That’s when Michael moved, and I nearly lost my legs out from under me.
“Sweet Mary mother of God,” I whispered in devastation.
Michael’s eyes were blank.
No emotion in them whatsoever.
But I could tell he wasn’t doing it because of me.
He was doing it because he knew that if he showed even the least bit of emotion, he’d lose it. Just like I was about to do.
Taking a page from his book, I steeled up my defenses and said, “22 gauge.”
Then I went to work on getting an IV in a baby less than ten months old, with quite a bit of blood loss, and a gunshot wound to his head.
All the while Michael, the man I’d been in love with for over two years, watched me, holding a kid in his arms and talking to him like he was his father.
Heart panging, I found a vein, and started an IV.
I’d done it many times, and it was rare that I missed.
Once the access was started, I backed away, watching as the trauma team descended in mass.
Michael, though, didn’t leave.
Even when his ex-wife showed up and pressed her entire body against his to get a fucking gauze pad when she could’ve gotten one out of her pocket.
Bitch.
God, she made my life a living hell.
Literally, day after day she made it a point to torture me, and I didn’t know why.
She didn’t know that I liked Michael.
Hell, only a few people knew that I even knew him.
What Joslin didn’t like about me was the fact that everyone liked me.
I was, by nature, a nice person.
I got along with everyone. I was a team player, and I could work with damn near anyone.
Her, though, I couldn’t work with.
Not only because she refused to, but because she hated me and I refused to torture myself.
So when she started to push in close to Michael, I wanted to smack the hell out of her.
But, as the professional that I was, I backed out of the room, and turned to see where I was needed.
I was the newest ER Tech.
I was a licensed paramedic.
But a paramedic that couldn’t be in an ambulance because I got motion sickness.
Something I’d not figured out until I’d taken my first job.
Lucky for me, I was starting with another licensed paramedic to watch over me, because I spent my entire time puking, effectively ending my career before it’d even started.
I’d completely disregarded the medical field after that, going back to my father’s office where I’d been a secretary, with my tail tucked between my legs.
But when my best friend, Georgia, came back into town, she convinced me to give it another chance, and here I was, on the IV team and being a helpful person in any way I could.
“What happened?” I heard asked from behind me.
I saw Paxton, a PA that worked with us, looking at the room that I’d just managed to get the hell out of.
“Gunshot wound to the head,” I whispered, trying really hard to forget, yet not managing to accomplish that very well.
“Fuck me,” Paxton breathed.
I liked Paxton.
He was a very sexy man with dark brown hair that curled over his ears, and a beautiful blue set of eyes that could make any person’s heart start to flutter.
His heart only fluttered for men, though.
Specifically, his significant other that he’d met just a few months ago through a mutual friend of the two.
“Yep,” I said, turning away and washing my hands in the sink that sat right next to the exit that the paramedics used to transfer patients in and out. “I’m going to run to Starbuck’s. Want anything?”
Paxton shook his head.
“Nah, I just had a candy bar. My ass can’t take any more calories today,” he said sheepishly.
I rolled my eyes.
My ass definitely couldn’t take it either, yet I couldn’t find it in me to give a shit at the moment.
I definitely took after my curvy mother.
I had what my sisters liked to call ‘child bearing hips.’
Big boobs, big hips, toned thighs (that, might I add, were still on the bigger side of acceptable) and a chin that was questionably close to what they called ‘double.’
My friends and family didn’t see what I saw, the imperfections.
They said I was beautiful.
I said I was chunky.
To-ma-toes. Tom-a-toes.
Don’t ask me why I did what I did next.
It could’ve been because I was crazy. Or it could’ve been because I knew he needed it, but I did it with no ulterior motives.
“I want a twenty ounce amaretto latte, and a twenty eight ounce black Americano,” I ordered.
She young teen smiled, busying herself steaming my milk and shaking cinnamon sprinkles on my frothy milk that collected at the top of the drink.
“That’ll be eight fifty,” she said, holding out her hand.
I shoved a ten in her hand and said, “Keep the change.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
Taking my two coffees, I walked back down the hallway to the ER. When I turned the final corner that would take me into the ER, I ran straight into a brick wall of flesh.
Instinctively, I lifted my hands up to save the coffee, and inadvertently padded my collision with my breasts which pressed up against a hard, well defined chest. They instantly pebbled.
“Oh!” I said in surprise.
“Fuck,” a deep voice hissed out, hands moving to my hips to keep me steady.
That voice always had the capability to send shivers down my spine.
“Michael,” I breathed, smiling timidly at him.
“Nik,” he sighed. “Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
Bringing my cups down, I stepped back, and instantly regretted the loss of his heat.
I knew, though, that the longer I stayed there touching him, the harder it’d be to move away.
“I got you this,” I said, shoving the coffee in his direction.
He caught it before I could spill it all over his chest, but to be honest, his shirt really couldn’t get much worse.
Not with the massive amount of blood I could see soaking it.
He’d have to throw this one away.
It may be black, but there was no way he could get the blood out of this one.