24. Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

Beck

I walk through the doors of the hospital, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling my nose. The ER is a flurry of activity, and I can tell already that it’s going to be a busy day—not that I’m complaining. A busy day means I don’t have to deal with my own thoughts.

I make my way to the nurses’ station, looking for Michelle. She’s my favorite nurse and probably my closest friend here. She emerges from a room looking frazzled, but still shoots me a big smile and waves. “Hey, glad you’re here! There’s a kid in room one that needs a strep test and another in room three that needs the same. Guess it’s that time of year.”

I nod and head into room one. “Hey guys, how are we today?” I ask, turning to wash my hands.

“My throat hurts,” the little girl says, blinking up at me with tired blue eyes. She’s sitting in her mom’s lap, and her rosy cheeks and the dullness in her eyes tell me more than anything else how bad she feels.

“I bet,” I say. “My name’s Beck, what’s yours?”

“Sophia.”

“Wow, what a pretty name,” I say as I slip some gloves on and grab a tongue depressor and a strep test kit. “We’re gonna get you all taken care of. I’ve gotta get a look at you and take a biiiig Q-Tip and rub it in your throat.” I hold the test kit up to show her. “It won’t hurt, but it might feel a little uncomfortable. I’m going to use this stick to hold your tongue down and use this to swab your throat. Sound good?”

She nods. “Okay, open big and wide for me.” I use the depressor to hold her tongue down and swab her throat. I’d bet money this is strep, given all the red and white splotches. She gags a little, which is normal, and I pull the swab back and place it in the test tube.

“You did so good! I’m going to take this to the smart guys at the lab so they can test it for me and see if you have strep throat, but I’m betting that’s what it is.” I turn to her mom. “Looks like antibiotics in your future.”

“Thank you,” her mom says, kissing Sophia’s head.

“Would you like a sticker for being so brave today?” Sophia nods shyly, and I smile. “Okay, great. I’ll get this test off, and a nurse will be back in a few. You guys just hang tight and as soon as we get the results, we’ll get you out of here. Shouldn’t take more than fifteen to twenty minutes.”

They both nod, and I leave the room.

It’s definitely that time of year. By the end of my shift, I’ve gotten fourteen positive strep tests back. I lean against the nurses’ station and glance at Michelle. “This has been a day from hell.”

She laughs. “You’re not wrong. Any plans for tonight?”

I shrug, but I already know I’m going out—and I already know I’m going to hate myself for it afterward.

The guy beneath me is moaning into his pillow like I possess the best dick he’s ever had in his life. I don’t know what’s got him so excited. This is meh, at best. And eh, at worst. I thrust over and over, my grip on his hair tight, sweat beading on my skin. God, this room is too fucking hot. Who keeps their house this hot?

Focus.

I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself. Another night, another guy face down in front of me. I don’t care about him, and that makes me feel disgusting. But some fucked-up part of my brain won’t let me stop. I had the best of the best to start with, and now everything else pales in comparison. Is it normal to still be this hung up on your first ten years later?

This is not focusing, Beck.

Nothing feels as good as it did before though, and I just keep hopping from guy to guy, trying to chase the high that having sex before gave me. Was it the sex, or was it the person? Will I ever stop chasing that feeling? Will I ever feel that good again?

Ugh. Still. Not. Focusing.

I turn my attention back to the blonde head of the guy in front of me. This should be hot, right? His moans should be doing something for me, but they aren’t. I tighten my grip on his hair and he groans, his body convulsing. I close my eyes, and a shock of brown hair and pink cheeks flashes through my mind before I can stop it. My hips jerk, a moan escaping before I can bite it back.

“Feel good, baby?” the guy moans, snapping me back to reality.

It’d feel a lot better if he’d stop talking.

I need this to be over. I release my hold on his hair and reach around, wrapping my hand around his cock. He moans again, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus on the heat surrounding my dick and not on the fact that his voice is all wrong, the moans the wrong timbre. His cock throbs in my hand as I stroke him roughly, his body tightening around me the closer he gets. His cum slicks over my skin, and for just a second, I allow myself to focus on brown hair and soft, pleading eyes. My hips stutter as the image pulls me over the edge. I bite my bottom lip against the groan that wants to escape, pulling out of him before I’m even done shooting, the buzz of my orgasm already fading, leaving nothing but guilt and self-loathing in its place.

He collapses forward on the bed, lying in his own mess. I wipe my hand on his sheets and stand, pulling my clothes back on as I head for the door. His voice stops me. “You’re not even going to say bye? Just gonna take off before the cum even cools?”

