Chapter 4 For the Fairytale #2
Lynnette paused, just for a moment, as she raised a new line to the IV bag.
Then she gave herself a shake. “Honestly, I don’t usually work this side, so I can’t say what the doctors’ temperaments are.
But beyond them, I doubt I’d get more than a scolding.
I was aggressive, she was firmly in the wrong.
There’s a difference. And what I did was never going to hurt her.
” She threaded the line carefully, not letting herself rush, and carried it to the taped port on the back of his forearm.
“I’m actually pretty capable, I know how to grab someone without hurting them.
She shouldn’t even bruise.” Unfortunately.
She eased back once she was done and gathered up the ruined line. “Tell me honestly, how do you feel?”
He flexed his arm, drawing her eye to the visible portion of what she knew was an American flag tattoo that descended from his shoulder and down over his bicep in vivid color, to fade away at his elbow.
The flag had a subtle ripple in the ink that made it look like it moved for real when he flexed.
“Good as can be expected, I think,” he said, then paused. “Well, maybe a touch disappointed.”
Lynnette blinked. “Disappointed?”
He grinned at her. “I might not have minded if it was you who was flirting so brazenly with me.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks and she turned away, striding back for the tablet she’d half thrown down earlier. “I’m not that kind of nurse, Mr. Blackburn.”
Lance groaned. “Again with that?”
“You haven’t earned first-name usage.”
He huffed. “Okay. I’ll be better next time.”
She fought a grin, tucked everything under one arm, and reached for the door before glancing to him one more time.
She really wasn’t that kind of nurse, she always had considered it wildly inappropriate to even fantasize that way about a patient, but something about Lance Blackburn tempted her in ways she’d never experienced.
Not that she would tell him. “We’ll see.
Get some rest. A doctor will check on you soon.
” She didn’t wait for his response before slipping into the hall and tugging the door closed behind her.
She needed to dispose of the line, but it still had the crimp from Claire’s damn ass—or knee, maybe—and she kind of wanted to hold on to it for evidence of her claim.
Because she was the stranger on this side and no one was going to want to believe her accusation.
Though she suspected everyone would believe it, off the record.
And that kind of bullshit always ticked her off.
With no better angle, Lynnette started toward the office for their unit’s nurse manager. She was effectively on loan, so she didn’t know the individual. That may or may not wind up working in her favor.
It would be a minute before she found out, because she only made it around the next corner before her nightmare called her name.
“Lynnette,” Bishop said, his voice bouncing on the hospital tile and scratching against her nerves. “I hear we have a problem.”
Shit. Claire had run to him. The damn bitch.
Lynnette turned in place, not bothering to smile, and saw all the verification she needed staring back at her.
Doctor Bishop stood, hands in the pockets of his white coat and a subtle frown curling his lips.
Beside him, about half a step behind, was Claire.
Arms crossed over her chest and a smug smirk on her arrogant, painted face.
The gleam in Claire’s eye loudly declared she had already won and was eager to watch her victory play out.
The sight of the pair of them made Lynnette want to scream.
And break something. She did neither, with great effort, and forced herself to meet the stare of the man who was supposed to be keeping a distance from her.
“The immediate issue is handled,” she said.
“The only remaining problem is the behavior that caused the danger.”
“You’re so full of shit,” Claire snapped. Then she sweetened her voice and turned her gaze up, as if Bishop had eyes in the side of his head. “Do you see what I mean, Doctor? She’s out to get me. Throwing wild accusations everywhere she can. She even humiliated me in front of that patient.”
Lynnette balked and lifted the line she still held. “I supposed next you’ll insist it was my ass that put a crimp in the patient’s IV line, too? For a nurse, you’re appallingly unaware of your surroundings. You could have seriously hurt him.”
Claire opened her mouth again.
Bishop held up a hand. “Ladies,” he said. His eyes never left Lynnette. “Let’s take this to my office and talk it out where we won’t draw undue attention.”
Claire clamped her mouth shut and lifted her chin as if his words were her golden ticket.
Lynnette squared her shoulders. “I think I’ll take my complaint to the proper authority.”
Bishop’s eyes narrowed and his jaw locked with visible displeasure.
“You can’t talk to a doctor that way, Garver,” Claire said as if she were aghast.
“Actually,” Lynnette said, “I’m just reminding Doctor Bishop of his boundaries.
Unless he’s been promoted to CMO in the past twenty-four hours, he still has to abide by the previous one’s orders.
” She narrowed her eyes at the glowering surgeon.
“For the record, this incident didn’t originally involve you.
So good job making a bigger mess of things. ”
She turned to stride away, her heart racing in contradiction to the strength she’d done her best to put into her words, when Bishop called after her. “Don’t expect to talk down to me without consequences, Lynnette!”
Her body tensed, similar to the way it did when she trained or if she had to fight, but she kept walking.
