Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
ASPEN
My shift should’ve ended hours ago, but a transport call came in right before change of shift, and there wasn’t another flight nurse available.
At some point, I stopped tracking hours and started counting coffees and trauma pages instead. All I know is, my feet are filing a formal complaint with every step I take toward radiology.
Crystal’s case is hitting a little too close to home and being overtired isn’t doing me any favors.
On her way to work this morning, she saw a car barreling toward a stopped school bus. When she realized the driver wasn’t stopping, she put her own car in the way.
She ended up with broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a fractured pelvis. But because of her, a bus full of kids are going home to their parents today in one piece.
She’s stable—it’ll take time but she’ll be okay.
And because of that, I could clock out anytime now.
Which means there’s absolutely no reason for me to be checking her labs one more time.
Only, this one is harder to look away from for . . . reasons.
Movement at the information desk catches my attention, slowing my steps.
Emmett’s bent over the counter, talking to one of the volunteers, and it’s almost like all of the thoughts I’ve been trying not to have of him somehow manifested into the middle of the hospital lobby.
Relief hits first—fast and entirely too personal—at the sight of him standing there, whole, and very much alive.
And just like that, the exhaustion doesn’t feel nearly as heavy.
Because he looks good.
Healthy good.
Just . . . good good.
His tousled dark blond hair, faded flannel stretched across his back, black jeans, and worn boots do far more than suit him.
The whole rugged, dangerous lumbersnack situation should probably come with a warning label.
You’d never guess he walked out of this hospital with serious injuries ten days ago.
Or that he was only ever supposed to be here temporarily.
Timberline Peak looks like home on him.
Standing in the middle of the lobby gawking at Emmett Slate isn’t exactly subtle, so I shake off whatever haze I’m in and use his blind spot to sneak up behind him.
He’s holding one of my reusable coffee cups, grilling the poor volunteer for information on where he can find me. No matter how many ways he tries to spin the request, she won’t give an inch.
I prop an elbow on the desk and wait him out, nodding along as he launches into what sounds like his final argument.
“I’m not a creep. I’m just trying to drop off coffee because she’s been here for . . .” He checks his phone then stills. “Twenty hours.” His jaw flexes, hard.
A thrill races through me. It absolutely should not, but apparently pissing off Emmett Slate wakes up a very specific part of me.
“Hmm . . . knowing my exact schedule and whereabouts feels very stalker coded.”
Emmett turns to face me, his lips pressed thin.
I avoid his narrowed gaze, looking at the volunteer.
“Don’t you think, Doris?”
Behind her wire-framed glasses, Doris’s curious eyes ping-pong between us before she asks—completely serious—“Should I call security?”
When I hazard a peak at Emmett again, his gaze is checking over me—taking stock slowly and thoroughly.
I pretend not to notice and consider Doris’s question.
“No. He’s harmless.” I pat the counter twice. “Thanks, Doris.”
His nostrils flare.
“What’s this?” I point to the cup still clutched in Emmett’s hand as he follows me away from the desk and across the lobby.
“For you.”
He pushes the cup into my palm like he can’t decide if he actually wants to give it to me or if he’d rather lecture me.
Oh, he’s big mad.
But he’s not the only one.
Last I heard, he was still on restrictions—basically nothing that would stress his ribs or shoulder wound.
Yet, here he is, coffee in hand, no evidence of a ride in sight and stubborn as ever.
“Ah, yes, caffeine is always worth risking your health for.” A touch more snark than I intend slips into my tone, but I’m really fucking tired so I try not to beat myself up for the extra dose of sarcasm.
“I was cleared for walks yesterday, but you wouldn’t know that because you’ve been here for twenty hours.”
Ouch.
I lift a brow. “My house is one-point-one miles from the hospital.”
One shoulder lifts. “Found a shortcut.”
His hand brushes my elbow and we come to a stop in the middle of the lobby, people flowing around us. Emmet’s eyes soften, looking almost as perplexed as he is peeved.
