Page 27 of Vital Signs
“On my way.” I glanced back once, just once. Anya was charting, head down, expression unreadable. Professional to the last molecule.
Good, I told myself. That was good. It didn’tfeelgood.
As the shift dragged on, the adrenaline faded and left something sharper in its place. Awareness. Want. Consequence. Every time she spoke my name, it felt loaded. Even from across the room, it was as though I wasattunedto the sound of her voice. Every time I used hers, it felt like a test I was determined not to fail.
As the night crept on, I felt exhausted in a way no trauma could explain.
When she passed me on her way out of the room, our shoulders nearly brushed. She didn’t look at me. Neither did I. But the space between us felt charged enough to burn.
It hit me an hour later, when the department finally exhaled.
No alarms. No shouting. Just the low hum of monitors and the scrape of chairs as people settled into charting. The adrenaline drained out of my system all at once, leaving something cold and buzzing in its wake.
Panic.
I stood at the sink, washing my hands for longer than necessary, staring at my reflection in the stainless steel like it might confess something back to me. My face looked normal. Calm. In control.
A liar.
This wasn’t a mistake I could talk my way out of. There was no protocol for what I’d done. No checklist. No neat debrief where the lesson learned was don’t do that again. I’d crossed a line that had never even been athreatto me. An entire career in emergency medicine, and neveroncehad this thought crossed my mind.
And it was not because I was careless.
Because I wantedher. Not youth. Not control. Not power over a resident. It wasn’t thenewdoctor that intrigued me. It wasAnya.
That was the part that scared me.
I’d wanted people before. Desire wasn’t new. Risk wasn’t new. But this felt different in a way that refused to be rationalized. It had weight. Momentum. Teeth.
Anya moved across the department, and my attention followed before I could stop it. The way she tucked hair behind her ear. The way she leaned into a chart, thoughtful and precise. The way she existed as though nothing had detonated between us an hour ago.
I envied her for that, and I hated myself for noticing.
This wasn’t something I could compartmentalize. I tried. God knew I tried. But every time I replayed the moment she confrontedme, the way she said my name like a challenge, my pulse kicked hard and unforgiving.
You idiot, I told myself. You absolutefuckingidiot.
I wasn’t panicking because we’d slept together. I was panicking because I didn’t regret it. Because the idea of pretending this was still nothing felt impossible. Because the idea of itbeing somethingfelt catastrophic.
I imagined administration. HR. A quiet meeting with closed doors and careful language. I imagined her career taking a hit because of me, and the thought made my chest tighten in a way no trauma ever had.
I scrubbed my hands again, harder this time, like if I tried hard enough, I could erase the memory from my skin.
Across the room, Anya laughed softly at something Liza said. Just a breath of sound. Nothing intimate. It knocked the air out of me, anyway.
This was how it started, wasn’t it? Not with fireworks or sparks. With awareness. With the desire tolook. With the terrifying realization that restraint wasn’t a switch you could flip back on once it broke.
I forced my gaze away.
Get it together, Vaughn.
I finished my charting. Signed off. Gave orders. Did everything right. That was the cruelest part — I was still good at my job. Still sharp. Still trusted.
Which meant I could keep doing damage without anyone noticing.
When the shift finally wound down, I didn’t look for her. Didn’t speak to her. Didn’t give myself the chance to make it worse. As I walked out into the night air, exhaustion crashed over me, heavy and unforgiving.
Chapter 18