“Bye,” I call over my shoulder as I walk through the bedroom door.

“Fucking asshole!” he yells.

Yep. That’s me.

When I get home, I feel empty. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this level of self-hatred. I’m honestly not sure what’s worse— that I can’t even fucking come without thinking about Roman, or that even when I do , it does nothing to make me feel better. It’s always so damn unsatisfying. Maybe I’m broken.

My skin feels gross, the remnants of sweat and sex clinging to me like an oppressive blanket. I head straight to my en-suite bathroom, stripping down as I go. The second I step under the hot spray of water in the shower, I start scrubbing at my skin, trying like hell to wash away the bullshit of tonight. By the time I’m done, the water is cool, and my skin is raw and red. It doesn’t matter, though. I still don’t feel clean.

As I head back into my room, I stop and grab a pair of boxers before slipping into them and collapsing on my bed. Reaching into my nightstand, I pull out my sketchbook. I don’t know why I keep trying. I can’t fucking draw anything anymore. I used to doodle all the time. I know I once jokingly called Roman my muse, but it’s not a joke anymore. I sit up against the headboard and press the tip of the pencil to the paper, willing my hand to move and draw. But it doesn’t.

I’m motionless, frozen in time, still that sad eighteen-year-old whose everything just walked away from him. I wish I could just move on. I’ve resisted the urge for years to look him up. It’s possible he doesn’t even have social media. And even if he does, what if he’s happy and moved on? What if he has a husband and kids? What if the only thing holding him back from happiness was me? A heavy weight settles in my stomach, and I toss the sketchbook to the floor. Fuck, this is ridiculous.

I briefly consider calling Riley, but it’s midnight, and she’s probably already asleep. I don’t want to bother her. God knows she’s heard my woes a million times over the years. I’m just so fucking tired of feeling this way. Maybe I need to try to find an actual relationship instead of these random one-off hookups. My heart gives a hard thud, my stomach twisting at the idea. I’m pathetic. I don’t know anyone else who is still this hung up on someone they dated less than six months—ten fucking years ago.

With a sigh, I pull the blankets down and slip under them, closing my eyes.

Unfortunately, my brain won’t shut off and let me stop thinking about Roman. I toss and turn as I try to evict him from my mind. Seconds turn to minutes, minutes to hours, until I sit up with an irritated huff and check my phone. 3:17 a.m. I want to throw it across the room, but that won’t solve anything. I fling the blankets off and stand, padding quietly to my closet. Reaching to the top shelf, I pull down the box that holds the stuffed rabbit I won for Roman. I stare down at it—the very last piece of him I have. The brown fur has faded over the years, but it’s still close enough to his hair color that it makes my stomach clench with sadness.

With a heavy sigh, I grab the rabbit, put the box back, and return to bed. After I climb in and pull the blankets back up, I clutch the rabbit tightly to my chest. I try really hard not to do this often, but sometimes, when the pain of missing him gets too overwhelming, I can’t help it. This is the third time this week I’ve needed it. God, I hope this gets better soon. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

I’m dragging ass when I walk through the hospital doors the next morning. Everyone knows you never say the Q word when you work in the emergency department, but I’m thankful it’s not as busy as it was yesterday. At least not yet.

Exhaustion clings to me, and my head feels fuzzy as a result. I round the nurses’ station, heading past the exam rooms to grab a cup of coffee from the lounge, when a man comes out of the room and nearly runs into me. He startles, and a wide smile splits his face. He’s pretty—almost disgustingly so. He’s short and fine-boned, with big green eyes lined in black. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says in a smooth, melodic voice. Something about him immediately rubs me the wrong way, but that’s probably just the exhaustion talking.

“No worries. I’m out of it today,” I mumble.

“I hope it gets better for you!” he says, all bright and cheery, and I want to bang my head against the wall. It should be illegal to be this perky around me this fucking early when I’ve had so little sleep.

He’s wearing scrubs with puppies on them, but I don’t see a name tag. Trying to play nice, I reach out a hand. “I’m Beck.”

He smiles up at me. “I’m Holden. Nice to meet you!” He pulls his hand back and takes off, flitting toward the nurses’ station. I grumble under my breath, already irritated with the day, and head off to get my life-saving caffeine.

The cup of coffee in my hands is warm and fucking amazing, but it’s doing nothing to ease my irritation. I’d go home, but there isn’t anyone else today that can run the ER, and I don’t want to call anyone in so I can throw a pity party for myself. Plus, I’ve never let a sour mood over Roman fucking Miller affect my job, and I won’t start today.