“You didn’t come home last night.”
Given the way he naturally seems to loom over me by just existing, I don’t count on is how heartfelt his concern sounds.
It draws me a step closer to him.
“It’s not unusual for me to work straight through a second shift.” I shrug, taking a sip of the coffee. “I didn’t think you’d worry.”
Something in him hardens, instead of letting it go.
“Some of the nurses are fighting a stomach bug,” I add when he doesn’t respond. “We were short-staffed, then there was a car crash. I had to fly on an extraction before sunrise.”
He rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “Isn’t there some limit on how long you can work?”
I lower my mug. “It's part of the job. You sleep when you can, eat when you remember, and drink enough coffee to qualify as medically concerning.”
His mouth doesn't even twitch.
“I'm serious,” I add, softer this time. “I wouldn't have climbed into that helicopter if I wasn't safe to.”
“No.” He exhales the word, rough around the edges. “I’m worried about you.”
The words hit somewhere I’m too tired and too scared to examine.
So I do what any emotionally mature woman would do.
I look down into my coffee, suddenly fascinated by the swirl of cream. “I'll survive.”
”That's a pretty low bar.”
I let out a quiet breath
“When we're short-staffed, it's either stay or leave patients without proper care. That's not really a choice.”
“That explains why you stayed. It doesn't explain how you're supposed to keep doing it.”
I blink up at him. “What?”
“How the hell are you supposed to take care of anyone when I can see you’re exhausted.”
I pause the cup halfway to my lips, one brow lifting in warning.
You want to rethink that, buddy?
“Shit.” He fumbles over his words. “I—I didn’t mean it like that.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice as his gaze locks on mine, and my nervous system forgets how to function.
“You’re always beautiful, Angel.” His throat works before he adds, quieter this time, “The first time I saw you . . . I didn’t think you were real.”
It takes me a full second to remember how breathing works.
Then another to remember I’m standing in the hospital where I work.
“Excellent recovery,” I murmur, lifting the coffee to my lips, mostly because I need something to do with my hands.
He didn’t just bring my coffee exactly how I like it on one of the harder days I’ve had in a while, Emmett is my salted caramel latte—sweet, salty, and incredibly delicious.
I stare down at the cup, then back at him.
“You made this exactly how I drink it.”
One shoulder lifts like it’s no big deal. “Took a few tries.”
My chest seems to go all soft and mushy inside at that.
“If this is how you keep busy . . .” I meet his gaze over the rim of the cup. “I could get used to it.”
His mouth parts slightly before he catches himself. “I’ll replace the pods.”
I huff out a tired sigh.
“Emmett.” My voice softens without permission. “Don’t ruin this by being practical.”
I lift the cup a little.
“This was thoughtful.” My eyes hold his. “And exactly what I needed.”
His lips pull into the adorably serious frown. “How much longer are you working?”
“Not long.” I smirk. “Tell me about your appointment.”
“I got the referral to Kara at the gym, and Dr. Chondra cleared me from follow-ups.” He palms the back of his neck. “No news on my return to work plans yet; I have to call my superintendent this afternoon.”
“That’s . . .” I force my voice to cooperate. “Good.”
The word tastes all wrong.
“You’ll be out of here and back at work before you know it.”
For a long beat, neither of us says anything. His gaze drifts over my face, lingering in a way that makes the tiny hairs at the back of my neck stand on end.
“I don’t blame you for being eager to get rid of my sour ass.”
“Are you kidding?” I laugh. “Keep this up and I’m going to have Trace add personal barista to the lease requirements for my next tenant.”
The teasing dies on my tongue when movement over Emmett’s shoulder catches my eye.
Down the hall, leaning against the wall outside one of the conference rooms, Dr. Smith watches us like he’s been there awhile. When our eyes meet, he taps the face of his watch and tilts his head toward the open door.
My stomach drops.
Of all the days.
Of all the fucking days.
I force my smile to stay in place.
“Hey . . .” I step closer, lowering my voice. “I’ve got a few things I need to wrap up before I can leave.”
