Chapter One
Alex
I turn the radio down as if this is going to help things, as if a lower volume of Bruno Mars’s song will help me not be fifteen minutes late for my shift.
“Shit,” I mutter to the hula girl on my dashboard, a memento from the spring break trip my roommates went on without me.
I glance at the clock in my dashboard, each minute that ticks by feeling like the end of my career creeping closer. So much for the solid impression I thought I’d established these past few weeks in the Rosewood ER. How could I be such an idiot? Pretty sure Dr. Conlan isn’t going to be too pleased his doctor in residency’s late again. The weariness in my bones begs me to turn the car around, to take the break I already desperately need from the crazy hours. The persistent dreamer in me, though, knows I’m too close to my goal to screw things up now. Just a few more years and the white coat will be completely earned, my life path set before me just as I’d planned. I’ll have everything I ever dreamed of—if I can just get to the damn hospital.
My Chevy chugging over the now-familiar bridge from my one-bedroom to the hospital, I glance across the barren two lanes of traffic as something on the ledge catches my eye.
I ease up on the gas, although I’m already late and can’t afford to.
It’s dark, but the streetlight casts an eerie glow over her raven-black hair, long and straight, as it billows in the wind. She’s wearing a bright red hat that contrasts with her hair in a way that steals my gaze from the road. I grasp the wheel tighter, reminding myself to pay attention to my driving, snapping away from the call of her. Not like there’s much traffic, but it won’t do for tonight’s ER doctor to end up there himself.
Still, I can’t take my eyes off the slumping body on the ledge, her legs bunched up as she clutches them. As I get closer, I notice there’s something in her hand, a crinkled bag. She looks shifty and lost, but with an air of beauty I can sense even from behind my grimy windshield.
It’s odd, and maybe it’s the mixture of energy drinks and Doritos I had for dinner, but it’s like I want to know her story. Something about her checked flannel shirt and lace-up boots, the way she’s clutching the bag like it’s her last possession on earth, makes me want to approach her, to know her.
And then my heart stops, my foot slamming on the brakes.
Because, as if the wind took her into its gripping claws, she’s gone, tumbling down, hair wafting behind her in a grand exit that must only be a few seconds but feels like a slow-motion horror scene.
She’s over the bridge, and I realize the lost look might not have been imagined.
I’m late for work, but it looks like my work might have come to me, because this girl, whether she meant to or not, has just slipped way too far down for her to walk away unscathed.
***
I swerve to the side of the road, panic dissipating as the doctor in me takes over. I only have a few minutes to get to her before it’s too late. The bridge is high but a survivable fall. Still, if she has any sort of lacerations, or hits her head on the way down, all sorts of complications could prevent her from surfacing.
Dashing across the empty street, I quickly peer down over the edge to assess the situation. Seeing nothing but murky water, the streetlights’ beams ricocheting off the relatively calm waters, I do the senseless thing, emboldened by my previous summers’ job.
I dive in after her.
My dive isn’t Olympic-worthy, but it does the trick. My hands cut through the water, a jolt to my system. Now that I’m in here, my clothes dragging me downward, I realize how impulsive my split-second decision was. The girl is nowhere to be seen, and in the chilly night, it seems like an impossible task to find her. I scan the surface, hoping to see even a hint of her rising from the depths of the water.
About ten feet away from me, she emerges, a sputtering, coughing mess. She flounders and flails in the water.
“Stay calm,” I yell, swimming over to her hurriedly, wrapping an arm around her, and kicking us both back toward the shore. I’m already tiring from fighting the current, but luckily the water isn’t too choppy tonight. It’s manageable. Maybe all those summers at the pool paid off after all.
I swim to the shore, the ragged girl in my arms, her black hair drenched and sticking to her face as she continues to gasp for air and spew up water. When I finally get to the bank of the river, I haul us both out in a swift but difficult maneuver, trying to place her on the ground as carefully as I can.
I take a deep breath before the physician-in-training takes over. “I’m Dr. Alex Evans. Can you hear me? Do you know your name?”
She coughs and then gasps, looking like she’s trying to catch her bearings, her eyes half-closed.
“Marley,” she croaks, looking up into my eyes as I examine her for injuries. The red hat is still miraculously on her head, but I yank it off. I look for contusions or lacerations under the dim glow of the streetlight but don’t see any. Glancing over her, checking her eyes, I don’t see any immediate damage. Other than being drenching wet, confused, and exhausted, she seems to be okay. There could be underlying damage, though. She’ll need to be checked out.
