Chapter 8

 

 

 

 

 

Gia

 

The hospital is crazy today. Absolutely nuts. It’s filled with reporters and camera crews and people who showed up, hoping for a glimpse of Andrea Kent, the famous pop star. She broke her leg while performing onstage last night and needed emergency surgery for it. And though I feel bad for her, because that sucks, you can barely go anywhere without getting bumped into.

It’s freaking annoying.

Like right now, I’m walking through the main part of the hospital, trying to get to the coffee shop before I leave for the day. But as my eyes catch the extensive line, I decide I don’t need a coffee that badly. “This is ridiculous,” someone says and I look over to see Lara Gould, one of the ED Nurse Practitioners scowling. “She sings and dances onstage in tiny outfits. And yeah, I get how that’s appealing to some and I will concede that’s she’s pretty talented. But she’s not wearing those outfits right now and she’s not singing, so why the hell do hundreds of people have to crowd our hospital over her?”

“No idea,” I agree with a shake of my head. “I’m thinking of skipping the coffee. That line isn’t worth it.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, tucking a piece of her brown hair behind her ear. “But I’m just starting my shift and if I don’t get my Diet Coke, no one will want to deal with me. Or be healed by me for that matter.”

“Then I guess you better get going otherwise when I come back tomorrow morning, I’ll find you still in line.”

“I’ll buy you a coffee, that way it will still be hot when you get back here.”

We both laugh and I throw her a wave as I head for the exit instead of the coffee line. Just as I round the corner for the main drag which leads to the exit doors, a rush of people go sprinting down the hall, yelling and shouting, “She’s coming. She’s on her way down.”

Oh hell no.

I’m about to spin around and find another way out when I’m suddenly bumped hard from behind by someone running to catch the action. I go flying forward, crashing into a bench and bashing my elbow on the metal arm. “Sorry,” someone yells out, but they don’t stop to make sure I’m okay.

Which I’m not. My elbow freaking kills.

“Asshole,” I mutter, trying to pull myself up, being mindful of my smarting elbow.

“You called my name?” Looking over my shoulder, I find Finn standing there in his scrubs, a hard, pissed-off look on his face. “Here, let me help you up.” Finn bends down, wrapping his arm around me just under my breasts and effortlessly lifts me up. “Are you okay?” he asks concerned, his eyes searching my face and body for obvious signs of injury.

“I think so. I just hit my elbow.”

“At least there wasn’t an oncoming car this time.”

“No, just a stupid bench.” I can’t help but feel a little embarrassed. “Why do you always have to witness my worst moments?” I mean, seriously?

“Luck and good timing, I guess.” His hand comes up, brushing a few strands of hair off my face and then lingers on my cheek as he stares into my eyes. “But seriously, are you okay? That was a pretty good fall.”

“I banged my elbow,” I say, glancing down and noticing how my white long-sleeve shirt is turning bright red. “Shit.”

“Jesus,” Finn says, taking my arm gently and examining it. “Can you lift this up?” he asks about my shirt, but it’s one of those tight exercise sorts so it doesn’t want to slide up very far and ends up getting stuck around my mid-forearm. “Come with me,” he growls, not giving me the choice as he snakes his arm around me, tucks me into his side and then ushers me through a couple of back hallways to the patient area of the ED.

“It’s not so bad, Finn. I can just clean it when I get home.”

“No,” he snaps. “You can’t. Because your elbow is bleeding like crazy and you won’t be able see what you’re doing.”

“Why are you angry with me?” I snap back. I didn’t ask him to be my perpetual savior, especially if he’s going to be a dick about it.

Finn gives me a sideways glance as he leads me into an exam room, sliding the door shut and pulling the curtain to give us privacy. I can’t decide if I wish he had left it open or I’m glad he closed it.

That’s the thing with Finn.

It’s always a game of tug of war. Both with him and within myself.

On the one hand, I want him to want me. I want him to talk to me and touch me and yes, even help me when I fall. I want him to care. But on the other hand, he can be impossible to read, doesn’t seek me out or even talk to me for weeks at a time and then when I do see him, he does that hot and cold routine.

It’s like I can’t win with him.

Time and distance seem to have no bearing on my reaction to him either, because even though it’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve seen him last, I still feel the same draw. The same inexplicable pull which gives me butterflies and has my mind racing with stupid, teenage, girly thoughts. Thoughts I’m mortified to even admit to myself that I have.

Why do smart women allow men to turn us into a puddle of stupid?

“I’m not angry with you. I’m fucking furious at the piece-of-shit guy who tossed you aside without even a backward glance to make sure you were okay. I’m enraged you got hurt just so he could get a stupid picture of a stupid pop star leaving the hospital. It’s ridiculous. They’re not even allowed in the hospital and yet no one has done anything about it. And now you’re hurt.”

