Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
A va adjusted the chart in her hands, trying to focus on Dr. Ciponelli’s words instead of the mountain of patient files waiting at the nurses’ station. The ED had been unusually quiet for a Tuesday afternoon, which always made her nervous. In emergency medicine, quiet usually preceded chaos, like the stillness before a storm.
“The foundation raised over fifty thousand at last year’s event,” Ciponelli was saying, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he reviewed the charity gala paperwork. “With your patient success stories from this year, we’re hoping to highlight the department’s excellence.”
“I’m happy to provide any case details you require,” Ava said, mentally calculating how much time it would take to prepare a presentation. Time, she didn’t have, between her regular shifts and the research paper she was trying to finish.
“Excellent.” Ciponelli closed the folder with a decisive snap. “I expect to see you and your husband there. These events are important for the hospital’s community standing. The board members’ wives are particularly interested in meeting the woman who finally caught Reed Campbell.”
Ava’s smile felt frozen on her face. “Of course. We wouldn’t miss it.”
The gala. The formal, black-tie gala that she’d successfully avoided for the past three years by volunteering for extra shifts. The event where hospital politics played out in designer dresses and practiced small talk, neither of which was her forte.
Now, as a newly minted “Mrs. Dr. Spencer-Campbell,” she was expected to attend. With Reed. As a couple.
Ciponelli nodded, already moving on to his next task, leaving Ava standing in the hallway with a fresh wave of anxiety. She didn’t own anything remotely appropriate for such an event. Her closest approximation to formal wear was the navy dress she’d worn to a colleague’s wedding last year, and even that was probably too casual for the county’s premier social event.
She headed back to the nurses’ station, her mind already spinning through the logistics. When was the gala? Two weeks from Saturday, if she remembered correctly. Did she have time to shop? Did Reed even own a tuxedo? Would they have to coordinate colors like some prom couple?
“Earth to Dr. Spencer-Campbell.” Rachel waved a hand in front of her face. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for a full minute.”
“Sorry.” Ava shook her head, trying to refocus. “Just thinking about the charity gala.”
Rachel’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re actually going this year? Miracles do happen.”
“Ciponelli made it clear attendance is mandatory for me and my...husband.” The word still felt foreign to her tongue, simultaneously false and yet increasingly real as their charade continued.
A slow smile spread across Rachel’s face. “Reed in a tux. That’ll be worth the price of admission.”
Ava ignored the heat that rose to her cheeks at the image. “I don’t even know where to start with finding a dress.”
“Lucky for you, your best friend has excellent taste and nothing planned this weekend.” Rachel’s eyes gleamed with barely suppressed excitement. “We are going shopping, and you are getting something that makes Reed’s eyes pop out of his head.”
“That’s not the—” Ava began, but was cut off by the shrill ring of the emergency line.
Rachel’s expression shifted instantly from playful to professional as she answered. “Emergency Department.” Her face grew serious as she listened, and Ava felt the familiar surge of adrenaline that preceded every incoming trauma. “Copy that. We’ll be ready.”
“What is it?” Ava asked, already moving toward the trauma bay.
“Male fell from a rock face. Multiple injuries, possible internal bleeding. Five minutes out.”
The words hit Ava like a physical blow. Rock climbing. Reed loved rock climbing. He’d mentioned something about going this week when his shift ended.
“Who’s the responding team? Do we have a name, age of the victim?” she asked, her voice tight as she tried to remember Reed’s schedule. Was he on duty today? She couldn’t recall, the days blurring together since they’d started their charade.
“Not sure. Dispatch didn’t say,” Rachel replied, already preparing the trauma room.
Ava’s heart hammered against her ribs, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin as her mind spun through worst-case scenarios. Reed, broken and bleeding. Reed, being worked on by his own colleagues. Reed, who’d somehow become essential to her in ways she wasn’t ready to examine.
She forced herself to focus, to prepare the trauma bay with automatic efficiency born from years of training. IV supplies. Intubation kit. Chest tube tray. Her hands moved independently of her spiraling thoughts.
The ED doors burst open with the distinctive sound of a gurney being rushed in. Ava whirled around, her breath catching in her throat.
Reed was there, alive and unharmed, but his face was drained of color as he rushed alongside the stretcher. Relief crashed through her with such force that her knees nearly buckled.
“Seventeen-year-old male, twenty-foot fall onto rocks,” Reed called out, his voice tight with an emotion Ava had never heard from him before. “Multiple contusions, possible broken ribs, decreasing breath sounds on the left, suspected internal bleeding. BP is dropping, 90 over 60 and falling.”
