The Nursling (Heartstrings of Honor #2)

1. Omar

Chapter one

Omar

There was nothing like waking up to cat paws making biscuits out of my cheeks to get my first day at a new hospital started off right.

“Ow, Isis, shit.”

I blinked awake to find golden eyes buried in puffy white fur glaring at me. Isis was a gorgeous cat—striking, really. Unfortunately, like so many “show gays,” she knew it and acted accordingly. If I could’ve heard her feline thoughts, I was certain she was thinking something like, Why are you not worshiping me, human? I am awake; therefore, the world spins around me.

Yeah, she’d definitely be thinking something like that.

And what was it with Persians and their scrunched-up, snarky scowls?

Why did they always look like they were trying to pass the biggest turd ever?

With one arm, I pushed my hungry girl off, while my other hand reached up to check for blood. Despite the little rubber thingies I put on her claws, Isis could still slice through metal when she was in a mood, which was pretty much any time she was breathing.

As it turned out, she also had an impeccable sense of time.

A quick check of my iPhone told me I had two hours to shower, slip into scrubs, and head to my new hospital. In truth, it would only take me thirty minutes to get ready, another fifteen to down two cups of coffee and eat a blueberry bagel, and a solid hour of sitting in Atlanta traffic. I tried not to let the idea of commuter traffic sucking two hours out of my soul every day bring me down.

It was my first day at my new hospital, and nothing would steal my great mood.

First things first.

If I didn’t feed Isis, there would be an international incident, so I followed my yawling cat into the kitchen, dished out her breakfast, then slid a mug under my Keurig and pressed the magic buttons.

Coffee was the nectar of the gods.

At seven fifty-two, a friendly security guard with the cutest chin dimple snapped my photo and handed me a sticker with my grainy photo bordered in blue, announcing to the world that I was staff, not a visitor.

“Try not to let all the new-hire modules bring you down,” the guard said with a sympathetic smile as I stepped through the metal detector and retrieved my iPhone. “They’re not exactly Hollywood-film quality. HR is on this floor. Just follow the signs to Administration. Eventually, they’ll get more detailed, and you’ll see one labeled Human Resources. Hospitals are all the same, right?”

I chuckled and nodded.

Clearly, my dimpled friend hadn’t worked anywhere else. The only way two hospitals were similar was in their mission to help sick people feel better. Everything else—the people, the layout, policies and procedures, even the color of their scrubs—was different, sometimes in strange and unpredictable ways.

Oh, there was one other way most hospitals were the same: Their hallways and signs were harder to navigate than IKEA during a power outage. I’d worked at Atlanta’s Grady Hospital for two years and still got lost going to the cafeteria.

By some twist of fate, I managed to only make one wrong turn and step through the HR door at eight thirty. Eight other men and women sat in classroom-style chairs facing a massive wooden lectern etched with the Piedmont logo, an odd square made of four lines that didn’t quite connect. A laptop computer sat atop a small desk before each chair.

“You must be Omar,” a perky woman who couldn’t have been more than twenty-two said from where she sat at a desk to the side of the podium. “Come on in. We won’t bite . . . much.”

The girl giggled, but the rest of the gathered medical pros rolled their eyes as though they’d heard the jest with each new person to enter the room.

I took a chair in the front row beside a bored-looking man in his forties. By his expensive suit, dark scowl, and annoyed bearing, I was sure he was a doctor, likely a surgeon. Most surgeons reminded me of Isis and her perpetually pouty face. I thought it strange that a doctor would be forced to sit through a day of HR, but it was nice to see that Piedmont took its policies seriously, even for the top-of-the-food-chain professionals.

“All righty then,” the girl said, hopping up from her desk like she was about to do a gymnastics routine. Her accent was thicker than Southern sweet tea.

The doc beside me groaned.

“Welcome to Piedmont Hospital. We’re so glad to have each of you joining our little family. This is a special place to work, and I know you’re going to love it.”

The doc shifted in his seat.

I didn’t look over but felt how hard he rolled his eyes.

“My name is Amy Lynn Peters. I go by Amy Lynn, and my pronouns are she/her. Why don’t we start by introducin’ ourselves? You go first.” She pointed an open palm—because pointing with a finger would’ve been very un-HR of her—at the doc.

He sat up a little straighter and clicked his pen a few times.

“My name is Peter Halliway. I am a neurosurgeon. My pronoun is Doctor.”

