Fired Up: A Single Parent Medical Romance Read online

  As I walk through the doors of the ER and head back to the ambulance, a sense of unease washes over me as it always does after I transfer a patient. Unlike the doctors at Bayside, I don’t get to see these people through their care. I don’t get to know if they make it out alive in the end.

  I may have been dealing with medical trauma for upward of ten years, both here and back when I was in the army, but it never gets easier. Not every case is the same. Not every life can be saved. But I’ll keep coming back every single day if that means I can play a small part in somebody’s second chance at life.

  “You all right there, Moore?” Pete asks when I climb into the ambulance beside him.

  I turn to face him, not sure how to answer. “Can we ever be okay after something like that?” I shake my head. “I hope everyone makes it out okay.” I reach for my seat belt. “Why?”

  Pete shrugs and puts the vehicle in drive. “You seemed a little off at the accident scene. The way you yelled at that woman like you were all fired up—”

  “She was in the way.” I cut him a look and roll my shoulders, feeling the tension mounting even though the hard part of our call is over. “Photojournalists love to jump on this stuff with no regard to the safety of others.”

  Pete shakes his head and lets out a laugh. “Dude, didn’t you see her SUV? She’d been hit. She was just taking pictures of her car.”

  Dread hits me, and just like that, I feel like the biggest asshole in the world. “You’re fucking with me.”

  Pete hits the gas and starts to drive us away from Bayside Regional and the one block back to the station. “Definitely not.”

  “I was such an asshole.”

  He nods. “Yup.”

  I groan and roll the back of my head against the headrest. “Well, fuck. This day couldn’t get much worse, could it?”

  “I don’t know, man,” Pete says with another chuckle that has me confident that he’ll be talking about this at the station later.

  I’m going to get so much shit for this.

  “That chick was superhot. And the way you caught her, all heroic and shit. That could have been a storybook meet-cute right there. You blew it, bro.”

  I glare at Pete, wondering when in the hell he became so confident that he could talk to his superior like that. “What the hell is a meet-cute?”

  “You know,” he says. “When a couple in a romantic comedy meet for the first time in a super cute way. My girlfriend is totally into all that stuff.”

  I huff and turn to face the window, trying to pull up a mental image of the woman from earlier today. Apparently, I had been too in the zone to recognize what had really been going on with her. “Yeah, well, I guess this is what you would call a plot twist.” I hold my hands up like I’m reading a movie poster. “Guy meets beautiful girl. Guy is an ass and loses beautiful girl before he ever had a chance. Guy ends up old and alone. The end.” I shrug, bitterness from my last relationship creeping into my chest. “Sounds about right, considering my luck.”

  Pete pulls into the open bay, parks, then claps me on the shoulder and squeezes. “Or maybe just don’t be an ass next time.”

  I reach over to punch his chest, but he’s already jumping out of the vehicle, leaving laughter in his wake. I’m left alone in the ambulance, kicking myself for handling a situation in such an uncharacteristic way.

  While it’s hard to drum up an image of the woman to confirm Pete’s assessment about her looks, those wide green eyes of hers might just haunt me forever.

  Maybe Pete had gotten one thing right. Maybe I’d blown my chance before I even had one.

  CHAPTER ONE

  ASHER

  “Ahh, I can smell the polished wood, already.” I take a dramatic sniff as a show for my buddy Greg’s benefit and jab him in the side with my elbow. “This is just what you need, dude. You’ll see.”

  We’re approaching Shipwrecked, our favorite sports pub and meetup spot. My goal is to snap my friend out of whatever daze he’s been in lately. Greg Weston is an anesthesiologist at Bayside Regional, so he’s naturally a busy guy, but there’s definitely something on his mind lately that I haven’t been able to pry from him.

  Greg twists his lips in amusement. “After the week we’ve had… yeah, you might be right.”

  “It’ll be fun,” I promise him again. If there’s anything I’m known for among my friends, it’s cheering them up when they’re in whatever funk work or life brought upon them. I expect tonight will be no different.

