Chapter 5
Nicole
General. Every nurse’s dream, because of the sheer lack of surprises. I could practically feel the sigh of relief vibrating through my body as Rosemary and I hit the unit, scrubs snapped into place, badges swinging like tiny metal fans of authority.
“You should’ve seen it,” I whispered, leaning into the counter to pull a chart. “St. Louis was—don’t even get me started. My brain’s still coming down from it all.”
“Oh no. Do tell,” she said with her usual level of zero enthusiasm. “Did you pass out in the stands? Attack a Blues fan?”
“I could have, and I might have,” I admitted, shoving my pen behind my ear while flipping through the chart.
“But the highlight? Hands down? Landon Cross. I’m still—still recovering.
I mean, he’s twenty-one, and he already does things that make your stomach go…
” I gestured vaguely like words couldn’t contain it.
“Mm-hm. And now that you’re neighbors…” She leaned in, whispering like a scandal waiting to happen. “You should go for it. Ask him out.”
I stopped mid-step, sneakers squeaking over the tiles. “Are you insane? He’s— I can’t just…”
The rest of my objection faded away as I realized the words sounded slightly less insane in my own head than they did when spoken aloud.
“No. That’s not happening.”
She pretended to scan her own chart as we walked, but I could see the mischievous glint in her eye. “You call it insane, I call it brilliant.”
“Stop it. Let me tell you about the goals that rained down in Enterprise Center.” I caught a whiff of antiseptic and sanitizer as we circled a bed, checking vitals. Although I couldn’t separate the energy of Mission Valley from the leftover buzz of that away game. Not yet.
Rosemary shook her head as we moved on to the next bed. “Instead of goals, tell me how I get onto surgical rotation. I mean, who do I have to… You know, convince to let me into the OR?”
I snorted, making my way back out of the ward. “We’re not living inside a medical drama. There’s no sleeping your way into surgery.”
“Somebody should tell him.” She motioned her head stealthily in the direction of James Perot, a fourth-year surgical resident. Her gaze followed him from across the floor as if she were a shark tracking her prey. “He has no business being that dreamy in a lab coat.”
But my mind was too busy circling Landon’s last goal, and his smile, and the drinks we had after the game.
“Uh-huh,” I said absently, scribbling notes I wouldn’t be able to decipher later. “Totally agree.”
“Anyway, if you’re not gonna ask out the yummy resident, then maybe you should reconsider Landon.”
I almost dropped the chart. “Quit forcing me back into the dating game. I’m not ready for that level of chaos in my life.”
“What can I say? Misery loves company,” she said deadpan, and I couldn’t help laughing. My poor friend hadn’t had the best luck in the romance department.
Thankfully, the universe stepped in to save me from the direction this conversation was going in. Marcie popped up in the hallway, and her expression mirrored the relief I’d felt about being assigned to General.
“Nicole, you’re needed in Ward C.”
I nodded, and turned to Rosemary. “Lunch in the garden?”
“It’s a date,” she replied, quirking one eyebrow suggestively.
I waved her off, and got stuck into work for real. Landon and The Surge had taken up enough of my morning, and I needed to pull it together.
It wasn’t long before I’d slipped into the rhythm of General.
Vitals, meds, pre-ops… the predictable cadence of the unit grounded me.
But even as I moved, part of my brain was still stuck in Missouri, replaying every second with Landon, imagining what it would be like if this fan-girl infatuation actually became… something else.
Ward C had its own personality. Late morning light streamed through the blinds, that faint antiseptic hum, and the faintly sweet smell of hand lotion from the night shift still lingered on the counters.
I liked it here. I liked knowing what was coming, what needed doing, who would gripe about the breakfast tray or forget to press the call button. It was comforting, in a way.
I paused by Mr. Delgado’s bed, trying not to startle him while he squinted at the tablet propped on his lap. The highlights of the Surge game flashed across the screen, but I didn’t need to see it to know the exact game and the exact moment in the game by nothing else but the commentary.
“Look at this,” he said, voice half raspy from age, “I don’t know how they pulled it off, but it looks like the Surge are finally finding their groove. Playoffs aren’t out of reach.”
I smiled, checking his vitals while also glancing at the screen.
“You know what? I was actually at that game. Close enough to see the sweat on Landon’s face when he pulled off that last goal.
” I couldn’t stop myself; the words slipped out before I even realized.
