Playing The Field (The Toronto Tigers #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Anastasia

T he squeak of rubber soles on the waxed tile floor makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I hate the sound almost as much as I hate doing shifts in the CCU. They’re long and grueling, and often end with me covered in some bodily fluid I don’t care to acknowledge. The shrill alarm of the heart monitor reverberates through my skull as I skid to a stop in the doorway.

Mr. Jenkins is coding again.

For the third time since he returned from his emergency liver resection.

Fuck this shit.

I shoulder through the nurses already starting the code and turn the monitor so I can assess the rhythm. “He’s in V-tach.” I reach over to feel the pulse point on his neck. It’s weak but present. “Get the defibrillator!” I take the bag mask from the nurse behind me and place it over his face.

There’s a shuffling behind me as I turn back to the monitor and I know they’re setting the defibrillator up.

Shockable rhythm detected.

I don’t take my eyes away from the monitor, mainly because I’m trying to compose myself before I turn back to the team. I trust the staff in the room to know how to handle a defibrillator. “Clear!” I shout, watching the erratic waveforms on the monitor. I will them to change with the electrical pulse, but they don’t. “Peterson, you’re on compressions. Someone get his airway secure.”

“Can someone hit the playlist?” Peterson calls as he rolls up his sleeves and reclines the bed.

The intro to Staying Alive by the Bee Gees erupts from someone’s phone as I shove his IV stand out of the way and draw up an emergency dose of epinephrine. Peterson huffs out the lyrics as he pushes down on Mr. Jenkins’ chest, forcing the muscle to continue to pump blood to the rest of his body.

The irony of the song isn’t lost on me, but it’s a great beat keeper because the rhythm works out to be a hundred and four beats per minute. It’s also a great thing to sing to the patients to encourage them to ‘stay alive’.

“Clear!” I shout as the hands on the clock shift to the two-minute mark.

Another pulse of electricity.

Another pulse check.

Another round of chest compressions.

This time, Findlay takes the compressions and Peterson steps back to take a minute.

I push the dose of epinephrine, my eyes still never leaving the monitor as the green waveform flashes and the beeps remain erratic at best. “Epi in!” I shout to whoever is taking notes behind me. “Someone get the amiodarone ready!”

“Ready!” Peterson calls and pushes it through the IV.

We finish the round of CPR and my fingers press against the side of his neck again, praying to whatever god is listening that his pulse is stronger.

It is.

We all watch the monitor as the waves even out and pick up a slow but steady beat. The alarm shuts off and the room is silent except for the monitor.

BEEP.

BEEP.

BEEP.

BEEP.

I heave out a sigh and lean back against the wall, taking in my exhausted team. Everyone is sweating and panting, but everyone is alive.

Including Mr. Jenkins.

“Great work, you guys,” I say breathlessly and brace my hands against the bed rails. My eyes shift over the man in the bed, watching his chest rise and fall in a strong rhythm. “No more funny business, Mr. Jenkins. I mean it. Lilly?” I look around until my eyes land on the red-headed nurse. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes are red-rimmed. “Do you need a minute?” I was going to ask if she could sit with him, but it looks like she’s about to burst into tears.

Was this her first code?

Shit.

I knew she was new, but I figured she’d run a code before.

Lilly wipes her nose on her sleeve and shakes her head. “I’m good. I’ll sit with him for now. Someone should call his wife.” Her eyes dart up to the clock and then back to me. “She went to get him something to eat.”

Peterson and Findlay shuffle out of the room, each one patting Lilly on the back and offering a ‘job well done’ for her efforts. I smile at her as I walk past her, and thankfully my lips don’t quiver. I’m just as on edge about this code as she is, because I admitted him three days ago and have been on top of his care. “I’ll give her a call,” I promise her and give her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Great job.”

I pull the curtain closed behind me and let out a deep sigh, trying to fight the sob building in my chest. Mr. Jenkins might have been the one to take a beating to the chest, but my heart feels like it’s the one that got put through the wringer.

Now I have to call his wife and tell her that she almost lost her husband.

