Chapter One Emmy
Chapter One
Emmy
“Em! Come on!” Tate draws out the o’s as she stands in the doorway, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. “That’s enough talking to the dead for today. It’s Friday, and I want to finally get off this ward and join the living.”
“Tate,” I whisper sharply, “they’re not dead. They’re in comas, have some respect.”
I gather my things from behind the nurses’ station, getting ready to leave for the weekend. “Besides, some research suggests it’s beneficial for patients in comatose states to be spoken to daily.”
I’ve been working in the ICU for a little over a year now, and somewhere along the way I found myself sitting with patients whenever I could, talking to them, keeping them company.
Their families can’t always be here, and I like to think it helps.
It’s therapeutic for me too. I can speak freely without the anxiety that usually comes with social situations.
I imagine their loved ones appreciate it as well; I can’t fathom the guilt of not being able to be present all the time.
If nothing else, I hope I ease that burden.
Tate links her arm through mine as she falls into step beside me, excitement radiating off her. I know what’s coming before she even opens her mouth.
“You remember your promise, right?” She winks. “You promised me a night out, and you’d better deliver.”
I sigh before I can stop myself.
“Em!” She stops abruptly, spins to face me, and grabs my shoulders, giving me a light shake. “Do not flake on me now. It’s Friday, and I plan on drinking, dancing, and staying out far too late.”
I take a breath and look up at her, way up. Tate is all legs and confidence. Stunning, effortlessly so. My five-foot-two self feels like a garden gnome beside her.
“It’s been a long week,” I protest. “And I don’t know if I have the energy to get dressed up just to be pressed into a crowd while you inevitably disappear halfway through the night.”
She grins, completely unfazed. “We haven’t gone out together in forever. We’re going to have fun. You deserve it.”
I contemplate my life choices and why I ever befriended someone who thrives in chaos when I prefer quiet corners. Eventually, I surrender.
“Fine. You win. But you’re nursing my hangover, and I expect a breakfast burrito tomorrow.”
Tate squeals, bouncing on her toes, before grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the staff car park.
An hour later, I’m freshly showered and doing my best to make myself look presentable. My hair falls in loose, beachy waves, because there’s no universe in which I’m wrestling with a straightener after a twelve-hour shift.
Wrapped in a towel, I sit on the edge of my bed, staring into my walk-in wardrobe, seriously considering sending Tate a last-minute excuse. She must have a sixth sense, because my phone buzzes almost immediately.
Tate
Ten minutes away. Be ready or I’m dragging you out in whatever you’re wearing. Love you.
I groan. “Get it together, Em.”
I slip into a little black dress that hugs in the right places, add heels, a necklace, and a spritz of my favourite perfume. One last glance in the mirror.
“This will have to do,” I murmur, tousling my hair before grabbing my purse.
The doorbell rings moments later, followed by Tate’s voice. “Open up! I brought supplies.”
I usher her inside before she can get any louder. “Shh! The neighbours are probably asleep. I don’t need a lecture tomorrow.”
She just laughs, holding up the bottle triumphantly. “Relax. We’ve got just enough time for a couple of shots.”
Fantastic.
By the time we reach the club, a warm buzz settles through my veins. The bass vibrates through my chest, my body moving almost instinctively as we wait at the bar. It’s packed, loud, chaotic, alive.
Tate’s already working her charm. When the bartender slides our drinks across, he pauses just long enough to pass her a piece of paper.
“On the house,” he says with a wink.
I stare at her, incredulous. “We’ve been here five minutes.”
She laughs and hands me my shot. “Cheers to a wild night.”
We down the drinks, both grimacing before chasing them with something stronger.
Soon, Tate drags me onto the dance floor. The music is too loud to hear her, so I just nod and let myself be pulled along. My body loosens, confidence creeping in as I sway, roll my shoulders, let go.
And that’s when I see him.
Tall. Dressed in black. Tattoos slipping out from beneath his sleeves. Not bulky, but solid, someone who clearly takes care of himself. Dark hair falls into his eyes as he moves, effortless and magnetic.
He’s dancing with a stunning brunette, his hands familiar on her hips. I shouldn’t watch, but I do.
Then his gaze lifts, and his icy blue eyes fixed on me, sharp with intensity, dangerous, magnetic.
The world tilts.
Something tightens low in my stomach as he holds my stare, unblinking. His tongue glides up the brunette’s cleavage. The moment stretches, charged and electric.
I’m still looking at him when everything happens at once.
A rush of air.
A sound I don’t register until it’s too late.
He collapses.
Music cuts. Screams erupt.
I’m moving before I think, dropping to my knees beside him as blood spreads beneath my hands. The club dissolves into chaos, people running, shouting, more shots echoing through the space.
I don’t move.
“Stay with me,” I say, pressing down, my voice steady despite the terror clawing at my chest. “Focus on my voice. Breathe. Stay with me.”
His eyes stay on mine as the world burns around us.