Under Southern Stars (Code Blue Hearts #1)

CHAPTER ONE

SOPHIA

The phone rings at the charge nurses’ desk; it’s an EMS squad calling report.

I grab it, already eyeing the Starbucks cup I’d nearly inhaled on the drive here.

Grande Sumatra red-eye, no cream, no sugar.

The barista at the drive-through had looked horrified when I’d explained a red-eye was an espresso shot dunked in black coffee.

A mateur , I’d thought, but kept my mouth shut. She was working for a living, just like me. Honestly, some days a red-eye felt like the bare minimum to face the ER, especially when the barista looked at you like you’d ordered a cup of pure jet fuel.

My ritual morning coffee had cost nearly seven dollars—practically highway robbery compared to what it cost a decade ago—but it was non-negotiable.

Like my carefully organized parking routine: teal section only, thank you very much.

I’d learned that lesson my first week here, when security had wheezed their way into the ER to inform me I’d parked in the sacred yellow section.

Three years later, they’d still asked if I remembered where to park.

“Emergency department,” I answer, putting on my charge nurse voice.

“ Kia ora , Metro General.” That honey-warm Kiwi accent flows over the line. “Got a transport for you.”

My stomach does something I refuse to acknowledge. We’ve been doing this dance over the phone for months, but hearing Jack’s voice first thing in the morning still catches me off guard.

“Go ahead with report,” I manage, glancing at the digital greaseboard. Nine patients in a 45-bed ER. The night shift is practically whistling with relief. Easy for them; they’re leaving to go home. The ER gods are definitely going to make us pay for this.

“Fifty-eight-year-old male, chronic back pain, demanding transport after his GP wouldn’t refill his oxy script. Vitals stable, ambulating without assistance. He’s…not pleased with the wait time.”

I roll my eyes. “Sounds like a real emergency.”

He chuckles, low and rich. “Threatened to call his lawyer when we suggested urgent care instead.”

“Lucky us.” I check my staffing sheet while he talks. Nathan’s on today—solid. Tasha too—less solid. That girl has the skills, but the attitude…“ETA?”

“About eight minutes out.”

“Copy that. Plan on taking our friend to triage.”

“Ooh, brutal,” he says, but I can hear the smile in his voice. “Though I’d expect nothing less from the legendary Sophia Bentley.”

“Mitchell,” I correct automatically, then wince. “It’s Mitchell. The paperwork’s still catching up.”

Silence stretches across the line. I shouldn’t have said that. Too personal. Too much information for a professional EMS report.

“Right. Sorry.” His voice softens. “Mitchell. I’ll remember that.”

The line goes dead. I stand there for a second, clutching the phone. Behind me, Jen clears her throat.

“Morning, Sophia. Ready for report?”

I spin around, hoping my face isn’t as flushed as it feels. Jen’s got that knowing look night shifters get when they’re about to escape a quiet shift. Nine patients. Christ.

“Don’t even think about saying it,” I warn her. “You know what happens when someone says the Q word.”

Jen mimes zipping her lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Though honestly, after the week you’ve had, you deserve an easy day.”

I raise an eyebrow. “The week I’ve had?”

“You changed your badge back to Mitchell. And you’ve been ordering extra shots of espresso in your coffee. Plus,” she lowers her voice, “I hear you didn’t take any calls during your break yesterday. You always take calls from Madison.”

Damn. Nurses notice everything.

“She’s with her dad this week,” I say carefully. “And the name change paperwork finally went through officially, that’s all.”

Jen gives me a look that says she’s not buying it, but she’s too professional to push. “Mmm-hmm. Well, anyway, ready for report?”

“Please.” I pull up a chair, grateful for the subject change.

“By the way,” Jen adds as she pulls up the patient list, “that paramedic’s been asking about you. The one with the accent? Wanted to know if you were working today.”

I keep my expression neutral. “Jack asks about everyone’s schedule. He likes to know who’s on for trauma alerts.”

“Mmhmm. Sure he does. That’s why he only asked about you, specifically.”

My face heats. “Can we just do report?”

Jen grins and launches into her rundown.

Kidney stone in room 8. Chest pain in 15; probably anxiety but awaiting troponins.

Drunk in 22 sleeping it off. As she talks, I scan the staffing sheet again.

Nathan in trauma. Tasha in fast track—better to keep her with the minor stuff until she learns to control that mouth.

God knows I don’t need her telling some frequent flyer what she really thinks.

I fiddle with my stethoscope, a $5 disposable special crammed in the pocket of my scrubs.

