Thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it.
Standard disclaimer.
Please forgive any extreme mistakes or anything that doesn't make sense. I'm seriously distracted...by my two younger boys, who chose this time, to complain about who did this and that on Roblox. Oh, and one of my dogs won't stop barking!
Eve left the Garden of Eden for chocolate.
Sam followed Mercedes through the double doors to the ER and to a bed, where she then pulled a curtain around them for privacy.
Sam internally sighed.
In the military, he had learned defense tactics and ways to conceal information. And he'd excelled at both.
As a result, concealing emotion, came all too easily to him. Not to mention, there wasn't much room for emotion, in the underbelly of the Third World countries he'd worked in.
So he'd long ago perfected the blank expression, and honed it as a valuable tool. It was second nature now...or had been.
Until Mercedes.
Because, he was having a hell of a hard time pulling it off with her.
Like now, for instance, when he was relieved to see her and yet struggling to hide that very fact. And she, clearly not so relieved to see him, said,
"I'll be right back." And vanished.
Fair enough.
As she'd pointed out, he'd vanished on her, but a part of him had figured, he'd never see her again.
And another part, had hoped he would.
He'd known that she worked here and imagined she was a great nurse.
On the night of the storm, she'd been good in an emergency, extremely level-headed and composed.
Unlike at the auction, in his arms. Then, she'd been hungry, and the very opposite of level-headed and composed.
He'd loved that about her.
Now, she was back to the calm persona.
She looked cute in her pale pink scrubs, with the tiny red heart embroidered over the pocket on her left breast. And he especially liked the air of authority she wore.
'Hell!'
He liked everything he knew about her so far, including how she'd tasted. Yeah, he'd really liked how she'd tasted.
Which was the only explanation he had for being here, because, he sure as hell could remove his own damn stitches.
From nearby, someone was moaning softly, in both fear and pain.
Sam stood, instinctively reacting to the sound, as he hadn't in four years. Four years of ignoring the call to help or heal.
The moan came again, and Sam closed his eyes. 'Shit!'
Now, he suddenly wished he hadn't come.
Unable to help himself, he stuck his head out the curtain of his cubicle, noticing, in the next bed over, a guy hooked up to a monitor, fluids, and oxygen.
He seemed to be in his early forties, smelled like a brewery, and either hadn't showered this month or he'd rolled in garbage.
His hair was grey and standing straight up, missing in clumps.
A transient, probably, Sam thought, seeing the man looking so small and weak and terrified.
"You okay?" he asked, staying where he was. "You need the nurse?"
The man shook his head but kept moaning, eyes wide, his free hand flailing.
His eyes were dilated, and there was a look to him, that said, he was high on something.
Cursing himself, Sam moved to the side of the guy's bed. He glanced at the IV. They were hydrating him, which was good.
Catching the man's hand in his, he squeezed lightly and asked,
"What's going on?"
"Stomach. It hurts."
The guy's clothes were filthy and torn enough, to reveal a Trident Tattoo on his arm.
Sam let out a slow breath.
"Military," he said, feeling raw. Too raw.
"Army," the man said, slurring, clearly still heavily intoxicated, at the least.
Sam nodded and might have turned away, but the guy was clinging to his hand, like it was a lifeline, so he continued to hold onto him right back, as he slowly sank onto the stool.
"I was Navy," Sam heard himself say. He left out the Special Ops part...he always did.
And it had nothing to do, with not being proud of his service and everything to do, with not wanting to answer any questions.
And there were always questions.
"I'm out now."
'Technically.'
"You never get out," the man said.
'True enough,' Sam thought.
"They should pay us for the long nights of bad dreams," the guy went on, then took a moment to gather his thoughts.
This seemed to be a big effort, and Sam wanted to tell him, not to work too hard, but before he could, the man spoke again.
"They should give us extra combat pay, for all the ways our lives are fucked up."
Sam could honestly get behind that.
They sat there in silence for a moment, the man looking like he was half asleep now and Sam feeling a little bit sick.
Sick in the gut. Sick to the depths of his soul.
'Yeah, coming to the hospital, had definitely been a stupid idea. This is absolutely the last time, I let my dick think for me.'
"I still think about them," the man said softly, into the silence.
'Ah, hell!'
Sam didn't have to ask who. He knew. All the dead. He swallowed hard and nodded.
And the man stared at him, glassy-eyed but coherent.
"How many for you?" he asked.
Sam closed his eyes.
"Four."
But there'd been others, too. Way too many others.