I fucking hate CCU shifts.

The TV shifts from one game to another as I watch the highlights flicker across the screen hanging above the dimly lit bar. I missed the start of the Tigers’ home game tonight but made it to the bar just in time to watch them score. “Come on, Halloway,” I mumble around a mouthful of pretzel sticks.

“I heard you had a shitty day in the Critical Care Unit.”

I nearly drop my beer and choke on a pretzel as my roommate and best friend drops into the stool beside me. She beats her palm against my back as I cough and wheeze, trying to dislodge the piece from my airway. “Same shit, different day,” I manage to get out around fits of coughing. The beer washes the rest of the offending appetizer down.

“You were there late. You missed the whole first half. The Thunderhawks lost their right-wing ten minutes into the game.” She plucks a pretzel from my plate and lifts her finger to the bartender.

Sam acknowledges her with a nod and pulls out two more bottles from the cooler.

My ears perk up at that information. “What happened to McMillan?” If they lost him, they’re already in the hole and the Tigers have a chance to really sweep the floor with them.

Veronica narrows her eyes at me. “I’m not talking rugby with you right now. What happened to Mr. Jenkins?”

“How did you even know about that? You were off today!”

Veronica is an overnight nurse who typically works in the CC and IC units, and despite being a vampire, she manages to stay on top of all the hospital gossip. I’m not surprised that she heard about Mr. Jenkins so quickly because he has been one of her favorite patients to care for.

“What happened to my sweet Walter?” she asks, ignoring my questioning look.

I take a large swig of my beer and then slide the empty bottle to the edge of the bar. “Fuckers didn’t even put him on a blood thinner,” I mutter under my breath and pick at a crack in the wood grain with my fingernail. I fight the rant that’s churning in my chest, but ultimately lose because I’m just so pissed at the situation.

“The man just had a major abdominal surgery where part of his liver was surgically removed. He was already at a high risk for clotting due to a family history. It’s like they didn’t even read his chart before taking him back. I get that it was an emergent situation, but that doesn’t mean they should be so careless, and do you wanna know the worst part?” I round on Veronica, unable to reign in my irritation. “When I brought it to the attention of the attending, all he said was ‘Well it’s a good thing you were working tonight.’ Not even so much as an ounce of humility, Vee! They could have killed him!”

She rolls her eyes and brings the bottle to her lips, but stops before turning it back. “What do you expect? They’re surgeons, and everyone knows that Dr. Kobaltix has a God complex and can do no wrong.”

She’s not wrong.

Out of all the attendings in the hospital, he’s my least favorite.

“Have you heard anything about your other application?” Vee asks, tactfully changing the subject before I can launch into another rant.

I shake my head and flag down Sam for another round and some cheesy fries. My eyes flick back up to the TV screen and I watch one of the Tigers’ players take a major hit, sending him sprawling across the pitch. I can’t see the number on his jersey to see who it is.

“Ana! You sent it in weeks ago! How have you not heard anything?” she argues and steals the last pretzel off my plate.

I give her an exacerbated side eye as I push the empty plate toward Sam, who slides my fries toward me. “The email just said that my application was submitted and would be filed away for future use. I’m sure the teams all have a complete medical staff at the ready.”

The aforementioned application was for a sports medicine position with one of the rugby teams. It didn’t matter which team or which city, I just had to get out of the hospital setting before I really lost it. The shifts, while sometimes rewarding, often leave me feeling empty and burnt out.

The players on the screen clash in a brutal maul, the Tigers’ number eight holds onto the ball while two more come to his aid. The players battle in a churning mass of six players across the field, each vying for the ball. I watch in awe as the Tiger’s number eight breaks free and sprints across the pitch, leaving the Thunderhawks in the dust.

Veronica snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Ana? Hello? Are you deaf?” she barks when I blink my eyes back into focus.

I most certainly wasn’t daydreaming about the thick thighs of a certain rugby player.

“Sweetie,” she says calmly and slides a phone toward me.

It’s my phone.

And it’s ringing.

