The Nurse's Brooding Boss (5 page)

She would take a taxi home. Anything to get away from him.

Brock seemed grateful for her help as they proceeded to unpack all the items they’d just stored in the back of his SUV. By the time they had everything set up, it was two o’clock in the morning.

The good news was that Tucker had fallen asleep on the short drive over to Brock’s. Brock had carefully carried the sleeping baby inside and set him in the corner of the spare bedroom, where Lacey would also have to sleep.

“That anti-gas medicine really works,” Lacey whispered, her gaze full of relief. “If only Joel could see Tucker now, he’d know things weren’t so bad.”

“Do you think that’s why he left?” Elana quietly asked. Brock was still hauling stuff inside while they unpacked.

Lacey nodded. “It was so awful with Tucker crying all the time. Nothing helped. Feeding him, changing his diaper, rocking him, nothing. Joel couldn’t take it any more.”

Elana tightened her lips, wanting to point out that
Lacey had struggled too but hadn’t taken the easy way out by walking away. “Brock will find him, you’ll see,” she said instead.

“I hope so. I’ve always been a little afraid of Brock, but he’s been nice so far tonight.”

Afraid? Elana almost choked out a laugh. She was afraid of Brock too. Of getting close to him. Of not hating him as much as she should. “There’s no reason to be afraid,” Elana assured her. “I think he’s irritated with Joel’s disappearing act, but he would never hurt you or Tucker.”

“I know. But I still don’t think he likes me much,” Lacey said, yawning widely, her eyes drooping with exhaustion.

“Get some sleep while Tucker’s down,” Elana advised. “You’ll cope better if you get some rest too. I’ll finish putting this stuff away. You can take care of the rest in the morning.”

“All right.” Lacey offered a shy smile. “Good night, Elana. Thanks for all your help. I don’t think I could have done it without you.”

Touched, Elana reached over to give Lacey a quick hug. “You’re very welcome, Lacey. I’m always available if you need me. Call me any time.”

Elana finished setting up the formula, bottles and the medicine along the kitchen counter so that Lacey could easily find them when Tucker woke up hungry in the morning. Brock was still putting the baby swing back together, looking up in surprise when she headed for the door.

“Wait, I’ll drive you home,” he said, abandoning his project and jumping to his feet.

“No, don’t bother. I called a taxi.”

He frowned, and she could tell he wasn’t happy with her decision. “There’s no need to waste your hard-earned money on a taxi,” he said testily.

Her sanity was well worth the expense. She edged closer to the door. “It’s better for Lacey if you stay here.”

He stared at her. “Better for Lacey? Or for you?”

She stopped and squared her shoulders defiantly. “Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does.” His voice was soft and compelling. “I never wanted to hurt you, Elana.”

“Too late,” she whispered. “Good night, Brock.” She turned and slipped out the door, overwhelmingly relieved when he didn’t follow.

But in the taxi she looked down in surprise at the crimson stains on her fingers. She opened her palms, realizing with a shock that she was bleeding from several spots in her hands where she’d broken the skin with her nails.

Her stomach churned, and for a moment black spots danced before her eyes. She struggled to take a deep breath.

Brock’s return was pushing her to the edge of her fragile self-control.

B
ROCK
bowed his head, fighting every instinct in his body screaming at him to follow Elana.
Too late
. Her whispered words were seared into his memory. He knew they were true. He was too late. He’d already hurt her.

He stayed where he was, picking up a piece of the swing and continuing to put the various parts back together.

What did his needs matter?

He didn’t sleep well; Elana’s tortured expression followed him into his dreams. Nightmares. Over the next couple of nights, he lay awake, not falling asleep until the wee hours of the morning, only to be woken up by Tucker’s crying.

By the second day, he groaned and shoved his head under the pillow, but it was no use. Logically he knew the little guy was just hungry, and crying was the only way Tucker had to make his needs known. But that shrill tone sent an immediate shock to his system, yanking him out of a deep sleep quicker than any alarm clock.

And then there was Lacey, who tiptoed around him,
jumping like a scared rabbit every time he walked into a room. Tucker still had his colicky crying jags, which only made things worse, as Lacey literally went nuts trying to get him to quiet down. He finally told her to let him cry, which made her break down sobbing herself.

Yeah, Lacey’s coping strategies were pretty much non-existent. He kept trying to reassure her that everything would be fine, but after he’d spent his entire day off searching for Joel, without any luck, he found that line hard to believe himself.

When he’d exhausted every contact he had for his brother, Brock was forced to admit Joel had taken off on purpose. This wasn’t just a case of his brother needing a break from his seemingly overwhelming responsibilities, getting drunk, overdoing it, and passing out with one of his buddies.

His brother was really gone. As in leaving his girlfriend and infant son to fend for themselves gone.

Or, more likely, leaving without a backward glance because Joel knew Brock would pick up the pieces of his mess and make things right.

To make matters worse, Brock was worried about leaving Lacey home alone with the baby while he went to work Friday night.

He wished he could call Elana; it was obvious to him the two women had bonded the night he’d moved Lacey and Tucker into his house. But Elana didn’t want to see him. Or talk to him. Or be anywhere near him.