The man let out a shuddery sigh of sympathy.
"Here." He lifted a shaky hand and slid it into his shirt, coming out with a flask. "This helps."
And Mercedes chose that very moment, to pull back the curtain.
"There you are," she said to Sam, then, smiled kindly at the man in the bed. "Better yet, Ray?"
Ray, caught red-handed with the flask, didn't meet her gaze, as he gave a jerky nod.
"Why don't I hold that for you, okay?" she asked.
Gently, she pried the flask from his fingers, confiscating it without another word.
Sam didn't know what he'd expected from her. Maybe annoyance, or some sign, that she resented the duty of caring for a guy, who was in here for reasons, that had clearly been self-inflicted.
But, she ran a hand down Ray's arm in a comforting gesture, not shying away from touching him.
'More than duty,' Sam thought. 'Much more.'
This was the real deal, she was the real deal, and she cared, deeply.
"I've called your daughter," Mercedes told Ray. "She'll be here in ten minutes. We're just going to let the bag do its thing, refilling you up with minerals, potassium, sodium, and other good stuff. You'll feel better soon."
She patted his forearm, as she checked his leads, making physical contact, before she looked at Sam, and gestured with her head, for him to follow her.
"Is he going to be okay?" Sam asked quietly, on the other side of the curtain.
"Soon as he sobers up."
"He's on something besides alcohol."
"Yes."
"Does he have a place to stay?"
She gave him a long once-over.
"Look at you with all the questions."
"Does he?"
She sighed.
"I'm sorry, but you know I can't discuss his case with you. I can tell you, that he's being taken care of. Does that help?"
'Yeah. No.'
Sam had no idea, why a lump the size of a regulation football, was doing stuck in his throat, or why his heart was pounding.
Or why he couldn't let this go.
"He's a vet," he said. "He's having nightmares. He..."
"I know," Mercedes said softly, and reached out to touch him, soothing him as she had Ray. "And like I said, he's being taken care of..."
She paused, studying him for a disturbingly long beat.
"Not everyone would have done that, you know. Gone in there and held a vagrant's hand and comforted him."
"I'm not everyone."
"No kidding."
The phone at her hip vibrated. She looked at the screen and let out a breath.
"Wait for me," she said, pointing to his cubicle. "I'll be right there."
And then, she moved off in the direction of the front desk.
In front of Sam was yet another bed, with its curtain shut, but it was suddenly whipped open by a nurse, who was talking to the patient sitting on the bed.
"Change into the robe," she was saying. "And I'll go page your doctor."
The patient had clearly walked in under his own steam, but he wasn't looking good. He was a big guy, probably mid-thirties, dressed in coveralls, that had the Public Utilities Department logo on a pec.
He was filthy from head to toe...clearly just off the job. And as Sam watched, he went from looking bad to worse.
Then, he gasped harshly, clutching at his chest.
'Oh Shit!,' Sam thought. And then, 'Why the hell I am here?'
He should have left.
Instead, he was hurtled back in time, back to the mountain, squinting against the brilliant fireball, that had been a plane.
He'd sat on the cliff holding one of his friends in his arms, while that same friend clutched at his crushed chest.
A million miles and four years later, the guy on the hospital bed groaned, dropping the gown he'd been holding. Next, he slithered to the floor, his eyes rolling up in the back of his head.
Sam took a step back and came up against a rolling cart of supplies, even as his instincts screamed at him, to rush over there and help.
But the cart moved out from behind him, and he staggered on legs, that felt like overcooked noodles.
Then, suddenly, people came out of the woodwork, including Mercedes.
"He's coding," someone yelled.
And the dance to save the man's life began.
Someone pulled Sam out of the way and back to his cubicle, where he waited, for what might have been five minutes, or an hour.
Or a lifetime.
Mercedes finally came in.
When she found Sam still standing, she gave him a sharp look.
"Sorry about that. You okay?"
"The guy. Is he…?"
"He's going to make it." She gestured to the bed. "Sit. You look like you could use it."
Like hell he did.
"Sit," she said again, soft steel.
'Fine.'
He sat. On the stool, not the bed. The bed was for patients, and he wasn't a patient. He was a fucking idiot, but he wasn't a patient.
"Not a big hospital fan, huh?" she asked wryly.
"No."
She washed her hands thoroughly.
"Personal experience?"
He didn't answer, wasn't ready to answer.
Apparently okay with that, Mercedes pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then opened a couple of drawers.
"Are you squeamish?"
