Chapter 4
Chapter Four
JADEN
Wow, this Nyla really seems to be a tough nut to crack. Just a moment ago I was sure I’d cracked her. How quickly her cheeks flushed red when I suggested that dirty little secret to her… cute.
Now, however, she’s looking at me with the expression of a governess reading me the riot act because I snuck some dessert before dinner. The ravishing little smile she had a moment ago has vanished from her elfin face, and her cheeks are gradually losing their color as well.
‘Please,’ she says, making an effort to sound calm. ‘You want to get back to work, don’t you?’
Oh yes, I do, but getting her to come out of her shell was just way too much fun a moment ago to stop now. ‘Actually, it’s pretty nice here,’ I reply experimentally.
To my disappointment, her expression stays serious. ‘Good, then we still have time for a cranial CT to definitively rule out a fracture or a bleed.’
She’s joking.
‘I’m also going to draw some blood. I want to take a look at your inflammatory markers.’ She folds her arms across her chest, worry lines spreading across her forehead.
No idea what’s wrong with her, but that expression robs her of every facet of her beauty. ‘Okay, just theoretically: if I manage to coax a smile out of you, does that count as a heroic deed?’
‘Getting you treated would be a heroic deed,’ she counters without batting an eye.
The woman has stamina, I’ll give her that.
‘Okay, I get it. Up goes the index finger, I’ll follow it wherever it goes.
But if you don’t find anything that points to a neurological problem, there will be no further tests.
’ If something had happened to my brain, I would have noticed long ago.
I’m neither dizzy nor nauseous, nor am I confused.
She exhales in relief. The corners of her mouth lift, and although it’s kind of weird that my consent makes her so happy, it feels good to see her looking more relaxed again.
She moves her finger to the right, then to the left, up and down. Obediently, I follow it with my eyes.
‘You see.’ I brace myself on the examination table and smile at her. ‘Everything’s great.’
‘Yeah, everything’s great.’ She nods absentmindedly. ‘Good, then I’ll clean and stitch your wound.’
That sounds like a good plan. ‘I promise to be good. But only if I really get the lollipop,’ I say, trying to coax that little smirk out of her again.
The corners of her mouth wander upward, delicate little lines forming around her doe-like eyes. I have to smile because my plan worked.
‘Deal.’ She numbs the area around my wound, takes saline solution from one of the cabinets, and steps behind me.
A little later I feel the cold dampness running down the back of my head.
‘How long have you been working as a paramedic?’ she asks.
Since I dropped out of med school, but that’s not something I want to talk about. ‘For a while now,’ I answer evasively.
Her stomach briefly brushes my back, the saline solution drips softly into the collection tray. ‘Have you hurt yourself at work often?’
I lift my shoulders casually. ‘Our patients just don’t happen to be lying in a sterile treatment room where we have everything within reach, the light is always perfect, and the surroundings are clean.
’ Unlike her and her colleagues here in the ER, paramedics work out in the real world.
‘We have to operate wherever they happen to be. We act the way the situation requires.’
‘So yes,’ she says. ‘But don’t you have rules about how much risk you’re allowed to take? I mean, if you get hurt, you can’t help anyone anymore.’
Oh man, now she sounds like my boss when she reprimanded me yesterday for my supposedly too reckless rescue operation on the train tracks. What was I supposed to do? Leave the woman who collapsed on the tracks lying there as the train approached?
‘Your own safety has to come first,’ Nyla replies urgently.
In reality, that’s just not always possible. That’s exactly what I explained to my boss, and still I ended up with a warning.
‘I’m here, aren’t I? I’ve got two healthy arms and legs, functioning organs, excellent eyesight, and at least a mostly clear mind,’ I say to Nyla.
She pauses in her work, as if she had to think. ‘Yes, you’re here,’ she murmurs pensively. ‘For now.’