  We open the door and are immediately blasted with classic rock music coming from the surrounding speakers. It’s mid-October, and hockey and basketball games play on the large television screens mounted on the walls. Loud voices fill all the empty spaces of the room, but the sound of pool balls cracking together then sinking into their rightful pockets serve as the true music to my ears.

  After a long twelve-hour shift, a pit stop at Shipwrecked is a must, but it’s on rare nights like these that I’m able to round up my closest friends from the hospital. Beck is already waiting for us on the other side of the bar. He’s standing with Larsen Belle, a good friend of ours who also works at Bayside Regional, his head bent close to hers.

  “Uh-oh,” I mutter, elbowing Greg in his side. “Looks serious.”

  Greg glances in the direction I’m referencing and nods. “It does indeed.”

  The two of us share an all-knowing grin, a secret message playing between us. Whatever static is in the air is about to change.

  Greg tosses an arm around Beck’s shoulders while I approach Lars. “What’s this I see? Getting friendly with good ole Becky boy over here? I thought you don’t have time for relationships, Dr. Belle.”

  Lars shoots me a glare, causing my smile to grow.

  “I hate to break it to you guys,” Greg starts, “but we’re at a bar, not the hospital morgue.”

  Lars tosses Greg a smile, seemingly appreciative of the change in mood. As one of the clinical psychiatrists at Bayside Regional, her work hours are already stretched to the max.

  Beck nudges Greg, a dash of annoyance flickering across his expression. “Get off, kid.”

  “I’m older than you, asshole,” Greg quips back with a shove. “And nowhere near as broody.”

  We all get a laugh out of that, and I jump in, hoping to keep the amusement rolling. “What did the bartender say to the horse?”

  “What?” Beck asks deadpan.

  “Why the long face?” I puff out my chest, proud of that oldie but goodie I’ve been hearing around the fire station as of late. I lean into Lars, waiting for her to give me props, too, but she just wrinkles her nose. Then I look around, scoffing at my unamused group of friends. The bartender, Harry, mutters a “Cheers, mate,” and slides a glass over to me containing my usual order—Irish whiskey, neat.

  I don’t have to order. He knows the routine. My twenty-four-hour shift ends at the station, and Shipwrecked is my first stop before I head home for a long winter’s nap. And when I can, I get my buddies to come along too. Since we all work grueling shifts in and near the hospital, it’s nice to let off some steam.

  “What?” I ask defensively. “Is this about the pileup last week?”

  I don’t even know why I ask. Usually when we have an all-hands-on-deck sort of event, it really fucks with our heads. For different reasons, of course, given our varying professions. Of course that’s what’s got them all tied up in knots.

  “Here we go,” Beck says with a groan. “Asher’s dick is so big—“

  “It was an intense morning,” Lars adds, giving Beck a look of understanding.

  Clearly, these two are having their own conversation. I try not to pay too much attention to it, still eager to change the mood. I walk over to Beck and lean against the bar beside him. “You’re getting soft, Becky. That pileup was just another Tuesday morning for me.” Lies, but I’m trying.

  My nickname for Beck finally brings an honest chuckle from somewhere deep in his chest. I’ve known Beck for a long time, and while he’s always been a little hard on himself, whatever is going on with him seems to be hitting him deep.

  Lars continues throwing jabs at me, per usual, but it’s all in good fun. I think it’s because she likes me the best. She makes some quip about me hiding a deep sense of inadequacy, and I use the opportunity to flex my bicep. “Nothing inadequate here. You’re looking at Mr. January, remember?” I wink. “Cover guy.”

  Lars can’t keep her cool any longer. “Oh, great,” she says with a laugh before taking another sip of her drink to finish it off.

  I haven’t let my group of friends forget who was voted to be Mr. January in the calendar our station put out last year. We’d done it as a joke, but it’s not a joke anymore, considering we were able to raise a significant amount of money for charity. That was the seed that had given Aaron and I the idea for the organization we’ve been putting together. Hence, the calendar that still needs a photographer. I growl internally at the way I’ve procrastinated in finding one.