Plus, there’s also the consideration of why she fell from the bridge. Was it purposeful? Did some other medical incident happen?
She strains to sit up, but I push her back down. “Stay put. I’m going to call for an ambulance, okay? You stay here while I go get my phone from my car.”
Waving a hand in front of her, she says, “I’m fine. I don’t need an ambulance. But thank you. Thank you for saving me. I just… I wasn’t expecting that. I got all disoriented in the water.” Refusing my insistence that she stay still, she props herself up on her elbows, wiping a strand of hair away that is stuck to her face, weariness still evident in her voice and lethargic movements. I can tell, though, she’s doing her best to convince me she’s okay, her eyes now marked by a defiance that seems to taunt me.
“I really think you should be checked out,” I insist, appraising the situation, including a slight trembling of her hands as she reaches for the red hat I’ve thrown on the bank nearby.
“I like the sound of that,” she says, giving me a wink and a smile despite the precarious situation as she shoves the drenched hat onto her sopping wet head. She could’ve died, but she’s here cracking jokes. Maybe she is mentally unstable. I don’t smell alcohol on her breath, so I don’t think she’s drunk.
I don’t say a word, just stare.
“Relax, Doctor. It was a joke. I promise I’m okay, and I promise it was an accident. I’m not suicidal if that’s what you’re thinking. Just having a rough day.”
“It was a pretty decent fall. You’re lucky.”
“I’m something, but lucky usually isn’t it,” she replies, an odd remark to say the least.
She struggles to stand, and I offer her my hand, yanking her to her feet. Her skin is cold and clammy, and she’s shivering. Her voice sounds smoky, perhaps from the situation she’s just been through, or maybe it’s just partially the quality of her voice. It stirs something in me. Now that the rush of the situation is over and things aren’t so critical, I take a second to drink her in. Her clothes, soaked through, stick to her in all the right places, showing off a petite yet womanly frame. She’s got an edge to her, from her voice to her clothes, that screams different. But different on her looks good.
Get it together, I tell myself. This girl could’ve died and you’re checking her out. Professional.
“So,” she says now, wringing out her shirt with her hands. “I’m not sure of the protocol after a doctor dives into the river to save your klutzy ass. Other than thank you, of course. I don’t know. Do we exchange numbers? Do I offer to buy you lunch or something?” She grins mischievously.
This girl’s different. Very different.
Still, I can’t ignore the facts. She allegedly fell from the bridge. She had a brown bag. Maybe this girl’s just trouble.
“Look, I’m heading to the ER for my shift. I can’t in good conscience let you just walk away like this. It was quite a fall. Will you please at least come with me so we can make sure you’re okay?”
We walk up the bank now. I offer her my hand, but she scurries up herself.
“I don’t know. I don’t really like doctors and hospitals.”
I grin.
“No offense,” she adds quickly. “Just makes me nervous.”
“Well, on a plus side, the doctor in residency is pretty nice. I hear he’s handsome, too. And he might even be able to sneak you a cup of coffee, the good stuff, not the ones they have in the vending machine that taste like watered-down tar.”
She shifts her eyes to the ground, her smile fading as she considers. For a moment, the lost look is back, the bridge-ledge girl is back. I think she’s going to say no.
Instead, she sighs as if in surrender. “Fine. But I’m not staying for a ton of tests, just so you know. I’ve got work in the morning.”
“Deal.” We head back to my car, and as she walks to the passenger side, I scramble to toss the stack of fast food bags and empty energy drink cans from the seat. My car’s the place where I let it go, where I don’t worry about being organized. It’s a junk hole, in truth, something I regret now as Marley climbs in.
“Not much of a healthy eater for a doctor,” she observes, stepping on an empty can I couldn’t reach. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, and buckles herself in.
I shrug, slightly embarrassed. “We all have our weaknesses.”
“Indeed,” she murmurs, turning the knob on the radio to find a station she likes as I buckle up and head toward work.
“Do you have anyone you want to call?” I ask, offering her my phone from the center console.
“Nope. I’m good,” she replies with a weak smile I don’t quite believe. She’s putting on a good show, looking like she’s not shaken, trying to seem like she didn’t just fall from a bridge into a river where she could’ve drowned.
So I hit the gas, heading toward Rosewood ER for a lecture from Dr. Conlan, some quick assurances Marley’s okay, and some confusion about how life is truly a weird thing.