Chapter 4
Four
Beckett
“Is she… snoring?”
Steve leans back in his chair and peers through the window. “Oh yeah. Haven’t seen someone sleep through an MRI like that in a while.”
Miss Madison Callahan is completely out cold, with copper waves fanned out around her head.
“Honestly,” Steve adds, tapping the keyboard, “I’ll take snoring over panic any day. At least she’s not fighting it.”
The images scroll across the screen. Vertebrae. Discs. Nerve roots. I track them with trained eyes, catching what matters and dismissing what doesn’t. Everything’s where it should be. Inflamed and angry as hell, but intact.
“No herniation,” Steve says. “No compression. Muscle spasm probably aggravated the nerve.”
I nod once.
“Good. That’s good,” I say, already stepping back into the corridor.
The emergency department hums as it always does at this hour, with the distant beep of monitors layered over quiet conversations and the occasional raised voice.
I grab the hot yoga girl’s chart and another off the desk because there’s always another.
“Now,” a familiar voice says, “what crime have we committed to deserve you on shift again?”
Carole is leaning against the counter, coffee in hand.
“Short-staffed,” I say.
She snorts. “I’ll alert the press.”
I don’t answer. If I do, I’ll start listing numbers like ratios, missed breaks, and overtime hours that stopped meaning anything months ago.
Resus is quiet tonight. Suspiciously so. Nobody says it because we all know better.
Carole falls into step beside me as we walk. “You look tired.”
“Baseline,” I reply.
“Eighty-hour baseline or ‘forgot what day it is’ baseline?”
“Yes.”
She hums in agreement before she starts running through admissions without breaking stride. Chest pain turned reflux. Wrist fracture. Elderly fall, CT pending. She slides a chart toward me. I sign without stopping.
“And,” she adds, lowering her voice, “your yoga casualty is officially a desk favorite.”
That doesn’t surprise me. The department always softens toward people like Madison.
“Good evening,” a familiar voice says from behind me.
I turn and see Hudson leaning against the wall near the trauma bay with his arms crossed. He’s holding a hot coffee. Lucky bastard.
He watches me with that unreadable expression he’s perfected after too many years in psych.
“What are you doing down here?”
He shrugs and lifts his coffee. “Consult. One of my patients was brought in. Car accident. Nothing major, but protocol says I check in.”
Psychiatry and trauma don’t usually overlap in the same hallway, but when they do, it’s usually messy. Still, seeing him on this side of the building is rare.
Hudson glances at the board. “It seems quiet tonight.”
Four heads snap up instantly.
Three nurses—two at the desk and one walking past—immediately start swearing at him.
“Jesus Christ, Hudson.”
“Are you trying to curse us?”
“Get out. You’re not allowed to be here anymore.”
Even Carole lets out a groan as she flips a page. “You’ve just jinxed the entire department.”
Hudson winces. “Shit. I thought it. I wasn’t supposed to say it.”
I don’t even look up from the chart in my hand. “You know better.”
He mutters something under his breath and sips his coffee like it’ll save him now.
It won’t.
We stand there for a moment, watching a porter wheel a trolley past.
“You going to take a break?” Hudson asks.
“No.”
“Thought so. I’ll let you get back to work.”
He gives my shoulder a single clap before leaving.
I turn back down the corridor toward Madison’s bay.
She’s still snoring when I pull back the curtain.
Her friends aren’t with her now. I passed them earlier, perched at a table down the hall with coffees and pastries, laughing as if this were a Sunday brunch, not an emergency department at midnight.
It must be nice to have people who just show up.
I step closer and gently nudge her on the shoulder. “Miss Callahan.”
Nothing.
“Madison,” I try again, a little firmer.
She stirs, lashes fluttering as bright green eyes open.
“There you are,” she murmurs, smiling as she wipes curls from her face. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
I huff a breath through my nose before I can stop myself.
I’ve met plenty of blunt patients. Usually, they’re scared or angry, or they’re coming for my jugular. This one is different.
She groans as she tries to sit up.
“You can stay lying down,” I tell her, stepping in instinctively.
She shakes her head. “No. I need to move. I’m getting rigor mortis.”
“That’s not exactly how it works.” I pull the stool closer and sit down. “Your MRI looks clear. No disc issues. No structural damage,” I continue. “You’ve got a nasty muscle spasm that’s irritating the nerve. Painful, but temporary.”
She swallows and asks, “It’s not all in my head, is it?”
I blink. “What?”
“The pain,” she says. “It’s not me imagining it?”
“No, absolutely not. You injured yourself. The pain is real.”
The relief on her face is immediate. She exhales, nodding to herself as if filing it away somewhere important.
“Okay,” she says. “Okay.”
“Rest. Don’t stay in one position for too long. Gentle movement. Alternate heat and ice.”
“And the drugs?” she asks, hopeful.
I glance at her chart. Barely any doctor visits. No admissions. No red flags.
“I promise,” I say, “I’ll prescribe all the good drugs.”
Her whole face lights up. “Bless you.”
“No driving while you’re taking them,” I add. “Probably best at night.”
“Deal.”
“And one more thing.”
She braces. “I knew there’d be a catch.”
“No hot yoga for a while.”
She barks out a laugh. “Doctor’s orders?”
“I’ll even put it in writing.”
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m done with dating. I think I’ll adopt a cat.” She pauses, frowning. “Fuck. I’m allergic to cats.”
“You really are having a bad day.”
“Tragic.”
I stand. “You’re free to go.”
“Thanks, Doc. And please forgive my flirting. I’m not usually like this. Actually, that’s a lie. I’m a chronic flirt.”
I smile despite myself. “Refreshingly honest, Miss Madison.”
The curtain pulls back, and her friends appear. The dark-haired one is already gripping the handles of a wheelchair like she’s been waiting her whole life for this moment.
“The nurse says you’re free to go. Ready for a ride?”
“Go easy with her,” I say, standing aside.
“Don’t worry. We’ve got her. We’ll only crash once.”
I wince, but help Madison carefully off the bed and into the chair while her friends grab her things.
Madison looks up at me, gives a mock salute, then winks. “Thanks, hot doc. I’ll be seeing you in my dreams.”
I shake my head, laughing, as they wheel her out.
Down the hall, there’s a burst of laughter and a screech of wheels about ten seconds before I hear a loud clatter and a string of curses.