Chapter 7 Nate
seven
nate
I finished my third straight trauma assessment of the night, signing off on the chart before sliding it into the completed rack. The board was finally clearing after the chaos of a two-car MVA that had sent five patients our way. Now, in the temporary lull, I allowed myself a moment to breathe.
Maria was leaning against the nurses' station, absorbed in her phone, her expression shifting between smiles and frowns as she scrolled Instagram.
"Checking up on our world travelers? I hope Sophia’s having a better time than this," I said, gesturing to the general chaos of the emergency department around us.
"Madison's been posting like crazy," Maria replied, turning her phone toward me. "Look at these mountains! And the lake! God, I need a vacation."
I studied the images, full of breathtaking landscapes, shimmering lakes, a vineyard stretching toward distant mountains. Professional quality scenery, but something felt off.
"Lots of landscape shots," I observed. "Not many people."
"I noticed that too." Maria's brow furrowed. "And Sophia hasn't responded to my text from yesterday. Just a thumbs-up emoji."
"Could be busy," I offered, though my own instincts were prickling. "Or bad cell service."
"Maybe." Maria scrolled further, unconvinced. "But Madison's been posting hourly updates, so the service can't be that bad. And look—this was from this morning. Sophia's in it, but she looks... off. And no Jack."
The photo showed Madison beaming in front of a vineyard, Sophia beside her with a smile that looked fine, superficially, but after years of knowing her, I recognized right away as her “just going through the motions” smile.
"Something's not right," Maria declared, maternal concern evident in her voice. "Sophia was so excited about this trip. About Jack's family."
"Could be jet lag," I suggested, but even I didn't believe it. In the years I'd known Sophia Mitchell, I'd never seen her rattled. Not during mass casualties, not during codes, not even when dealing with administration. Whatever had put that look on her face wasn't trivial.
"Mmm-hmm." Maria's skepticism matched my own. "You know Jack a bit, right?"
I nodded, remembering our brief conversations. The Kiwi paramedic had reminded me of the New Zealand Defense Force guys I'd worked with in Basrah rebuilding the hospital there—straightforward, competent, no bullshit. We weren't close, but there was a mutual respect there.
"We've talked a few times," I acknowledged. "Seems like a solid guy."
"Maybe you could check in with him? Casually?" Maria suggested, her expression all innocent concern, though I wasn't fooled by the matchmaker gleam in her eye. "Just to make sure everything's okay?"
I frowned. "Talked a few times" meant we'd exchanged probably fifty, maybe a hundred words.
I wasn't one for inserting myself into other people's business in any circumstances, but here, the suggestion was particularly absurd.
If my daily word count with people I genuinely cared about hovered around single digits, my desire to "check in" with an acquaintance was somewhere in the negative numbers.
Paige would probably say I had the emotional involvement skills of a cactus.
But on the other hand, Sophia was a colleague I respected, someone who'd had my back more than once.
"I'm not one for getting involved in other people's business," I said, mirroring my internal dialogue, more in an effort to convince myself than Maria.
"It's not getting involved," she insisted. "It's showing concern for a colleague. Very professional."
She tilted her head, giving me that look I'd seen her use on reluctant specialists. "Besides, Sophia would do it for you in a heartbeat.”
Ooooooof. That hurt. Damn it. Maria knew exactly which buttons to push. Sophia had been there for me more times than I could count, never asking questions, just stepping up when needed.
"Fine," I grumbled. "One text. But I'm not playing relationship counselor."
Maria's victory smile was insufferable. "Of course not. Just checking in. Very casual. Very professional. Very demure."
I rolled my eyes as I walked away, but I was already composing the message in my head. Nothing intrusive, nothing that suggested I was prying. Just a casual check-in, one professional to another. As I rounded the corner toward the break room, I pulled out my phone.
Jack, mate. Nate Crawford here. Hope the trip's going well. Heard from Maria things might be a bit quiet on Sophia's end. Just checking in, make sure you're all showing her a good Kiwi welcome.
I hit send before I could overthink it, then tucked the phone away as the trauma alert sounded again. Whatever was happening in New Zealand would have to wait—Metro General's never-ending parade of emergencies demanded my full attention now.