Clearly, she’d taken a taxi home rather than allowing him to drive her.

So he pulled out the phone book and sat at his kitchen table and made two phone calls. One to a private investigator, hiring a guy named Rufus Kingsley to search for Joel. And the other to a nanny service, hiring a woman to come over to the house while he was gone to help Lacey care for Tucker.

Maybe hiring a nanny was going a bit overboard; Lacey might actually do fine once she stopped freaking out about Tucker’s crying disturbing him. But he couldn’t help noticing she’d spent a lot of time in the bathroom earlier that morning, and he kept imagining the cuts Elana had seen on Lacey’s arm.

He hadn’t gotten so much as a glimpse of them himself because Lacey wore those long-sleeved T-shirts that hung all the way down to her bony wrists.

Before he went to work, he went back into the bathroom and stared at the razor over the sink, wondering if it was in the same position where he’d left it or if Lacey had moved it. Muttering under his breath, he took the razor and the blades, hiding them both in his room.

“You hired a nanny?” Lacey asked, staring defiantly at him for the first time since he’d moved her to his house. The nanny in question was standing in the living room, watching them curiously.

Warily he nodded. “Yeah. I thought maybe you could use some time for yourself. To—I don’t know—take a bubble bath or go shopping or something.”

Lacey stared at him as if he’d told her to strip naked and dance for a room full of old men. “I can take care of Tucker myself.”

He suppressed a sigh, glancing at the nanny, a motherly-looking woman whose expression held a note of faint disdain. It had never occurred to him that Lacey would rebel against the idea. “I know you can take care of Tucker yourself. But I’m going to be gone for a long time, and I thought you’d like a little help.” And maybe wouldn’t feel the need to cut yourself, he silently added.

“Thanks, but I don’t need any help.” Lacey stoutly crossed her arms over her chest.

Brock wavered, inwardly debating. He didn’t have time for an argument. If he didn’t leave soon, he’d be late for work. The stubborn expression on Lacey’s face forced him to cave in to her wishes, against his better judgment.

“All right,” he said, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake in trusting her. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

He turned to the nanny and pulled out his wallet. “I’ll pay for the day, but you’re not needed here after all. Thanks anyway.”

“Hrumph,” she said, clear disproval etched on her features as she hitched her purse on her shoulder and took the cash he offered. “I guess you can call me again if the situation changes.”

Lacey glowered at the woman, her gaze clearly saying the situation would not change in her lifetime, leaving Brock to escort the woman out of the house. He glanced back at Lacey. “I’ll be at work if you need me.”

She nodded. “We’ll be fine.”

He hoped so. He carried enough guilt; he didn’t need something bad happening to Lacey on top of everything
else. Closing the door behind him, he hurried to his car, ducking his head against the April showers pouring from the sky and pounding the pavement.

The gloomy weather matched his mood. Lacey was likely relieved to have him out of the way, and Elana was no doubt dreading working with him. There wasn’t much he could do about the latter, other than try to stay out of Elana’s way.

And hope that it was enough.

Elana cursed her luck when she discovered she’d been assigned to work in the trauma bay with Brock. She’d asked for her assignment to be changed, but there were no other trauma-trained nurses working in the arena for her to switch with. Nurses had to work in the arena for at least a year before they could be trained in trauma.

In the past few days, she’d been happy with the reprieve of seeing Brock. She’d vowed not to let him drag her back down into the depths of despair. That night in the taxi, when she’d noticed her blood-stained fingers, she’d realized how close she’d been to losing it.

The very next morning, she’d stopped in at the human resources department to formally request a transfer to the critical care unit. She’d been hoping that they’d take her right away, but she was told she needed to wait for the manager to call.

That was some days ago, and still she hadn’t gotten a call. Now she had to work with Brock again. At least it was Friday night, one of the busiest nights of the week, so there wouldn’t be a lot of down time.

Brock walked into the trauma bay, deep grooves of exhaustion lining his face, and immediately her thoughts went to Lacey and Tucker. Where they doing all right? Or had something happened?

Surely he’d come and tell her if something was wrong with Lacey or Tucker. Wouldn’t he?

Working with Brock wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d feared. His leadership style was more collegial than not. If she didn’t think about it too much, she could forget her animosity towards him and fall into a synchronized rhythm. And when two patients arrived, sporting identical gunshot wounds, it was a good thing she could anticipate exactly what he needed.

“Give me the latest set of vitals, Elana,” he said when she’d completed her assessment.

“BP 88/42, pulse tachy at 118. Respirations up a bit at 30, but not labored.” She glanced up at the IVs, not having the luxury of Raine’s help as she was busy in the other trauma bay with her own patient, and Brock was going back and forth, leading both resuscitations at the same time. “Do you want more fluids? Or blood products?”

“Blood products,” Brock announced. “Keep the left PIV running with normal saline, but start with one unit of O-negative packed cells on the right until we get the lab results back. The bullet is still lodged somewhere in his belly; the trauma surgeon on call should be here soon.”

