Adriana
Squeak squeak squeak
Her eye twitched at the sound of her rubber clog squeaking against the linoleum hallway. She was positive her shoe hadn’t squeaked before her forty-eight-hour ridealong, but its development since then was fucking typical.
Squeak squeak squeak
She paused in the doorway of the exam room, gulping from the water bottle she had in the basket of the rolling cart.
Her mouth tasted of bright citrus, black pepper, and sweat, as if Trapp Hemming had lodged in her throat and refused to be evicted.
She hadn’t yet decided if she wanted to order one of those fermented fish rolls to evict him forever or keep him there, a secret she tasted constantly.
Bad enough that they had done what they did.
Worse still that she felt utterly crushed by all of it, as if she was that na?ve med student all over again, her heart shredded anew.
And then, the morning after the turn, Adriana woke in her little backyard beneath the table, stretched, feeling oddly complacent.
Strange, considering the weather, but on its own, not a troubling thing.
But there was an imprint around her on the ground, a crescent-shaped depression, flattening the grass into the mud, clearly something heavy and substantial. And it had been tucked around her.
The thought made her quiver. She’d spent the day after the turn alternating between crying in bed and crying in her bathtub, furious with herself for crying over him at all, and then starting all over again.
Her return to the Cambric Creek Urgent Care clinic had been less than auspicious.
It was clear that the new CNP had brought with her tales from the upstairs office, gossip her staff had been previously uninfected with, and now, like a virus ripping through all of them, they couldn’t get enough.
Adriana felt eyes follow her as she crossed the reception area, walked in on Shileen and the new nurse whispering furtively, and watched the little goblin straighten up so quickly and so obviously, guilt written all over her face, that Adriana would have been foolish to assume they were talking about anything but her.
Eyla’s disapproving looks had degraded to borderline hostility.
Deneen was the only one who seemed to be sympathetic, and Adriana wanted her pity about as much as she wanted the rest of it.
She found herself trembling each morning as she got ready for work, the same crushing, breathless anxiety that had made her flee the emergency department, a twist in her guts and a whimper deep inside her.
And it broke her heart to think that he had done this to her.
Again. You’re a fool for being surprised.
She took another swallow of water before opening the door to exam room three, where the patient who had refused to be seen by either of the nurse practitioners waited, having insisted on Adriana alone.
The man inside was a mountain. Huge shoulders, long, thick legs, everything about him was big and hard and honed.
His back rippled with muscle, his cheekbones were sharp and his expression was glacial.
Dark eyes dragged up from her feet, taking her in slowly, not even hiding that he was doing so, his eyes narrowed slightly.
The sleeves of his button-down shirt were folded back, revealing tanned skin and sinewy forearms, the knuckles on his right hand wrapped in bloody gauze, and an ugly red laceration sliced across the corner of his mouth.
Adriana swallowed hard. Roid rage, maybe.
Worst of all — he looked like Trapp. Harder, bigger, much colder . . . but he was unmistakably related. Fucking typical. How many of them are there?!
Sure enough, when she tapped over the tablet, checking his chart, the confirmation she sought was right there. Not that she was going to let on that the name meant anything to her.
“Mr. Hemming? What seems to be the problem?”
The smile he gave her was slow and considering, his lips tight, as if he were sizing up an opponent and found her amusing. If Trapp’s family thinks they can intimidate you, they picked the wrong fucking one.
“It would seem that I split my knuckles. Doctor . . . ?”
“Dr. Brunelli. Well.” She gave him a tight smile of her own, pulling over the rolling stool. “Let’s take a look at that hand.”
His knuckles were split across his metacarpals, almost down to the bone.
The swelling of the injury was likely hiding fractures to the delicate phalanges, but Adriana knew from experience there was nothing to do about that.
She would offer to tape his fingers, but the next turn would take care of it.
“Looks like you hit something pretty hard here.”
“Mhm. The side of my brother’s thick head. Like a brick wall.”
Adriana swallowed again, deciding it would be more professional to simply not acknowledge his words. “Well, you’re definitely going to need stitches on these metacarpals. You probably have some finger sprains, potentially even some fractures, but the swelling of this injury—”
“I’ve broken my fingers before,” he interrupted with a little shrug. “They’ll be fine after the next turn.”