I’m not going to respond to that. ‘Anyway, the patients are the focus. They need help, and I help them.’ It’s as simple as that. As a doctor she has to understand that.
Nyla moves away from me, I turn briefly and see that she’s getting the suture kit. ‘Aren’t you afraid that something might go wrong sometime? That you might die on a mission or get so badly injured that you suffer permanent damage?’
‘Never.’ What would be the point of thinking about what could happen? It wouldn’t protect me, it would just drive me needlessly crazy.
Again she steps behind me. Thanks to the anesthetic I don’t feel it, but I still know she’s starting the stitches. ‘You should be, though.’
‘Nothing’s going to happen to me.’
A quiet snort leaves her mouth. ‘You really are a real hero, huh?’
No, I’m anything but that. ‘Sure,’ I answer anyway, so I don’t have to think about the truth. ‘The world needs heroes, after all.’
She continues working in silence and I wonder what she’s thinking right now. Whether she can admit to herself that I’m right?
‘That’s it,’ she says a little later and sets the suture kit aside.
‘Do I get my lollipop now?’ Hoping my question has made her laugh, I get up from the examination couch and turn around.
‘When was your last tetanus shot?’ she asks, even though she definitely knows that paramedics receive regular prophylaxis.
‘A week ago, no booster needed.’
I can’t believe my eyes when I see her reaching for a blood-draw kit. ‘Sit back down, we’re not done yet.’
Hang on, that bit about the blood work earlier was a joke. Right? And what about the head CT? Is she actually planning on doing that too?
Even though I never finished medical school, I know for sure that no doctor in the world would order these tests for this kind of injury. ‘As much as I’d love to stay, there’s a damn hot blonde waiting for me at home, and she’s going to be furious if I keep her waiting,’ I say quickly.
She gives me a quick once-over, her eyes sparkling. ‘Nice try,’ she replies, motioning for me to sit back down on the couch. ‘An undetected infection could lead to blood poisoning, you know that as well as I do.’
Maybe so, but a blood panel is still unnecessary. ‘It’s just a little scratch.’
It’s not my first, and nobody has ever taken blood from me because of it.
I’d better make sure I get out of here before she adds a lumbar puncture to rule out an absolutely impossible meningitis to her list of unnecessary tests. But as I head for the door, she squeezes past me and plants herself in front of me.
With one hand on her décolleté, she holds my gaze. ‘A scratch that was full of wood splinters and sawdust.’
Yes, that’s true too, but that’s no reason for her to freak out like this. ‘You really have a talent for turning a scrape into a three-act drama, don’t you?’
‘I’m trying to save your life,’ she replies.
It’s just a laceration, for God’s sake! There’s not even the slightest talk of saving a life here. ‘Then prescribe me an antibiotic. If I have an infection, the pills will solve the problem.’
She can’t argue with that, and she doesn’t like it; I can tell by the little crease that forms between her brows.
‘All right. But only if you promise me you’ll actually take the pills.’ She pulls a prescription pad out of the breast pocket of her coat, and I notice that her name tag is missing.
‘Tell me, do you even work here?’ I ask jokingly, nodding toward the empty spot.
She doesn’t react; instead, a few seconds later, she holds the prescription out to me. I reach for it, but she doesn’t let go.
‘Even if, as a one-percent person, you don’t get it: this is about your health. And your health is important,’ she says.
If she was hoping I’d ask what the hell a one-percent person is supposed to be, then she is so very much mistaken.
‘If you don’t let go, I’m not taking the prescription with me. That’s fine by me too,’ I say.
With her lips pressed together, she releases the paper. ‘See you next time, superhero.’ At last, she steps aside, her expression shifting from caring to imploring. ‘Take care of yourself.’
I look into her eyes for a breath too long, see only things I don’t need—worry, unease, reason—and still can’t look away.
‘See you, Miss Worst Case.’ A little too dazed, I fumble for the door handle. ‘Don’t forget to smile,’ I say, and leave the examination room.