Read Online Wake for Me (Life or Death Series) by Isobel Irons - Free Book Online
Authors: Isobel Irons
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to boot?”
“No,” Sam shook his head, ashamed. If his mother had been here, she would’ve kicked his ass for being so disrespectful. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.” Her expression softened slightly. “But did I just hear you tell that poor comatose girl that she’s an orphan? What in the hell is the matter with you, boy? Even if she could hear you, that bit of knowledge ain’t going to do her a lick of good in her current state.”
Her current state? She was still alive, goddamn it . Sam gripped the arms of the chair and forced his body into a standing position, until he towered over the bossy and opinionated nurse.
“I disagree,” he said. “As someone who’s been in the same position, I think it’s far worse when people try to keep things from you. I don’t know about you, Nurse Bouchard, but if you love someone enough, there’s no such thing as too much information. Or too soon. You need to know exactly why that person can’t be a part of your life anymore. But then, that’s just my opinion.”
For a few seconds, there was a tension in the room, like a bow string waiting to be released. Sam braced himself for the inevitable backlash of his out of character tirade. He’d never argued with Nurse Bouchard before, or even really stood up to her at all, until now.
Slowly, she nodded. “You know, you just might make a halfway decent doctor someday.”
Sam opened his mouth to say ‘thank you,’ but she cut him off before he could even form the first word.
“Someday, I said. Not today, though. Today, you forgot to order labs for Mrs. Bronson in 725 again.”
“Oh.” Well, he could officially add ‘sheepish’ to his list of shitty adjectives for the day. “Sorry, I’ll do that right now.”
Nurse Bouchard turned to leave, but then stopped and looked back over her shoulder.
“You’re lucky I reminded you, you know. Instead of just sitting back and watching you fall on your ass. If I’m being honest, it would’ve been much more fun for me the other way.”
Sam couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile. “Thank you for telling me, Nurse Bouchard.”
“It’s Lucinda,” she threw back, before leaving the room. Then she muttered something that sounded a lot like, “Dumb ass, bleeding heart interns.”
“Bitchy geriatric nurses,” Sam muttered quietly.
He took a step toward the door, then turned back. After glancing toward the door to make sure no one else was around, he leaned over Viola’s bed and gently kissed the top of her head. It wasn’t meant to be a creepy gesture, but anyone watching might not have understood. Viola was his patient, first and foremost. But the way he felt about her had grown complicated. Somehow, at some point, he’d become her self-appointed guardian inside the hospital. Now that she had no one else, that job seemed more important than ever.
“I’ll be back soon,” he told her, giving her hand a quick goodbye squeeze.
Her hand squeezed back.
“Oh, my god.” Sam stared down at Viola, afraid to move. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, but he could’ve sworn that it was more than an involuntary reflex. But he couldn’t sound the alarm until he knew for sure.
“Viola,” he said excitedly. “Can you hear me? If you can hear me, I need you to squeeze my hand again.”
Nothing happened.
“Come on,” Sam said, growing desperate. “Squeeze my hand, Viola. I know you can do it.”
After waiting a few more seconds, Sam let go of her hand.
“Damn it.” He took a step back and reached his arm up to rub his eyes against his sleeve. He was exhausted, emotionally wrecked. Pretty soon, he’d start seeing things, too. “You had me going there for a second.”
Feeling more defeated than ever, he left the room and went to order labs for Mrs. Bronson. Maybe Chakrabarti was right. Wishful thinking in any form was just setting yourself up for failure. Or insanity. Maybe both.
At the end of shift, Sam found himself sitting
“No,” Sam shook his head, ashamed. If his mother had been here, she would’ve kicked his ass for being so disrespectful. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.” Her expression softened slightly. “But did I just hear you tell that poor comatose girl that she’s an orphan? What in the hell is the matter with you, boy? Even if she could hear you, that bit of knowledge ain’t going to do her a lick of good in her current state.”
Her current state? She was still alive, goddamn it . Sam gripped the arms of the chair and forced his body into a standing position, until he towered over the bossy and opinionated nurse.
“I disagree,” he said. “As someone who’s been in the same position, I think it’s far worse when people try to keep things from you. I don’t know about you, Nurse Bouchard, but if you love someone enough, there’s no such thing as too much information. Or too soon. You need to know exactly why that person can’t be a part of your life anymore. But then, that’s just my opinion.”
For a few seconds, there was a tension in the room, like a bow string waiting to be released. Sam braced himself for the inevitable backlash of his out of character tirade. He’d never argued with Nurse Bouchard before, or even really stood up to her at all, until now.
Slowly, she nodded. “You know, you just might make a halfway decent doctor someday.”
Sam opened his mouth to say ‘thank you,’ but she cut him off before he could even form the first word.
“Someday, I said. Not today, though. Today, you forgot to order labs for Mrs. Bronson in 725 again.”
“Oh.” Well, he could officially add ‘sheepish’ to his list of shitty adjectives for the day. “Sorry, I’ll do that right now.”
Nurse Bouchard turned to leave, but then stopped and looked back over her shoulder.
“You’re lucky I reminded you, you know. Instead of just sitting back and watching you fall on your ass. If I’m being honest, it would’ve been much more fun for me the other way.”
Sam couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile. “Thank you for telling me, Nurse Bouchard.”
“It’s Lucinda,” she threw back, before leaving the room. Then she muttered something that sounded a lot like, “Dumb ass, bleeding heart interns.”
“Bitchy geriatric nurses,” Sam muttered quietly.
He took a step toward the door, then turned back. After glancing toward the door to make sure no one else was around, he leaned over Viola’s bed and gently kissed the top of her head. It wasn’t meant to be a creepy gesture, but anyone watching might not have understood. Viola was his patient, first and foremost. But the way he felt about her had grown complicated. Somehow, at some point, he’d become her self-appointed guardian inside the hospital. Now that she had no one else, that job seemed more important than ever.
“I’ll be back soon,” he told her, giving her hand a quick goodbye squeeze.
Her hand squeezed back.
“Oh, my god.” Sam stared down at Viola, afraid to move. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, but he could’ve sworn that it was more than an involuntary reflex. But he couldn’t sound the alarm until he knew for sure.
“Viola,” he said excitedly. “Can you hear me? If you can hear me, I need you to squeeze my hand again.”
Nothing happened.
“Come on,” Sam said, growing desperate. “Squeeze my hand, Viola. I know you can do it.”
After waiting a few more seconds, Sam let go of her hand.
“Damn it.” He took a step back and reached his arm up to rub his eyes against his sleeve. He was exhausted, emotionally wrecked. Pretty soon, he’d start seeing things, too. “You had me going there for a second.”
Feeling more defeated than ever, he left the room and went to order labs for Mrs. Bronson. Maybe Chakrabarti was right. Wishful thinking in any form was just setting yourself up for failure. Or insanity. Maybe both.
At the end of shift, Sam found himself sitting
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