“They’ve got what it takes. They just need to shuffle the lines a bit, let Landon cycle the left-wing rotation.
Maybe switch up the neutral zone defense.
McAvoy’s calling it too predictable right now.
But I’m sure he’ll fix it the closer we get. ”
Mr. Delgado’s eyes widened. “That’s some serious hockey talk for a nurse. You should be out there coaching them yourself.”
I laughed, shaking my head as I pulled the thermometer off the wall and tapped it against my wrist like a drum. “I’m just a fan. I love my job too much to switch scrubs for a whistle.”
“Still, you’ve got ideas. That shuffle you mentioned? Smart. Very smart.”
I paused for a second to adjust the pillow behind his shoulders, smirking despite myself. “Thanks. I have… opinions. Big opinions. But honestly? I like watching them, screaming at the guys from the stands. I’ll leave the real work on the ice to the professionals.”
My mind drifted for a fraction of a second, daydreaming about what it would be like if Landon were this impressed by me. Impressed enough to go on a date, maybe…
“Alright, Mr. Delgado, everything else looks good. Let’s keep this up, and we’ll have you cleared for a short walk around the hall this afternoon, okay?”
“I’ll do my best. And… uh, thanks for the insider scoop on the Surge. You’re something else.”
I smiled, scribbling a note on his chart, hands moving automatically. “All in a day’s work, sir. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
As I moved to the next bed, my mind tugged back to Missouri, to Landon sliding the puck between the legs of that defenseman and twirling around to finish the goal.
I shook my head, losing the grin that formed.
Patient care first, daydreaming second. Though I had to admit, even during rounds, those thoughts sneaked in: the curl of his smile, the cocky tilt of his chin, how he made everything—every pass, every play—look effortless.
By the time I made it to lunch, I’d realized two things: first, I’d never be able to unsee Landon topless in that kitchen; second, Rosemary was probably right.
We snagged a quiet corner in the garden to be away from everyone while we trash-talked, trays balanced in our hands like a couple of seasoned pros. Bananas, yogurt, and the special of the day which just so happened to be my ultimate favorite game day food—hot dogs.
“Ferris made an intern cry again,” Rosemary said, pulling the tab off her yogurt. She always went for that one first, while I went straight for the main.
“She’s too dramatic for her own good,” I replied through a mouthful of hot dog. “She’d lecture a paperclip into oblivion if you gave her time. The interns are basically free entertainment for her.”
Rosemary laughed. “Poor things. Makes me happy to be on this side of the line.”
“Hear, hear.” I nudged my hot dog into her tub of yogurt in a kind of weird, savory-sweet salute. “And speaking of poor things— My guy in 4C is allergic to everything, including the hospital sheets.”
“I heard.” She popped a heaped spoon of strawberry yogurt into her mouth, wincing a little at the instant rush of tartness. “I also heard you managed to quiet him down better than anyone.”
I shrugged. “All in a day’s work.”
We laughed, easy and familiar, the kind of laughter that was earned after several shared shifts working side by side.
But then Rosemary’s tone shifted into something more serious, and for a second I was sure she’d bring up Landon again.
“I meant what I said about the special rotation in surgical.”
I didn’t know why her voice was lowered, or why she kept glancing around. It was normal for second-years to put forward an area of special interest to the Mission Valley board. She wasn’t the only one vying for a spot in the operating room. It wasn’t a big deal.
“Just fill out your application then,” I said in a harsh whisper, teasing her.
She pursed her lips. “This isn’t funny. I’ve been asking around, and there are at least seven other nurses going up for the same spot. They’re only choosing three.”
“You’re amazing. They’d be fools not to pick you.”
Rosemary nodded, picking at her hot dog while she considered my words. When she looked back up, her eyes were bright with a new idea.
“You should do it too.”
“What? No,” I scoffed. “Do you honestly want more competition? And besides, I’d never survive being cooped up in the OR for hours on end. I definitely don’t think any surgeon would want to look into my unimpressed face for hours either.”
Before I could even finish my next thought, a voice cut over our table.
“I can think of one surgeon who wouldn’t mind looking at your face at all.”
My eyes snapped up to find James Perot, all dark, slicked back hair and neat beard that made women swoon. He’d appeared out of nowhere, and now he had his determined gaze locked on me.
“I mean,” he continued, “it’s a nice face.”
My brain did a brief, unhelpful lurch, and my cheeks immediately flamed.