  “You know you loved it, Lars,” I say. “Tell you what—I’ll even get you a signed copy of this year’s calendar. All the guys. Gals too.”

  “Now I have something to look forward to,” Lars says as she grabs a twenty and slides it across the bar. “On that note, I’m calling it a night. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.”

  “Hey, that’s not fair,” Greg protests. “I just got here. I was dragged here against my will. If I have to stay, you do too.”

  I scoff at Greg’s jab at me. Too bad for him, he’s already enjoying himself. Mission accomplished.

  Lars just gives a little finger wave to Greg, causing Beck to chuckle and start after her. “I’ll walk you out, Lars.” He turns around and nods to Greg and me. “Don’t get too wild without m
e.”

  “Lightweights,” I call out, realizing he’s not coming back.

  “Like a resident nurse,” Greg adds.

  Beck flips us off over his shoulder, and then they’re gone.

  “You’re lucky I invited Owens, or I’d be bailing on you too,” Greg tells me like it’s a warning.

  Sheesh, it’s a tough crowd tonight. “Maybe it’s you and your buddy who are the lucky ones. You’re hanging out with Mr. January, remember?” I start to flex again, but Greg punches me in the arm.

  And that’s when I see her. Something about the dark-haired woman walking into the bar looking like she doesn’t belong gets me all fired up. My gaze scrolls over her features slowly, trying to figure out why she looks so familiar. Her hair is long, parted down the middle with one side reaching the top of her breast.

  I don’t mean to ogle the woman—or at least, what I can see of her from the other side of the bar—but she’s like a fucking bright orb in the darkest room. She’s all I see, and I study her like she’s the only thing I’ll ever see.

  She takes a seat at a booth in the front corner of the room, so far away that whoever she joined is partially blocked by a wood pillar. I consider approaching her even though she’s with company, not that I’d know what to say when I got there. It’s been a long time since I’ve tried to talk to a female who isn’t Lars, a co-worker, or one of my patients. Do I tell her she looks familiar? Do I ask if she fell from heaven? What do I say?

  I’m practically panicking when I remember that I’m here with Greg, who’s currently lost in whatever hockey game is playing on television.

  “Hey, I know I joked about it, but… are you doing okay? After the accident last week?” I ask him. Something twists in my gut at my own memory of the horrific pileup.

  He shrugs. “I’m fine.”

  I raise a brow. “That’s convincing.”

  “I don’t know,” Greg says. “I have the same attitude you do about it.” He frowns. “Which I’m not sure is a good thing, but it’s true. It’s just another day at the hospital. I specialized in trauma when I was in Chicago for this exact reason—so that when I’m called in, I can be calm and do my job.”

  “Hear, hear,” I say, clinking his glass with mine. “Still… you seem a bit off this week.”

  He lifts his shoulders and drops them heavily. “Just some stuff on my mind.”

  A guy I don’t recognize approaches, and I realize instantly it must be Greg’s infamous friend Dane Owns, who Greg had mentioned was coming.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Dane claps Greg on the back. Then he gestures at Harry, who’s standing at the bar, and orders a drink.

  My eyes flicker back to the woman on the other side of the room while Harry grabs Dane his beer of choice. I feel like I should know her. Certainly, I would remember meeting her. Again, I think about walking over to introduce myself, but seeing as I begged Greg to come here and Dane just joined us, I don’t want to be rude.

  “I can’t believe it’s taken us this long to meet,” I say to Dane. “West here talks about you like you’re his lover.”

  “He wishes,” Dane teases.

  I gather that Dane and Greg were roommates as undergrads and have stayed close. And Dane seems cool enough. He’s into fishing and football like me, and he’s all ears when I talk about the renovations I’m doing on my home.

  At some point, Greg gets on a phone call, Dane is transfixed with something on the screen, and my focus goes back to the woman. The reason she looks familiar finally hits me. She’s the woman from the accident. How could I have forgotten?