“No!” I groan and battle the urge to flip it to silent. I’m not on call. I don’t have to answer it.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” she grunts and swipes her finger across the screen, accepting the call and throwing the phone at me.

I catch it, but only because it’s the newest model and I don’t want to stand in the store to have a cracked screen replaced.

Again.

“This is Dr. Bellows,” I respond, my professional voice bright and perky. My facial expression, on the other hand, is anything but.

“Hello, Dr. Bellows. This is Brady Manson, the GM for the Toronto Tigers.” What. The. Fuck? “I was handed your application and your resume this afternoon. Were you still in the market for a job opportunity?”

I purse my lips and lean away from Veronica, who is leaning against my shoulder with her ear pressed to the back of my phone. “Get off me,” I mouth and push her away. “Yes, sir. I am.”

“That’s great news!” He responds cheerfully. “We have a position that needs to be filled quickly. Our current doctor just went on early maternity leave and we haven’t had a chance to nail down her replacement yet. What does your time frame look like?”

“Uh, my time frame?” I ask, still trying to process what’s happening on the other end of this phone call.

Brady chuckles. “How soon can you start?”

“Well, I guess that depends,” I counter slowly. “Where am I going?”

“Toronto,” he responds smoothly.

I almost drop the phone into my cheese fries. Veronica eyes me with concern and I know I must be gaping like a fish out of water because I’ve just been offered a position with the Toronto Tigers.

THE Toronto Tigers.

My eyes move back up to the screen as the Tigers secure a win against the Thunderhawks. The players slide across the pitch, hugging and slapping each other on the back while the fans in the background absolutely lose their minds.

“Dr. Bellows?” Brady asks with a hint of concern. “Are you still with me?”

“Yes,” I breathe and then clear my throat. “Yes, I’m still here.”

“Will Toronto be a problem?”

“No, sir! Not at all! I’m actually already in the city.”

“I know,” he lets out another smooth chuckle. “I read your resume.”

I squeeze my eyes closed as a blush burns across my cheeks. Of course, he knew I was in Toronto. Why am I such an idiot?

“Anyway, the team was recently bought out so the management is under construction, but I’ll have someone send you over a contract and get all the paperwork situated. Your email is the same as what’s on your application?”

“Yes, it’s the same,” I mumble, distracted by the news that the Tigers have been bought. I follow all of their social media accounts and I haven’t seen that come across any of their webpages.

“I’ll give you some time to process this,” Brady says lightly and I can hear the clicking of a keyboard. “Please reach out to me on this line if you have any questions.”

“I will. Thank you, Mr. Manson.”

“I look forward to working with you, Dr. Bellows.”

The call ends and I’m left staring at the dark screen, completely speechless.

“Well?” Vee asks and shakes my shoulders hard enough to pull me out of the shock. “You either got a job or someone just called to tell you that you’re dying of some rare disease.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “And I’ve seen your medical files, you’re healthy as a horse. So…”

I give her a playful shove and turn back toward the TV screen hanging above the rows of liquor, my eyes focusing on the faces of the players that I’ve idolized for years. Faces that I’ll get to see up close and in real life in just a few days. “His name is Brady Manson,” I tell her, cutting my eyes at her with a smirk. “He called on behalf of the Tigers.”

Veronica blanches. “Wait… THE Tigers?” She looks up at the TV just in time to see the final sweep of the drone across the stadium packed full of fans. “Those Tigers?” Her perfectly manicured nail points to the screen.

“Those Tigers,” I confirm with a smile so large it hurts the muscles in my cheeks. “I’m staying in Toronto and I’m going to be a part of the Ambush.”

She lets out a squeal so loud that several men turn from their drinks to glare at us. I mouth an apology, but she ignores them. “This is so amazing! I’m so happy for you! Sam!” Her voice carries across the bar and Sam looks up from wiping a table, his eyes flickering with annoyance. “Another round! Doc here is going to be a Tiger!”

My face flames at the attention, but I let her have her fun. I’m too far up on cloud nine to really care too much about the men around the sports bar staring at me.

I’m going to be a fucking Tiger .