See what I mean? When he says things like that, it’s impossible not to sigh dreamily at his whole over-protective alpha male thing. But I’m not the type of girl to do that. At least I wasn’t before I met him.

“Take off your shirt,” he says, washing his hands and grabbing some gauze and a clean chucks pad.

“Um…” My voice trails off, tilting my head at his back.

Finn rolls his head over his shoulder to smirk at me. “What? I need to look at your elbow and I can’t get access to it with your shirt on.” I just stare at him. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”

“Not mine,” I say, trying for resolute and maybe a touch indignant since he lumped mine into a category with everyone else’s. But really, I want to take my shirt off for him. I want to take my shirt off and watch his expression as I do. But like I said, I’m not that type of girl.

“Gia,” he pushes out like I’m trying his patience, but I don’t think I am. I think he enjoys this as much as I do. “The sleeve of your shirt is saturated in blood. Take it off so I can examine you.”

“Give me a gown or a drape.” He huffs out, but opens a drawer and tosses me a paper drape. I don’t even get a jonnie. “Turn around, Dr. Banner. This show isn’t free.”

He smiles, “How about I just close my eyes.”

“You’ll cheat.” He nods, those eyes smoldering and playful. As playful as he’s ever been with me. I’m really liking this Finn and that’s not a good thing. “Turn.” I move my index finger around in the air in a circular motion.

“You’re no fun,” he says and I laugh as I do my best to remove my scrub top followed by my shirt. The shirt doesn’t come off so well. In fact, I have to twist and wiggle around because it’s tight and clingy and my elbow hurts a lot, so moving it around isn’t all that fun.

Finally, when I realize it’s a losing battle, I sigh, because I’m going to need his help getting undressed and that just feels like a win for him. “Finn?”

He turns around and when he sees me, he laughs. “Do I get the pleasure of removing your shirt?” I nod, swallowing hard because while he might be joking, I feel very vulnerable suddenly. “Hey,” Finn says tenderly, noting my changing expression. He walks over to me, and kisses the side of my head, before he cups my face in his hands and dips down until we’re eye to eye. “I’ll take care of you, Gia. I won’t cross the line. You’re hurt. All I want to do is fix it.”

I want to ask him not to say things like that to me. I want to tell him he’s easier to tolerate when he’s a domineering jerk and not like he is right now. Because this Finn slays me. He’s such a contradiction from the other one. Like two different men. Light and dark. Smooth and rough.

I don’t mind the rough side of him. It keeps me on my toes. Makes me tingle and feel just the smallest bit dangerous. Like playing with fire. Sexy and alluring.

But smooth Finn is something else entirely. Smooth Finn is the sort you imagine. Not fantasize about, necessarily. Imagine. Smooth Finn makes you want, in a completely different way, than rough Finn does.

And right now, I need this side of him. I was pushed to the ground and my elbow hurts and is bleeding. So a delicate touch is just the thing. I just wish it didn’t make me ache so much.

“I’m going to lift up your shirt. I promise to be gentle when I get to your elbow. Here,” he says, handing me the drape. “Cover yourself up so I won’t get distracted.” He winks at me and I giggle, my uneasiness melting away.

And yes, he’s trying to be professional, but he’s also not. His eyes are on mine and his pupils are dilated just enough to let me know his thoughts aren’t entirely on my injury. His knuckles skim up the sides of my stomach as he pulls my shirt, tickling my skin and making me shudder. Finn blows out a heavy breath at that as he manages to get the shirt up and over my head and I cover my chest and stomach with the paper drape.

“I’m going to pull it down your arm now,” he says hoarsely, before he clears his throat. I don’t even attempt to speak, instead I go for the very safe nod that seems to serve me well where he’s concerned.

But when he gets to my elbow, I wince because Jesus shit, that fucking stings. “Ah,” I whimper, dropping my forehead to his chest as he slides it the rest of the way down my arm.

“You okay?” he asks softly, running one hand down my hair and over my exposed back. His other hand is covering my wound with gauze, applying some pressure to it.

“Yes,” I breathe, my eyes closing. “You smell good,” I say and he chuckles, the sound rumbling into me.

“Happy to be a distraction for you, babe, because this is going to need stitches.”

I sigh. “Can’t you just use Dermabond?”

“No,” he says, still running that hand down my hair to sooth me. It’s working. “It’s a jagged wound and the edges won’t approximate well. I’m afraid it will open up again and not heal right if I glue it.”

“Then go for it. I just want get this done and am actually looking forward to the lidocaine.”

“Hurts, huh?” I nod, reluctantly pulling myself away from him to sit up straight. “The guy is lucky I didn’t see who he was. Otherwise he’d be in Trauma One right now.”