I’m three sips into my coffee when a code blue is called over the speakers. Within seconds, I’m out of the lounge, my mind firing but my body calm. All thoughts of anything but the emergency fade away. This is my element.

I burst through the door, eyes scanning the room. Holden is kneeling on the bed next to the patient, performing CPR. I glance quickly at the monitors, and his voice rings loud and clear through the room, above the noise of everything else. “Patient is in V-fib. We’ve shocked once at 120. Still no rhythm.”

I turn to Dalia, one of our best nurses. “Get 1 mg of EPI on board.” She nods and steps away as I take the paddles, ready to shock him again. “Charge to 200.”

Within seconds, we’re ready. Holden pulls back and checks the rhythm. “Shit,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Clear,” I say. “Dalia, be ready to administer that EPI, please.” Everyone steps back as I shock the patient again. The moment I pull the paddles away, Dalia injects the medication into his IV, and Holden resumes CPR. A sheen of sweat is on his skin, and his breathing is a little labored. “Do you need to switch out?” I ask.

“Soon,” he grits out.

Holden steps back, and I check the patient’s rhythm again. Fuck, still nothing. We shock him again, and Michelle takes over compressions.

After another two rounds, I glance at the clock. “Stop CPR.” Michelle immediately sits back as I check for a pulse. With one last look at the monitors, I sigh.

“Time of death. 7:52 a.m.”

The room is silent for a few moments, the heavy aura of the loss weighing on all of us. No matter how many times you lose a patient, it never gets easier.

“Does he have family here?” I ask.

Holden speaks up. “Yes, his wife just ran out to drop their son off at school. She should be getting back any minute. She brought him in because he was having shortness of breath and heart palpitations. She said it had been happening for almost a week, and this morning, he woke up with severe chest pain, so she made him come in.”

Fuck. And yet, even here, we couldn’t save him. “Okay, I’ll talk to her when she gets here.”

Nods all around the room, and then Holden speaks up again. “Can I come too?”

I look at him for a second and then nod. Hopefully, he can stow that cheerful-ass mood long enough to deliver some bad news. I give myself a mental shake. That was incredibly unfair of me. From what I just saw, he’s very competent and damn good at his job, despite how much his attitude irritates me.

“Her name is Lysa,” Holden says as we walk toward the conference room to give the bad news. His mood is somber and serious, and I’m relieved to see the shift. There’s nothing wrong with being bright and cheery, but there’s a time and a place. And since Michelle mentioned that this is his first shift here after relocating, it’s good to see that we have another nurse on staff that can balance empathetic patient care with the ability to lock in when the situation arises.

I nod and open the door, walking in first. “Hello, Lysa, I’m Beck. I’m the physician assistant who oversaw your husband’s care today, and I know you’ve already met Holden.”

Holden gives her a sad smile, his face a mask of professional empathy. She slumps back against the seat she’s sitting in. “I’m afraid we have some bad news.” Her breath catches, and tears spring to her eyes instantly. “Anthony went into ventricular fibrillation, and despite our best efforts, we were unable to get his heart back to a normal rhythm. We did everything we could. I’m genuinely sorry.”

The tears spill over, and a pained noise escapes her. Holden immediately drops to his knees in front of her, pulling her hands into his. “We’re so sorry for your loss,” he says softly, and she nods through her sobs.

“I told that stubborn fool to get checked out last week, but did he listen? No.” Another sob rips through her, and she doubles over. Holden stays there, holding her hands, offering silent comfort.

After she calms down, I say, “I’m more than happy to answer any questions you may have.”

She shakes her head. “No. Nothing right now.”

I nod, and Holden takes over again. “We have support staff, counselors, and social workers that are at your disposal to talk to as well. Would you like to speak to anyone?”

“No, not… not right now. Thank you,” she says with a sniffle. Holden stands before taking a couple of steps back.

“We’ll give you some privacy, but if you need anything, please ask for me, and I’ll do what I can,” Holden assures her.

I have to appreciate the way he’s handling the situation, though I worry about him burning himself out. He can’t be older than twenty-five and if this job has taught me anything, it’s that you can be caring and empathetic, but you also need to maintain a bit of detachment. If only I had learned that lesson with Roman.

After we leave the room, I turn to Holden. “You did really well today.”

He shrugs. “It wasn’t enough.”

I nod slowly, feeling that way myself. “We did the best we could, and sometimes that’s not enough. But you still did good.”

“Thank you,” he whispers, before stepping away.