“Help me.” His voice cuts right through me, chilling me to the bone. How could anyone say no to a man like him?
“Should I call the police?”
“The police won’t help. Get me out of here!”
“Get you out? Are you kidding? How?” I mutter, my voice echoing as if from the bottom of a barrel. Even as the words fade, I’m frantically scanning for a way out. What do we have? A pile of medical supplies, a wheelchair, and my all-access hospital pass. Not exactly a treasure trove for rescuing… a criminal from other criminals? Whatever, we’ll figure out who’s who later. For now, we work with what we’ve got.
“Damn it!” I groan, already knowing I’ll be jobless by tomorrow. Yet my hands are moving on their own, helping this bear of a man into the wheelchair.
“Whatever happens, keep quiet. And remember—you owe me!” I wheel him into the empty corridor. All we need is to slip unnoticed to the service elevator. Then no one will find us!
The best thing I’ve learned from working in the ER is how to move fast. So, my special patient is decked out—an oxygen mask, a hospital cap, and a gown that’s about to burst at the seams over his muscular chest, threatening to blow our cover. For added authenticity, a urine bag dangles from the chair, filled with a diluted antiseptic solution that gives it a faint greenish tint.
I push the wheelchair at a steady pace, passing three shaved-headed thugs. With a sharp, authoritative tone, I bark, “Move aside! Can’t you see this patient is critical?”
The goons grimace at the sight of the urine bag and practically plaster themselves against the wall to let us through.
As we roll past, they march in perfect formation toward room seventeen. If they were a bit smarter, they wouldn’t even bother going there. And if they were, me and “Bear” might not be breathing right now…
***
A Week Before the Incident
Have your knees ever gone weak just from looking at someone? Mine never had. Not until today. Not until I saw him. No, scratch that—HIM.
Tall. I figured that out when my face smashed right into the open leather jacket stretched across his massive chest, and I inhaled a scent that made my head spin. A cologne with hints of citrus and crisp freshness… Mmm.
Rugged. That much was obvious from his demeanor and style. The three-day stubble on his square jaw and the thick scar slashing across his neck were just the final touches to the picture.
Fearless. Or maybe insane. Who else would dive into a fight with three drunk idiots without one of those traits?
But that’s not even the half of it. He was mesmerizing, knocking me off my feet with his presence. So masculine, so powerful… For the first time in my life, I was at a loss in front of a man. Instead of coherent words or sentences, all I could muster were pathetic little sounds.
When I finally tried to pull away from the steel of his chest (maybe he’s got some kind of armor under that jacket, who knows), I realized I couldn’t. Not just emotionally—physically, too. My hair had gotten tangled in the thick chain around his neck, with a pendant shaped like a bullet. Or maybe it was an actual bullet?
“Ouch!” was all I could squeak out. He finally noticed and somehow untangled me from the web of his chain—but not from his charisma. He didn’t let go of me either, one massive hand steadying me at the waist.
“You shouldn’t be walking around here alone at night, little mouse,” his deep, gravelly voice rumbled somewhere above my head. “You might get yourself into trouble!”
“Uh-huh.” Another sound instead of my usual eloquence! What is wrong with me?
“Where do you live? Need a ride?”
“No!” I carefully wriggled free. His touch still sent electric shocks through me, like a tiny lightning bolt buzzing under my skin. If I stood there any longer, I swear my clothes would start smoking. I had to get away!
To avoid coming off as completely mute, I choked out a strained “Thanks!” and didn’t just walk—I ran. My legs, which felt ready to betray me and turn back to him at any moment, carried me away. I even forgot about the pain in my foot from that dropped oxygen tank earlier!
I burst into my tiny apartment like a whirlwind, slamming the door and leaning against it with my back. What just happened? Breathe, Anna, breathe! I didn’t want to scare the kid with how I looked!
“Anna! Is that you?” And there’s the “kid.” If you can call a shaggy teenager half a head taller than me a kid. “I boiled some potatoes!” Dym’s deep voice called from his room. “Eat before they get cold and gross.”
“Thanks!” Finally, my ability to speak returned. “I’ll be right there! Just washing my hands.”
I darted to the bathroom and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—wild-eyed and unhinged. My coat had a torn collar (no big deal, I’ll sew it later), my hair looked like a flock of sparrows had nested in it, and my eyes…
Oh, my eyes were the most telling. They burned with some kind of feverish gleam.
And they perfectly complemented my flushed, crimson cheeks.
Good thing Dym was glued to his video games and couldn’t see me! And my heart—definitely tachycardia. It was pounding so hard it drowned out the constant hiss and whistle of my broken faucet.
“Alright, Anna, pull yourself together! You’ve got an early start tomorrow! Nothing happened, everything’s fine. Absolutely fine. Sure, the guy’s got character, so what? Haven’t you seen plenty of guys like that? Okay, fine, not really, but that doesn’t mean you need to have a mini heart attack over it. Those drunk idiots got what they deserved. And they’re fine, anyway—scattered like roaches when the lights come on.
These night shifts are going to drive me to the loony bin! I was just trudging home, zombie-walking with legs that felt like they’d been bashed in. And no wonder—two shifts back-to-back, with two car accidents on one of them. I’ve run and stood around enough for a lifetime! And the only valuable thing my late husband left me—my beat-up old car—decided to break down today of all days.
And then came the local “charmers”—the “blue crew,” as old man Nick calls them. How many times have they ended up in our ER? Every week in the winter when it’s freezing, for sure. In warmer weather, only after injuries. But I knew them like the back of my hand. And they knew me, too! So, of course, they rushed over to “hug” their favorite “doc.” One of them nearly knocked me over and stepped right on the foot our new anesthesiologist had already injured by dropping an oxygen tank on it. So, naturally, I screeched loud enough for the whole street to hear, like an idiot!
And that’s when he appeared.
A rough-around-the-edges heartthrob with the demeanor of a bear.
Well, he scattered those three like a bear, too. Sent them flying in every direction. I was already mentally cataloging the injuries they’d show up with at the trauma ward tomorrow. But no, still under the influence of their “anesthesia,” they scampered off pretty lively. And I was left with my “savior”... My foot throbbed unbearably, my head spun, and I would’ve collapsed right at his feet like some hard-won prize if his strong arms hadn’t caught me and pulled me close.
Oh, those arms! They were perfect…
Okay, enough. Let’s see what’s in my medicine cabinet. Herbal calming drops. I know it’s just a supplement, and my colleagues would laugh if they saw me taking it, but they don’t have a mountain of debt, bill collectors, and an overbearing mother-in-law breathing down their necks. Or a teenage stepson who needs to apply to college this summer, with no money saved even for the bus fare. So—drops at night, a bucket of coffee in the morning, and Anna’s as good as new!
Right now, though, those calming drops are a must. If I walk out looking like this, Dym will think his deadbeat dad has mortgaged the apartment. Or worse—that he’s coming back!
Potatoes. That’s what I should be thinking about. The kid put in the effort, and here I am, ungrateful, sitting around while the signature dish of my young chef cools off!