Chapter 8
John
I’m late.
He rubbed his temple, feeling the brewing of a headache. “I submitted the form this morning. Getting HR involved is merely going to make this situation bigger than it needs to be.”
They had been going back and forth for the last hour. The shift had already gone into overtime after a city bus accident on the freeway, which had filled their ED with crash victims.
“John, I understand, but I need you to look at this from my viewpoint—” Tanya began.
“I’ve been trying for the past hour, and frankly…” he shook his head, exasperated. “I can’t.”
Tanya’s dark brown eyes widened, and her back straightened indignantly.
Tanya was his boss, the director of the entire hospital.
John was forced to deal with her or Sean, her boss, on almost a daily basis these days.
The bureaucracy of the hospital was beginning to bleed into his ED, and it was getting ridiculous.
The politics of the business side of running a major city hospital was his concern to some extent, but right now, he didn’t fucking care.
“You’re wanting me to jump through extra hoops because you’re afraid I might sue,” John said sharply.
Tanya blanched.
“That’s exactly it, isn’t it? You’re afraid I’m gonna sue on the grounds that after months—no, years—of complaints, I’ve personally taken to HR about my concerns, I might actually have a case now.
Jesus Christ, Tanya, this could’ve been prevented had you listened to me—to us.
Instead, more nurses are quitting because they know this hospital doesn’t protect them.
More violence is happening in the lobby because we’re short-staffed, and not only violence, but deaths.
Preventable deaths, because we can’t keep functioning on a skeleton crew.
And you’re more concerned about fucking paperwork.
That’s your concern? We don’t have enough beds, nurses, or security.
The attack is not the issue here! It’s about the systematic fucking failure of this hospital, and your leadership that borders on negligent indifference. ”
Slow, loud clapping erupted from behind him, and he realized he had laid into Tanya, in public at his workstation, for the whole night crew to hear.
He glanced up and saw Dr. Walsh leaning forward on his elbows on the workstation only a few feet away, wearing his all-black scrubs and a long-sleeved shirt beneath, which made his pale skin look even whiter under the glow of the fluorescent light.
The only color on his body was from his reddish-brown hair.
And he was wearing his sunglasses still, sliding them off to look directly at John, and then back up to Tanya, an insolent smirk dangling from his lips.
“What he said,” Dr. Walsh said, with a faint hint of his original Irish home.
Samuels cleared his throat, and John turned to see that he hadn’t left his shift yet either, and had intentionally placed himself at the central station, eavesdropping on Tanya’s conversation with him, while the rest of the day shift had gone home.
John suddenly felt very proud of his crew—especially the two men who led when he couldn’t.
His gaze flickered over to Samuels, whose gruff face was handsomely sporting a now fully matured, ridiculously bushy mustache, and maybe because he was tired, or fed up with talking in circles and just wanted a hot shower and the firm press of Lawson’s hands on his body, John began to laugh.
It sounded hysterical, and he didn’t care.
Because clearly he had lost his damned mind, having impulsively agreed to another night with Lawson.
What the hell was I thinking?
This is so stupid.
Fuck.
More weak hysterical laughter bubbled out of him like an uncontrollable creature.
Samuels and Tanya watched him in mild alarm as tears formed in his eyes, holding a hand over his face, trying not to look at Samuels’s ridiculous Tom Selleck mustache.
“Is this conversation amusing, Dr. Donnelly?” Tanya snapped.
“Yes—no,” he said, smothering his laughter. “Shit, I’m sorry, Tanya, it’s been a long day.” He shook his head, eyebrows furrowed, yet an exhausted smile tightened his lips. “Can we pick this up tomorrow? Let me sleep on it, okay?”
Tanya looked like she was about to protest when Dr. Walsh interrupted.
“I’d listen to our cap,” Walsh drawled darkly. “I wouldn’t want to be on this man’s bad side.”
“He doesn’t have a bad side,” Samuels retorted irritably.
Walsh cocked his head to the side, his dark brown, nearly black eyes narrowed over John. “The nice ones always have the biggest snap, and it’s mighty marvelous to behold. I’ve always prided myself on being able to tell when someone’s a breath away from snapping.”
Samuels snorted, “Only because you’ve got a screw loose.”
Walsh seemed to consider this and gave a slight nod. “I think we all do. I just don’t hide it behind a mustache or kindness.” He glanced between the two men and winked, and strolled off to his night nurse, ready to take command.
