Chapter 33 Sloane
Sloane
“She’s stable. It’s a miracle she survived.
” I sign off on Maisie’s paperwork, stabbing my pen into the paper, marking off a series of allergies.
Latex. Penicillin. Anesthesia. The little girl might actually be allergic to everything.
She nearly died four times on the table while we were fighting to save her leg.
The wound was deep. Horrible. If Maisie’s parents had been here, we would have known not to touch her with our gloves.
We would have known not to give her regular anesthetic, and not to give her penicillin once we were done with surgery.
As it stands, I’m baffled how her little heart is still beating after all the stress it’s been under.
Bemused, Oliver watches as I slash my signature into the bottom of the chart and add it to the towering pile of clipboards for the interns to file. “I’m calling CPS,” I tell him.
“Whoa, don’t you think you ought to wait for her parents to show up before calling Child Protective Services?”
I have no words. “Did… did you just work on the same seven-year-old girl I did? Because a child, a little baby, nearly died just now. She should never have been left on her own.”
“I agree with you, don’t get me wrong. I’m just saying, you don’t know what the circumstances are yet.”
I head for the residents’ locker room, Oliver following behind me.
I slam through the door, tugging my scrubs off over my head.
Blood has soaked through them and stains the long-sleeved shirt I’m wearing underneath.
Great. I open my locker, using the door to provide a little modesty as I take that off, too, and slip on a clean sweater.
When I turn around, Oliver is shirtless, his scrubs top hanging from where he’s tucked it into the waistband of his pants, smirking as he types something into his cell phone.
“I can’t believe you’re even smiling right now,” I grumble, pushing past him. Many a resident has been paralyzed by the sight of Oliver Massey’s washboard abs, but not me. Not since bearing witness to Zeth Mayfair’s stomach. And definitely not today. Oliver grabs me as I try to make my escape.
“You’d smile too if you’d been invited to the interns’ party.”
“The interns are having a party?”
“Of course the interns are having a party. How many times did we get fucked up when we were in their shoes?”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, I do not want to spend a night drinking with those walking liabilities. And frankly, I have no idea why you’d want to, either.”
“Think about it.” He grins. “How uncomfortable will they be with their bosses drinking all their beer and walking around like we own their place? It’ll be classic.”
“Oh, come on!” I laugh. “Which one are you screwing, Olly?”
He looks a little stunned. “None of them!” He does a really bad job of disguising his horror.
“I’m not…” He shakes his head, letting go of my arm, and I suddenly realize how close he is.
“Never mind, Sloane. Have a good night, huh?” He steps back, quickly snatching up a dark shirt from the bench and pulling it on over his head.
Impressive. I’ve managed to piss him off, and I wasn’t even trying.
Should I say something? Apologize? Tell him I was only joking?
Probably a terrible idea. Would only make matters worse, no doubt.
He’s still getting changed, his back to me, as I exit the locker room.
I slump against the wall, closing my eyes.
I need a moment. I’m not good at this. Not good at being friends with people, understanding what I should or shouldn’t say.
I was only joking just now, but I offended Oliver.
Fucking a subordinate is just about as unethical as it gets.
Talk about an abuse of power. I know Oliver wouldn’t do that.
I should go back in there and tell him that. He shouldn’t have to worry about—
Fuck!
Zeth.
I open my eyes, and there he is, leaning against the wall opposite me.
Staring.
“What the fuck, Zeth!”
“You’re upset. Why?”
At that moment, the door to the locker room swings open and out walks Oliver.
He hesitates when he sees me and Zeth. “Hey.” With a stiff smile and a brief nod, he skirts by me, his gaze lingering a second too long on the strange, dark-haired guy loitering in the staffing corridor.
Did he recognize him? A tremor of panic lurches through me, but Oliver keeps on walking.
No way he would leave me alone with Zeth if he recalled his face from the mug shots.
He’d been too busy asking questions to take in those faces properly, anyway.
Zeth doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t shift an inch. Nothing about him has changed from a moment ago, but I can tell he is boiling mad. “I’ve had a really bad day, okay,” I tell him.
“Why?” he grinds out again.
