The Roommate Pact
Allison Ashley
To my first responder and all the spouses, partners and children of first responders.
Allison Ashley is a science geek who enjoys coffee, craft beer, baking and love stories. When she’s not working at her day job as a clinical oncology pharmacist, she pens contemporary romances, usually with a medical twist. She lives in Oklahoma with her family and beloved rescue dog.
1
Claire Harper was holding a penis when the commotion started.
Nothing to get excited about—the appendage belonged to an eighty-six-year-old man and she was a nurse inserting a much-needed catheter so the poor guy could pee.
Still, not where one wanted to be when all hell broke loose.
A loud screech and a crash sounded just outside the pulled curtain.
Then, all went quiet.
As Claire struggled to remain focused on her task, because at this point she couldn’t just stop, her mind scrolled through possible scenarios. Some stemmed from real-life experience after six years as a critical care and emergency room nurse, while others came from decades of watching Grey’s Anatomy and ER reruns.
The funny thing was, some of the wildest ones weren’t from the TV shows.
Was it someone with a gun? A bomb?
A heinous injury? It was an emergency room, sure—but even the most seasoned workers could experience a brief moment of shock depending on what they encountered.
Maybe it was simply something unexpected—like the time a drunk guy in a clown suit stumbled through the doors, bypassing the check-in desk and getting halfway to the med room, where narcotics were stored, before security took him down.
She heard nothing but silence for several seconds. Relative silence, rather—an emergency room was never completely quiet. Pumps beeped, swiped badges clicked open secure access doors, and the phone rang with incessant regularity. But if something happened that was truly an emergency, Ruthie would have been shouting directions to every person in her path by now.
What was going on?
Her patient’s eyes had widened a little, and Claire finished up and covered him with a sheet. “All done. I’ll be right back.”
She slowly peeked out toward the central nursing station. Several people in scrubs congregated near one of the curtained areas opposite her, but she didn’t see a crash cart and the code alert wasn’t flashing.
Fairly certain it was safe to come out, she crossed the linoleum and stopped next to Ruthie, the charge nurse.
“What’s going on?” Claire whispered.
Ruthie’s eyes were glassy and she covered her mouth with her hand, sniffling. She didn’t reply, as if she hadn’t even realized Claire had spoken.
Claire went up on her tip-toes to get a better look. A woman wearing a hospital gown lay on the bed, crying, but on closer inspection, they weren’t tears of pain or sadness.
Not entirely, at least.
A man knelt on one knee beside her, reaching forward to hold one of her hands in both of his. The moment was so tender, Claire barely harbored a passing thought about how nasty the hospital floor must be.
The man spoke quietly, his voice thick and raspy. The woman kept shaking her head in disbelief, her hand visibly trembling in his.
The woman had several lacerations across her face and arms, and the guy didn’t look so great, either. By the looks of it, they’d been brought to the ER from a car accident.
Dr. Hansen, one of the surgeons, gingerly stepped forward, put his hand on the man’s back and leaned forward to speak to him. The man nodded and straightened his back a little, as if realizing he needed to hurry.
“Is she okay?” This time Claire nudged Ruthie with her elbow.
“They’re about to take her back for surgery. They came in from an MVA, and were in the pods beside each other. When the guy got word she was about to be taken away he leaped up and lunged to her side. Tore his IV out and everything. Nearly took out the admissions rep and knocked a cart over.”
Wow.
“Are they in a relationship?”
“Don’t know.” Ruthie sighed wistfully. “With the way they look at each other, I’m guessing so.”
Their conversation halted when the woman nodded her head, the tears coming in earnest, and the man stood, leaning over to kiss her.
The crowd clapped and whistled, and within minutes the surgery team wheeled her away. The man stood in the middle of the vacated room, palm cupping the back of his neck, a mixture of love and worry on his face. He stumbled backward and fell into a chair, burying his face in his hands. Ted, the nurse covering that side and likely the one taking care of both the man and his new fiancée, approached him.
“Wow,” Claire breathed, following Ruthie back to the nursing station as everyone dispersed. “What a story that’s gonna be, huh?”
“Right? Proposal in the ER after a near-death experience.”
“Was the accident that bad?”
“I don’t think so. But it sounds more dramatic that way.”
“True.” Claire sat beside Ruthie. “I was inserting a catheter when I heard her shriek.”
Ruthie winced.
“Don’t worry.” Claire held up her hands, fingers splayed. “Steady as a rock.”
“Believe me, I know. If I ever need stitches I won’t let anyone else near me with a needle.”
“I’m not allowed to do that, yet.” Wouldn’t stop her, of course, but technically it wasn’t in the scope of practice for a nurse to suture. She’d learned the skill during her recent training to become a nurse practitioner—and had even passed the licensing exam, hell to the yes—but had to wait on the slow-as-molasses hospital credentialing office to finish up all the paperwork before making the transition.
“It would be under the table, obviously. Or, I could just hold off on obtaining open wounds until you’re official. How much longer?”
“Are you asking because you want me on speed dial for cleaning you up or because you’ll need to fill my nursing shifts?”
“Both.”
“The NP from ortho said it took two months to get his through.” Claire had only found out she’d passed her exam last week, so it might be a while.
“I won’t hold my breath, then.”
One of the medical assistants called for Ruthie, and she leaped to her feet.
Claire roused the computer screen and while she waited for the program to load, sneaked a glance behind her at the man who had just proposed. Still in the chair, his expression remained a little dazed, but something in his eyes seemed...exhilarated. Happy, even—an emotion not so common in the emergency room.
She could only assume it was a rash, spur-of-the-moment decision, but even in the few moments she’d watched, the connection between the two had been palpable. Thick with emotion and a slight sense of urgency.
Turning back to the screen, she frowned. When had she ever felt such desperation? She’d never even told a man she loved him, let alone felt that burn in her heart that if she didn’t do it right that second—make sure he knew just how lost she was over him—that she’d break through any barrier to get it done.
And at thirty-one and single as the day she was born, she was starting to lose hope she ever would.
“I need a drink.”
Claire made the announcement the second she walked into the condo she shared with two roommates. Her standard shift was 7:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m., and by the time she’d passed off to the incoming nurse and driven home, daylight was fading. Her stomach growled, making a fair argument that dinner was more important than alcohol.
Noted and ignored.
Graham regarded her over the back of the couch with a raised eyebrow. He wore his standard lounging uniform of gray joggers and a T-shirt, legs extending the length of the couch and one tanned, muscled arm draped along the back. His expression was curious but not surprised. Ever since she’d moved from ICU to the ER, she’d come home frazzled and in search of alcohol on a semiregular basis. Taking classes for the NP program on the side hadn’t helped matters, either.