“Tough guy,” I smirk.

“Protective. You make me feel very protective.” Then he turns away from me and heads over to the supply cabinet.

“How many stitches are we talking about, Doctor?” I ask, because if I don’t focus on my elbow, I’ll focus on Finn and I really don’t want to focus on Finn. I can already feel how hurt I’ll get.

“Three, maybe four.”

“Have I mentioned that I hate needles?”

“What?” he laughs the word, returning with a few sterile packages filled with various instruments. “How is that even possible? You’re a midwife.”

“I can put them in other people no problem, but in me is a different story.”

“Are you going to pass out on me? As much as I’m in favor of you swooning, I’d rather you not do it now.”

“No. I just don’t want to look and I might ask you to distract me if you’re capable of multitasking.”

Finn rolls his eyes at me with that smirk I like so much. “Gia, I can throw in a couple of stitches in my sleep. I’m happy to distract you, but I’ll have to do it with my mouth as my hands will be occupied.” He winks and I wish I could reach out and smack him, but one arm is hurt and the other is holding the pathetic paper gown against my chest.

“Pervert.”

“I prefer distractor. Pervert gets me brought up on charges. You’re a fellow hospital employee.” Finn drops into a rolling stool as he snaps on fresh gloves and goes about cleaning my elbow. “What’s your favorite movie?”

“Hannah and Her Sisters,” I say automatically. “I have an odd thing for Woody Allen movies.”

“Didn’t he marry his daughter?”

I shrug. “No one’s perfect.”

He chuckles, and then the door slides open and the curtain is drawn back. “Dr. Banner?” a guy walks in, his eyes raking in my bare back and side and I hate that he just did that. I feel so exposed right now. Especially since I’ve seen him around the hospital before.

Finn’s head spins around, his expression lethal as he stands up to block the guy’s view of my body. “What do you think you’re doing walking in here without knocking? I’m with a patient, Slater and I’m technically off. So out. Now.” The guy blanches, his cheeks reddening before he turns around and scurries out without another word, closing the curtain and door behind him. Finn growls out something unintelligible. He’s fuming. It’s way too sexy for me to even think about.

Protective indeed.

“Sorry about that,” he says in a calmer tone, though I can tell it’s eating at him. “I wish he hadn’t seen you like this.”

“I’ll live.”

Finn lets out a deep breath as he continues tending to my arm. “Favorite band?”

“It changes frequently. Maybe Strumbellas or Kodaline.” My eyes close as he squirts the wound with sterile water and then rubs it down with betadine.

“How’s your sort-of, non-exclusive boyfriend?”

“Hasn’t been my sort-of, non-exclusive for a while now,” I manage.

Finn pauses for a beat before continuing. “Oh. You’re together then? Small burn,” he warns.

I shake my head, wanting to smile at his tone, but am too uncomfortable to accomplish it. “No,” I hiss through my teeth as he sticks the needle into my arm, injecting me with the lidocaine. “I ended it.”

“How come?”

Because he wasn’t you, I don’t say. “Not what I wanted,” I go for instead.

“Okay, so no men,” he says and I can’t figure out how he feels about that. “I’m glad you got rid of that guy. He looked like an asshole.”

I smile now that I’m all numbed up and feel like I can actually relax a little. “So, said the asshole.”

“Yeah, but I’m different. I not only saved your life, I stitched up your arm. To perfection, I might add. And I properly distracted you.” I don’t move and he laughs a little. “Open your pretty eyes, Gia. I’m done.”

“Wow,” I marvel, looking down at my now bandaged arm. “You’re fast.”

“Only with stitches. With everything else, I like to take my time.” He gives me a look which floods me with heat. “But now I’m discharging you.”

“Oh. That’s sort of anticlimactic.”

Finn helps me put on my scrub top before he takes my face back in his hands. “That would never happen with us.” He leans down and brushes his nose against mine, our eyes locked. My breath hitches at both our proximity and the not so subtle meaning behind his words. Then he draws back and his expression switches to apathetic in the blink of an eye. “But now I need you to go home. Come back to me in seven to ten days and I’ll remove the stitches.”      

Shaking my head, I want to scream so many accusations at him. Why does he constantly do this? I don’t get it. You want me, Finn. He does. But there is something holding him hostage. Something keeping him from taking this to the place we both want it to go. I just don’t have the balls to ask him what that something is.

I knew this was going to happen. It’s why I won’t bother saying all of the things which are driving me crazy about him right now. Instead, I push him back and hop off the bed. “Thanks for stitching me up and coming to my rescue yet again. I’ll have a friend remove them, so you’re off the hook with me. See you around, Dr. Banner.”

And then I walk out. I don’t wait for him to say anything back. I don’t even check out his expression. I’m done where he’s concerned. I’m done.