Chapter Eight
Lorelie
“Hey, Gail,” I say as I walk into the ER, stopping beside the attending physician finishing the last hour of the shift before mine.
He looks up from the stack of papers he is signing. “Hey, Lorelie.”
Gail and I went through internship and residency together.
We are not close personally, but we have what you would call a working relationship.
Not the annoying “work husband, work wife” nonsense people joke about.
More like… he is the one I call when I need to trade a shift or slip out for a school event, and I am the one he calls when he wants to duck out early or escape a twelve-hour shift from hell.
As long as at least one board-certified physician is in the ER at all times, management doesn’t care.
They pretend they do, but they don’t.
“Are they here yet?” I ask, sliding in beside him at the counter.
I nod at the charge nurse sitting on a chair behind the counter, arms crossed, listening without listening while Gail keeps flipping through discharge papers. He shakes his head, eyes still on the clipboard.
“Nope. Not yet.”
I nod, tapping my pen on the desk. Nervous energy. Or dread. Hard to tell the difference these days.
“So,” he says casually, “how was the ceremony?”
A real smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “It was good. He got a pin. Everyone clapped.”
The ceremony had fallen right at the end of my shift, so Gail had covered for me so I could leave early.
Something he has done more than once, especially for family things.
I owe him at least six favors at this point, ones he’s gonna cash in soon when he heads for the cross-country hike with his buddies.
He grins. “Sarge Boise. Look at him.”
“Yeah,” I say softly, looking down at the counter. “Look at him.”
He glances up at me, studying my expression for a beat too long, but I pretend not to notice. I don’t need pity today. I need a patient to roll in so I can shove my brain into doctor mode and not think about… anything else.
The doors to the admin hallway suddenly swing open. Charlize straightens.
“Looks like the new boss just arrived,” she mutters.
My pulse jumps.
The three of us watch… wait… lean forward a little.
Nothing. The door swings shut again without anyone stepping through.
We deflate together.
“Probably someone mistaking it for a washroom again,” Charlize sighs.
I laugh. “There is literally a neon-yellow sign that says ADMIN. How do they miss it?”
“Maybe we should put it on a billboard,” Gail says. “Something to pitch to the new boss.”
“I would rather they tackle the standby situation first,” I say.
Charlize snorts. “Why don’t you pitch it?”
I make a face. “They’re probably some Ivy League, sophisticated type. They’re not going to give a shit about it.”
“I might surprise you,” a voice drawls from behind us.
My stomach drops.
I close my eyes for one second, because of course the universe hates me, then slowly turn.
A man in a dark grey suit stands there, tall and slender. He is the complete opposite of Patrick, who looks like he could lift a car with one arm. This guy looks like he should be brooding in a cologne commercial.
He extends a hand to Gail.
“Rowan Murphy.”
Gail shakes it. “Gail Abbott.”
Murphy nods. “Dr. Abbott.” Then he glances at his watch. “Didn’t your shift end five minutes ago?”
Gail clears his throat. “I was just finishing paperwork, sir.”
“Dr. Murphy,” he corrects, and his voice definitely has a Boston edge. “You should finish it during your shift. You are not being paid overtime to chat up nurses.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
Not the first time someone has called me a nurse, but still… bold move on day one.
Charlize stiffens, ready to throw hands.
Murphy finally looks at me. His eyes flick over my scrubs, then my badge, before finally landing on my face.
“Doctor…?”
“Boise,” I say evenly. “Dr. Boise.”
He smiles like he just caught himself before a mistake. “Good. I hate starting the morning offending staff.”
Too late, buddy.
He turns to Charlize. “Would you mind showing me to the office?”
Charlize gets up off her stool, throwing me a wide-eyed look as she passes. Translation: Oh no. He is hot and insufferable.
Murphy follows her down the hallway without another glance at me.
Gail mouths, Good luck.
I mouth back, Kill me.
I turn toward the doors leading into the ER and straighten my coat.
I’m here to be a doctor, to save lives. I am not here to deal with a runway model from Boston who thinks he can run my ER better than the people who bleed in it.
Making a face, I walk back into the patient area.
My job here is simple and brutal. When there is only one board-certified ER physician on duty, that person is:
The attending physician, teacher, supervisor, the final authority.
The one legally responsible.
Me.
From the moment I clock in, I am moving. One patient to the next, one crisis to another, barely enough time to breathe, let alone sit. The ER feels louder today, busier, like the universe listened and didn’t even give a minute to think.
When I finally do get a minute, I collapse into a chair behind the counter. My bag with the actual food is all the way across the admin block, so I reach into my coat pocket, find the granola bar I stuffed there earlier, and tear it open with my teeth.
Charlize drops into the chair beside me with a groan. She takes one look at me and clicks her tongue.
“What,” I ask with my mouth full. “I’m hungry.”
“Exactly.” She points at the bar like it personally offended her. “You need a nutritious meal, not that.”
I look at the wrapper. Chocolate chips. Definitely not nutritious. “I didn’t have an appetite this morning.”
She raises a brow. “Why?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “You were married, right?”
Charlize nods. “Twice.”
I blink. “Wait, twice? I know about Bailey, but who was the other?”
She shrugs as she unwraps her own snack. “My high school sweetheart. We tried to beat the odds, but… we grew up and apart.”
Her tone is light, but there is a shadow underneath it. A familiar one.
I hesitate. “Did it get better? The heartbreak?”
She studies me for a moment, eyes softening. “It dulls. It never fully disappears, but it dulls. Why?”
I shrug, picking at the granola bar wrapper. “Patrick and I are…” My throat tightens. “We’re fighting.”
