Read Online Wake for Me (Life or Death Series) by Isobel Irons - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Isobel Irons
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in the locker room, too tired to change. He must’ve looked like hell, because Brady came in quietly and sat down next to him, instead of engaging in his usual banter. After a few seconds of miraculous, unprecedented silence, he reached over and patted Sam awkwardly on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Buddy. It’ll all work out.”
Sam couldn’t help but laugh darkly to himself.
“Hey Brady, if I tell you something, will you promise not to repeat it?”
“Of course, buddy. What else are friends for, right?”
“Viola Bellerose?” Sam exhaled sharply. “I think I’m the reason she didn’t wake up. In fact, I’m almost sure of it.”
Brady leaned back slightly, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, not expecting that.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
Suddenly, Brady stood up and did a quick lap of the locker room, probably to make sure that no one else could overhear them. When he was satisfied they were alone, he plunked down, straddling the bench facing Sam. He’d never looked so serious.
“Explain yourself.”
Sam did the best he could, recalling all the details he could remember from that night. How distracted he’d felt, what he’d done, and all the steps he could remember taking. At the end, he made his final confession.
“I think I’m going to tell Dr. Chakrabarti the truth.”
“What truth?” Brady scoffed. “That you’re paranoid and delusional?”
“No. That I messed up when I did the initial assessment.” The moment Sam said it out loud, he realized it was the right thing to do. “If I tell him, he can go back over Viola’s records with a fine-toothed comb. Maybe he’ll see what I missed.”
“Sam.” Brady was shaking his head back and forth frantically, like a bobble head. “You can’t do that. Not only does it prove Chakrabarti right—that you’re totally emotionally involved in this patient’s case—but also, seriously? Don’t you think Chakrabarti double checks every little thing we do? Especially on a high-profile VIP case like this one? If you’d made even the tiniest mistake, don’t you think he would’ve caught it? The guy’s basically a robot. Nothing escapes his notice.”
“Still, I,” Sam started to protest, but Brady barreled right over him.
“Remember the time I went commando under my scrubs, because it was laundry day? Yeah. Chakrabarti noticed. And you better believe I got written up immediately for that shit. I’m telling, you man. You did not fuck up on the Bellerose case. You’re just psyching yourself out, because you never do anything but work, and also because I think you kind of have a weird Florence Nightingale thing going on with this girl. Not that I blame you, because she is kind of hot. In a really still, really unconscious sort of way.” He held up his hands, scooting backward on the bench, probably in case Sam decided to take a swing at him. “But hey, I’m not judging. Maybe you’re into that.”
Sam was starting to wonder if, against all previous evidence, Brady might be right—regardless of whether or not he was also disgusting, and kind of a douche bag most of the time. Viola was just his patient. Sam wasn’t her guardian angel, or her boyfriend, or even really her friend. He was just her doctor. Anything else would be totally one-sided and bordering on creepy. For crying out loud, he’d only spoken to her for a few seconds in a darkened bar.
Then again, a tiny voice whispered, there was that kiss. The one you keep trying to convince yourself never really happened. Wishful thinking. Aftermath delusion.
There was no such thing as love at first sight. Or fate. Or miracles. He should know that better than most.
Sam grimaced at Brady. It was the closest thing he could muster to a smile.
“If someone ever hears you joke about that, and I go to jail, I’m taking you down with me. And you’d better believe the first thing I do will be to pimp you out to the biggest, meanest bruiser in the place.”
“Bitch, please,” Brady
“Don’t worry, Buddy. It’ll all work out.”
Sam couldn’t help but laugh darkly to himself.
“Hey Brady, if I tell you something, will you promise not to repeat it?”
“Of course, buddy. What else are friends for, right?”
“Viola Bellerose?” Sam exhaled sharply. “I think I’m the reason she didn’t wake up. In fact, I’m almost sure of it.”
Brady leaned back slightly, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, not expecting that.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
Suddenly, Brady stood up and did a quick lap of the locker room, probably to make sure that no one else could overhear them. When he was satisfied they were alone, he plunked down, straddling the bench facing Sam. He’d never looked so serious.
“Explain yourself.”
Sam did the best he could, recalling all the details he could remember from that night. How distracted he’d felt, what he’d done, and all the steps he could remember taking. At the end, he made his final confession.
“I think I’m going to tell Dr. Chakrabarti the truth.”
“What truth?” Brady scoffed. “That you’re paranoid and delusional?”
“No. That I messed up when I did the initial assessment.” The moment Sam said it out loud, he realized it was the right thing to do. “If I tell him, he can go back over Viola’s records with a fine-toothed comb. Maybe he’ll see what I missed.”
“Sam.” Brady was shaking his head back and forth frantically, like a bobble head. “You can’t do that. Not only does it prove Chakrabarti right—that you’re totally emotionally involved in this patient’s case—but also, seriously? Don’t you think Chakrabarti double checks every little thing we do? Especially on a high-profile VIP case like this one? If you’d made even the tiniest mistake, don’t you think he would’ve caught it? The guy’s basically a robot. Nothing escapes his notice.”
“Still, I,” Sam started to protest, but Brady barreled right over him.
“Remember the time I went commando under my scrubs, because it was laundry day? Yeah. Chakrabarti noticed. And you better believe I got written up immediately for that shit. I’m telling, you man. You did not fuck up on the Bellerose case. You’re just psyching yourself out, because you never do anything but work, and also because I think you kind of have a weird Florence Nightingale thing going on with this girl. Not that I blame you, because she is kind of hot. In a really still, really unconscious sort of way.” He held up his hands, scooting backward on the bench, probably in case Sam decided to take a swing at him. “But hey, I’m not judging. Maybe you’re into that.”
Sam was starting to wonder if, against all previous evidence, Brady might be right—regardless of whether or not he was also disgusting, and kind of a douche bag most of the time. Viola was just his patient. Sam wasn’t her guardian angel, or her boyfriend, or even really her friend. He was just her doctor. Anything else would be totally one-sided and bordering on creepy. For crying out loud, he’d only spoken to her for a few seconds in a darkened bar.
Then again, a tiny voice whispered, there was that kiss. The one you keep trying to convince yourself never really happened. Wishful thinking. Aftermath delusion.
There was no such thing as love at first sight. Or fate. Or miracles. He should know that better than most.
Sam grimaced at Brady. It was the closest thing he could muster to a smile.
“If someone ever hears you joke about that, and I go to jail, I’m taking you down with me. And you’d better believe the first thing I do will be to pimp you out to the biggest, meanest bruiser in the place.”
“Bitch, please,” Brady
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