Chapter 14 - Landon #2
Nicole slid down the wall beside me, the movement careful, like she was conserving energy she didn’t have to spare.
The floor creaked softly as she settled, knees bent, shoulders brushing mine.
That small point of contact created enough electricity to get every elevator in the tri-state area moving again.
“This could take hours,” she said, head back, eyes closed. “Elevators are low priority. Patients first, and there are hundreds of them.”
“Hours,” I repeated.
“Hours.”
The word stretched, and time did a strange thing after that.
It stopped behaving like time and started behaving like taffy, pulling long and thin and sticky.
The emergency light kept buzzing a hole through my brain.
Somewhere far below us, a generator coughed and steadied.
Rain hammered the building in waves, like the storm was pacing outside, impatient.
We sat. Then we paced in short, four-cornered lines. Then we sat again.
At some point, she leaned her head back against the wall and let out a breath that sounded like surrender.
“Okay,” she said. “We need to not lose our minds.”
“I’m already ahead of you. My mind left the building about half an hour ago.”
She glanced sideways, lips twitching. “It’s been seven minutes.”
“Shut up and let me have my personal experience of time, would you? I’m a man in crisis.”
Nicole laughed, a tired but smooth sound that caressed the edges of my discomfort and instantly made me feel better.
“So, no panic attacks?” she asked.
“Only mild existential dread.”
“That’s manageable.”
Another stretch of quiet. The kind that got louder the longer it stuck around. I flexed my fingers, restless.
“I used to do this with my friends,” I said, sitting up straight with a suddenness that made her startle. “Back when we were kids, waiting for the school bus.”
“Do what?”
“Dumb games. Pass the time.”
She eyed me. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
I held my hand out between us, palm up. “Slap game. Fastest reflex wins.”
She gaped at my hand, then at me. “Absolutely not.”
“Scared?”
“Of you? Give me a break. I’ve seen your reaction time. I could parallel park a freight train in the time between you stopping a puck on the crease and getting it into the net.”
She put her own hand out, hovering an inch above mine. Close enough that I could feel her warmth. Close enough that my pulse picked up a notch or ten million.
“On three,” she said.
“One.”
Her eyes flicked to my face, then back to my hand.
“Two.”
I twitched on purpose, and she fell for it, slapping down fast. But she caught nothing but air.
I laughed a little too hard, and Nicole cursed under her breath.
“Cheap trick.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘effective’.”
She reset, lips pulled in a tight line of concentration. This time she waited me out, eyes locked on my fingers, expression all focus and determination. I made it to the count of three before she slammed her palm down, catching me square.
“Ha,” she cried out. “Victory is mine, sucker.”
“My hand,” I said solemnly, cradling my hand to my chest. “You’re supposed to slap, not amputate. I think I might need a nurse.”
She rolled her eyes but her smile lingered, as if she’d forgotten for a second where we were. The smile faded as she realized it too, and she looked away, clearing her throat.
“Your turn to lose,” I said, holding out my hand again.
But she wasn’t interested, and sank back against the wall. “Don’t push it.”
“Staring contest?” I wasn’t ready to go back to doing nothing just yet.
If the wait didn’t kill me, that constant buzz and flicker of the emergency light would.
Nicole shot me a scathing side-eye, but it didn’t deter me.
“No risk of injury, with the added bonus of getting to gaze into my beautiful blue eyes.”
I fluttered my eyelids and Nicole broke, chuckling softly as she turned to face me.
Only then did I realize this was the worst idea I’d ever had.
Doomed from the start. The low light painted her eyes a darker shade, all depth and shadow.
I lasted maybe ten seconds before I forgot the rules.
Forgot what winning meant. Forgot why we shouldn’t be doing this at all. I felt myself leaning in, toward her.
Her breath hitched, and she blinked first, then backed up with a breathless laugh. “Bad plan.”
“Not my finest.”
Silence again. Thicker now. Charged. Thanks to me and my bright idea.
She stared at the number panel, then sighed heavily. “Any other childhood hits you want to inflict on me?”
“I-spy.”
“I’m sure every man alive is just sick to his stomach that he’ll never be you.”
“What? It’s a classic.”
“We are in a metal box, Landon.” She gestured wildly to our sparse surroundings. “We have one light and a panel of buttons. What am I going to spy? The game will be over in thirty seconds.”
“I spy,” I said with a grin, “a very grumpy nurse.”
“And I spy a superstar rookie who can’t brainstorm his way out of boredom.”
She shook her head, then looked at me fully. The space between us felt small again, heat building with nowhere to go. My knee brushed hers. Neither of us moved it away.
“Yeah, well, if you were single we could’ve been making out instead.”
Her breath stalled, and she dropped her gaze to my mouth before catching herself. When she looked back up, her eyes were darker, something electric threading through them.
“That’s not funny,” she said quietly.
“Tell me about it.”
The storm roared outside, thunder cracking close enough to feel in my bones. The elevator creaked ominously, trapped between floors, between choices. She swallowed, fingers curling against the fabric of her scrubs.
We didn’t move. We no longer touched. The air between us was pulled tight with everything we weren’t doing.
And nowhere, absolutely nowhere, to hide from it.
We said nothing more.
The space between us shrank in inches, then fractions of inches, without either of us agreeing to it out loud.
Heat collected where our knees nearly met again.
