CADEN

With two other residents I step onto the elevator reserved for staff. We’ve all got our heads buried in our phones researching the cases we’re working on. A grunt of hello was given as a display of manners, now it’s all business. The doors open and one heads out in a hurry.

Dr. Myers’s shoes walk on, and my thumb pauses from scrolling. She stands in front of me, a little to the right but not by much. The first-year resident doesn’t look up as the car begins to rise. His hunched back is to us.

Reaching out with my chest pounding I slide my fingertips over her white coat, up the center of her sweet ass. She goes rigid. The glowing number lands on the fourth floor, and I return to the scientific research paper Stevens wrote two years ago on Prinzmetal Angina.

The first-year strolls out, muttering, “Gonna be a hairy day.”

The object of my lust pauses before walking off the elevator.

My dick smirks as I stroll out, too, heading in the opposite direction and not looking back.

* * *

Ambulances are en route, and the hospital breaks into action with doctors and nurses running for the ER. I’ve been with Dr. Piven, and I’m looking forward to seeing Elizabeth again. “Anybody know what happened?”

“A tent covering the food court at a festival fell.”

“How many?”

“We’re about to find out.”

As I jog in, she’s there before me—not surprising. That she never meets my eyes while we work together for hours—is.

Did I step over the line with the elevator-move? Is this the silent treatment or is she just that busy?

I’ve got enough gashes, broken bones and irate tourists to keep me busy, but the back of my mind is preoccupied with her. I love watching Myers give orders like a conductor of a symphony, everyone jumping to perform without pause. She’s earned that respect because she’s fair, skilled, and challenges us to maintain our high standards since hers are even higher.

I want a woman like that.

Reminds me of my mother.

In a good way.

She’s got my full attention when she finally shouts, “Dr. Cocker, I need you!”

I weave through the obstacle course like my cousin Eric when he’s running the ball home for the Falcons. “Whatcha got for me?”

“Find this child’s mother. She’s been calling for her. Nobody’s answering.”

Frowning at the reason I was summoned, I hesitate. Myers notices, and isn’t pleased.

“On it. Go!” I bend to be at the girl’s level. Can’t be more than four. “Hey there, I’m Caden. What’s your name?”

Teary-eyed and wet-nosed, she whispers, “Melissa.”

“You lost your mommy?”

She sniffles and nods.

“You mind if I pick you up so I can help look for her, faster?”

She raises her arms and I lift her onto my hip, smiling at her cuteness. “What’s your last name, Melissa?”

“Potahantus.”

“Hmm, like the movie, Pocahontas?” She nods. “You don’t know your last name, huh?” She shakes her head. “You know what? We’ll figure it out together.”

I carry her around the E.R. quickly because it’s not good for her to see these wounds, but we do need a thorough check. Her mom’s nowhere.

Determined, I whisk her out and up to one of the nurse’s desks, the waiting room ahead nearly as congested. “Hey Sian, you hear about a woman looking for her daughter, Melissa?”

Fake eyelashes rise as Sian leans forward. “Oh no, you lost your mommy? Don’t you worry, sweetheart, you’re in good hands. Dr. Cocker will find her.” As an aside she mutters, “And won’t she be pleased when your mommy sees the knight in shining armor, hmm?”

I chuckle, “Keep an eye out. Tell everyone we’re looking, too.”

“Will do, Caden.” She returns to the endless line of sickness awaiting her attention. “Next!”

Station to station we search for anyone admitted who was asking about their child. My stomach hardens as I imagine the worst. It’s not like I can go into operating rooms asking if Melissa recognizes anyone. I’m going to have to tell a policeman we have a missing mother.

“You hungry?”

She shakes her head.

“Not even a lollipop?”

Again no.

She’s scared, but I think a cookie can solve a lot of problems. Heading to the nearest doctor’s break room I hear a woman shouting, “Melissa!!!”

Twisting on my side she cries out, “Mommy!” arms flying up.

Her mother sprints through the corridor, tears streaming as she reaches for her child. “Oh, thank God! Thank God! I couldn’t find you!”

“Mommy!”

“I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!”

They fiercely embrace while I exhale.

An embarrassed and worried explanation tumbles out of the young woman. “We were at a festival and this huge tent fell. There was a stampede! I couldn’t see anything. I was knocked to the ground! I reached for my daughter and someone stepped on my hand.” She thrusts out a shaking, bloody mess that I spotted when they hugged. “I was screaming for her, but everyone was screaming! It was a mob. I couldn’t hear her. Couldn’t see her. Couldn’t see anything! I didn’t abandon my daughter! I swear I didn’t! I would never!”

“I know that. It’s going to be okay. She’s alright. You got her back. What’s your name?”

“Suzanne! Were you taken in an ambulance, honey?”

Melissa nods, big eyes flitting to her mother’s hand as I turn it over.

“She’s scared because you’re hurt,” I explain, lowering the grotesque appendage from sight. “I’m not sure how many bones are broken here, but you need to see our orthopedist. It’s okay, Melissa, people break bones all the time. That’s the thing about cuts and scrapes, right? They heal. Ever have one?”

She nods, unsure if she can let the fear go.

“I’m okay, honey, now that I found you. I was so worried!” Suzanne buries her face in Melissa’s hair and sobs with relief.

I remember the time our mom was in tears at the gash on Samantha’s palm when she was this young. I can imagine from all I’ve witnessed how terrifying it must be when your child is hurt. But to have one missing must be devastating.

It’s just a cut, Mommy!

A cut that made Max vomit.

Sam’s braver than most give her credit for, especially since she tends to care for others first—and Mom was flipping out.

We tend to forget because she’s so nice and Alexis takes most of the attention, how solid and strong Sam really is. But then again, she’s her mother’s daughter. It was funny to see her telling Sarah Cocker of all people—our rock of all rocks—that it was merely a cut. Mom laughed and showered her face with kisses, turning to tell Dad, “You hear that, Jason? My daughter just reassured me. Better up my game!”

Funny what sparks a memory.

When all of the casualties of the falling-tent-debacle are tended to, things finally grow calm.

Myers finds me outside of a patient’s room, marking up a chart for the next shift.

“Did you find the child’s mother?”

Not looking up, I mutter, “Yep.”

“Where was she?” After a few seconds of silence, her voice becomes firm. “Dr. Cocker, I asked you a question.”

“They got separated in the stampede.”

Her volume lowers. “Why the cold shoulder?”

“Why’d you hand the kid off to me? I’m not a babysitter. Janet was in there getting bloody and you sent me off to find a lost mom!”

Her narrowed eyes sharpen and glance around, sprinting back to lock on me. “Dr. Cocker! Here’s a suggestion! Take your attitude to the Seventh Floor where you can cool off and remember who you are speaking to!”

She marches away.

I’m frowning after her, my ego-bruised dick jumping to life.