4. Freya

CHAPTER 4

FREYA

" W ell, isn't this just good enough," snarls Mrs. Briar with sarcasm as thick as a pie crust as I return her charts to the foot of the bed and make a note of the medications I'm about to go and get for her.

She's a miserable old woman who comes into urgent care at least twice a week because of her diabetes/joint pain/arthritis/stomach problems… Well, you get the picture. Something is always wrong and nothing is ever good enough for her. But because I'm the only person she's ever come anything close to liking, I'm the one who always gets made to deal with her — whether I want to or not.

We're busy as hell today, as usual, and I don't really have the time or the energy to argue with her, so I let her complaining slide off me, choosing just to puff up her pillows again as I start walking through the progress I have to make through the rest of the ward after this.

I have to go and see little Timmy, six years old, bright as a button and always smiling even though he's always in here too. His immune system isn't right, and no one can solve it, so for now we're just patching him up the best we can and trying to soothe his neurotic parents. I'm going to go and give him a sticker or something to cheer him up a little after this.

Then I have to go and check on the usual gaggle of various teenagers with concussions and broken ankles and swollen knees because not one of them thinks, Oh, hey, I've already got an injury — I should stop playing sports and let it heal . No, instead they're all, Oh, no, my college admissions will look terrible if I don't keep playing every sport ever invented by man twenty-four seven, and that means I have to hurt myself so much worse!

And then after all that, if I get a moment, I'm going to go and see Jackson again, who's currently lying in bed looking very sorry for himself. The guilt of knocking him over is pretty all-consuming — but really, he didn't move out of the way either. He must have a pretty high-stress job, though, from the way he was acting. And the more I think about it, the more he is kind of familiar to me, and I can't quite place why.

On the surface, he's the same as any other generally handsome guy, with the strong jawline, the bold nose, the blue eyes that are severe and cutting and yet seem to speak of hidden, sensitive depths beneath. Ugh, listen to me! You'd almost think I'd developed a sudden obsessive crush on him. Even though I'd have to be out of my right mind to not recognize that he was attractive — because he definitely is — after what he was saying about getting me fired, I don't want to take any chances. At this point, it's not worth not being nice to him.

"You know, back in my day," Mrs. Briar is saying, "old women used to get priority treatment. Now look at me. Cast aside in pain and no one cares."

"That's not true, Mrs. Briar," I say gently but with just a touch of my very best nurse-mode authority. " I care. Why do you think I always come and see you?"

She huffs grumpily, muttering a nonsense syllable because she knows full well she hasn't got a good response for me. At least it's stopped her flow of vaguely offensive remarks.

"Tell you what, Mrs. B," I say, patting her gently on the shoulder. "I'll go and talk to Doctor Brown about your meds right now, and on the way back I'll bring you an extra slice of apple pie. How about that?"

She glares at me, but to my relief nods in assent, slumping back in defeat.

She can be incredibly difficult, but basically, the best way to make anyone of any age do anything is to bribe them with treats. With the best smile I can muster — which I know that at this point in my shift definitely looks strained — I excuse myself and head back off onto the ward. I give Timmy a fist bump when I see him and do my absolute best not to roll my eyes at any teenagers.

Fortunately, no one is too difficult, so I leave everyone comfortable and head back out, intending to go find Jackson. And it stays an intention for at least another thirty minutes because on my way back to his room, I get stopped three or four times by patients and other nurses who want something from me. I guess everyone knows that I can't say no to stuff, because I get sidetracked with blood-drawing and temperature-taking and bandage runs until finally, finally I can sneak off to Jackson's room.

Unluckily for me, I'm getting close to my break and I have the feeling that he's going to make me miss it by being as equally demanding as the old man who I just helped to the toilet. I take a deep breath, centering myself, then rap on the door and enter.

It's absolutely no surprise at all that I get greeted with an unhappy glare. "How are you feeling?" I ask with a big smile. He grunts in response. "That good, huh?"

I smile harder as I approach the bed. It's a challenge, I think, to get him to crack. I'm going to get a little out of him, even if it's just a fact about him, or a little smile, or even a thank you. There's a human being hidden inside there, and I'm going to dig it out no matter how hard that is. It's then, as I pick up his chart, that I realize I don't even know his last name.

"How's your pain level?" I ask, glancing up at him. He grunts again indecipherably. "Is that good or bad?"

"Fine. My elbow hurts."

I sigh and approach him, stretching out my fingers in warning that I'm about to inflict damage upon him again. "So, is it fine or does it hurt?"