He didn't answer that either. Mostly because, only yesterday, he'd have given her an emphatic no. Except, what had just happened to him in the hallway, said otherwise.
He'd changed.
Once upon a time, nothing had gotten to him, but that was no longer true.
Case in point was Mercedes herself. She got to him, big time.
Mercedes lifted a big, fat needle, and Sam blinked.
She smiled and put the needle down, and he realized she'd been fucking with him, to lighten the mood.
He heard the surprised laugh rumble out of him, sounding rusty.
Muscles long gone unused, stretched, as he smiled and shook his head.
"Guess you owed me that," he said.
"Guess I did."
After she'd loaded up a tray with what she wanted, Mercedes came at him.
She set the tray on the bed and perched a hip there as well, letting out an exhale, that spelled exhaustion.
"If you don't want to sit here, I sure as hell do," she said.
And Sam found himself smiling again.
"Tired?" he asked.
"I passed tired about three hours ago." She soaked a gauze in rubbing alcohol.
"So, you're an RN."
"Yes," she said. "I bought my license online yesterday."
She dabbed at the wound over his eyebrow and then opened a suture kit, which he was intimately familiar with.
As a medic in the field, he'd gone through a lot of them patching guys up.
"Don't worry," she said, picking up a set of tweezers. "I've seen a guy do this once."
Sam wrapped his fingers around her wrist, stopping her movement.
"I'm kidding," she said.
"Oh, I know. I just don't want you to be cracking yourself up, when you put those things near my eye."
"Actually, I'm not all that amused right now," she said.
"What are you, then?"
She hesitated.
"Embarrassed," she finally admitted.
This stopped him cold.
That was the last thing he wanted her to be.
"Don't be embarrassed," he said. "Pick something else, anything else."
"Like?"
"Mad. Mad would be better."
"You want me to be mad at you?" she asked, looking confused. "Why? I'm the one who said the 'here' and 'now,' remember?"
Yeah, he remembered. And he'd loved it.
"And I'm the one who wanted a one-time thing," she said. "No strings attached."
"So why be embarrassed then?"
She sighed.
"Tell me."
"Because, I've never done that before..." Mercedes lowered her voice to a soft whisper. "...Sex without an emotional attachment," she clarified. "And now..." Her eyes slowly met his. "...I'm thinking, I should have requested a two-time thing."
This left Sam speechless.
She winced, shook her head, then laughed a little at herself.
"Never mind." She leaned in close to look at the stitching. "Nice work. Dr. Scott's the best," she said. "But you'll probably still have a decent scar...which shouldn't be too much of a problem for you...women like that sort of thing. Apparently, they'll fall all over themselves to sleep with you."
Still holding her wrist, Sam ran his thumb over her pulse.
"You didn't fall all over yourself," he said quietly.
"Didn't I?"
"If you did, there were two of us doing the falling."
Again, her eyes met his, and he watched her struggle to accept that.
"Well," Mercedes finally said, pulling her hand free, "As long as there were two of us."
Some of the good humor, was now restored in her voice, Sam noted. Which meant, she was compassionate, funny, and resilient.
His favorite qualities in a woman.
But he wasn't looking for a woman. He wasn't looking for anything, except, to get back to his world, where he functioned best.
Mercedes leaned in close and used the tweezers to pull up a stitch, which she then snipped with scissors.
"A little sting now," she warned, and pulled out the suture. "So, what was it, that you said you do?"
'Oh, she's good,' he thought. 'Very good.'
"I didn't say," he replied.
She pulled out another stitch and then gazed steadily at him.
She had the most amazing eyes. Mostly chocolate brown, but there were specks of gold in there as well.
And a sharp wit, that stirred him even more, than her hot, curvy little body.
A woman poked her head around the curtain, about the same time, one who'd been at the front desk did.
Both young and eager.
"Need help?" she asked Mercedes, her eyes on Sam.
"Nope," Mercedes replied. "I've got this."
Her face fell, but she left without further comment.
Two seconds later, another nurse appeared, and this one, Sam recognized as Mercedes' mother, from the night of the auction.
"New arrival," she said to her daughter, eyeing Sam.
"It's your turn," Mercedes answered.
Her mom frowned.
"Merce."
"Mother."
The curtain yanked shut, and they were alone, again.
"She hates when I call her that...'mother' I mean."
"Wow! You work with your mom."
Mercedes took a page from his book and went silent. It made him smile. She made him smile.
"She looked pissed," he said, fishing. Which was new for him. He never fished. He hated fishing.
