11. CONAN
Chapter eleven
D aylight was already spilling through the windows when I started my shift the next day. The ED hummed and hustled, but despite the constant rush, a part of my mind was elsewhere, stuck in the ICU where my Jane Doe had been the last few days.
By midday, I’d handled everything from broken bones to a kid who’d swallowed a coin. Once I was able to snatch a moment amidst the madness, I made a beeline for the ICU. A Tacoma PD officer now sat by her door, just as Emily had forewarned. The officer, a broad-shouldered guy, eyed me as I approached.
“Good afternoon,” I nodded, flashing my hospital badge without breaking stride. “Just checking in on the patient.”
He gave me a curt nod, not questioning my presence. Inside, the room was still and peaceful, with the machines beeping softly in the background. Jane Doe was still unconscious, but she was looking less like a car crash victim and more like someone deeply asleep. Her breathing was even, and the bruising had faded into a softer purple hue. It didn’t look as harsh now.
For a moment, I stood there watching the soft rise and fall of her chest under the thin hospital blanket. Then I checked her vitals on the monitor, confirming my girl was stable, and slipped out as silently as I had entered.
Once I’d left the ICU, the normal racket of the hospital didn’t bother me as much. It was like a weird pause button got hit in my head every time I saw her.
Throughout the day, I made the quick checks on my sleeping beauty a regular thing, stealing moments between patients or whenever I managed to get a break. I couldn’t resist the pull to see her, even with the ED buzzing like a kicked hornet’s nest. Each time I entered her room, I noticed little changes—a decrease in swelling here, a reduction in bruising there. Her body was mending, and her brain scans didn’t show any new concerns. The progress she was making kept my worst fears at bay.
6/1
Fast-forward through another whirlwind of patients and paperwork, and it was the end of my shift—my last before the weekend kicked in. I made one final stop at the ICU, needing to see her, knowing in my gut something important had happened.
This time, the door was slightly ajar, and the officer gave me a knowing look and a half smile as I approached. Inside, the change hit me like a slap. Her ventilator was gone. There she was, breathing on her own with a simple nasal cannula in her nose supplementing her oxygen. The machinery that had been her constant companion since her arrival was now gone .
I was drawn to the edge of her bed, and placed my hand on her arm. “You’re looking beautiful today, my angel,” I murmured, keeping my voice soft. “Breathing all on your own, huh? That’s what I like to see.”
For the first time, I had an unobstructed view of her face. Without the endotracheal tube, mouthpiece, tape, and mask, her features were undistorted, peaceful. The cut on her forehead was the only sign of the hell she’d been through. She was beautiful—stunning, actually. It knocked the wind out of me, a feeling that hit somewhere deep, where I didn’t do feelings. I took her hand in mine. Its cool limpness ate at me. How had such a divine creature ended up like this—and all alone? She deserved better.
After brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, I leaned over her. The desire to place a soft kiss on her forehead was almost overwhelming. Instead, I made her a promise. “In the middle of chaos, there you were—mine to care for, mine to protect.”
A whispered vow I would keep.
Moving back before I did something stupid, like actually kissing her, I checked her IV lines and made sure everything was properly in place, even though I already knew it was. Anything to stall, to spend a few more moments with her. I checked the monitors. All her vitals were good. There was nothing to do except have patience and hope she’d come around soon.
I stood there a bit longer, just watching her. “Tomorrow’s my day off, but I’ll come by and bring my guitar and play you some tunes. I bet you’d like that.”
When I finally left the room, the worry I’d been feeling over her injuries began to lift, replaced by a strange anticipation. Tomorrow, I’d be back for a little music therapy. I’d seen for myself over the years how music or even reading to ill or seriously injured patients could help them. Maybe I could help her find her way back.
I shut my apartment door behind me with a thud, kicking my boots off. A waterfront condo on Point Ruston was a great place for a single guy like me to live. I didn’t have many requirements, but what I did need was a place I could enjoy. This community had a movie theater, restaurants, bars, fitness facilities, and a mile-long waterfront trail system. Living here meant convenience, entertainment, and beautiful views! My one-bedroom apartment that overlooked the choppy blue-gray waters that Tacoma was known for, was an ideal place for me. I was a hometown kind of boy.
As I made my way to the kitchen, a couple of boats bobbing in the distance caught my eye through the expansive windows. I tossed my keys onto the granite counter. Although the apartment was small—and cost more than I liked—the simplicity of the layout, the clean lines, and the comfortable decor suited me just fine.
I went to the fridge and pulled out the fixings for a sandwich—some leftover chicken, mayo, pickles, and a couple of slices of bread—and slapped it all together on a plate.
Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I popped the cap off and took a long drag, the cold liquid hitting the spot. With my plate and beer in one hand, I grabbed my laptop with the other and settled onto the bar stool. As soon as I pressed it open, the screen lit up and the processor hummed.
