Chapter 3 #2
She glanced back toward Taylor, as she did, she thought she saw a ghost, and she did a double take.
Her eyes scanned past a man who looked exactly like Liam Sterling, and time began to move in slow motion.
Convinced that she must be seeing things, that her eyes had to be deceiving her, she blinked, sure that when her lids opened, he would be gone.
That the mirage she’d imagined would have disappeared.
Why would Liam be at Pine Ridge General? He was in the Navy, wasn’t he? He hadn’t been in the US since…she didn’t know the last time he’d stepped foot stateside. She stopped asking questions about him years ago.
When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
Her brain was telling her that he wasn’t there…
except, he was. And he wasn’t a young man anymore.
He was a grown man and even hotter than she could have ever imagined.
His brown hair was thicker, his jawline was stronger, his stubble was stubblier, his shoulders were broader, and his lips…
his lips were still perfect. They all combined to create a man who should look too pretty but somehow still had a dangerous edge.
And he was walking straight towards her. If he lifted his head, he’d be staring directly at her face. The last time she’d seen him was over a decade earlier, and she’d made a complete fool of herself. She couldn’t see him now. Not like this. What would she say to him?
Hi, how have you been? Oh me, well, your brother cheated on me, so we broke up, but please don’t say anything because your dad and my mom just hooked up and are now in a relationship.
No.
She could not say any of that.
Panic flooded her system like a dam bursting, and she looked to the good pastor and Taylor for help. “I can’t…oh…my…please don’t…”
None of the words she was trying to say were coming out, and in the last thirty seconds or so, she’d forgotten how to breathe.
She couldn’t seem to get any oxygen in her lungs.
She glanced around looking for an escape route.
There was only one way in and out of the room, and if she went out that door, she’d run right into him, just like her parents at Sue Ann’s Café.
If she didn’t do something, he was going to see her.
Without having any other option, she ran behind the blue curtain that had separated Mr. Santino’s bed from Taylor’s.
That solution wasn’t great when she realized the cloth hit her mid-shin, which meant her feet would be sticking out.
After a frantic scan of her immediate options, she quickly ducked behind the supply cabinet in the corner and crouched down, making herself as tiny as humanly possible as she whisper-yelled, “Don’t look over here! ”
She tucked her knees just beneath her chin as she hugged her legs against her chest and tried not to breathe, not to move, to be as quiet as a mouse. Mouse. The name he’d given her.
Liam's world was always moving at a pace just slightly faster than everyone else's in the ER, the hours flew by but somehow dragged as well.
He should have been home by now, but every time he was about to leave, something else needed his attention.
He'd just finished signing off a new hire from Southern California, who was discussing the difference between an L.A.
gunshot wound and a pine-country dirt bike collision, when he heard his name called out in a voice that was impossible to miss, even with the low hum of the patient moaning in six, keyboard clacks, and the squeak of gurney brakes.
“Hey, Dr. Davies!”
Liam knew who it was before he turned around. Owen Taylor was a regular—a “frequent flyer”—and a favorite of the ER staff. The kid reminded him a lot of himself when he was younger. He was smart, funny, and wiser than his years. The embodiment of an old soul in a child’s body.
He’d been dealt a shit health hand: type 1 diabetes, asthma, epilepsy, and a congenital heart disease.
But despite his sometimes biweekly visits, he never had a bad attitude.
He acted like nebulizer treatments, getting his blood drawn, and radiology visits were social opportunities.
No matter how much pain or discomfort he was in, he always had a smile on his face, which Liam always sensed was partly his personality but also for his mom’s benefit, and Liam respected that.
His mom, Rebecca Taylor, who went by Taylor, was a single parent who he admired.
It was clear that she’d experienced trauma in her life, but she didn’t let that stop her from doing her best by Owen.
She was the kind of parent who would walk into oncoming traffic for her kid.
Anyone who spent five minutes with them could see that he was her entire world and vice versa.
Truth be told, Liam’s feelings for her had been more than just professional.
He’d definitely had flickers of romantic interest, but he’d never acted on them. Not really.
He’d given her his cell number so she could reach him if Owen ever had an emergency, which is something he’d never done for another patient. But he’d never asked her out because he’d sensed her walls were up, and he never wanted things to be awkward between them.
Now he’d heard from the gossip grapevine, aka the nurses, that she’d married Hope Falls Most Eligible Bachelor, Caleb Harrison, aka “Hot Pastor.” He knew Caleb peripherally, as clergy, he came to the hospital often to visit patients.
As protective as he felt over both Taylor and Owen, he had to admit he’d only heard good things about the man.
If he made her happy, then he was genuinely happy for her and for the kid.
Caleb had made it clear he wasn’t Liam’s number one fan, but as long as he never did anything to hurt his favorite patients, he wouldn’t have any problems from him.
“I didn’t know you were here.” The staff all knew to alert him immediately when Owen was being treated. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m here for Mom.”
Concern instantly flooded his system. Taylor had been admitted for a viral infection about a month earlier. “Is she sick again?”
He glanced around, looking for Zeta to find out why she hadn’t informed him immediately that Taylor was there and brought him up to speed on her condition. Zeta had just completed her probation period and may not have known to come and tell him immediately.
“No, she’s not sick. She’s okay because Mr. Santino saved her. He’s a hero! You’ve got to see the video. He got shot.”
Liam felt the air leave his lungs. Taylor was the patient in ten? She was the domestic? She could have been shot?
