Lover Avenged (Black Dagger Brotherhood #7)(14)

Catya’s smile was more grimace than grin, as if she were biting her tongue. Again. “You don’t have to be this strong.”

“Yes. I do.” Ehlena looked around and kept her wince to herself. More of the staff were coming at her from down the hallway, a ten-strong posse riding shotgun on a truckload of concerned purpose. “Where do you need me?”

She had to get free of—No luck.

Soon all but the OR nurses who were busy with Havers had formed a circle around her, and Ehlena’s throat closed up as her colleagues threw out a chorus of how-are-yous. God, she was as claustrophobic as a pregnant female stuck in a hot elevator.

“I’m fine, everyone, thanks—”

The last of the staff came over. After expressing her sympathy, the female shook her head. “I don’t mean to bring up work….”

“Please do,” Ehlena blurted.

The nurse smiled with respect, like she was impressed by Ehlena’s fortitude. “Well…he’s back in an exam room. Should I get out a quarter?”

Everybody groaned. There was only one he out of the legions of male patients they treated, and coin bingo was typically how the staff decided who had to deal with him. Farthest from the date lost.

Generally speaking, all of the nurses kept a professional distance from their patients, because you had to, or you’d burn out. With him, though, the staff stayed separate for reasons other than job-related ones. Most of the females got nervous around him—even the toughest ones.

Ehlena? Not so much. Yes, the guy had some Godfather in him, those black pinstriped suits and his cropped mohawk and his amethyst eyes throwing off a don’t-f-with-me-if-you-want-to-keep-breathing vibe. And it was true, when you were shut into an exam room with him, there was the impulse to keep your eye on the exit in case you needed to use it. And there were those tattoos on his chest…and the fact that he kept his cane with him as if it were not just an aid for walking, but a weapon. And…

Okay, so the guy made Ehlena nervous, too.

And yet she cut through an argument over who got to have the year 1977. “I’ll do it. It’ll make up for my being late.”

“Are you sure?” someone asked. “Seems like you’ve already paid your dues tonight.”

“Just let me get some coffee. What room?”

“I parked him in three,” the nurse said.

Amid a cheer of, “Attagirl,” Ehlena went to the staff room, put her things in her locker, and poured herself a mug of hot, steaming perk-your-ass-up. The coffee was strong enough to be considered an accelerant and did the job nicely, wiping her mental slate clean.

Well, mostly clean.

As she sipped, she stared at the banks of buff-colored lockers and the pairs of street shoes tucked here and there and the winter coats hanging on pegs. In the luncheon area, folks had their favorite mugs on the counter and the snacks they liked on the shelves, and sitting on the round table there was a bowl full of…what was it tonight? Little packs of Skittles. Above the table was a bulletin board covered with flyers for events and coupons and stupid comic-strip jokes and pictures of hot guys. The shift roster was next to it, the whiteboard marked with a grid of the next two weeks that was filled in with names in different colors.

It was the detritus of normal life, none of which seemed significant in the slightest until you thought about all those people on the planet who couldn’t keep jobs or enjoy an independent existence or spare the mental energy on little distractions—like, say, the fact that Cottonelle toilet paper was fifty cents off if you bought the twelve-pack of the double rolls.

Taking it all in, she was reminded yet again that going out into the real world was a luck-of-the-draw privilege, not a right, and it bothered her to think of her father holed up in that awful little house, wrestling with demons that existed only in his head.

He’d once had a life, a big life. He’d been a member of the aristocracy and had served on the council and been a scholar of note. He’d had a shellan he adored and a daughter he’d been proud of and a mansion renowned for its celebrations. Now all he had were delusions that tortured him, and though they were only perception, never reality, the voices were a jail no less ironclad for the fact that no one else could see the bars or hear the warden.

As Ehlena rinsed out her mug, she couldn’t help thinking of the unfairness of it all. Which was good, she supposed. Even with all she saw on her job, she hadn’t gotten used to suffering, and she prayed she never did.

Before she left the locker room, she did a quick check in the full-length mirror next to the door. Her white uniform was perfectly pressed and clean as sterile gauze. Her stockings were without runs. Her crepe-soled shoes were smudge-and scuff-free.

Her hair was as frazzled as she felt.

She did a quick pull-free, retwist, and scrunchie-up, then headed out for exam room three.

The patient’s chart was in the clear plastic holder mounted on the wall by the door, and she took a deep breath as she picked it out and opened it up. The thing was thin, considering how often they saw the male, and there was almost no information listed on the front, just his name, a cell phone, and a next of kin who was a female.

After she knocked, she walked into the room with confidence she didn’t feel, her head up, her spine straight, her unease camo’d by a combo of posture and professional focus.

“How are you this evening?” she said, as she looked the patient right in the eye.