I started typing, searching for any updates on Jane Doe. Nothing new popped up—just the same recycled crap from earlier. Frustration simmered in my chest as I took another bite of the sandwich.
My mind wasn’t on my dinner; it was tangled up with thoughts about the woman who’d crashed into my life. I took another swig of beer, letting the bitterness wash over my tongue, the cold of the bottle comforting against my palm. I stared out the window, watching the lights flicker along the boardwalk below.
“Shit,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. I couldn’t get her out of my head. The mystery woman lying unconscious in the hospital bed was doing a number on my mind. I felt like I needed to help her somehow but wasn’t sure where to start.
When I’d polished off the last bite of my sandwich, I pushed back from the bar and stretched. My muscles ached for rest, the result of the long shift at St. John’s and the heavy leg day I’d done at the gym after work.
I ambled over to the couch, turned on a late-night talk show on the TV, and sank into the soft cushions, letting their comfort ease my weary bones. The host’s banter was just funny enough to distract me from all that had been going on with my Jane Doe.
After a while, sleep tugged at me, but it remained elusive. Her image danced behind my eyelids every time I closed them.
“Dammit,” I muttered under my breath, raking a hand through my hair in frustration. With an exasperated sigh, I heaved myself off the couch and clicked off the TV. The apartment was plunged into darkness save for the dim illumination coming from the streetlights and marina outside.
The cool silk sheets welcomed me as I slipped into bed. Even so, sleep refused to come. Jane Doe’s face and her possible connection to the Russian mafia still lingered in every corner of my thoughts.
My gaze wandered over to the digital clock on the bedside table. 12:07 a.m. glowed back at me. I had to get up early if I was going to make the ICU’s early visiting hours. I groaned before rolling onto my side, trying desperately to fall asleep—to no avail.
“Fuck this,” I growled, throwing off the covers and heading for the bathroom. Maybe a hot shower would help .
As the water battered against my weary body, I tried to focus on the sensation of the steam and the smell of the soap. Anything but her.
Just then, my phone rang. I turned off the shower and stepped out, steam billowing around me like a blanket. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I padded across the cold tiles, leaving damp footprints in my wake.
I picked up my phone from the counter, and Cassidy’s name flashed on the screen. Cass was a girl I occasionally hung out with or hooked up with. I’d met her a couple of years back when she started working out at the gym down the street. She was a sassy little blonde flight attendant who was living life to the fullest, and I respected her for that. Our encounters had been casual and uncomplicated, and we always had fun together.
“Hey, Conan,” she said, her voice slightly slurred, a clear sign she was a bit tipsy. “Can I come over? I’m just down the street with some friends.”
Perfect timing. I needed a distraction, and sleep wasn’t on the horizon anyway. “Sure thing, Cass. The code to open my door is four-two-seven-seven.”
After hanging up, I brushed my teeth and stared into the mirror. I wasn’t getting any younger, and I wondered if I’d ever find a woman who I could trust with my heart.
Doubtful.
I dried my face and headed toward the front door.
Before I even reached it, there she was, stepping inside, wearing a hot-pink crop top and short jean skirt. She teetered slightly on her heels, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischievous glint.
Cassidy’s laughter filled the space as she made her way over to me, her perfume—sweet and citrusy—wafting in along with the humid night air .
“Missed you, big guy,” she purred, pressing her body against mine. Her hands wasted no time exploring the contours of my chest, making their way up and behind my neck. I hadn’t bothered dressing, so I was only wearing the towel I’d slung around my hips.
“Missed you too, Cass,” I said, sliding my hands around her waist.
Cassidy stretched up on her tiptoes, and then her lips found mine, hungry and demanding. The taste of tequila lingered on her tongue. I pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, my hands roaming over the curve of her hips and the small of her back. She responded eagerly, tangling her fingers in my hair and pulling me down to her level.
We stumbled toward the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way. Her top hit the floor, followed by my towel. She giggled, unsteady on her feet, and I scooped her up, her laughter turning into a soft moan as I kissed her neck. Her skin was warm and smooth, with a faint trace of sweat from the summer heat.
As soon as I set her on the bed, she shimmied out of her skirt. Her bra came off next, revealing her perfectly perky breasts. I took a moment to admire her—the way her body moved, the way she bit her lip, how her eyes darkened with desire. Then she was on me again, tugging my hand and dragging me to her mouth in a searing kiss that left me breathless.
We fell back onto the bed, a tangle of limbs. Cassidy’s nails raked down my sides, sending shivers through me. I hooked my fingers under the waistband of her thong, removing it in one swift motion. She gasped, arching her back, and I took the opportunity to kiss my way down her body, tasting the salt of her sweat mixed with her natural sweetness.
