Chapter 8

"Where's your head at today, kid?"

Marcy's voice shakes me out of my head and pulls me back to the moment. I look up from the computer and give her an awkward smile, realizing I'm operating on autopilot again. Thankfully, we're just doing our routine paperwork and aren't in the middle of a busy shift in the ER. If we were, Marcy would tear me a new one. She looks at me with a strange gleam in her eye.

"I'm fine," I say. "My head's here."

"It may be here physically, but it's sure not in the game. So? Where are you at?"

I laugh softly and look down at the chart in my hands. It's been a couple of days since I talked to Hunter—since our tryst in the supply closet—and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Or about him. Just thinking about his fingers and tongue inside me right now sends a warm tingle running through my body. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to stave off the rush of heat and the wetness that accompanies it, but it's a futile effort. No matter how hard I try to push it out of my head, I can still feel the warmth of his tongue and see that sensual gleam in his eyes as he made me come.

"Is it that fireman that's got you all bound up?" Marcy presses.

I can't stop the heat from rising in my cheeks any more than I can stop the smile from crossing my lips. I feel like a silly schoolgirl with a crush.

"Yeah, that's it. I should have guessed," Marcy says with a laugh. "And have you done anything about that situation?"

Marcy doesn't know about our tryst in the supply closet. Nobody does. I guess that would count as doing something about that situation, but it's not something I want to share with her. I think having sexual contact with a patient, even a former patient, in the hospital would be grounds enough to get me bounced out of the program and shatter my dream of becoming an RN.

"Not really," I say.

Marcy looks at me closely in that unsettling way she has. The woman just has this unearthly ability to see through somebody and uncover those things they're trying to hide. I've seen her do it to others but never to me. Until now. And caught beneath that steely gaze of hers, I find myself withering and fighting the urge to turn and flee to preserve my secrets. After a few moments of tense silence, she laughs. It's a rolling belly laugh that has her doubled over and slapping her knees, barely able to control herself.

"What?" I ask.

"You think I don't know about you and Mr. Fireman in the supply closet?"

My heart drops into my shoes, and I feel the color draining from my face, which only makes Marcy laugh harder. I'm glad she's getting such a kick out of this.

"Girl, people have been hooking up in that closet longer than you've been alive. People call it the Love Shack," she says. "When that door is locked, it's just like hanging a sock on the knob. People know it's occupied. Gemma saw you go in there with the fireman, kid."

A nervous laugh floats out of my mouth, and my face burns so hot, I'm surprised I'm not seeing smoke. A million excuses flash through my mind as I search for a way to deny it. The knowing look on her face tells me she's not going to buy a single thing I say.

"We work long hours here, so romance on the floor is nothing new. People have been hooking up for time out of mind. Sometimes, you just need to blow off steam after a rough shift," she says. "But I'd suggest you be a little more discreet next time, Harlow."

"There's not going to be a next time," I reply quickly.

She laughs again. "And why not? That's a good-lookin' man, and he obviously has some feelings for you."

"Because it's inappropriate."

"How so?"

"He was our patient. It's unethical."

"The keyword in that sentence is ‘was'. He was our patient," she says. "He's no longer under our care, and you're both consenting adults. Nothing unethical about it."

"He's twice my age."

"You're both adults."

"I dated his son, Marcy."

"Are you dating his son now?"

I give her a frown. "You know I'm not."

"Then that shouldn't be a problem."

"You don't think it's weird?"

Marcy shrugs. "I think a lot of things are weird. Two people who have chemistry and are obviously attracted to each other getting together isn't one of them."

Marcy gives me an even look, as if challenging me to come up with another reason that she can shoot down as easily as King Kong swatted down the planes that buzzed him around the Empire State Building in that old movie.

"You know what I'm hearing?" Marcy asks.

"What's that?"

"I'm hearing you make a whole bunch of excuses to deny yourself something you want just because you're afraid."

"Afraid?"

"Afraid," she confirms.

"And what am I afraid of?"

Marcy shrugs. "Getting hurt maybe? I can't tell you what you're afraid of, but from where I'm standing, there is no valid reason you shouldn't go after that man if that's what you want. That makes me think you're scared."

I laugh. "Well, aren't you quite the psychotherapist?"

"Not really. I've just been around long enough to know a few things about a few things. That's all," she says. "So, I guess the only real question you need to answer is—what are you afraid of, Harlow? And is this man somebody you want to spend time with?"

I take in her words and let them rattle around in my head for a few beats. What she's saying makes perfect sense. But what am I afraid of? It's not being hurt. Getting hurt is just a byproduct of living and loving, and that's something I learned to accept a while ago. I'm not afraid of Hunter. He's the polar opposite of his son in every meaningful way. He's kind and encouraging. Though a little gruff and rough around the edges, he's also tender and gentle.

"Is he?" Marcy presses. "Is he somebody you want to spend time with?"

I nod. "Yeah. I think I do."

"Then what are you afraid of?"

"I think… I think I'm afraid of just how much I want to be with him. I don't think… no, I know I've never wanted somebody as much as I want Hunter. I guess… I guess I always have, but it was never a possibility, so I never really thought about it. Know what I mean?"

"Kind of seems like it's a possibility now."

"Yeah, I suppose it is."

"Remember what I said about not living with the what-ifs?"

I nod. "Yeah. I remember."

"This seems like a prime chance for you to take one of those off your list of regrets."

A small smile creeps across my face, and I shudder again as I think of having that silky smooth tongue lashing at my center. What will I feel like years from now, waking up alone in my bed wondering what might have been if I only had the courage to take the chance. Or even worse, waking up next to somebody and lamenting that they're not Hunter. What ifs and regret can haunt you. They can rot your soul from the inside out.

I've never let fear stop me from doing something before. Why should I let it stop me now? I'm not trying to live a life filled with regrets and looking back wondering what could have been. I look up at Marcy and smile, my decision made. She seems to see it in my face because she gives me a wide, wolfish smile in return.

"There's my girl," she says.

"You speak about the Love Shack like you have some experience."

She cackles. "Girl, I was your age once, and that's all I'm going to say about that."

Laughing together, we walk out of the nurse's station and head down to the ER to get to work. I'm more focused than before, but my mind is still drifting elsewhere as I think about what I'm going to say to Hunter. More than that, what I'm going to do to him.