"It hurts, okay! It hurts! And it would be great if you idiots could do something about that."

"Thank you," I say, relieved that he's not making this even more difficult.

I return to double-check his chart and frown. He's already on the maximum dosage of painkillers that we allow for cases like his. But I have a feeling that a little bit of placebo effect is going to work perfectly here.

"Did Doctor Brown manage to come and look at it yet?" I say casually, racking my brains to figure out why the name Jackson Kerr is familiar to me. Who is this guy?

"Yeah, he took me for an x-ray."

"I take it he hasn't come back with the results yet?"

He shakes his head unhappily. "I haven't heard anything yet, even though it's been forever."

"You do realize that you're not the most important person in this hospital, right?" He gives me another foul look. Honestly, he's worse than Matt after too much sugar and not enough sleep. Why did this guy never grow out of being a teenager? "Let me get you some more painkillers sent down," I say.

"Really?" He narrows his eyes suspiciously. Maybe he's smarter than my cunning placebo plans after all.

"Yes; it's my job to make you comfortable. I'm here to look after you, regardless of what you might think."

"And here was me thinking you were here to hurt me even more." With that I get just the faintest of wry smiles from him. Not a major success and not the kind of success I'm hoping for long term, but it's a start. Jackson Kerr can be made to laugh after all.

"All right," I say, pushing a button that does absolutely nothing in the hope that he'll believe I'm getting him more drugs sent. "I'm going to go on my break now. But I'll be back after to make sure everything's okay here."

"Really? But we've only been here for three hours!"

I ignore the comment, biting my tongue against saying, You have been lying down for hours — I've actually been working . "Anyway, I'll be back soon."

He gives me a look, but before he can say anything else, I back out of the room and shut the door behind me. It would probably be fun to verbally spar with him for a while longer, but my break will only last so long, and I want to take it.

I head back out into the corridor, where I barely make it three steps before someone else wants me for something. I end up running around on errands for another fifteen minutes before finally I manage to sneak into the break room, slump into a seat, and rest my head on the table with a thump.

It would be so easy to nap right now. But I can't. I have too much to do.

I let myself have one of my twenty minutes of break just zoning out, then drag myself up to my locker so I can grab a protein bar out of my bag. I don't feel hungry, but I'll need the energy later because my day isn't going to get any less busy.

I check my watch. Seventeen minutes. If I go now, I can grab my car and dump it in the hospital lot. This time, I don't run as fast, but I do power walk. By the time I sling myself into my car, I'm out of breath, but fortunately the roads are empty so it takes me the one minute it should have taken earlier to swing into the only free space I can find, right at the back of the lot.

Too soon, I have to get back to work, so I take a deep breath, center myself, then head back out. Mrs. Briar waves angrily at me as I pass her, so I grit my teeth to nod and smile at every complaint she's about to launch at me.

Eventually, I manage to discharge her despite the grumbling, promising that I'll go to her house and check on her personally if she keeps having issues. Before anyone else can come and bother me, I dash off to Jackson's room.

He startles as I close the door, having been lost in a daydream or something. "Oh, you're back."

"I said I would be."

"Didn't think you meant it," he sniffs. It's clearly a challenge, and I am going to rise to it.

"I always mean what I say," I lie with my very best smile. Nobody always means what they say. Sometimes you have to tell tiny little white lies to make feel people feel better. That doesn't make you a bad person. It just means you care about other people's feelings.

He grunts disbelievingly but says nothing else. I almost feel sad at the lack of banter, but I do also have things to do. "I'll go and check up on the status of your x-ray, then, unless you need anything else."

"An extra pillow. My back hurts."

I'm about ninety-nine percent sure he's lying to me just to be contrary, but I keep smiling anyway and go over to the cupboard to fetch a pillow. He's sitting straight up when I turn around, and I keep my face in a very deliberate professional neutral as I tuck it in behind him, pushing slightly on his shoulder to encourage him to lie back down. "How's that?"

"Much better," he says.

I step away before the spark of attraction I feel can ignite. It's stupid, I know, but I have eyes and no time for dating. I'm allowed to find people attractive. But I can't act on it, especially not at work. I just wish he wasn't giving me that look, like he's asking a question I can't answer. "Good. Just buzz if you need anything else, okay?"

"Okay," he grins, and I turn on my heel and leave the room before my mind can run away with me.

Not that it really helps, because even as I keep going through my checklist and helping people out, that little grin Jackson just gave me is lodged firmly in my brain.