Tanya’s rigid stance softened, and she stood, gathering the infamous zipped binder she carried everywhere, its digital tablet filled with notes, constantly dinging with updates or emails.
“Yes, of course. I’ve held you over long enough. Have a good night,” she said with a clipped tone, and promptly left. John wondered if it was what he had said—or what Walsh had said.
“Walsh is looking extra vampiric tonight,” Samuels muttered, before casually side-eyeing John. “So, how’s things?”
John sighed, still feeling the silly urge to laugh again. “Better now that that conversation has ended.”
“Yeah, Tanya’s been on a rampage lately. Better you than me.”
He raced a hand through his hair. “I need to get outta here. So should you.”
Samuels nodded and gave him a dismissive wave, “On it, captain, just finishing my notes.”
He retrieved his backpack from his locker and slipped on his black zip-up hoodie.
Backpack slung over his good shoulder, John began to walk out the front just to say goodbye to Samuels. “By the way, nice stash, Selleck. It’s getting bigger.”
Samuels beamed proudly at him. “You grew the beard three months ago. This ED couldn’t handle two bearded daddies.”
John snorted a laugh, the giggles emerging once more, a sign that he was beyond tired. Maybe meeting with Lawson was a mistake tonight.
The right thing to do was to text him and cancel.
The right thing to do wasn’t to have made plans in the first place.
The doors to the lobby opened to a packed house. He shook his head, more than ready to get the hell out of there. He waved to the security team before leaving, and was greeted by the brisk night air.
He inhaled in relief and exhaled slowly, taking a moment to appreciate the darkness, before he headed toward the employee parking lot.
He made it to the gated entrance when he noted a motorcyclist, dressed in jeans, black cowboy boots, a worn brown leather jacket, and an all-black helmet.
He hesitated, unable to take his eyes off those familiar-looking boots.
Upon John’s appearance, the motorcyclist slipped off the helmet, and his heart stuttered to a halt.
“You’re kidding me,” John said incredulously to him, another burst of laughter coming from his chest.
Lawson ran a hand through his thick dirty blond hair, the waves breaking beneath his fingers. “What? You don’t like it? It’s my dad’s old bike. He said if I could fix it, I could keep it.”
“Horses, motorcycle, doctor…” John drawled, stepping up to him. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
Lawson’s pale blue eyes were oddly calm despite the heat reflected in them. “For a while there, you.”
His smile froze on his face, and Lawson hummed in that sultry, low tone of his. “But my default state is persistence and patience. My Aunt Carol once told me that the best things in life are worth waiting for.”
“Wise woman,” John murmured. “Are you flirting with me, Lawson?”
“Yes,” he said quickly, unabashedly. “Always, if I could.”
He felt the ridiculous blush stain his cheeks. He sucked in a breath, “Sorry I’m late. I don’t know if tonight’s a good night. I’m tired…”
“I know,” Lawson said gently. “That’s why I’m here to pick you up.”
“On that?”
Lawson reached for a spare black helmet and handed it to him.
“Not a chance, Lawson,” he retorted. He had been teasing his sister when he said he was thinking about a motorcycle, because as an emergency doctor, he had seen the devastating toll they took on the human body. And he wasn’t interested in actually losing a foot or leg tonight.
“I booked us a room,” Lawson said, surprising him.
Heat instantly flooded his body. The hard, uncompromising glint in Lawson’s expression suspended him. “I have every intention of taking care of you tonight, Donnelly. Starting right now. So, get on the damned bike and let’s go. The sooner this starts, the sooner both of us feel good.”
The heat turned into molten lava at his words. He took the helmet and slid it on. Lawson reached for him, strapping the lower chin strap on over his beard, his fingers quick and efficient.
“Have you ridden a bike before?” he asked.
“A bike? Yes. This? No,” John replied through the helmet.
Lawson smirked. “Lean with me, keep your arms around my waist the whole time, and trust me.”
Lawson pulled on his helmet, buckled it, and straddled the bike.
His jeans pulled tight against his lean legs.
John followed suit, positioning himself behind Lawson on the bike and feeling his body brush against his back and his legs push into his thighs.
Lawson reached around and adjusted John on both sides, sliding him deeper into the seat.
He was fully wrapped around Lawson now, but it didn’t stop there.
Lawson grabbed John’s hand and guided it around his waist, followed by the other.
A flash of the other day popped into his brain of how he had wrapped his arms around Lawson’s waist, dragging him closer. Very similar to this.