She wasn’t in the wrong. Claire had acted horrendously out of line, caused damage to hospital property and risked potential injury to a patient—a high-profile patient, no less—for nothing more than self-interest. Then she’d doubled-down and tried to get Lynnette in trouble when Lynnette had called her out on her behavior.
It was unfortunate that Claire had gone to Bishop, but he was the surgeon on shift so it did make sense.
Bishop should have taken things to the nurse manager, at a minimum. He should not have agreed or volunteered to handle anything directly. He’d clearly tried taking advantage of a situation.
Lynnette exhaled slowly as she came to a stop in front of the office door she needed.
She didn’t know the person inside. She didn’t know their personality, their loyalties, or anything else helpful.
But typically, one did not jump straight to the top of the food chain with first-time complaints about colleagues.
So, she had to hope that Amy wasn’t the only person on the east side who was reasonable, or at least professional.
That actually wasn’t fair. Though she didn’t know him well, Lynnette had a decent impression of Doctor Garland. It was just a shame he was less often on shift when she was.
She shook the thought away and dropped her knuckles to the door. There was too much work to be done to linger.
Lance waited until he was alone to let out a groan.
It was part frustration and part pain. The truth was he felt like shit.
He was putting on an act, because his lack of interest in pain killers did not mean his leg didn’t fucking hurt.
If he could take the drugs without the neurological impairment, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
Oh well. No sense moaning about shit beyond his control.
He blew out one more breath and reached for his phone.
He probably should let Jon know about his altercation with Sheriff Asshole, but he was hesitant to disturb Jon’s day so early into it.
The man had his own shit going on. So, he decided to stall.
He needed to find himself some resources.
And maybe touch base with the civilian world.
He tapped his fingers against the back of his phone. What he needed was social media.
Before he knew it, he’d created a new email account he’d probably never use and linked it to three of the most popular sites he knew of.
Videos of nonsense opened before him. Colorful images with flashing text like old ads tried to grab his attention.
And long, confidently inaccurate rants of grammatic disasters woven around emphatic emojis filled his screen.
It was no wonder people spent hours lost in those spaces.
It’d take hours just to filter through it all to feel caught up.
Lance tapped a video—if it qualified as that, being less than a minute long—of some idiot mocking his neighbor’s dog and insisting the animal was a shifter.
As if any sane shifter would volunteer themselves to be chained to a fucking tree for hours on end.
He scoffed and closed out of that program.
“This is the shit we lost our jobs for?”
He navigated to the largest platform, with the ranting texts and its own share of short videos, and opened the search.
His door swung open before he could type out the first word.
Lance lowered his phone, closing out of the open program on reflex, and noted the white doctor’s coat hanging off the man’s lean frame. It wasn’t the doctor he’d met prior, but he knew a bit how hospitals worked. Even doctors slept sometimes.
The man in front of him was average height, about five-foot, ten-inches, with receding light brown hair and eyes that almost perfectly matched.
He wore glasses tucked into the collar of his scrub top, and looked to be no more than a decade older than Lance at most. Although some of that youthful impression could have come from his perfectly clean-shaven face.
His lips lifted in a smile that felt plastic and didn’t crinkle his eyes.
“I hear you’ve had quite the morning, Mr. Blackburn. ”
Lance tapped a finger on his phone restlessly.
It was one thing with the average civilian, but men who held titles they’d had to earn ought to respect the earned titles of another.
Lazy fucks. “Hasn’t been too bad,” he replied.
“Beats eating breakfast with one hand on a rifle while bullets fly over my head.”
The doctor blinked at him as if he’d told a stupid joke.
Then he stepped forward. “I’m Doctor Bishop,” he said, “I work rotation with Doctor Garland.” He turned his gaze to the monitors, which of course were steady, then down to Lance’s leg before meeting his gaze again. “Mind if I take a quick look?”
Lance gave a lazy shrug. “Sure.”
Bishop tossed the blanket up from the bottom to reveal Lance’s legs from the knees down, nearly hitting Lance in the chin with the flying end in the process.
He took hold of Lance’s foot and leg, gently rolled him a bit side to side, and ran his fingers over the bandages. “When were these last changed?”
Lance lifted his phone from beneath the blanket to check the time. “Six hours and eighteen minutes ago.”
Bishop blinked at him again, then hummed. “I’ll have someone come change these out after you get lunch, then.” He tucked his hands into his pockets as he stepped away. “I’ll pop in on you again this afternoon. Try to get some rest.” Then he was out the door.
Lance dropped his head back and stared up at the ceiling tiles and the ugly fluorescent lights.
“For the fairytale,” he muttered. “Put up with this shit for the fairytale.” Then he heaved a breath, bent forward, and grit his teeth at the strain that shot up his leg as he tossed the damn blanket back into position.