9. Harper
CHAPTER NINE
HARPER
Working five night shifts in a row is absolutely brutal.
Five times twelve hours, a sixty-hour marathon with barely time to breathe.
Every hour gets devoured by the madness of the ER; patients pouring in, chaos around every corner, and no two emergencies are ever the same.
Honestly? I eat it up. I crave the unpredictability, the way the entire world flips on its head at any moment.
The pressure’s relentless and the pace borderline insane, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. I freaking love my job.
Except on night two, at one a.m., when my feet are screaming, and my brain is fried, and I’ve been battle-axing through the worst shift of the week.
The second I step away from the ER, the exhaustion hits me like a damn bus.
I just want to get to the break room and die in peace for twenty minutes. That’s when I see him.
Jaxson Thorne, in the middle of my sacred at-work sanctuary.
The big jerk is leaning against the counter like he belongs here.
Black T-shirt, dark jeans, damp hair, and the smoking hot body that does things to my nerves I’m too tired to handle right this moment.
There’s a cardboard tray in his hands, two steaming cups of espresso, and a paper bag that probably holds carbs and regret.
Of course, he brought food. I stand there gaping like a goldfish while he holds up the tray like a peace offering.
“You look like you could use this,” he murmurs, eyes raking over me. The way he watches me isn’t subtle. It burns me from the inside out.
I grab one of the espressos, ignoring his smirk. I don’t mess around when it comes to caffeine. “You stalking me again?”
He shrugs, all cool and unbothered. “I’m taking care of you.”
He hands me the paper bag, and I open it up and inhale deeply. Blueberry. My favorite.
“How did you know blueberry is my favorite?” I demand, squinting up at him over my coffee.
He grins, slow and smug, like he’s just made a game-winning save. “Little birdie told me.”
I squint at him as I take a big bite out of the muffin. Holy hell. Perfection in a paper wrapper. I don’t know if it’s the sugar rush or his cocky-as-hell grin, but my insides do a weird, happy flip. “Little birdie, huh?”
Jaxson’s eyes gleam. “The main desk receptionist was very helpful. I appreciate her dedication to the cause.”
God, he’s infuriating. And sweet. And standing way too close in my sacred break room. “What, exactly, is the cause, Thorne?” My voice goes raspy. Sexy even. I blame the exhaustion.
He doesn’t hesitate. “You.” He leans in so close I can feel the heat rolling off him, and my heart tries to stage-dive out of my chest. “And making sure you’re taken care of.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I mutter against the lid of my cup, pretending I’m not two seconds from climbing him like a damn tree. “You can’t just show up at my job with snacks and expect me to swoon.”
Jaxson’s mouth twitches. “Not expecting swooning. But I’ll settle for a smile.”
I actually smile. What can I say? Seeing him makes my night.
I can’t stop thinking about him for the rest of my shift. Not in the way you might obsess after an especially hot date, or in the way a single woman would fixate on a pro athlete’s ass, but in the way a raw nerve can’t stop screaming after you’ve stubbed your toe.
Every time I triage a patient, every time a trauma page shrieks, every time I get assigned a new patient, my mind is running some kind of background program—Jaxson Thorne.
I replay those five minutes in the break room until I’m dizzy.
The way he looked at me, the way his voice had gone low and lethal, the way his thumb traced my jaw like he was memorizing it.
I spend the rest of the shift running flat out, pretending I’m not haunted, but it’s a losing game.
After hour twelve, I drag myself home with the kind of brain fog that makes you forget your own name.
I collapse face-first onto the couch in my scrubs, daring the universe to send me a single additional problem.
Instead, my phone vibrates. It’s a text, and just seeing his name makes my heart start doing that ridiculous cymbal crash thing again.
Iceman
Did you survive?
Me
Mostly
Iceman
I’ll see you soon
Me
Thanks for the warning.
Before I’m able to analyze and reanalyze his text, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall asleep on my sofa without going on my morning run or taking my morning shower.
That night, I’m a mess of anticipation. I try not to look at the clock.
I fail. I try not to check my phone every chance I get.
I fail. I tell myself that if he shows up, it’s just a bonus, not a big deal.
But when I walk into the break room at 2 a.m. and find him there, relief cuts through me. Darn.
He’s leaning against the same counter, looking like he’s barely slept, hair still damp as if he’s only just stepped off the ice.
He’s in a battered gray hoodie and jeans that hug his muscular thighs and very impressive rear end, and he’s holding a cardboard tray just like last time.
The only difference is his grin. It’s softer now, less cocky, more like a secret he’s keeping.