The teen on the stretcher was barely conscious, his face a mask of blood and dirt. A cervical collar stabilized his neck, but Ava could see immediately that his injuries were extensive.
“Jason,” Reed said, his voice cracking as they transferred the boy to the trauma bed. “His name is Jason Martinez.”
The raw pain in Reed’s voice pulled Ava’s attention away from the patient for a split second. Reed looked wrecked in a way that went beyond professional concern; his knuckles were white where he gripped the edge of the stretcher.
“One of yours?” she asked, already knowing the answer as she pulled on her gloves.
Reed nodded; his jaw tight. “From the rec center. Rock climbing safety class.” His voice dropped so only she could hear. “They went out on their own. Thought they could handle it without an instructor. I should have?—”
“Later,” Ava interrupted gently but firmly, her doctor’s instincts taking over. “Right now, I need you to help me save him.”
Something in her tone seemed to reach him. Reed straightened, professional training overriding personal anguish as he rattled off the rest of Jason’s vitals and history.
Ava moved with practiced precision, assessing the teen’s injuries while calling out orders to the trauma team. “Get me a chest X-ray and FAST scan. Type and cross for four units. Start a central line.”
Jason’s breath sounds were dangerously diminished on the left, suggesting a pneumothorax or hemothorax. His BP continued to drop despite the fluid bolus being pushed through his IV.
“He was conscious at the scene,” Reed said, hovering closer than protocol typically allowed. “Talking, knew who he was. Then he started fading on the ride in.”
Ava nodded, already preparing to place a chest tube. “He’s bleeding internally. Probably from the impact trauma.” She glanced up, catching Reed’s eye. “I need you to step back and let us work.”
For a moment she thought he might argue, but then he nodded, moving to the perimeter of the room where the other EMTs waited. The relief she’d felt at seeing him unharmed had been replaced by professional focus, but something lingered—a new awareness of just how much she’d come to care about his well-being.
The thought was terrifying.
“Decreased breath sounds confirmed,” announced the respiratory therapist. “O2 sats dropping to 88%.”
Ava refocused, pushing all personal thoughts aside. “I’m placing a chest tube. Get surgery on standby.”
The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of controlled urgency. The chest tube revealed significant bleeding in Jason’s thoracic cavity. The FAST scan showed free fluid in his abdomen, confirming internal bleeding. His parents arrived, distraught and confused, and Ava took a brief moment to explain the situation while the surgical team was being assembled.
Through it all, she was acutely aware of Reed’s presence, his silent anguish as he watched from the edge of the room, refusing to leave even after the other EMTs had returned to service.
When Jason was finally stabilized enough for transfer to surgery, Ava found herself face to face with Reed in the momentary quiet that followed.
“He’s going to make it,” she said softly, stripping off her gloves and blood-spattered gown. “The surgeons will repair the internal bleeding. His vitals improved once we drained the hemothorax.”
Reed’s face was still unnaturally pale beneath his tan. “They weren’t supposed to be climbing there. That section requires advanced safety techniques. I specifically told them?—”
“Teenagers don’t always listen,” Ava interrupted gently. “You know that better than anyone.”
“I should have been clearer about the dangers. Made them understand?—”
“Reed.” She placed a hand on his arm, feeling the tension humming through him. “This isn’t your fault.”
He shook his head, unconvinced. “His parents trusted me to teach him safety. To keep him from ending up exactly like this.”
The raw guilt in his voice sent her back to their conversation about his brother—the one that had ended in that kiss she’d been trying so hard to forget. Reed’s mission was to prevent other families from experiencing the same loss he had suffered.
“You did teach him,” Ava insisted. “The fact that they used any safety equipment at all probably saved his life. A fall like that without proper gear… And remember, the others with him knew what to do because of what you taught him. He’ll make it because of you.” She filled her voice with a quiet confidence, trying to encourage him to see the difference he’d made in their lives.
For a moment, they stood in silence, her hand still on his arm. It was the longest they’d touched since that night on the couch, and Ava was suddenly, acutely aware of the contact, of the warmth of his skin beneath the thin fabric of his uniform shirt.
She should pull away. Step back. Maintain the professional distance she’d been carefully preserving.
