17. She Saw the Patient
She Saw the Patient
Lola
A nervous beat bounced off the treatment room walls.
Aiden’s broad shoulders crowded the corner he’d wedged himself into. He sat on the edge of the bed, his posture stiff, every muscle tight. The constant tapping of his boot hinted at frayed nerves, and wary eyes tracked my every move before sliding to the closed door.
Only one of my patients had bolted for their life from a treatment room. Maybe I was about to see the second.
“This won’t take long,” I reassured him.
Aiden said nothing. The beat of his boot sped up.
I scoured the shelves, grabbed everything I needed, and with a shove, the metal trolley with all my goodies rumbled across the treatment room.
I faltered, wobbling. Aiden’s gaze was back on me.
Oh, those eyes—wild and grey like a storm over the ocean, yet somehow soft like a big ol’ rumpled teddy bear.
My fingers twitched on the cold, steel handle of the trolley, fighting the urge to stroke the hair around his temple and gently, neatly, curl it behind his ear. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to comfort him and promise that everything would be okay.
But he hadn’t earned my kindness. Acting detached and professional was the only option to keep me safe from repeating the same mistakes.
I pointed at Aiden’s bandaged hand. “How did you do it?”
He grimaced. Did the injury cause him pain, or was it the cold, clinical bite of my voice?
“Chisel,” he eventually answered.
I nodded like I had the faintest idea about tools and scooted my stool beside him.
It took a stern glare before Aiden presented his hand.
Red spots peeked through the heavy layers of gauze.
He’d made a real mess of his hand with that chisel thing.
I squinted. Even though the bandage was twisted and bunched in some parts, the smooth, neat lines looked professional, as good as some doctors could do—maybe better.
Curious, I tilted my head. “Who dressed your wound?”
“I did.”
“One-handed?” My eyebrows popped up. “You did a pretty good job. You’ve had first-aid training?”
“Something like that.”
That man never gave me a straight answer. “Just full of secrets, aren’t you?”
The tap of Aiden’s boot stopped.
Sighing, I focused on unwrapping the bandage. My mind looped with a steady chant.
I can do this.
I prided myself on being a good doctor, but there were some parts of the job I’d never get used to.
Losing someone always hits the hardest. I’d cried myself to sleep almost every night during my oncology rotation at medical school.
But worst of all was seeing someone I cared about hurt.
Attachment made it harder to separate the patient from the person.
It was impossible not to feel their pain under my own skin…
Gulping big breaths, I slowly peeled away more of the bandage.
But as the red blot grew wider and wider, familiar prickles of dread spiked down my spine.
I screwed my eyes shut and forced in another breath.
Time to lift the final layers of gauze. I cracked one eye open and peeked at Aiden’s hand. So much blood.
Nope. Not ready .
Gritting my teeth, I pried off the last piece. A retch shuddered through me, but I quickly recovered to pretend I hadn’t almost vomited all over the clean, white sheets tucked over the treatment bed.
Aiden chuckled. “You’re a bit of a soft touch, Lola.”
I narrowed my eyes. Was he insulting me at work? Oh, heck no. This was the one place I refused to be disrespected.
“It’s called empathy,” I snapped. “Maybe you should learn about it sometime.”
Silent, Aiden’s head bowed, his gaze falling to the syringe in my green dish of goodies on the trolley. The stoic mask he wore brightened. “I don’t want that,” he said, pointing at the dish.
“Scared of needles?” I wiggled my eyebrows. When he didn’t crack a smile, I sighed. “It’s a local anaesthetic. Just a teeny sting to numb the pain.”
He pulled his hand back.
“Aiden, I’m not incompetent. I know how to administer it properly.”
“I know.”
“Okay, so let me—”
“Don’t need it.”
I rolled my eyes. Not this nonsense again. A typical stubborn man trying to act like a hero. “There are no extra prizes for getting stitches without anaesthetic.”
“I want to feel it. Every single stitch.”
“Aiden—”
“Do it. Patient autonomy and all that.” He sat up tall, pushed his shoulders back, and stuck out his hand. “Take some revenge. I’m ready. No matter how bad this hurts, I know it still won’t come close to how I made you feel.”
He was wrong—so wrong —if he thought I could ever be that cruel to him. “I’m not like you. I don’t get any pleasure from hurting people.”
“I got no pleasure from the way I treated you. I still lie awake thinking about it most nights.”
“I’m sure that’s not—”
“Lola, I don’t know how to fix what I did or how to prove to you I’m sorry. My apologies come out wrong. I’m scared to overstep my mark by leaving you gifts you don’t want. I damn well almost bought you a car after the storm—”
“Please don’t!”