Charlize nods slowly, like she expected that. “Well, Jonathan and I… we didn’t talk. We waited for the other person to magically understand how we felt. A relationship cannot survive like that.”
I sigh. “Patrick did this thing and I… forgave him for it. Only I didn’t. Not really. And now I’m pissed again, and I already said I’d get over it, and I’m just now realizing how stupid that was.”
Charlize raises a brow. “I can guess what he did. But listen. Don’t pretend something is fine just because pretending is easier. Relationships that are easy don’t last long.”
I swallow hard. “He’s… he’s a good husband. And a good dad. Closed off, yes, but not cruel. Not absent. And I don’t want to blow up our marriage over one mistake.”
She asks quietly, “Is this mistake big?”
“Very.”
She shrugs, calm as ever. “Then you are not ruining anything, Lore. You are dealing with it.”
I open my mouth to ask her how I am supposed to do that. But before I can say a word, one of the monitors behind us beeps sharply.
Charlize is already pushing herself up. I toss the granola wrapper into the trash.
Work calls. Patrick goes back on the mental back burner where he has lived all day.
Time to be Dr. Boise again.
Patrick
I really didn’t think I would have to say this for the second time in my life, but come on.
I say it slowly, and loudly so the man in front of me doesn’t miss the point. “Sir. A goat is not a missing person.”
The farmer blinks at me, chewing something that might be tobacco or might be a twig. Hard to tell.
“Well, I never said she was a person,” he replies.
Rina, one of the new detectives on my team, steps forward, flipping through her notes. “You said daughter. You said, and I quote, ‘my daughter Tilly is gone.’”
The man reaches down and strokes the head of the very pregnant goat standing beside him. “She is a daughter. Until summer when I sell her.”
I stare at him feeling my blood pressure climb.
I clench my teeth so hard my jaw pops.
Then I turn on my heel and walk away before I lose my badge over a goat.
Rina jogs after me. “Sorry, Sarge!”
I yank open the car door, drop into the seat, and mutter, “Not your fault.” Then slam it shut. She gets into the passenger seat and buckles in just as I put the cruiser in reverse.
Through the windshield, the farmer waves at us like we are leaving a barbecue instead of a crime scene that should never have been a crime scene.
Rina says, “They wouldn’t call us for livestock if we didn’t find the goats and cows so quickly.”
I glare at her. “I should have put Tilly in the trunk and bought barbecue sauce instead.”
She bursts out laughing. “I really thought Tilly was a little kid.”
“It happens to the best of us,” I say.
She shakes her head. “To you?”
I nod. “A chicken named Hendrix. I found him hiding in a tree.”
She snorts. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was. Searched the whole property in blistering heat, finally found shade under a tree and the fucker crapped on me.”
Rina is full-on laughing now, practically folded over in the passenger seat. “Sorry, Sarg. I know today was stressful.”
“Stressful,” I scoff. “The team has more than two hundred open cases right now. We cannot go chasing goats.”
Rina stays quiet after that. Smart.
I roll my eyes and put the car in gear, driving back toward the station. I mutter under my breath the entire time, cursing livestock, farmers, the sun, the universe, and whatever cosmic force decided to let me live this ridiculous life today.
And now that I don’t have the option of going home and drinking the beer I have chilling in the fridge, I’m even more pissed than before. The frustration thrums under my skin.
Such a waste of perfectly good money. Ice-cold beer, sitting there like a taunt, and I can’t touch it.
I guess I could give it to Harvey, but why should I? That fucker has enough joy in his life. Let him buy his own damn beer.
By the time we pull into the station, I’m already mentally exhausted.
I push through the doors and head straight to my office. The second I walk in, I see a fresh mountain of request forms and follow-ups piled on my desk. I groan out loud, drop into my chair, and start flipping through them.
I’m not even halfway through the first stack when Barry strolls in like it’s his office.
“You know I’m your boss, right?” I say without looking up.
“Oof,” he whistles. “You are grumpy.”
I snap my head up. “What?”
“There is a rumor,” he announces dramatically, “that you got your panties in a bunch.”
I glare. “Seriously?”
“Fine,” he says, flopping into the chair across from me. “It is actually ‘avoid Sergeant Asshole,’ but I was trying to soften it.”
My jaw drops. “They are calling me that?”
Barry shrugs. “Only behind your back. Relax.”
I let out a slow breath and rub my temples. “Great. Perfect. Exactly what I need.”
Barry leans back, folding his arms. “Well, wanna tell me why you are stomping around like a bear that got poked too many times?”
I close the folder in front of me, tired down to my bones. “I quit drinking.”
Barry stares at me like I just confessed to murder. “When?”
“Today,” I answer. “For Lore.”
He lets out a long whistle. “Oh… wow. I mean, I get why, but why are you acting like you’re in withdrawal?”
Then he narrows his eyes at me. “What do you put in your coffee?”
I glare at him. “Nothing, you idiot. I’m just pissed that the case of Fire Eagle in the fridge is going to waste. It’s not like Lore can drink it.”
He nods slowly, leaning forward with the kind of exaggerated concern he reserves for messing with me. “If that’s the problem, I will totally take it off your hands.”
I stare at him.
He stares back, hopeful.
Unbelievable.
“I’m not giving you my beer, Barry.”
He shrugs. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yes, I can.”
He grins, smug as hell. “This sober version of you is fun.”
I drop my hand and level him with a look. “Get out of my office.”
Barry stands, stretching like he just finished a workout. “Sure thing, Sarg. But seriously… if you change your mind about that beer…”
“Barry.”
“Right, right. I’m going.”
He strolls out, whistling like the happiest man alive, leaving me with my paperwork, my sobriety, and my increasingly desperate need for this day to end.
One day sober and I already hate everyone.