He was incredibly nice. Sweet. Gentle.
And like Graham said, definitely not her type. It wasn’t that she didn’t like nice guys, or even sweet guys. She just wanted a little more…assertion. Fire. Confidence. It hit her as she watched Marvin walk away and pictured in her mind what would happen if she caught up with him and suggested they meet for a little rendezvous in the supply closet later.
He’d probably turn bright red and decline without looking her in the eye, mumbling something about it being inappropriate.
And yeah, it was inappropriate. But it was also hot and exciting and she’d always wanted to do it.
Then another image popped into her brain: how Graham would react in the same situation. He’d grab her hand and drag her down the hall to take care of it right now. As soon as the door shut, cloaking them in darkness, he’d grab her by the pockets of her scrubs and pull her against his body, knocking gauze and tubing off the shelves as he kissed her with the raw passion of a man consumed by his need for her.
Which immediately pissed her off for two reasons:
1. She didn’t want Graham to be right, and she would have been excited to go out with Marvin again if Graham hadn’t pointed out how incompatible they were. （Probably. Maybe.）
2. Since when did she entertain thoughts of kissing Graham?
It was probably the sex pact. She certainly hadn’t thought about kissing him before that conversation, and even if they ended up going down that road, it was years away from becoming reality.
Hence the text message, and the lingering irritation she still felt hours later when she heard Ruthie mention something about a firefighter being brought in.
Claire perked up from where she sat at the nursing station, charting while waiting for lab results for a young woman in pod 12. Ruthie and another nurse stood several feet away and Claire tilted her head, trying to hear better. When she heard the words multialarm fire and firefighter injured, she immediately pulled her phone from her scrubs pocket.
Graham had yet to answer her text from earlier. She’d sent it three hours ago.
Did he work today? She racked her brain to remember if they’d talked about it, and she flipped through her photos to find his schedule. He typically worked twenty-four-hour shifts, but the dates weren’t consistent and she’d never been able to keep it straight. He brought home a schedule every month and posted it on the fridge, and she’d gotten in the habit of taking a photo for reference.
Shit. She had the image of May’s schedule, and today was June 2.
What did multiple injuries mean? Community injuries or firefighters? Or both?
Fear shot through her and suddenly she was eleven years old, standing on the airfield in that split second when she realized something wasn’t right, and the ice-cold sensation that filled her then spread its tentacles through her veins once again.
She startled when Ruthie grabbed her elbow. “Claire?”
“Did I hear you say a firefighter is coming in?”
“Yeah, I was gonna put him with you in pod 7. Can you handle that? I know you’ve got three others, but Jimmy’s full and Brooklyn’s on her break.”
She worked to steady her breathing. It could be a simple check-and-release per protocol. “I’m good. I’ll take him. ETA?”
“Should be any minute. Fire wasn’t too far from here.”
Neither was Graham’s station, which meant his department likely would have responded, especially if the incident was major.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if Ruthie knew anything more about the patient—like his name or if he was a tall, dark-haired, sarcastic asshole with a killer smile—but she’d already walked away.
Claire had just enough time to shoot off several text messages to Graham’s phone before her new patient arrived.
Are you at work?
If you’re fine and don’t answer in the next five seconds I’m kicking your ass when I get home
I don’t actually hate you, if you’re punishing me for that
When he didn’t respond to her machine gun messages, she gave up and called him.
Nothing.
“Dammit,” she muttered, his lack of response like kindling to the burning anxiety beneath her sternum. Most days she was able to remain neutral and keep memories of the tragedy she’d witnessed as a kid from affecting her day-to-day life, probably because the trauma patients she cared for at work were typically strangers. But when something might have happened to someone she knew, it was as if her brain immediately recalled every heightened instinct and emotion from that day.