Chapter 4 Cooper
Cooper
I have a purpose to live now.
A reason to lace up my shoes and hit the trail at midnight.
A chance to be chased.
He wimped out on me last night, but I could tell he was there. The birds were silent. I felt the tension between us, like two magnets fighting attraction.
The north pole fighting the south.
There’s something invigorating about knowing he was out there—for me.
Hiding. Watching. Waiting.
Most people would call it deranged, and probably dangerous, but to me it feels like the rawest form of love. Primal and pure. Two men fighting their primordial desires.
Is he developing feelings for me too?
We don’t know each other’s names.
Haven’t had a decent conversation.
But somehow, it feels… meant to be.
“Coop, what are you dreaming about now?” Ava hits my shoulder, jolting me awake.
“Oh, you know, my future lover to be,” I say with a smile.
She snorts, unamused, and takes a leisurely sip of her latte. “You mean the River Stalker? Jesus, Cooper. You really think the guy who’s been terrorizing campus is gonna hold your hand and whisper sweet nothings before gutting you?”
“Maybe,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “Depends on his bedside manner.”
She groans, shaking her head in revolt. “I knew you were insane the day we met. The blonde ones always are.”
“Correction,” I say, with bountiful grin. “The blonde ones just have better taste in men.”
Ava rolls her eyes, muttering, “You need counseling and a 72-hour hold.”
“Probably,” I admit, as we enter the ER. “Don’t tell the patients that tonight. I’ll try to squeeze some in over Christmas break.”
“Oh wonderful,” she mutters, matching my pace.
“Until then,” I say, nudging her shoulder, “you’re my designated therapist. Paid with an occasional coffee and unrelenting sarcasm.”
“Add in hazard pay, and I might consider the offer.”
“Perfect!” I grin, grabbing a pair of gloves from the supply rack. “You’re hired. First session starts now: how to impress a possible homicidal soulmate.”
“Cooper,” she warns.
“What? It’s all just hypothetical. Play along—it’ll make our overnight shift coast along so much faster.”
She gives me a stare that could cauterize my aorta. “Hypothetical? You’ve probably been writing fan-fic’s about this guy.”
I grin, undeterred. “Just try to understand the psychology of the client, Ava. It might help with your empathy.”
She scoffs, grabbing a clipboard off the counter. “I don’t need empathy training, you need a psych eval.”
“Blah, blah, blah. Come on though. For real. How can I lure him into a kiss? Or maybe—” I lower my voice dramatically, “—get him to take off his mask?”
Ava freezes mid-stride, eyes bulging. “You are fangirling over a guy and you haven’t even seen his face?”
“That is what makes it so much hotter!” My hands flying in the air. “The surprise. The reveal. You can imagine him looking like whoever you want. Dark. Mysterious…”
She blinks a couple of times. “You’ve officially lost your marbles.”
“No, think about it,” I continue on, ignoring her look of torture. “He’s made me feel alive again. Like, I actually want to get up in the morning. I actually want to study. Even show up to this miserable ER to get our hours in.”
Ava sets her coffee down on the counter. “Cooper, normal people get inspired by, I don’t know, cheesy playlists or videos of puppies. Not being slaughtered on a park trail.”
“Semantics,” I mutter, waving her off again. “I’m just saying, every great love story starts with bad decisions. Romeo and Juliet. Bonnie and Clyde. Me and my masked forest boyfriend.”
She gives me a long look of suffering. “Yeah and they all ended up dead.”
“Yeah, but at least they felt something first.”
What does love feel like?
Is it the sparkles of joy that gather at the base of your throat, before they cut off your oxygen?
A bonanza of fireworks shooting up behind your eyes, lifting your head straight into orbit?
Maybe it’s that dizzy, bubbly feeling of a kid riding a rollercoaster for the first time, terrified and ecstatic, begging for more. The chorus of screams reminiscent of a love song.
It’s silly, really.
And sort of wonderful.
I can’t wait for another chance to see my man, maybe see him without a mask so I don’t have to envision a made-up picture of his face.
Just one look. One glimpse into the future.
“Listen up, everybody!” A deep voice shouts, silencing the chatter of the ER.
I turn toward it—and promptly forget how to breathe.
Holy. Shit.
The man standing by the trauma bay isn’t supposed to exist outside of fever dreams and dangerously obtrusive underwear ads that ruin your algorithm.
I stand here, shamelessly engrossed, as a living witness to the most delicious eye-candy that has ever walked the Earth.
He’s tall, posture as rigid as a sculpture. Combed back black hair. Skin pale and void of wrinkles. His eyes are dark-brown, close enough to be pitch black.
He could fuck me with his eyes alone.