“They said she’ll probably be released today,” a woman Liam hadn’t even noticed standing beside Owen with a kid who looked about his age offered. He met her eyes, and she smiled. “Hi, I’m Adriana, and this is Jonah. We were just on the way to meet my husband to get these boys fed.”
Liam nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.” She and the boys continued down the hall.
Liam watched him go, and although he was sure that Adriana was a perfectly capable adult, Owen had a lot of health issues, and it made him worried thinking about him being with anyone else but his mom.
“Owen, you have my number. Call if you need anything.”
“I will.” Owen glanced over his shoulder, smiled, and waved.
Despite knowing that Taylor was fine, that she hadn’t been shot, once he found out she was the woman involved in the domestic dispute, adrenaline spiked in his system.
Years in the military and years in the ER had exposed him to the damage a single bullet could cause.
The world around him blurred as his mind went to dark places.
A montage of worst-case scenarios flashed through his head.
In each one, Taylor was pallid and unresponsive on a gurney, her clothes soaked in blood, with the frantic scramble of a code team calling out for suction and a crash cart.
He stared down at the tiled floor, his chest constricted as his stride quickened with each step he got closer to trauma bay ten.
When he reached the room, he lifted his head and paused for a fraction of a second in the doorframe, every muscle in his body tense.
“Miss Taylor,” he said, his voice lower and rougher than usual.
Her skin was pale, but not shock-white, her lips were blanched, but her breaths were regular, and—most importantly—her eyes found his immediately, wide and alert. “Dr. Davies, hi.”
“Are you okay?” Liam stepped to the edge of the bed, automatically scanning her for signs of deeper trauma.
No visible blood soaking her shirt, the oxygen monitor clipped to her finger reading within a safe range, the heart monitor chirping a steady, if slightly elevated, rhythm.
Liam was never satisfied with monitors. He had to see for himself.
He stared into her eyes, searching for any sign of concussion.
As badly as he wanted to get the penlight out of his pocket, gently tip her chin up, and examine her pupils, he knew it would be overkill.
She’d been seen already. “I just saw Owen, and he told me it was you in the shooting incident. I had no idea you were here.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice sounded weak, but that was to be expected. “I wasn’t shot. My friend, Mr. Santino, was. He saved me.”
He was still examining her as covertly as possible, tracking the subtle tremor in her hands as she smoothed the hospital blanket, when his pager went off.
The shrill double-beep cut through the background sounds of the ER, and Liam’s entire body tensed.
He glanced at the code—white, which meant aggression—in bay seven, the psych patient.
As much as he didn’t want to leave Taylor, he had to. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
She managed a tired smile as Liam turned and walked out. On his way he gave Caleb a nod, passing the torch of her care to him. “Harrison.”
The moment his name left his mouth, he stopped.
It was involuntary, as if he’d hit a wall, not a physical one, but some invisible forcefield.
The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he wasn’t sure what the reason was until his brain processed what his olfactory nerve had detected.
The scent. Vanilla layered with something floral.
That is what had brought him to an abrupt halt.
It was the essence of Frankie Costas.
The memory was so visceral he felt like he could reach out and touch her.
Could she be there?
No.
Frankie lived in New York with his brother Tristan.
Her Yaya lived in Hope Falls, and he’d seen her around several times.
She’d come to visit people at the hospital, but she didn’t know him.
She hadn’t seen him since he was a pre-teen.
From what he’d heard, Frankie hadn’t been to visit her in years.
When her Papou passed away, they had the funeral in Greece, so she hadn’t even come back for that.
It wasn’t her. Why would she be here? In Pine Ridge General Hospital?
“Davies.” Caleb’s voice was deep and raw. His stare and tone infused a lot of subtext in those six letters. He managed to deliver Liam’s last name as a threat, snapping him out of his Frankie fog.
Liam left the room with two thoughts in the forefront of his mind.
One was pure relief and happiness. He knew now Taylor was getting out of there in one piece with a man who would die before he would let anyone hurt her again.
Harrison may be a man of God, but the message he’d just given Liam came across loud and clear: if he messed with his family or brought trouble to his house, he would be visiting the morgue, and that made Liam very happy.
This asshole ex of hers might be locked up now, but if he did come back, he was glad to know the pastor had what the nurses referred to as touch-her-and-die energy. He wasn’t soft.
The second thought—the one that stuck like a stone in his shoe—was why, after eleven years, had he been triggered by that scent?
The aroma persisted, clinging in his airways every time he inhaled like an unsolved riddle.
He’d been triggered by other things before.
Some of which he only had himself to blame, intentionally exposing himself to photos, art, food, tattoos, and more that related to her.
Others he held no responsibility for, randomly seeing someone who resembled her, or hearing someone who laughed like her, or watching a TV show or movie that happened to have a scene or storyline that reminded him of her or their relationship.
But never scent.
He’d always had an acute sense of smell.
The way some people had perfect pitch or photographic memory, he had the ability to break down any aroma into its atomic parts.
It had never been very useful until he started working in medicine.
Over the years, he’d trained himself to recognize the warning tang of diabetic ketoacidosis, the sickly-sweet breath of a meth user, the coppery undertone of blood before you even saw it.
But this was different. This wasn’t real.
She wasn’t there. Maybe it was just another sign that he needed to move on.
This place was causing him to have aromatic hallucinations.
It was the only explanation, because there was no way Frankie Costas was in Pine Ridge General Hospital.
If she were here, he would know. He would know.