Her shoulder angled toward mine. I shifted, then stopped shifting, aware of how little room there was to pretend this wasn’t making me feel a certain way.
The emergency light threw a thin glow over her cheekbone, across the corner of her mouth. I could feel my pulse in my wrists, in my neck, like my body had decided something before my brain caught up.
She drew a breath that didn’t quite finish. I felt it land in my own lungs anyway.
“Landon,” she said, my name low, unfinished.
I answered by moving closer. Enough that her breath brushed my mouth when she exhaled again. Her hand came up, fingers hovering near my chest, stopping just short of contact.
Everything narrowed. The storm outside. The elevator. The hospital. It all receded until there was only the small space between our faces and the fact that neither of us had pulled away.
Her eyes flicked to my mouth again.
I could’ve closed the distance. I knew it. She knew it. The certainty of it settled heavy and unmistakable.
Instead, the words came out of me, quiet and rough. “The guy you’re seeing.”
Her breath stuttered, and the moment cracked wide open.
She drew back, pressing her shoulders into the wall, one hand sliding up to her collarbone as if she needed something solid to hold. The heat didn’t vanish, but it shifted, turned restless.
“What about him?”
I stayed where I was, legs stretched out in front of me, hands planted on the floor. Giving her space without leaving. “How did you guys meet?”
I didn’t care how they met. I didn’t give a shit about him.
Her eyes searched my face, measuring. Then she exhaled slowly. “James. He’s a fourth year surgical resident. Here, at Mission Valley.”
Here. The same corridors, same long shifts, shared call rooms, coffee at odd hours. I kept my expression neutral, even as something unpleasant twisted low in my stomach. Something even more unpleasant burned the back of my throat.
“A surgeon,” I said, keeping it light. “Figures.”
She huffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means he’s got impressive time management skills,” I said. “Or none at all.”
Her mouth curved into a slow smile, but it didn’t stick around for too long.
“We work together a lot,” she said. “Different teams, but… same floors. Same cases sometimes.”
I nodded, but said nothing. Forced the feeling down before it reached my face.
She watched me too closely. “Panic attack?”
“Listening,” I said.
“That’s new.”
“It’s called growth, Gordon. Look it up.”
That earned me a heartfelt laugh that bubbled up from her belly, and got me going too. A small reprieve from the shitshow playing out around us.
“He’s a cool guy,” she said when the laughter had simmered down. I noticed her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore. “But I don’t know… It’s early days, like my friend Rose would say.”
“Ah, I know that look.”
Her eyes shot up, questioning. “What look?”
“He’s bad in bed.”
She swatted me hard against the arm. “You—”
“What? It’s a common problem among overworked, over-achieving surgeons. He has nothing to be ashamed of. I’ll tell him next time I see him.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” She hit me again, but that cheeky laugh was back. “I was talking about my five year high school reunion, if you must know.”
I blinked. “Five?”
“Don’t. I know what you’re going to say, and just… don’t.”
“I’m just saying,” I replied, unable to stop myself. “Isn’t that a bit early to revisit bad haircuts and unresolved grudges? Usually we get ten years to repress all that.”
“They planned it this way,” she said with a shrug. “Nothing better to do, I guess.”
“Of course.”
“Anyway, that’s not my point,” she said, breathing deep. “My point is James decided last minute he doesn’t want to be my plus one anymore. Kind of how he did with the gala.”
I waited.
“I didn’t want to go alone,” she said, eyes still down. “It feels stupid to care, but I do. I thought… it would be nice to show up with him. Surgeon boyfriend. Proof that I’d done fine.”
“Spite is a powerful motivator,” I said.
She glanced up briefly. “You get it.”
“I’m not as good as I am because of raw talent, that’s for sure.”
That earned a laugh, and something about her seemed lighter.
“I spent years getting picked apart by the same girls,” she said. “Clothes, grades, everything. I thought walking in there with someone impressive would shut them up.”
“What’s his excuse?” I couldn’t help myself. I already hated this guy, and I had no business fishing for more reasons to want to kick his ass. But here I was.
Nicole shrugged, and settled back against the wall. “There was no excuse, I guess. He doesn’t like parties.”
“Well, that’s his loss. You went to the gala by yourself, and you had a great night. He can’t ruin your reunion either.”
“That was different.” She kept her eyes glued to the tip of the shoelace she’d been picking at.
“How?”
“You were there.”
It was a simple admission, no fanfare, but the words settled between us heavier than ever. That’s when the idea formed, and I felt it in my chest first before becoming aware of its shape in my head. It was warm, easy, and there was no stopping it.
I reached out and touched her cheek so she’d look at me. When she turned, her eyes had lost that tired look. They shone so bright I had to take a second to gather myself.
“Would you be okay,” I asked, “showing up with a hockey player instead? I’m no surgical resident, but—”
The lights snapped on, and the elevator shuddered hard, then lurched into motion. I jumped to my feet, leaving my stomach on the floor as I helped Nicole up too. Her eyes were wide, but she didn’t say anything.
And when the doors slid open onto a bright, bustling hallway filled with voices and rushing feet, she got off without a word.
“Did you hear what I—?”
“I heard you,” she said, pausing her getaway long enough to look back.
I was still rooted to the spot, one hand holding the elevator door to make sure it didn’t close on me before I got my answer.
“And?”
A slow smile flirted with the corners of her mouth, and she gave a small nod. “And, yes. I don’t mind showing up with a hockey player instead.”