Instead, before she could think better of it, she squeezed his arm gently. “Go talk to his parents. They need to hear from you that he was doing everything mostly right, that his training helped even if his judgment lapsed. It’ll mean something coming from you. I’ll be right out to talk with them too once I check on the surgery.”
Reed looked down at her hand on his arm, then back to her face. Something shifted in his expression, gratitude, and something deeper that made her heart skip.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For taking care of him. For...”
He didn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t need to. For understanding. For not blaming him. For seeing what this meant to him.
“It’s my job,” she replied, though they both knew it was more than that.
As Reed walked away to speak with Jason’s parents, Ava found herself taking a deep, steadying breath. The panic she’d felt when she thought Reed might be injured hadn’t been professional concern for a colleague. It had been something deeper, more personal.
More dangerous.
When had Reed Campbell become someone she couldn’t bear to lose?
The question followed her as she updated Jason’s chart, as she checked on her other patients, as she tried to refocus on the mundane details of her shift. The answer lurked just beneath the surface of her thoughts, too frightening to examine directly.
Their fake marriage was starting to feel all too real, at least for her. And that realization was more terrifying than any emergency the ED could throw at her.
R eed jerked awake at the gentle touch on his shoulder, his neck stiff from the awkward angle against the waiting room wall. For a moment, disorientation clouded his mind—fluorescent lights, the antiseptic smell, the quiet murmur of voices at the nurses’ station. Then reality crashed back. Jason. The fall. The ambulance ride with the kid’s pulse growing weaker beneath Reed’s fingers.
Ava stood over him, still in her scrubs but without the white coat, dark circles under her eyes betraying her exhaustion after what must have been a grueling shift. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face. Even tired, she was beautiful in a way that made his chest ache.
“Hey,” she said softly, settling into the uncomfortable plastic chair beside him. “You’re still here.”
Reed straightened, wincing at the protest from his stiff muscles. The wall clock read 2:17 AM. He’d been there for over twelve hours.
“Couldn’t leave,” he answered, his voice rough with fatigue and disuse. “His parents went home to check on their other kids about an hour ago. Asked me to stay.”
Ava nodded, understanding without him having to explain further. In their small town, these connections ran deep. Jason’s father had worked for Reed’s dad’s contracting company for years. His mother had taught several of Reed’s younger cousins in fourth grade. They weren’t just the parents of a kid from his class; they were practically family.
“How is he?” Reed asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. The last update he’d received had been cautiously optimistic, but that had been hours ago.
“He’s stabilized,” Ava said, her doctor voice tempered with gentle compassion. “The surgery went well. They repaired the internal bleeding and re-inflated his collapsed lung. He has three broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and a concussion, but the spinal cord is intact. No paralysis.”
Relief washed through Reed with such force that he had to close his eyes for a moment, his breath leaving him in a shaky exhale. “He’ll recover?”
“His condition is still guarded, but yes, barring complications, he should make a full recovery.” Ava’s hand found his, her fingers cool and steady as they curled around his. “He’s young and healthy. That counts for a lot.”
Reed nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. The weight that had been crushing his chest since he’d gotten the call—Jason, fallen, unconscious, bleeding—lifted slightly, allowing him to breathe more freely for the first time in half a day.
“It’s not your fault,” Ava said quietly, reading the thoughts still etched in the lines of his face. “Kids make bad decisions sometimes, no matter what we teach them.”
“I know,” Reed said, though the guilt still gnawed at him. “Intellectually, I know that. But when I saw him on that rock face...” He shook his head, the image still too vivid. “All I could think was, ‘Not again. Not another kid.’”
Ava’s fingers tightened around his, anchoring him to the present. “But it’s not the same as Tyler,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Jason is going to be okay.”
The mention of his brother’s name should have hurt, should have reopened that old wound. Instead, Reed felt a strange comfort in knowing that she remembered, that she understood the deeper source of his anguish.
“Come on,” she said after a moment, tugging gently at his hand. “You need to sleep in a real bed, not these torture devices they call chairs. I’ll drive you home.”
“I can drive,” he protested weakly, even as he let her pull him to his feet.
Ava gave him a look that brooked no argument. “You’ve been up for what, thirty hours? And you’re emotionally drained. I’m not letting you behind the wheel.”
Too exhausted to argue, Reed followed her through the quiet hospital corridors, his hand still in hers. The simple contact was comforting in a way he hadn’t expected, hadn’t realized he needed until this moment.
Outside, the night air was cool and crisp, stars visible in the clear sky above. Reed handed over his truck keys without protest, sliding into the passenger seat as Ava adjusted the driver’s seat forward to accommodate her shorter frame.
