Page 9 of Phoenix

“Can’t one human worry about another human?”

“Nora is fine. Trust that. She’s always fine.”

Nora left me with an interesting feeling that day, all those months ago. We didn’t have sex. Hell, we didn’t even kiss. Not that I didn’t try, of course.

I don’t think she would have let me, even if I had pushed harder for it.

Nora and I just...clicked.

And then she left. Just like that. Poof. Back to California and not a single word since.

I would be lying if I said my ego wasn’t a little bit bruised.

“Is she visiting anytime soon?” I question as I lift my hand, signaling for another round.

“Amelia asks her every time they speak, but she always says work is crazy and she will make time when she’s able.” He just finishes his sentence when a text pings on his phone. “That’s Mills. She and Cadence are home from their movie now. I should get going.”

“See? Pussy-whipped, my friend.”

“And I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

Nora

There are two things I need after a particularly long shift at the hospital—wine and a hot bath. Who cares if it’s 8:00 a.m.? I certainly don’t.

As I step into the tub, my feet moan with relief, and I say a little prayer of gratitude for whoever decided we’d soak in scalding water to soothe our muscles.

They’re the real MVP.

I take a sip of my sweet moscato and sink into the water all the way up to my chest, reflecting back on this shit storm of a day.

I used to love my job.

Ever since the day my mom and dad died when I was a kid, I’ve wanted to follow in her footsteps. I don’t know if it was my way of staying close to her, paying tribute to her, or an unspoken obligation.

I was always scared Marco would want to be a cop like our dad. I couldn’t stomach the thought of potentially losing him every time he left, so when fighting took a front seat, I was beyond grateful, shockingly enough. I’d rather him bash someone’s face in for money than be the hero, putting his life on the line every day.

Days like today make me question my sanity.

Eight gunshot wounds, seven broken bones, two hundred stitches, and a severely burned little boy who is still recovering.

Between the gunshot wounds, the stiches, and the burns I had to take a “Nora Moment” in the supply closet and have a good scream.

Doctor Larson scolded me, of course, for promising Brendon he wouldn’t die.

We can’t make promises like that, Nora. You know better. Never lie to the patients.

I get that. I do, but I couldn’t just let him be terrified. Yes, doctors save lives and make the big bucks, but we nurses are on the front lines. Taking all the hits. All the tears and the anger from families.

We are underpaid and taken for granted. That’s just the long and short of it. I used to love working in the ER—and now—I hate it.

Writing is my first and truest love. Generally, in the form of poetry. I had a heavy nursing school load in my college days, but I still made the time to take extra English and creative writing classes. It made me happy. That is what I want with my life. Happiness and to bring happiness through my words.

I lean my head back on the round lip of the tub and try to find my zen. I must fall asleep because I jerk awake to the sound of my cell ringing and the water around me has gone cold.

Way to nearly drown,Nora.

I reach down to dry my hand on a towel and tap my phone to answer the call and put it on speakerphone.

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