves!" one of the intruders shouted. His command was met with a stunned silence, a collective holding of breaths.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" I asked calmly. Scumbags like these were nothing new to me. It might have been years since I'd been in this position, but time was stripped away. "If we don't move, we can't save his life."

It took a moment for my words to sink in, but then he looked at the gang leader lying on the operating table.

"Are you the one in charge?"

"Yes, I'm Dr. Collier."

"I've heard of you. Save him. But none of you even think about leaving this room. If he dies, you all die."

"Not a problem. I wasn't planning on going anywhere." I shifted my focus back to the man whose life was hanging by a thread.

Time seemed suspended as we worked, ignoring the presence of our unwelcome guests. We tackled the bleeding vessels, clamping and sewing them first. There was so much blood. The nurse handed me a rib retractor, and I proceeded to spread open the incision, revealing a hemorrhaging lung.

"Sponge." I held out my hand. The nurse complied, her fingers shaking slightly. Placing the sponge, I assessed the damage, working skillfully to stop bleeding vessels and remove fragments of shattered ribs.

With each passing minute, we were making progress, but his dropping blood pressure worried me. We were squeezing blood into him but the rate at which he was losing it was another concern.

A gunshot echoed outside, and everyone in the room tensed. The armed men exchanged glances before one rushed out the door.

"Try anything funny, and one of you will get fucked!" He pointed his gun at us and disappeared.

Nurse Hatchett started to cry. "Focus," I demanded. "What we do here is more important than what's happening outside."

The room was silent except for the sounds of our patient's draining life, amplified by machines keeping him in the realm of the living. Tension clawed at each of us, but we worked with determined focus, refusing to let fear grip us.

"Get that blood in faster!" I growled.

The masked gunman moved closer to the operating table. "Is he going to make it?"

"We're doing everything we can, but it doesn't help you pointing that thing at us. This is a whole new level of stupidity when you threaten the lives of the very people who fight to keep you alive after engaging in these asinine decisions in the first place."

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" He raised his gun, his finger on the trigger. I lowered my scalpel, not saying anything, and I didn't have to. The look in my eyes spoke volumes, one that told him that the life of their leader was in my hands.

The door burst open again.

"No!" I cried, dropping the scalpel as our assailant aimed his gun at Bloom.