Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“That’s my girl! Go get ’em, tiger.”
I roll my eyes above my own ridiculous smile. “Desperate is starting to sound like an understatement. Good night, Stacy.”
Wiggling her shoulders, she sings, “Good night.”
I take a deep breath and settle in for the overnight shift. I open the first patient’s notes to make sure I set reminders for meds and check-ins. Nothing but routine care is needed. Same for the second. The third file has my breath catching in my throat.
Smoke inhalation.
Concussion.
Spinal contusion.
I breathe a sigh of relief that the contusion is mild.
I scroll back to the name I had zoomed past the first time, my back stiffening as it appears on the top of the chart. I still my hand on the mouse as an influx of mixed emotions runs through my veins with a warm familiarity that only comes from knowing someone most of your life. Brandon.
The image of him from the lake that night so long ago still stings like it happened yesterday, and my personal and professional lives collide like we had a relationship. We didn’t. Thanks to him.
An occasional hello was exchanged if we found ourselves in the same place and circle of friends. Otherwise, a distant glance from the pier to the docks, or sporadic encounters with his mom for a quick chat, was the extent of our interactions over the past ten years. So why does conflict gnaw at the memories while worry consumes my chest as if I have any right to either emotion?
If asked, I couldn’t say we were friends because I put plenty of distance between us a long time ago and stuck by that decision to protect my heart. I was fooled once by this man . . .
More importantly, everyone knows Brandon, so why wouldn’t Stacy mention it was him who was injured, and why go on about his looks like she’s never met him? Is it possible that she hasn’t met Brandon in the six months she’s lived here? Seems unlikely, but she wouldn’t have acted otherwise unless it was true.
My stomach twists in a sudden wave of confusion. I stand and bend over to read the screen before me as the emotion expands while I scan through the rest of the notes.
Resting . . . fluids . . . checked blood pressure . . .
Nothing stands out as unusual, which provides more support to the full recovery Stacy mentioned. It won’t be as quick as I’m sure he’d like, but he will be as good as new one day soon.
I know sitting still will be a struggle for him. From participating in sports and being the star quarterback that took our little school to state senior year to becoming a paramedic while studying architecture in college, he’s always been active and driven. After he graduated, I heard he was at firefighter academy. The man has never slowed down. In fact, he has always lived like he’s not getting a second chance. Not that I keep up with him or anything . . .
Admittedly, I’ve seen Brandon Culver more in the past two years than the eight prior. He’s become good friends with my brother-in-law, which is understandable, given there are few men around here. A few cookouts, my sister’s wedding, and the random party here and there are the extent of it. We don’t generally speak, not in a conversational way or in the we’ve known each other since birth the way some friends do. I was taught to be cordial, despite any other feelings I might have. The betrayal I felt in high school after foolishly showing up at the lake comes to mind, and the grudge has held firm, making it easy to avoid reconnecting.
I take a sip from my water bottle. Focus, Autumn. Duty calls. This might be the first time I’m thankful for being too busy to think. Otherwise, I might still be thinking about Brandon, the town’s bachelor anomaly, and wondering why he hasn’t settled down, and I definitely don’t have time to think about that. If he does see that in his future, I know just the nurse to help him out.
I grab the e-pad and walk down the hall to the first patient. I don’t expect to see any of them awake at this hour, but if they are, I can introduce myself and make sure they don’t need anything.
Poking my head in, I walk to the computer, check vitals, and make sure everything is working properly. I don’t get to provide nursing care as much as I want these days, but when I do, I thrive. I bring a fresh pitcher of water to the second patient who is managing to sleep through the news blaring on the TV. I click it off and slip out of the room again.
I pause outside room 8, a fear of seeing the damage done sinking in before I push myself forward and enter the quiet room. A chill hits me, the air-conditioning populating my arms with goose bumps. The cardiac monitor steadily chirps, and an IV methodically drips. I avoid looking at him directly, not sure how to feel about the situation or him, and more unnerved by my emotions tangling than what I might see. Inhaling, I take a deep breath, setting aside my personal feelings to care for him like I would any other patient.