  Shit. I lean back in my seat as I recall the last time I’d seen her. I’d been a complete asshole, thinking she was a photojournalist when really, her car had just been rear-ended and she was taking photos for insurance purposes. The way I’d jumped to conclusions that day is very unlike me.

  Then again, I’m still trying to figure out who me is. My separation from my ex-wife was one thing, but finalizing the divorce was an entirely new beast. Sure, I still have my same friends, and I was able to put a hefty down payment on a fixer-upper home, but I feel like a failure for the way my marriage ended.

  No matter what, I shouldn’t have taken it out on that beautiful woman, who is now infiltrating my mind and my bar. She’d come to Shipwrecked. If that isn’t a sign that I need to talk to her, then I don’t know what is.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MEADOW

  Two hours earlier

  What a freaking week.

  The Davis Drive streetlights reflect an array of colors against the wet asphalt as I pull my rental into the parking lot of a local bar where I’m to meet a friend. After getting run off the road in a horrific highway pileup last week, my car is finally out of the shop. Since then, I’ve had to deal with police reports, insurance claims, and pissed-off clients whose appointments I’ve missed throughout the week due to the hassle. I deserve a drink. Or two. Maybe three.

  “You made it!”

  I look up to see my friend Becca waving at me from a booth against the side of the room.

  I smile and quicken my steps toward her, happy to find a full drink on my side of the table. “Is that what I think it is?” I ask and gasp with delight.

  “Whiskey sour on the rocks.”

  “You remembered,” I gush, genuinely emotional over the fact that my old friend remembered my drink order from our college days at UCF.

  Becca jumps up from her seat with a little shriek. “It’s so good to see you.” She wraps her arms around me and pulls me in for her signature hug. It’s just how I remember it from back in the day. Warm, strong, loving. She’s like a soul whisperer, the way she tugs all the emotions to the surface with that one embrace.

  “It’s so good to see you, Bec. It’s been too long.”

  She pulls away, still gripping my shoulders, her expression flooding with empathy. “What are the odds you’d get into a wreck the same week you move here?” She narrows her eyes at mine like she’s trying to read them for clues. “You okay?”

  I let out a small laugh and take a seat across from her. “I’m exhausted. I’ve had a lot of photo shoots to make up for because of that horrific accident. It’s been one thing after the other ever since. Physically, I’m fine, though. I just hope everyone else is okay too.” I shudder at the visual that just passed through my mind. “They had to use a saw to get a man out of a car. I don’t even know if he’s still alive. It was awful, Bec.”

  She frowns and reaches for her drink. “I’m glad it wasn’t worse for you. I hear so many stories from Aaron. He’s always warning me to avoid that turnoff on foggy mornings, like the one you got caught in. Those guys just know what to expect by this point. I would have warned you if I knew you were heading that way.”

  I give her a small smile. “You cannot control my fate, Becca Ann. You never could, and you never will.”

  She folds her arms while giving me a smug smile. “That’s what you think. You’re in my territory now, which means you need me. I’ll show you around, introduce you to people…” She grins. “And you have a sitter for little Tate whenever you need one. Just ask.”

  I tilt my head, wondering how I had ever managed without my friend all these years. Our distance has been entirely my fault. After Milton and I married, he graduated from the police academy, and we moved around from city to city, to wherever a new opportunity took him. So while Becca and I spoke often and had seen each other a handful of times, she’s never even met my little boy.

  “Shouldn’t you be focusing on your wedding first? We can talk about babysitting later.” I take a sip of my drink and sigh as I feel my entire body relax. “Oh god, I needed this.”

  “Good. Drink up.” Becca leans forward and smiles. “Speaking of my wedding. I have a job opportunity for you.”

  I perk up and lean forward. “You need a photographer?”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “No, you’re a guest at my wedding. I will not let you work. Besides, we already signed a contract with someone long before I knew you were moving here. I have a different job opportunity. Kind of. This is with someone who will be at my wedding.”