“Got it,” Elana said, having already reached for the unit of packed red blood cells. She automatically drew a full set of labs once she’d hung the blood, keeping an
eye on the patient’s bedside monitor as she handed the tubes of blood to the ED tech.

Their side-by-side gunshot victims were soon dispatched upstairs, one to the OR for surgery, the other to the ICU to wait for his turn in the OR, since both penetrating wounds were serious but not immediately life-threatening. The worst part came when the respective family members of the victims began arguing loudly, escalating into a full-blown physical altercation in the waiting room.

Once the cops had hauled the offenders away, each side blaming the other for starting the fight, things quickly settled back to normal.

“Takes all kinds,” Brock muttered under his breath.

“You’re not kidding,” Elana couldn’t help but agree.

His sizzling blue gaze clung to hers, making her breath catch in her throat. For a moment it felt as if they were the only two people alone in the entire department. She took a hasty step back. Professionalism was one thing, but allowing Brock to get too close was something completely different.

The light in Brock’s eyes dimmed when she turned away, and she was hit by an unexpected pang of regret. If things had been different, maybe…

No. Don’t go there.

Thankfully the trauma pager went off, announcing another arrival. Soon afterwards, they received another one. The trauma bay was hopping, but they were able to move patients through the system pretty well.

Towards the end of their shift, they got a call about a
young eighteen-year-old patient who’d overdosed on wine and pain pills found in her mother’s medicine cabinet.

“Didn’t her mother listen to those commercials warning parents to lock up their prescription meds?” Raine plaintively asked in a low tone to Elana.

“I guess not.” Elana took her place on the right side of the patient, gasping when she saw the young woman carried a slight resemblance to Lacey.

“Get a nasogastric tube down her, stat,” Brock ordered. “Get the activated charcoal ready to go.”

Elana did her assessment while Raine prepared to place the tube. “Her pupils are dilated and very sluggish. She’s not responsive to verbal stimuli or pain. BP low at 78/40.”

“We need a full toxicology screen, Elana. We don’t know if she took more than the empty bottle of painkillers that her mother found on the floor next to her.”

Brock’s terse tone convinced her that he’d noticed the slight resemblance to Lacey too. Elana could only imagine how depressed this young woman must have been to take such drastic steps. Or maybe it was simply a cry for help.

A silent plea that could end in disaster.

Raine passed the nasogastric tube down into the girl’s stomach, pumping the first diluted bottle of activated charcoal through the tube as quickly as possible.

Once she’d sent the tox screen, Elana helped Raine with the mess. Because shortly after the first contents hit their patient’s stomach, the girl began retching violently.

“It’s okay, Ariel. We’re going to get that poison out of your system,” Elana said, smoothing the girl’s limp blonde hair away from her face. “You’re going to be okay.”

Ariel Peterson cried between bouts of retching. Elana didn’t mind the mess so much; having Ariel crying and throwing up was better than having her comatose from the drugs.

“Here’s the results of the tox screen,” the tech said, handing her the slip of paper from the lab.

“Nothing more than the narcotic and the alcohol, and those levels aren’t as bad as they could be,” Elana announced, catching Brock’s gaze. “Her mother found her early enough.”

“Thank God,” he muttered. “I’m going to arrange an ICU bed for her. We can hold off with the next dose of charcoal as long as she stays responsive.”

Elana nodded, relieved to know Ariel would survive after all.

She and Raine transferred Ariel to the ICU. Miraculously, Elana had come out of the resuscitation without a single charcoal stain. Raine hadn’t been quite so lucky.

“Next time, I’m taking the right side of an overdose patient,” Raine muttered darkly, grimacing at the black streaks running down the side of her leg.

“Hey, at least it’s the end of our shift,” Elana pointed out. “Could be worse. Give me your trauma pager, and then you can grab a new pair of scrubs before you head home.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” Raine handed off her pager and veered off towards the OR locker rooms. “See you later.”

Elana lifted a hand and hurried back downstairs. She gave a brief report and handed off the two trauma pagers
to the on-coming night-shift nurses. When she walked into the staff lounge, she saw Brock was on his cell phone.

“I’m glad the baby is doing better, Lacey. Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Lacey? She’d been about to leave, but concern over Lacey and Tucker had her walking further into the room. “Is everything all right with Lacey?” she asked once he’d hung up his phone.

“Yeah. I guess.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Seeing Ariel gave me a sick feeling about Lacey, but she swears she’s fine.”

“I know, I have to admit I worried about the same thing,” Elana admitted. “I’m glad to hear things are going better.”

“I tried to hire a nanny to stay with her while I’m at work, but Lacey freaked.”

A nanny? He really didn’t understand women at all. She raised a brow. “Generous of you, but I’m not surprised. I’m sure she took that move as proof you don’t trust her to be alone with the baby.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Brock asked in a vexed tone. “I had to hide my razors, for God’s sake.”

“But Lacey wouldn’t hurt Tucker,” she reminded him gently. “She’s only been hurting herself.”

“Maybe. But I didn’t want to take any chances.”

She couldn’t blame him for being worried. Self-mutilation could easily escalate into something more. She veered away from those dark thoughts. “I take it you haven’t found Joel yet?”