Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Nash
One case of the sniffles—no insurance and nowhere else to turn but the emergency room.
A man convinced he had pancreatitis—turned out to be gas.
A mysterious back injury that screamed opioid fishing.
And a stern talking-to from the stuffed shirts in Admin.
“When you don’t follow protocol, it’s a liability, Doctor Kincaid.”
“Watching a kid suffocate in favor of paperwork would be a bigger liability, don’t you agree?”
They actually had to think about it before giving me a non-answer.
Assholes.
I lean against the nurse’s station, scrubbing a hand down my face. My jaw’s tight. Shoulders wound. It’s like the more I care, the less it matters. And I’m so damn tired of pretending that it doesn’t mess with me.
So, I do what any self-respecting, overworked doctor would… shove it all into the Things to Bitch About box in the back of my mind and refocus.
It's Friday.
Get through work. Hit the gym, then the pool. Grilled chicken and risotto for dinner. One beer. Some TV. Then bed.
Rinse.
Repeat.
Talia strides down the hallway, braids swinging behind her.
“Brayden’s got another one for ya. Female, early to mid-twenties.
Unconscious at the scene, came to shortly after.
Dizzy, disoriented. Ankle’s the size of a grapefruit.
BP, heart rate, O2 all stable. She’s alert, but slow.
Apparently stepped into a crosswalk and nearly got flattened by some teenager on her phone in Daddy’s Audi.
” She pauses, smirking. “She’s also cute. ”
I arch a brow. “Early twenties, Tal. Not my gig.”
“You could do with some cute in your life.”
“You trying to set me up or hand me a patient?”
“It might help your bedside manner if you weren’t so”—Talia waves a hand in my general direction— “tense all the time.”
“My bedside manner is fine.”
She huffs a laugh and lifts a brow. “Patients cry after you leave the room.”
“I’m not here for the fluffy, feel good, the sun’ll come out tomorrow crap. I’m here to stop people from dying.”
“Maybe try using a tone that doesn’t make people feel like they already have.” Talia hits me with a look and peels off toward another room, muttering something about “bossy doctors who need to get laid” and I push through the curtain.
The woman on the gurney has her hands over her face, shoulders shaking.
Crying.
Great.
One sock off, the other foot bare and puffy with swelling, skin stretched tight.
Blonde hair, mussed, sticking to a bit of dried blood near her temple.
Her dress is rumpled and streaked with asphalt grime.
She looks small. Not fragile—there’s a difference—but like someone the world just body-checked and forgot to apologize to.
I glance at her chart and sigh. “I see someone’s learning the hard way to look both ways before crossing the street.”
She sniffs. Then drops her hands.
Eyes… wow. Blue. Not soft, not sweet. The kind that dare you to look too long.
Even unfocused, there’s a clarity in them.
Like she sees more than she should. I’ve seen thousands of patients.
I don’t get rattled. But something about her—this—has me simply staring, watching, enjoying before I can brace.
Focus, Kincaid. She’s a patient. Symptoms, not… electricity.
Her pupils are still blown wide. Mild concussion. Maybe worse.
“I did look, thank you very much,” she says, voice raspy but defiant. “At least… I think I looked. It’s all a little blurry.”
Thankful for the segue back into work, I grab a stool and scoot closer. “The accident or the room?”
“Both.” She squints at the overhead lights. “I remember the car coming at me, but after that… fuzzy. And these lights are too bright.”
“Name?”
She hesitates. “Lu—Lucy Calder.”
“Date?”
“Are you asking me out?” Those clear blue eyes blink, widen, and hit me with another electric shock of… what the hell is that?
“No, Ms. Calder.” I catch the condescension in my voice and school my face into something Talia would approve of. “I’m asking about today’s date.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Lucy’s cheeks turn a rosy pink, and she grimaces. “Friday. March fifth. Or sixth?”
I move closer, penlight in hand. “Follow the light.”
She doesn’t.
Her focus stays locked on my face.
“Ms. Calder?”
“Hmm?”
“The pen.”
“Oh.” The blush deepens. “Right.”
I track her response as she finally follows the movement, slow and a little delayed. Then I check sensation and mobility in the injured foot. She flinches and inhales sharply through clenched teeth and I wheel my stool back to maintain a professional distance, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Getting a CT to rule out a brain bleed. X-ray for the ankle.”
Lucy pushes up on her elbows, eyes narrowing. “Do you—” She coughs, clears her throat. “Do you really think all that’s necessary?”
Ah, yes. Gotta love when the patient’s internet search makes her more knowledgeable than my expensive education and years of experience.
“No, Ms. Calder. I actually don’t think they’re necessary at all. I just like ordering thousands of dollars of tests for fun.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m fine.”
“You are not fine.” I run a hand through my hair and hit her with my most serious look. “You actually need treatment, which puts you in the minority around here tonight.”
Lucy shifts, uncomfortable. That tough little front’s still up, but it’s cracking.
“I can’t afford any of this,” she says quietly. “I told the ambulance guy the same thing. I don’t have insurance.”
Of course she doesn’t.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale at the ceiling. The system fails people like her. And today, I hate being part of it more than usual.
When I look back down, she’s watching me.
Her eyes are wide now. Clearer. The sass has slipped. What’s underneath is raw and real—fear, maybe shame. Or both.
Damn it.
“I get it,” I say, voice softer than I mean it to be.
“Medical bills are hell and everything’s too expensive.
But you hit your head and blacked out. You’re disoriented.
That’s not something you walk off. And your ankle?
” I nod toward it. “That thing’s so big it’s ready to apply for its own zip code. ”
A tiny groan escapes her as she drops her head into her hands.
“I’ll get someone from billing to talk to you. They’ll walk you through options. You’re not the first person who’s come in without a golden ticket.”
Lucy nods, slow and reluctant.
My hand hovers for a second before I place it on her shoulder. Just a light touch. Professional. Reassuring. Nothing else.
Her head lifts.
Eyes again. Damn.
There’s something there that shouldn’t matter. That I don’t want to name. Something that makes the space between us feel too quiet, too charged. I let go fast.
I shouldn’t want to stay in this room, but for one preposterous second, I do.
“I’ll be back when we’ve got your results,” I say, already backing out.
I don’t wait for her to respond.
Outside the curtain, I exhale sharply. My heart’s still ticking a little too fast, which is absurd. She’s a patient. One of the many people who blip into—and then right back out of—my life on any given day.
There’s no reason for Lucy Calder to affect me more than anyone else I’ve seen.
I must be more tired than I thought.
Talia smirks as she passes by. “See?” she whispers knowingly. “Cute.”