“Well, this is a surprise.” I ignore the happiness flowing through me.
“I told you I’d be here.” He holds out the tray with a theatrical flourish. “Lemon poppyseed. I heard it’s your backup favorite,” he says, voice pitched low, like we’re in on something together.
I reach for the muffin, but he holds it just out of reach, making me step closer. I try to glare at him, but his eyes are so blue I actually forget what I’m supposed to be annoyed about. “Stop torturing me and hand over the scone.”
“Anything for you,” he says, and there’s a flicker of vulnerability so brief I almost miss it. “I told you I was persistent.”
I take the muffin and break off a piece, refusing to let him see how hard I’m blushing. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I actually did.” He stares down into my eyes. “I needed to see you, and I couldn’t wait a second longer.”
I’m about to make a smartass reply when he leans in and presses a kiss to my lips—quick, soft, electric. It’s so unexpected I nearly drop my muffin.
“See you soon.” Then he’s gone, just like that, leaving me with a mouthful of lemon poppyseed and a fresh supply of adrenaline. I stare at the door after he leaves, muffin forgotten, lips tingling like I’ve swallowed a mouthful of Pop Rocks.
I make it through the rest of my shift on that single stupid kiss.
The triage line could be a thousand people deep, but I can’t stop replaying the memory of his mouth on mine, the quiet way he said “needed to see you,” like it was the most natural thing in the world.
When the end of the shift finally comes, I find myself at the hospital doors scanning the sidewalk, half-expecting him to be there waiting for me.
The third night, I’m an actual wreck. I tell myself to be cool, to not expect him. I stand in the hallway outside the break room for a full minute before psyching myself up to go inside. I count to five. I breathe. I walk in.
He’s there before me, sitting at the tiny table with his long legs folded awkwardly beneath him, scrolling through something on his phone. “Hey, firecracker.” He holds up the bag. “Tonight, I got chocolate chip muffins and double espressos.” My stomach instantly growls in anticipation.
His hair is a disaster, sticking up in all directions, and there’s a cut above his eyebrow he didn’t have last night. I want to ask if he’s okay, but my words come out all tangled.
“How are you even alive right now? The Knights played earlier tonight. You couldn’t have had enough time to get some sleep.”
He shrugs, looking up at me like I’m the only woman in the world. “I don’t need much sleep. And I wanted to see you. So, I made it work.” He says it with that low, unhurried confidence.
I take the espresso from him with a smile. “Thank you.”
He runs his finger down the side of my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. “You look tired.”
“I left tired in the rearview mirror two hours ago,” I admit, too exhausted to pretend otherwise.
I sink into the chair across from him, the warm cup between my hands, and for the first time in hours, I feel the tension go out of my neck and shoulders.
“But it’s not like you’re the picture of rest. What happened to your eye? ”
He touches the cut with two fingers, as if he’d forgotten about it. “Friendly fire. My captain’s stick. I’m fine.”
I can’t help myself. I lean in, gently brushing my thumb over the cut. “You don’t have to come here every night.”
He grins, and it’s so genuine that for a second, I forget every reason I’ve ever had to keep him at arm’s length. “Yes, I do,” he says, and he means it. “Seeing you is worth losing a couple hours of sleep.”
My heart does a weird, traitorous thing in my ribcage. I want to say something clever, but the only words that come are honest ones. “I’m glad you came.”
He looks at me, really looks, and the world gets very quiet. “I wouldn’t miss the chance to spend a few minutes with you.” Oh, man. He’s making it so hard for me to remember my “no athletes” rule.
He stands up, slow and deliberate, and pulls me to my feet. He’s so much taller, but when he cups my face in his hands, I feel like I could take him apart with just a word. “I’ll see you soon.” He smiles and places a soft kiss on my lips.
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.
Instead, I go up on my toes and kiss him back, and this time I don’t stop at a single brush of lips.
The kiss is urgent, desperate, like two people trying to memorize each other before the world gets in the way.
When he finally lets me breathe, I’m lightheaded.
“I’ll look forward to it.” I really freaking mean it.
The rest of my week is a blur of work and anticipation. Every night, he’s there. Sometimes it’s just for five minutes, sometimes longer. By the end of my five nights in a row, I’m not just melting. I’m already halfway in love with him.
I’m so tired the world has gone fuzzy around the edges, but every cell in my body is buzzing. I finally get home just after dawn, throw myself in the shower, and let the hot water do its best to bring me back to life. But nothing works. I can’t stop thinking about him. I’m in so much trouble.