It was her turn to give him another tight smile. “Exactly.”
He said nothing as she cleaned the wound.
She could tell it was hours old from the way the blood had crested to the gauze.
Adriana wanted to ask why he hadn’t permitted either the nurse practitioners to see him, or even Shileen to clean his hand, but her coyote crouched low within her, staying small, staying hidden.
She recognized a predator when she saw one. It was better not to speak.
“We had a cocktail hour for members of my wedding party last night,” the man said conversationally, as Adriana lined up what she would need to suture the wound.
“My kid brother has always been a hothead, especially when we were young. But he’s usually pretty good at controlling himself here in town. Gotta keep up appearances at all that.”
It was a struggle to keep her face impassive. Keeping up appearances. Always who you know, and not how good you are.
“But there were these two wolves; you could tell they’d already had too much.
Started discussing a woman in less-than-polite terms. And my brother, ever the hero, went sailing in to defend her honor.
Even though she wasn’t even there. Even though she’s had him over a barrel at work the last month.
Even though he claims he can’t stand her.
All because these wolves we barely know called her a pack bitch.
Why do you think he would do that, Dr. Brunelli? ”
Adriana flinched instinctively at his words, drawing back. His expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on hers, head slightly tilted.
“Who are you?”
At that, he laughed, seeming genuinely amused as he leaned in over the small table separating them.
“Sweetheart, you’d better figure it out, real fuckin’ quick.”
Her hands bunched into fists, lungs tightening, but his next words brought her up short.
“Why would Trapp do that? For you?”
His words caught her under the ribs, making her hunch against their force. Trapp. He’d hit someone? Because of you?
“You’re his brother?”
“Mhm. Can you do that teddy bear stitch?”
Her mind was reeling, barely able to keep up.
She blinked rapidly, forcing herself to stay in control of the situation.
Trapp. She wanted to know if his wolf sniffed her out during the moon.
Wanted to know if he had been thinking of her since the day he’d stormed out of her house the way she had thought of nothing but him.
She could not be someone new when he was here.
She hated him. There was no one like him.
She wanted to tell him she was sorry for her long-ago crime against him.
She would rather die than grovel for his forgiveness.
You contain multitudes. And that’s okay.
“Teddy bear stitch? I-I don’t know—”
“I don’t know what it’s called. I just know they use it on teddy bears. I don’t want to risk a scar.”
This was his brother. Her mind quickly caught up, kicking aside her confusion, refusing to allow herself to be talked down to by this obnoxious asshole of a wolf. This was Trapp’s brother. He had specifically come to the clinic to have his hand sewn up, and would only see her. And he’d hit Trapp?!
“You mean a running subcuticular closure. It’s called a ladder stitch in lay terms.”
“Sure. I’m not the doctor, am I?”
A burst of laughter escaped her throat, not expecting the over-the-top level of snideness. Something changed after that. The huge man sat back in his chair, her head still cocked, the corners of his lips slightly turned up. “What did you do to him?”
She stiffened slightly, shaking it off a breath later.
“I can’t do a ladder stitch on your knuckles, unfortunately.
This will require basic straight suture for movement.
But it shouldn’t scar. We’ll keep it nice and straight; the turn should take care of the rest. And I don’t know what you mean. Paramedic Hemming and I—”
“I don’t mean now,” he cut her off. “What did you do to him in school? Because I’ve never seen him so . . . not himself. You’re a thorn in his paw he can’t shake off. What did you do?”
“I wonder why you automatically assume that I did something? Maybe your brother—”
“Cut the crap. We both know Trapp isn’t capable of hurting a fly, unless that fly takes a pretty good chomp out of his ass first.”
She grinned in spite of herself, a genuine smile. This wasn’t a professional conversation, but then again, he wasn’t exactly a very professional patient. He wants to know? Fine.
“I went to Mercycrest with Trapp. I was there on an academic scholarship and a needs-based grant. I earned my place there.” She paused, waiting for his look of surprise.
Instead, he made a gesture of impatience with his other hand, giving her a one-shouldered shrug. “You want a medal for that or something?”