Her hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me back up to her. “Fuck. Me. Now,” she demanded, voice husky with desire .
I didn’t need any more encouragement—I needed release. I positioned myself between her legs. Her glistening core was making me hungry, and I was eager to taste her, but that would have to wait. The sensation of entering her was electric, a jolt of pleasure that made both of us moan. Cassidy wrapped her legs around me, urging me deeper, digging her nails into my arms.
We moved together in the natural rhythm we always found, the bed creaking beneath us. Her needy little noises filled the room, mingling with my own grunts of gratification. It wasn’t long before we climaxed together and collapsed on the bed. She draped an arm over my chest, her breathing steadying as she drifted into sleep.
I stared at the ceiling, the afterglow fading as unbidden thoughts crept in. Cassidy’s soft snores filled the room, but my mind wandered back to the ICU, to the mysterious Jane Doe. She was still unconscious, alone, and vulnerable. There was something inexplicable drawing me to her, something deeper than just professional concern. With Cassidy, sex was instinctive, almost mechanical. Don’t get me wrong, she always delivered in bed, and now had been no exception, but I wasn’t emotionally connected to her. I didn’t have that unexplainable craving for her I saw in other men’s eyes for the women they loved. Maybe that wasn’t in the cards for me.
For whatever reason, every time I shut my eyes, Jane Doe’s face was there. No matter how wrong it felt, or how much I knew I shouldn’t, I couldn’t help but want her. I didn’t feel good enough for her, but the desire was undeniable.
I wasn’t a virtuous man. Broken, living for today, never any guilt for living my life on my own terms, a playboy with no remorse—that was who I’d always been. The things I’d done throughout my life, the choices I’d made—she deserved better. She deserved someone like one of my brothers, someone good and noble.
Atticus was the perfect one—an attending ED doc, loads of money, always did the right thing—and now he had the perfect woman by his side. Braxton wasn’t so different from Atticus. Not only did he and Atticus look like they could be twins, but their penchant for perfectionism and being the hero everyone wanted made them wildly successful. But me, the baby brother, almost seven years younger than Atticus, I’d always been the hellion. I was the guy who wasn’t afraid to taste all that life had to offer. The one who’d done crazy shit like fly down the steepest hill on his bike as a kid—even though it had ended with a broken arm and a deep scar on my knee—just to be noticed occasionally.
Living in my brothers’ shadow wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d had competent parents. Sure, my mother and father had looked great from the outside looking in. But the truth of them was shitty at best. By the time I was eight, my mother had put herself in the ground drinking herself to death. A little more than a year after she’d passed, my father died from a widow-maker heart attack. It had been a lot to deal with—even though none of us had been close to the self-absorbed, workaholic who never made time for any of us.
Although the three of us brothers had shared the same miserable childhood, we’d dealt with it differently. I’d always been determined to live and let live, and I’d had loads of fun, but where had that gotten me? Lots of lovers, but no love. I was on friendly terms with just about everyone I’d ever met, but I had no close friends. I’d eventually managed to make it through college and had chosen nursing as a profession because the money was decent and I enjoyed helping people. It was the one thing that had given my life purpose. But now, it was just a job, a daily grind. I’d become jaded working in the emergency department for so many years. When I’d first started working as an ED nurse, I’d felt like a superhero, like I mattered in the world. Not too many years in, though, my cape had become tarnished with the realities of the human condition. Now, I wanted more out of life—something that was real, something that wasn’t here today and gone tomorrow.
Watching Atticus and Sam find each other had stirred something deep within my soul. I wanted what they had but didn’t know where to find it. Maybe that was why this Jane Doe had shaken me. Deep down, I knew she was different, and it gnawed at me in so many different ways. Why had no one recognized her or come for her? Why would a beautiful goddess like her steal a car and run from the police so recklessly? How could she be so utterly alone?
At the same time, I couldn’t help but be pissed off at her too. Her carelessness and lack of self-preservation had nearly gotten her killed. Did she honestly think her actions would have no consequences? What if she’d crashed into a minivan, killing a bunch of little kids? What the fuck had she been thinking?
A part of me wanted to protect her, but there was also a part that wanted to knock some common sense into her. I’d never been a saint. Forgiveness wasn’t my thing. But something was nagging at the edges of my conscience, compelling me to find all of her missing pieces and put her back together again, to find out if she was worth my effort or was just another self-absorbed, shallow woman who believed she was above the laws of human decency. I’d give her the benefit of the doubt for now. My gut told me she was the kind of woman worth figuring out.
Cassidy stirred beside me, her hand slipping off my chest. I rolled away from her, trying to escape the thoughts gnawing at me. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to sleep, but it was fitful, my mind unable to let go of the image of Jane Doe lying helpless in that hospital bed.