A half hour later, I finally had a moment to check my phone. Jack had responded:
Jack
Bit of a hiccup, mate. Working through it. She's seeing the sights. Thanks for checking.
That confirmed my suspicions. Something had definitely happened. I hesitated, then sent what I thought was a safe closing message:
Hiccups happen. She's a tough one, our Sophia. You need anything, say the word. I've known her for years if you need advice.
There. Professional courtesy extended, obligation fulfilled. I slipped the phone back in my pocket, confident that would be the end of it. I was halfway through my charting when my phone buzzed again. Jack's name lit up the screen. My stomach dropped as I read his message:
Jack
Actually, mate, if you've got a minute, I could really use some insight. I lied to her about something really big. If you've seen her get really angry, what worked to get back in her good graces?
"Oh, you done fucked up," I said aloud—and loudly—drawing startled looks from two of my nurses and a passing resident.
"Patient care," I muttered, gesturing vaguely at my phone. "Bad lab values."
What the hell was I supposed to do with this?
I'd offered advice as a polite formality, not expecting to actually dispense relationship wisdom.
And this guy was asking about making things right with Sophia Mitchell after lying to her?
I knew Chief Petty Officers at Great Lakes who would have withered under the kind of fire Sophia could bring to bear.
I'd seen seasoned doctors back away from her when she was in righteous-fury mode defending her patients or nurses.
The resident who snapped his fingers at her two years ago had literally never been seen in the ER again.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
I could ignore it. Claim I was busy with patients. God, that was so tempting.
Awww, hell.
What exactly did you lie about?
I typed instead, immediately regretting the decision to engage. The three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again.
Jack
Can't go into details. Just know it wasn't anything harmful, but it was fundamental. An omission that changed how she sees me.
Fundamental but not harmful? Fundamental but not harmful?!? What does THAT mean? My mind raced, trying to square that circle, but came up empty. What the hell could he have done that fit that description and had Sophia Mitchell ready to bring the thunder? Before I could respond, he texted again:
Jack
On a scale of 1-10, how fucked am I?
I considered everything I knew about Sophia Mitchell. Her incredible competence. Her absolute and utter intolerance for bullshit. The way she valued honesty above almost everything else, especially after what she'd been through with her ex.
I typed back honestly.
11. But not necessarily permanently fucked.
I hesitated, then added:
Look, I'm the last guy who should give relationship advice. But I know Sophia. She doesn't do games. If you fucked up so bad it doesn’t fit in a text, you better just own it and then pray as hard as you can to whatever deity will listen.
I hit send and immediately felt like an idiot. What the hell did I know about fixing relationships? My longest relationship in the past five years had been with my coffee maker.
The phone buzzed again.
Jack
Thanks, mate. That actually helps. I can do that. I owe you.
"Who are you texting?" Maria asked, appearing beside me with suspicious timing.
I quickly pocketed my phone. "No one."
"Mmm-hmm." Her knowing look was insufferable. “‘No one’ named Jack, perhaps? From New Zealand?"
"Don't you have specialists to page, Maria? We're still waiting on the wet read for that vascular ultrasound. Let's get to it," I deflected.
"I'm multitasking," she replied smoothly, leaning against the counter with no intention of leaving. "So Jack texted back, huh? Must be serious if he's actually responding to your attempt at emotional support."
I glared at her. "You really have nothing better to do than monitor my text messages?"
"Not really," she said cheerfully. "This is the most interesting thing to happen since Dr. Brown got stuck in the elevator with that guy from Pharmacy she's been avoiding for months." She patted my arm. "You're a good friend, Nate. Whether you admit it or not."
She sauntered off, looking pleased with herself, while I tried to remember when exactly I'd agreed to be anyone's "good friend."
But as I worked through my notes, I kept thinking about Jack's situation. The poor dumb bastard had no idea what he was up against if he'd truly hurt Sophia. But the fact that he was desperate enough to ask me—practically a stranger—for advice… sigh.
Even I could admit that said something about how much he cared.
Hell, he might just stand a chance after all.