“When did you last eat?” she asked as she pulled out of the hospital parking lot.
Reed tried to remember. “Breakfast, maybe? I had coffee from the vending machine at some point.”
Ava made a disapproving sound. “There’s leftover pasta in the fridge at home. You need to eat something.”
Home. The word hung between them, no longer just his house where she happened to be staying, but somewhere they both belonged. When had that happened?
The drive passed in comfortable silence, Reed too exhausted to make conversation and Ava seemingly content to let him rest. The familiar streets were nearly empty at this late hour, the town quiet and still. Reed found himself watching Ava’s profile, illuminated intermittently from passing streetlights—the determined set of her jaw, the graceful line of her neck, the way she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear at each stoplight.
When they reached the house, Ava insisted on helping him inside despite his weak protests. The living room was dark, but neither of them bothered with more than the small lamp in the entryway, the dim light casting long shadows across the familiar space.
“Couch,” Ava directed, guiding him to the comfortable leather sofa where they’d shared that fateful pizza and wine, where they’d kissed for the first time—really kissed, not the hazy Vegas memories that felt like they belonged to different people.
Reed sank down gratefully, his body suddenly feeling twice as heavy as normal. “I should check on Jason’s parents,” he mumbled, reaching for his phone.
Ava gently intercepted his hand. “I texted them from the hospital to let them know you were coming home with me. They said they’d call in the morning with any updates.”
The simple thoughtfulness of the gesture touched him deeply. Of course, she would think of that, would know exactly what he needed without him having to ask.
“Thank you,” he said, the words inadequate for the rush of gratitude and something warmer, deeper that flooded through him.
“For what?”
“For saving him. For being there. For...” He gestured vaguely, unable to articulate all the ways she’d steadied him through this nightmare of a day.
Ava settled beside him on the couch, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her, smell the faint antiseptic hospital scent mingled with something that was uniquely her. “You would have done the same for me,” she said simply.
And he would have, Reed realized. Without hesitation or question. Not because of their arrangement, not because of their fake marriage, but because somewhere along the way, Ava Spencer had become essential to him in a way he hadn’t planned for.
“I keep thinking about Tyler,” he admitted, the words coming easier in the dim light, in the quiet intimacy of the moment. “About how different it could have been if someone had been there who knew what to do. If I had known what to do.”
Ava’s hand found his again, her thumb tracing gentle circles on his palm. “You’ve saved so many people because of him,” she said softly. “Because of what happened. Today, you saved Jason by getting him to the hospital quickly, by knowing exactly what information the doctors needed. You also saved him by teaching those kids what to do. So many ways, you’ve honored your brother.”
The simple truth of her words washed over him, not erasing the guilt entirely but easing it, making space for something else—a sense of purpose, of meaning drawn from tragedy.
“When I heard the call come in,” Ava continued, her voice dropping to just above a whisper, “about a rock-climbing accident, I thought... I was afraid it might be you.”
Reed turned to look at her, surprised by the confession. “Me?”
She nodded, not meeting his eyes. “I couldn’t remember if you were on shift or if you’d mentioned going climbing after work. And for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The thought of you being hurt...”
The vulnerability in her voice struck him like a physical blow. Without thinking, Reed reached up to cup her cheek, gently turning her face toward his. “Ava.”
Her eyes met his, wide and unguarded in a way he rarely saw them. The careful walls she maintained, the professional distance, the wariness that had characterized their early days of cohabitation—all of it had fallen away, leaving something raw and honest in its place.
“I’m right here,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m okay.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I just... I realized how much I would miss you if something happened. How much I’ve come to depend on you being here.”
The admission hung between them, weighted with implications neither of them had expected when they’d begun this charade. Reed’s thumb brushed across her cheekbone, feeling the softness of her skin, the slight dampness that might have been fatigue, might have been tears.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, the words feeling like a vow more binding than the hasty one they’d exchanged in Vegas.
Ava’s eyes searched his, looking for something—reassurance, perhaps, or permission. Whatever she found there must have satisfied her, because she leaned forward slowly, deliberately, and pressed her lips to his.
Unlike their first kiss, heated and spontaneous, this one began gentle, almost tentative. Reed remained perfectly still, afraid that any sudden movement might break the spell, might cause her to retreat behind her carefully constructed walls. Her lips were soft against his, the contact brief but charged with unspoken emotion.