Amy Lynn cocked her head like a baffled golden retriever. Sandy blonde curls bounced as she blinked bright green eyes. A long moment passed before she turned toward me.

“Hi. I’m Omar Gamal. I’m an RN starting in the NICU.” My British accent was a sharp contrast to all the sugar floating around the room.

Amy Lynn waited.

Doc clicked his pen.

“Oh, sorry. I’m a guy. I mean a he. And a him. I’m a he/him.”

I shrank in my seat. God, I hated speaking in public.

Doc snorted.

Two hours later, we’d each introduced ourselves, Amy Lynn had read the hospital’s mission statement and reviewed basic policies, and we’d watched a welcome video on our laptops that gave a virtual tour of the layout of the hospital, including the staff-only hallways that ran beneath. I knew the video was meant to help orient us to our new home, but I found myself even more lost after watching it. Maybe they’d hand out little maps or let us download an app to guide us through the maze.

“Let’s take a little break,” Amy Lynn said. “The hospital provides plain outfits for every employee, but if you prefer to fly the flag, one of the local uniform companies has scrubs and other gear embroidered with the hospital’s logo for sale at thirty percent off their regular prices. They’ll be in the room next door until the end of today, so feel free to take a look. Let’s meet back here in, oh, fifteen minutes, okay?”

A weak chorus of “okays” replied as desks and chairs screeched, and we filed out of the classroom.

At the fifteen-minute mark, Amy Lynn resumed her orientation by making us watch more videos. Doc figured out how to click through without watching the mind-numbing movies. I failed to find the magic button and struggled to stay awake.

By lunchtime, everyone was restless. It was palpable in the tiny room. Even Amy Lynn’s megawatt smile had lost a bit of its shimmer.

“All righty then. Why don’t we stop here for an early lunch? You can beat the rush. Our cafeteria isn’t Houston’s, but it’s pretty good. Make sure ya try the banana puddin’. It’s heaven.”

With that not-so-healthy admonition, nine newly minted Piedmont staffers fled the HR field in search of food and something to help get us through the rest of an endless day.

My classmates were milling about outside the HR classroom when I returned from lunch. Amy Lynn wove between us, her smile back to full brightness.

“Come on, y’all,” she said, waving us into the room.

Doc was already seated . . . and clicking his pen. I offered a smile he didn’t return.

It took a few minutes for everyone to get settled. Amy Lynn leaned against the podium, smiling and watching as we took our seats. Just as she opened her mouth, a guy barreled through the doorway.

“Sorry I’m late. It’s been a morning, like seriously, a Friday the Thirteenth kind of morning,” he said, his words falling out so fast I barely caught them all.

He turned to face the room, and I sucked in a breath.

The man was beautiful.

Not in the classic muscular, square-jawed, Henry Cavill sort of way.

No, this guy was . . . What was he?

I narrowed my eyes and tried to define his look, but every word that popped into my head fell short.

Platinum blond curls fell across a pale forehead. Had his hair not been pulled back and tied off, I was sure it would fall to his shoulders, all wavy and even more bouncy than Amy Lynn’s. The lanyard holding his badge sported a bright rainbow covered with pins of tiny animals and cartoon characters.

“All righty, everyone.” Amy Lynn drew our attention back to her. “I know you’re all ready for that after-lunch nap, but I have a special treat for ya.”

Doc’s clicking stopped. I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a precursor to a cataclysmic explosion.

Amy Lynn didn’t notice.

“This is Matty. He’s my all-time favorite ER nurse at Piedmont.” She gripped Matty’s arm and leaned over to whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. “But don’t tell anyone. HR isn’t supposed to have favorites.”

Matty grinned and flicked his hair back with a twirl of one hand. “Oh, honey child, there are no secrets at Piedmont. I’m everyone’s favorite.”

The chiffon that fell out of Matty’s mouth as he spoke couldn’t have been pinker or glitterier if we’d been watching a drag queen reading to third graders in Florida while waving Good Witch Glinda’s magic wand.

Amy Lynn covered her mouth and chuckled in her ladylike, Southern way, then turned toward us. “Matty is going to walk you through all the things he wished someone had told him on his first day at Piedmont. When he’s done, he’ll take questions.”

When Matty turned to face us and our eyes met, a troupe of butterflies I hadn’t known were trapped in my chest began to beat their tiny wings.

And I knew I was in serious trouble.