“Because a little girl nearly died, and her parents are nowhere to be found, and I don’t know whether I’m supposed to call Child Protective Services on them or wait until they show up looking for her.
If they ever do. Now I really just want to go home and have a shower and go to bed, okay? I don’t need—”
“Call them.”
“Excuse me?”
“What’s to think about? Call CPS.” His deep voice is surprisingly ferocious. “Some people,” he says, prowling forward, “don’t deserve to have children. In fact, some people should be chemically castrated and have that privilege revoked.”
He raises his hand, and I think he’s going to tuck the hair that’s fallen from my ponytail back behind my ear. Instead, he rubs the strands between the pads of his thumb and forefinger. “Blood in your hair,” he rumbles.
“I’m used to it.” I hike my purse strap back onto my shoulder, doing anything to keep myself moving.
“You have a violent job,” he observes.
Hysterical laughter rips out of me, echoing down the corridor. “Are you kidding me? Zeth, you can’t be here. You need to leave. Right now.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
I spin and jab my index finger into his chest. “Your face is plastered all over the third floor of this hospital is what’s going on.
The brother of some grocery store mogul was shot the other night.
The cops think a fucking crime lord they’re investigating has something to do with it.
And you, apparently, are one of this crime lord’s guys!
They’re betting on you dropping by, and voilà. ” I scowl at him. “Here you are.”
Zeth looks a little puzzled. Nowhere near bothered enough by what I’ve said. “Archie’s been shot?”
“Yeah. He’s been enrolled in WITSEC or he’s under police protection or something.”
“If he were in the witness protection program, he’d be long gone by now. Different name, different history, different life.”
“Huh. Sounds nice. Maybe I should look into it, see if I can get enrolled in the program.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Dramatic? Dramatic? Really?” My tone borders on hysteria.
Meanwhile, he stands there, watching me, taking in my expression and my body language like he can read the truth of things—the truth of me—that way.
We glower at each other for a moment, neither of us backing down.
And then he reaches out and takes both my hands, drawing them behind my back.
He does it so slowly and methodically that I don’t even think about struggling until he has me firmly restrained.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing, Zeth?”
“This isn’t about Archie Stanton. Or about some little girl whose parents haven’t taken care of her.”
“And how the hell would you know what this is about?” I snap. With our bodies drawn together, I can feel the heat flowing off him, see the heartbeat pulsing in the hollow of his neck. I try to pull back, but he shakes his head, his expression all blank control.
“This is about the fact that you kissed me, and I got mad at you. And now you’re mad at me. And,” he adds in a quiet voice, “then I disappeared for two weeks, and I haven’t called or come to see you.”
I try to snatch my hands back, pulling against him, but this only leads to him crushing me to his chest. I pant in two infuriated breaths, then hiss, “Like I care if you haven’t been to see me, Zeth! Like I give a fuck!”
A half hum, half growl builds in his throat. “Of course you give a fuck.”
I scoff at that, but I don’t think I’m very successful in convincing him that he’s wrong. “So you’re telling me that you do know you’ve been a dick, then?”
“I know you’re upset.”
I want to cover my face, but he won’t let me. Fine. I close my eyes. Once I’ve given myself a second to breathe, I open them again, fixing him with a stony gaze. “Let me go, Zeth.”
“No.”
I can’t believe this guy. “What the hell do you want from me? You’ve made it abundantly clear that you don’t want to be around me, so why—”
He makes a derisive sound at the back of his throat. Couples the sound with a crooked eyebrow. “How have I made that abundantly clear?”
“I think the whole ‘don’t ever fucking kiss me again’ thing and then vanishing for two weeks speaks for itself, don’t you? Your attitude speaks for itself.”
This conversation must be so amusing to him. He battles the beginnings of a smirk as he says, “I don’t have an attitude. I just have me.” This statement doesn’t make things any better. I consider hitting him with my purse. “Ask me where I’ve been the last two weeks,” he says.
Damn him. I exhale, trying to keep my temper under wraps. “Where have you been?”
“I’ve been making the necessary arrangements to go and collect Alexis.”
Oh. I stop struggling a little.