Then Reed moved, his hand moved to cup the back of her neck, his fingers threading through the silken strands of her hair. Ava responded with a soft sound that vibrated against his lips, her body leaning into his as if drawn by some inexorable force.
The kiss deepened, no longer tentative but exploring, discovering. Reed traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, a silent question that she answered by opening to him, allowing him access to the warm sweetness of her mouth. The taste of her—faint Diet Coke and something uniquely Ava—made his head swim, his pulse quickening as her hands slid up his chest to grip his shoulders.
Every point of contact between them seemed to burn: her breasts pressed against his chest, her thigh against his, the brush of her eyelashes against his cheek as she tilted her head to allow him better access. Reed's restraint threatened to shatter as Ava pressed closer still, her body fitting against his so perfectly that it stole his breath. He could feel her heartbeat racing to match his own, feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her scrubs.
His hand at her waist slipped lower, tracing the curve of her hip, drawing her even closer until there was no space left between them. Ava gasped against his mouth, her fingers digging into his shoulders in a way that would surely leave marks—evidence that this moment was real, not just another fantasy he'd conjured during those long nights of lying alone in his bed, with just a wall between them, wanting but not having.
When they finally broke apart, it was only by inches, their breath mingling in the narrow space between them. Ava's eyes remained closed for a heartbeat longer than necessary, her lips slightly parted and swollen from his kiss, a flush spreading across her cheekbones and down her throat to disappear beneath the neckline of her scrubs. Reed found himself transfixed by the sight, by the knowledge that he had drawn that response from her always-controlled demeanor.
The sound of her breathing, slightly ragged, filled the quiet room—a counterpoint to the thundering of his own heart. Her chest rose and fell against his, the friction creating a sweet torture that made him want to reclaim her mouth, to explore every inch of her with hands and lips and tongue until they were both beyond thought.
When Ava finally opened her eyes, they were dark with desire. The usual clear blue deepened to an almost navy color. Reed watched as vulnerability and determination warred in her expression, as she balanced on the knife's edge between retreat and surrender. Her fingers loosened their grip on his shoulders only to trace a slow, deliberate path down his chest, leaving trails of fire in their wake. When she reached the buttons of his shirt, she paused, her gaze lifting to meet his in silent question.
The moment stretched between them, taut with possibility. Reed's body urged him to act, to lift her into his arms and carry her to bed, to finally claim what they'd been dancing around for so long. But something more important held him back—the need to be certain, to know that whatever happened next would be her choice as much as his.
So he waited, every nerve ending alive with anticipation. His entire focus narrowed to the woman in his arms and the decision that hung between them like a suspended breath.
“I think,” she said carefully, “that I’m starting to forget this is supposed to be pretend.”
The confession struck him like lightning, illuminating everything that had been building between them since that night in Vegas—perhaps even before, in all those years of carefully maintained distance and professional interaction that had always hummed with something unacknowledged.
“Maybe,” Reed suggested, his heart pounding against his ribs, “we should stop pretending.”
Ava’s breath caught, the sound barely audible in the quiet room. “What would that mean? For us?”
It was a loaded question with no simple answer. What were they to each other? Friends playing at being spouses? Colleagues thrust into an intimate situation? Or something else entirely, something that had been dormant until circumstances forced them to see each other in a new light?
“It means,” Reed said slowly, choosing his words with care, “that we stop worrying about what this is supposed to be, and just let it be what it is.”
“And what is it?” Ava pressed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Reed brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. “Something real,” he said simply. “Something worth exploring, at our own pace, without the pressure of labels or expectations.”
The tension seemed to drain from Ava’s shoulders, and she leaned into his touch. “I think I’d like that. But tonight is not the night for that,” she admitted, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Right now, what you need, what we both need, is rest.”
As if on cue, exhaustion washed over Reed again, the adrenaline that had sustained him through the long hours in the hospital finally giving way to bone-deep fatigue. Ava stood, tugging gently at his hand.
“Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s get you to bed. Tomorrow will be soon enough to figure out what we are to each other.”
“Stay with me?” The words slipped out before he could call them back, hope flaring inside of him.
Her expression softened. “I’d like that.”
Reed followed her down the hall, past her room and into his, their fingers intertwined, the simple contact more intimate than any passionate embrace could have been. They quietly undressed and got into bed, Reed wrapping himself around Ava. Slowly, infinitesimally, he relaxed, drained emotionally and physically, and let sleep tug him under.