Because I’m so close to bursting.
And those forearms. Jesus Christ.
Who birthed this man?
Vessels of pure muscles, veins bulging out. When he flexes them against his chest, I swear the entire staff lets out a sigh of contentment.
The coarse stubble along his jaw only accentuates his perfection. He looks like someone that wrestles a polar bear or two before his shift and then shows up to work without a scratch.
My brain glitches. My body reacts automatically.
Ava elbows me. “Coop, close your mouth. You’re catching flies.”
“Shhh…” I whisper. “I need to hear every word that escapes this man’s mouth.”
“Oh my god. You lovesick puppy.” Ava mutters under her breath as she rummages through a patient chart.
Her words barely register to my ears. I’m too busy staring at the walking personification of a deity.
The world has shrunk to the deep baritone rolling across the ER. “Tonight, we are going to do, what do every night. Save lives. I don’t give a fuck if they are gashed up and down or have a dozen bullet wounds. We are going to do everything we can until their heart stops beating.”
Everyone in the room nods their heads.
“Excellent. Now let’s get to work.” He shouts.
“Yes sir…” I whisper mostly to myself.
Ava nudges me again. “Coop, you better stop drooling, otherwise they might run some rabies tests on you.”
“What’s his name?” I ask her.
“Dr. Quinn. He’s the department head.”
I stare at his perfection as he chats with the charge nurse. “They put the right man in charge. You can just tell. His posture shouts that he gets things done.”
Ava nods. “Yeah, you know those magical things of cardiac intervention, emergency triage, and causing interns to spontaneously combust. What crazy things to expect from an ER Doc.”
“Exactly,” I say, all soft and starry-eyed.
She sighs out of frustration. “You’re not gonna survive this rotation, are you?”
“Probably not, but I’m okay with dying if his is the last face I see.” I admit, watching as Dr. Quinn turns, his eyes settling on me. A flame from his pupils flickering to mine.
It’s as if the universe stops for a split second. His gaze tearing me open and spitting me out like a scalpel flaying the skin down my spine. I don’t ever want to look away.
No. I’m definitely not surviving this rotation.
“Residents and students, with me!” he shouts, his voice summoning the students to his side, my feet slowly moving, while my brain is paralyzed in a tizzy.
“Come on Romeo, try not to faint before the first patient,” Ava says as she shoves me forward.
“Faint?” I whisper, trying to remember how to move my arms. “I think I might be floating halfway to heaven already.”
We follow along with the gaggle of students to see the first patient.
Dr. Quinn stops outside room three, folding his godlike forearms across his chest, commanding silence from the group.
“Alright, patient is a thirty-three-year-old female with non-specific stomach pain that started two days ago and has been constant. Pain is seven out of ten. No bowel movement in four days. What is our differential?” Dr. Quinn asks.
Everyone goes silent.
Ava elbows me. Say something, her eyes warn. Or he’s going to eat us alive.
My brain malfunctions. All I can think about is his lips caressing my ear, his voice spreading me open. Somewhere deep in my core, a rational voice yells appendicitis, obstruction, IBS, gallstones, anything really…
“Bowel obstruction,” one of the braver students blurts.
“Good,” Dr. Quinn says, nodding his head. “What else?”
He turns his gaze to me, and every neuron explodes simultaneously.
I blink my dry eyes. “Uh… stomach bug?”
Ava covers her face, trying to hide a giggle.
Dr. Quinn furrows his brows. “Stomach bug,” he repeats. “A very popular diagnosis for medical students under pressure.”
The group laughs while my cheeks burn as bright as the sun.
Stupid answer, Cooper. Great first impression. They’d be shitting their pants if they had a stomach bug.
He takes a step closer to me, a smirk forming across his full lips. “Let’s think a bit more critically next time, shall we, Mr…?”
“Larson,” I croak. “Cooper Larson.”
“Mr. Larson.” He holds my eyes hostage for a moment longer. “You look like a man who could stand to think deeper about a lot of things.”
I swallow hard. “Y-yes, sir.”
He nods, turning back to the rest of the group. “Right. Any other guesses?”
Ava leans into my ear. “You’re blushing like a teenager.”
“Whatever,” I mumble, knowing full well that I absolutely am.
“Uh-huh,” she says with a satisfied smirk. “He’s got you in a chokehold with his stethoscope already.”
If only he would wrap his stethoscope around my throat right now and break me into the bed. Let me smell his cologne as he thrusts inside me, cutting off my air supply with those forearms.
“Yes Raj,” Dr. Quinn calls out.
Raj straightens his back in an instant. “Could be appendicitis.”
Dr. Quinn bobs his head up and down. “Good. Appendicitis is possible. What makes you say that?’