Emmett’s brows pull tight, and I reach for the hand that just brought me coffee, squeezing it.
“I’ll catch up with you later. Thanks for the coffee.”
My smile is tight and uncomfortable, same as the tension radiating off him—so thick it nearly chokes me.
“Aspen—” he starts
“It’s fine. I’ll be home soon.”
I’m not sure if I’m reassuring him . . . or myself.
“Thanks for this.” I lift the cup slightly. “Seriously.”
For a second, he doesn’t move, and my stomach dips, my gaze flicking from Emmett to Jeremiah against my will.
Emmett follows my shifting focus over his shoulder.
Every ounce of warmth drains out of him as his focus locks on Jeremiah.
Then Emmett steps toward him, and I tug on the hand still gripped in mine.
“Emmett.”
He doesn’t look at me.
“No.”
His chest rises sharply beneath the flannel. “You’re not going in there alone with him, Aspen.”
I step into his line of sight, forcing those stormy blue eyes back on me. “He’s a colleague.” My voice stays low and even. Professional. Controlled. “He’s consulting on my patient.”
His stare doesn’t soften.
Not even a little.
“I don’t trust him.”
Neither do I. But agreeing with Emmett right now would be like tossing gasoline on a fire.
His nostrils flare. The muscles in his neck go tight enough to make me wince, and for one terrifying second, I think he’s going to ignore me.
Instead, he drags a hand through his hair, spins on his heel, and stalks toward the exit, looking like he’s one bad decision away from putting his fist through a wall.
My stomach revolts, the coffee suddenly too bitter.
I hate that pushing him away feels this awful.
I hate even more that he looked . . . hurt.
But Emmett isn’t going to be here forever.
And this?
This is my mess.
I square my shoulders, tighten my grip on the coffee cup, and head for the conference room.
“This better be about Crystal’s imaging,” I say as I reach Jeremiah.
His smile turns smug as he steps inside, holding the door for me.
I stop just inside the conference room, keeping one hand on the door. “This better be about a patient,” I reiterate.
Jeremiah’s mouth quirks as he closes the distance between us.“Funny . . .” His gaze drifts toward the lobby. “I was actually hoping to talk about the one you looked awfully cozy with out there.”
My stomach turns. “He’s not a patient.”
“No?” He leans against the doorframe like he owns the damn building. “Could’ve sworn he was just in your helicopter.”
I reach for the handle of the door, but before my fingers make contact, his hand lands on the door, above my shoulder.
My pulse doesn’t spike.
It drops.
“Come on, Aspen.” His voice lowers. “You’re really going to ignore me for that guy?”
And just like that . . .
Every ounce of doubt disappears.
Ice floods my veins.
I turn slowly, meeting his stare head-on. “Move your hand.”
His smile falters.
“If you don’t move your hand this instant my next stop will be HR.”
He laughs and my blood boils with the desire to knee him in his ugly hairless balls. “You won’t.”
I hold his stare.
Don’t blink.
Don’t flinch.
“Try me.”
His nostrils flare.
There he is.
“You’re a real fucking bitch, you know that?”
It’s my turn to laugh.
Sharp.
Humorless.
“Funny.” I tilt my head. “You only seem to have a problem with boundaries when another man’s watching.”
His jaw tightens.
Good.
“I’ve told you no.” My voice stays calm, even though every word feels like a blade. “More than once.”
I step closer instead of backing down. “You don’t get to keep chasing me and call it flirting when I’ve made myself crystal fucking clear.”
His nostrils flare.
Good.
For one long beat, neither of us moves.
Then something shifts behind his eyes and his hand slides off the door.
For all his ego, he knows exactly where the line is. And he’s over it.
I don’t wait for him to say another word.
I turn, square my shoulders, and walk out of that conference room like my pulse isn’t hammering and my hands aren’t shaking hard enough to spill my coffee.
Then, I head straight to Crystal’s room to check on her.
I can break down later.