Page 19 of Hate To Want You
Walking out of the room, a scan of the nurse’s station doesn’t reveal Max. I make my way to an open space at the desk and sit down with the patient’s chart, so I can make sure our notes are up-to-date before the transfer.
But just as I’m closing the chart, Ginny sits down next to me.
“We need Dr. Donnelly to do handover with the PICU team,” she says quietly. “Do you know where he is?”
“No, I’ll find him, though,” I say, rising from my chair and looking around the unit. I make my way down the hall that leads to the overflow storage area, and that’s when I see him. He’s leaning against the wall in a small alcove that normally holds a photocopy machine but is currently empty. His eyes are closed, but there’s a furrow to his brow and a tightness in his jaw.
“Dr. Donnelly,” I say softly, and his eyes fly open. And in that split second, I see a flash of something. Fear? Worry? Angst? Guilt? I don’t know what it is, but it’s gone in an instant.
“Yes?” he says stiffly.
I step closer. The tension is still radiating from him, and my hand starts to lift, but I drop it quickly. What am I doing? He won’t accept comfort from me.
“The pediatric ICU team needs a handover call for the patient we just transferred.”
“Right,” he sighs. “Okay.”
He moves to walk past, and this time, I do put a hand on his arm to stop him. “We stabilized him. He’s going to be okay.”
He snorts quietly. “You of all people know we can’t guarantee that. We see it every day. Kids whose bodies just give out on them. The only reason he’s still with us is a combination of miracle and medicine.”
“Right, and you gave him the medicine,” I say, hoping to soothe him somehow. He’s wound tighter than a drum, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him show a sliver of vulnerability. Approaching carefully, as one would a wounded animal, I opt for humour to lighten the mood. “Well, I guess technically, I did, since I’m the one who got the IV in. Takes a nurse to do the hard stuff, I guess.”
Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. His eyes darken with what looks dangerously close to rage. “You’re not a nurse anymore, Dr. Morgan.”
The way he says my name, laced with derision, makes me wince and my hand drops from his arm. He’s lashing out, and yet again, I’m getting the brunt of his anger. I don’t know why, but this man cannot handle letting anyone see weakness in him, least of all, me.
But too freaking bad. Because I am not someone else’s punching bag anymore. And I made a promise to myself that I never would be again. He takes another step to walk past me as I speak, not bothering to disguise the sharpness of my tone.
“You’re right, I’m not. But I still have all those skills and years of experience, and it wouldn’t hurt you to remember that. Lord knows, you seemed to respect me more when I was a nurse.”
I’m fully prepared to do battle. He’s going to let me have it, I know it.
But then the frustration of the last several weeks bubbles up and out of my mouth before I can stop myself.
“Tell me, Dr. Donnelly, why the heck have you treated me like garbage since the day I returned? Correction, worse than garbage. Like the gum that you step in and can’t wait to scrape off your shoe. What the hell did I ever do to you? Is it because of my ex? Good God, if Skye was right and this is all because of Thad, I’m going to scream. Why are —“
“What do you mean ‘ex?’” His sharp voice interrupts my rant. When I look up, he’s staring at me with such intensity, if I weren’t already fired up, I might shiver.
“Thad Marshall. You met him my last day here as a nurse.”
“I know who fucking Thad Marshall is,” he bites out. “Why did you say ‘ex?’”
I lift my chin. “Why does that matter? You’re my supervisor. Who I date shouldn’t matter.”
He gestures to my hand. “Don’t you mean who you marry?”
I look down at the ring my grandmother gave me years ago, then back to him in confusion. “This? This was my grandmother’s wedding band. I wear it on this hand to remind myself that my first commitment is to me, not to a man.” His eyes widen with something that looks suspiciously like respect. I put my hands on my hips, unwilling to bend until he explains himself. “But you don’t deserve to know any more than that. So, I’ll ask again, why does it matter if I’m with Thad anymore?”
He steps closer. So close, I can see the flecks of green in his blue eyes. And the storm of emotions brewing in them. “Thad Marshall destroyed my family twelve years ago. And you were with him when it happened.”
My jaw drops open. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Max steps back and rakes a hand through his hair as he pivots and moves a few steps away. “Twelve years ago. You were with Thad, weren’t you?” He whirls back to me. “That’s what you said. That day you were leaving. You said you were with him.”
There’s a desperation lacing his words. Does he want me to confirm what he’s saying or challenge it?
“Yes, I started dating Thad twelve years ago.” I lean back against the wall, attempting to look relaxed instead of radiating the tension building inside of me.