"Oh, she is," Mercedes said.
She pulled another stitch, and Sam barely felt it.
She had good hands, and he had reason to know.
"Because of me?" he asked.
"Now why would you think that?" Mercedes asked. "Because, I left my own fundraiser, to have sex in a storage room, with a man whose name I barely knew?"
"Really great sex," Sam corrected. When she slid him a long look, he added, "Imagine what we could do with a bed."
She let out a short laugh, and he stared at her face, truly fascinated by her, in a way that surprised him.
She was supposed to be just a woman...a cute nurse in a small town, that soon he'd forget the name of.
Except...he wasn't buying into it.
"Hey, Merce."
Yet another woman peeked into the cubicle, this one mid-thirties and wearing a housekeeping outfit.
"Need anything?"
"No!"
"Jeez," she said, insulted. "That's fine. But you don't have to bite my head off."
When she'd vanished, Mercedes sighed.
"My sister."
She dumped the instruments she'd used into the sink, and still facing away from Sam, spoke.
"What about your leg?"
"What about it?"
"Does it need to be looked at, too?" she asked.
"No."
She turned to look at him with an expectant air, saying nothing. And it made him smile.
"You can't use that silence thing against me. I invented it," he said.
"What silence thing?" she asked innocently.
"You know what silence thing...where you go all quiet and I'm supposed to feel compelled to fill it in with all my secrets."
She smiled.
"So you admit to having secrets."
"Many," he said flatly.
Her smile faded.
"You're engaged. Or worse, you're married. You have ten kids. Oh my God, tell me you don't have kids."
"No. And I'm not engaged or married. I'm not…anything."
Mercedes just looked at him for a long moment.
"Some secrets are toxic, if you try to keep them inside. You know that, right? Some secrets are meant to be told, before they eat you up."
Maybe, but not his.
In no time, he'd be long gone, back to a very fast-paced, dangerous life, that would eventually, probably kill him.
But not her.
She'd find someone to share her life with, and grow old with.
"You watch too much Oprah," Sam said.
Mercedes didn't take umbrage at this. She pulled off her gloves and tossed them into the trash.
"Does your whole family work here?" he asked, running a finger over the healing cut, now sans stitches. She'd done a good job.
"Just my mom, my sister, and me," she said. "And I also work at the Health Services Clinic."
"I didn't know there was one here."
"Well, there's not. Not yet. But, if we get approval at the town meeting tomorrow night, it's a go for a tentative opening this weekend."
"Is there a need in a town this small?"
"This hospital services the entire county," she said. "Not just Lucky Harbor. And yes, there's a huge need. We have a high teenage pregnancy rate, and drug abuse is on the rise as well. So is abuse and homelessness. We need counseling services and advocacy and educational programs. And there's going to be a weekly health clinic on Saturday, for those who can't afford medical care."
God, she was so fierce, she made his heart ache.
They could use her at his work, he thought, but was doubly glad, that she pretty much embodied Lucky Harbor.
Hopefully, she'd never live through some of the horrors out there, or lose her genuine compassion to jaded cynicism.
"So what makes a woman like, you take on such a thing?" Sam asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Usually this sort of thing is driven by a cause. What's yours?"
Mercedes turned away, busying herself with washing her hands again.
"Ah," he said. "So I'm not the only one with secrets."
She turned back to him at that, eyes narrowed.
"Tell you what. I'll answer one question, for every question you answer for me."
Sam knew better than to go there.
He might have treated her like a one-night stand, but he knew damn well, she was different.
By all appearances, she was pretty and sweet and innocent, but beneath that guileless smile, she held all the power, and he knew it.
She'd have him confessing his sins, with just one warm touch.
She isn't for you…
"Yeah," Mercedes said dryly, hands on hips. "I figured that'd be too much for you."
It was. Far too much. He was leaving…and yet, he opened his mouth anyway.
"What time do you get off?" Sam asked.
This shocked her, he could tell. But, to be fair, he'd shocked himself too.
"Seven," she said.
"I'll pick you up."
"No," she said. "You know the pier?"
"Sure."
"I'll meet you there. In front of the Ferris wheel."
She didn't trust him, he thought. 'Smart woman.'
"Okay," he said. "In front of the Ferris wheel."
"How do I know, you're going to remember to show up for this date?" she asked.
'A date,' he thought. It was utter insanity. But he looked into her beautiful brown eyes and nearly drowned.
"Because, this time, I'm fully in charge of all my faculties," he said.
Except, clearly, he wasn't.
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