Aiden jerked a nod. “I know you wouldn’t want that. You’re going to be strong and do that all on your own. But I need to do something . More than anything, I need to feel your pain. So, if you won’t punish me, I’ll do it myself.”
All my protests were met with his swift refusal. I offered the pain relief again as I sterilised the wound. Another offer was made as I showed him the needle that would stitch him up.
Aiden’s answer was always the same: no.
The stubborn beast wanted me to punish him? Fine. So be it.
Aiden flinched when the first prick marked his skin. My jaw clenching, I paused, the needle wobbling in my hand.
Get it over with. You’re good at this!
Careful and steady, with only the slightest tremble rocking the needle and not one sound uttered by Aiden, I got the job done in record time. My glasses slipped down my nose as I examined his hand. A proud smile spread across my face. Six tiny, neat stitches.
“There we go. All better,” I murmured, my index finger absently stroking his hand as my eyes swept a final check over the wound. “You need to be more careful next time, hon.”
My brain screeched to a panicked stop. Did he hear that ridiculous endearment tumble out of my mouth? Gnawing on my bottom lip, I lifted my eyes. Aiden dipped his chin with a smile. Yeah, he’d heard me, alright.
I bolted upright and snatched my hand away. A nervous laugh escaped before I could stop it. “I, um, you know… I call everyone hon .” I waved my hand dismissively. “That didn’t mean anything.”
“Hearing that meant everything to me.”
I ducked my head so he wouldn’t see the heat burning my cheeks and tried to distract myself by weaving a fresh bandage around Aiden’s palm, but he wasn’t having it. His fingers captured mine to stop me, and he leant closer.
“I like your little hands on me,” he murmured.
The tenderness in his voice curled around my heart. I wasn’t sure if it was the smell of his cologne or the memory of when he’d last whispered those words to me in my cottage, but the gentle tug of them threatened to pull me dangerously closer to him.
I snatched my hand away. “You can’t talk to me like that. Not here.”
“Lola, I know nothing will take back what I did. I know that.” His voice lowered when he touched a cautious hand to my elbow.
“If I could turn back time, I’d change everything.
I’d never leave your house. I’d never act the way I did outside the coffee shop or let Evan say a single word to you.
I’d protect you. Trust you. Please, Lola.
If you believe nothing else, believe that. ”
Aiden always knew pretty words to say. This was no exception. But one promise stood out and screamed for my attention above all the others.
Trust .
My mind latched on to that word and wouldn’t let go. Aiden didn’t trust me. He avoided questions. He talked in riddles and warnings. But was there more to him? Secrets he kept hidden from the world? Secrets like mine?
My voice trembled as I gave him another chance he didn’t deserve. “Tell me where you learned to dress a wound like that.”
Aiden’s spine went straight. He pushed his shoulders back. I’d seen this defence mechanism before. But just when I thought he was going to shut down again, he surprised me by mumbling, “I wasn’t always a cabinetmaker.”
“A paramedic?”
“No.”
“The army?”
Dark eyebrows went up. “Why does everyone always think I was in the army?”
I shrugged. “You’re big and stand around with perfect posture, glaring at everyone.”
His chest rumbled with a laugh. “I wasn’t in the army. Unless being in Scouts counts?”
“Nope.”
“No? It’s hard work getting all those badges, you know. I was an ace at bushcraft.”
What the heck was bushcraft? It sounded terrible—like camping, or worse, actual craft. Anything beyond my sorry attempts at knitting—no thank you, sir.
“Are you going to keep avoiding the question?” I asked him.
His smile fading, he nodded. “I moved here to forget that life. You understand wanting a fresh start.”
I did. Oh, how I did . “Tell me…” I dug deep for every bit of courage to ask the question that hurt the most. “Tell me why you left that night.”
Aiden’s fingers dug into the treatment bed, the tips blanching whiter than the sheets. My eyes darted up. His jaw locked, every line of his face drawn tight, and short, sharp breaths heaved in his chest.
“Geez, was I that much of an ogre?” I joked, trying to steer his thoughts away from whatever was short-circuiting in his mind.
Aiden shot me a desperate look. “It wasn’t you.
It had nothing to do with you. I told you, Lola, I’m not right .
I wanted—I wish—” He shook his head again as he laboured under breaths that never seemed to reach his lungs.
“I wish so much I’d stayed.” His hand started to shake, his fingers digging deeper into the sheets.