It isn’t as nice as the $150 Littmann I’d bought myself as a present for successfully graduating from nursing school, but that one had been stolen after I set it down momentarily and one of the residents apparently decided no nurse would have a stethoscope that nice.

Its $50 replacement had been destroyed when a psych patient boarding in the emergency department attempted to strangle me with it.

So now, I make do with the el-cheapo model.

“…and that’s it. Nine total. It’s been dead since about three.”

“Jen,” I hiss. “What did I just say about—”

The radio crackles to life. “Medic 220 to Metro General, priority one traffic.”

Jen grins sheepishly. “My bad.”

I grab the radio. “Go ahead, 220.”

“Metro, we’ve got a cardiac arrest inbound.

Sixty-year-old male, witnessed collapse at home, CPR in progress, multiple shocks delivered.

We have not achieved ROSC. Patient is intubated, 7.

5 ETT, secured at 23 at the lip. Last rhythm check showed fine V-fib.

Two rounds of epi given. ETA four minutes. ”

After I take the EMS report, I start to scan the assignment board, but Nathan appears from nowhere, already gloving up. “On it, boss.”

I check the board quickly. Nathan and Priya in trauma; solid team. Carlos and Derek covering acute care. Tasha in fast track. Jan, not due in until eight for triage, which means I’ll have to cover until then.

Tasha slouches past, heading for the break room. “Great. Just when I was hoping for an easy—”

“Don’t,” Nathan and I say in unison.

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. You people and your superstitions.”

The ambulance phone rings again. I sigh internally and grab it, knowing it’s already bad news.

“Metro?” Jack’s voice, professional now. “Heads up. MVA coming your way. Three vehicles, multiple patients. We’re staging for additional units.”

Of course. The ER gods don’t do anything by halves.

“Copy that. How many are we looking at?”

“At least six, maybe more. Going to be a busy morning after all.”

In the background, I hear sirens. Multiple units. The quiet morning is officially over.

“Tasha!” I call out. “Fast track’s about to become trauma overflow. Set up rooms twelve through fifteen.”

She pokes her head out of the break room, mouth full of what looks like someone’s leftover birthday cake. “Seriously? I just—”

“Now, Tasha.”

I grab the desk phone and page overhead. “Dr. Chen, Dr. Lee to the charge desk please. Dr. Chen, Dr. Lee to the charge desk.”

Melissa arrives first, coffee in hand. “What’s up, Sophia?”

“Just to add to our morning, the arrest is being followed by a multi-vehicle accident, at least six patients. Unknown acuity. ETA about seven minutes.”

“Fantastic,” she mutters, then louder: “I’ll take bay one with Nathan.”

Cameron strides up, already in fresh scrubs. Of course he is. “I heard MVC?”

“Multiple patients incoming,” I confirm, trying to keep my tone neutral. Cameron’s an excellent trauma attending, but his ego barely fits through the ambulance bay doors.

“I’ll run bay two.” He flashes that TV-doctor smile. “Morning, by the way. Looking lovely as always, Sophia.”

I ignore the comment. “Priya will assist you. Dr. Kowalski here yet?”

“Saw him in the lounge,” Melissa says, already heading toward trauma. “I’ll grab him.”

“And someone wake up Jeffries,” I add. “We’ll need all hands.”

Cameron lingers. “You know, if you ever want to grab coffee—”

“We have multiple traumas incoming, Dr. Lee.”

“Right. Of course.” He winks and heads off.

Nathan catches my eye and shakes his head slightly. We both know Cameron hits on anything in scrubs, but it’s especially annoying this early in the morning.

Nathan’s already moving, directing staff with quiet efficiency. This is what we do. This is who we are when the chaos hits.

I check the time. 0700. My phone buzzes—a text from my daughter.

Madison: Dad's being weird about the pickup schedule again. Can we talk later?

I type back quickly.

Me: Of course, baby. After school. Love you.

Another text appears below it. From my ex-husband.

Troy: Need to discuss Madison's nutrition plan. She's not following the meal prep I designed.

I involuntarily clench my fist, and then delete it without reading the rest. The man who never had health insurance when we were married suddenly thinks he’s a wellness guru. Classic.

“Sophia?” Jen hovers by the door. “I’m gonna clock out before—”

The overhead speaker blares. “Trauma team to bay one. Trauma team to bay one.”

Jen practically sprints for the time clock. “Good luck!”

I drain the last of my red-eye and crack my neck. Nine patients. I should have known better.

The radio crackles again. “Memorial, Medic 402…”

My day has officially begun.