Page 33 of Enemies to Lovers

“We’ll be testing your skills on hit and runs. Believe it or not, there are several good samaritans out there who see these guys suffering and bring it in. Care for it as best you can.”

The door opens, and a rush of relief pulls my shoulders. Val’s long hair frays out from a half-done braid, her jacket unzipped and hanging off one shoulder as she rushes to my side. She grabs a lab coat from under the desk, her gaze not once lifting to mine.

Professor Clark doesn’t acknowledge her late arrival. “You may leave once you’ve treated your patient.”

Buzz and chatter fill the room. I tentatively raise an eyebrow at Val, wondering if I should be the one to break the ice.

“Don’t lecture me,” she says after a beat, taking her hair from its braid.

“I wasn’t—”

“Brewster shit all over the living room, and the roomba got to it before I did.” She twists her hair into a bun and snaps an elastic around it. “It looked like I’d stained my wood floor another color—and the carpet? It’s a lost cause.”

I press my lips together. Brewster is having a rough go; I thought he might. Poor guy’s been returned to the shelter at least three times since I’ve been there.

She whips her gaze to mine and slaps her arms to her side. “See? Not everything comes easy for me.”

And just like that, in those few words, my hackles rise. She’s complaining about shit. Does she even realize what this career will be? Hell, this squirrel might shit on the table right now.

I play her a baby violin, and she narrows her eyes.

“Are you—?”

“Yes, I’m mocking you.” I shuffle to the cage holding our patient. He’s skittish, as all little woodlands are, but his tail is cocked sideways.

“You think it’s easy cleaning up an entire apartment covered in poop?”

“If that’s the hardest thing you’ve dealt with, then I really don’t feel sorry for you.” I clean poop every day at the shelter. Dog poop, cat poop, rabbit poop… I’ve cleaned every consistency and quantity and things I bet she couldn’t even imagine.

Something between a growl and a gurgle escapes her lips, and she twists the cage to see the squirrel a little too aggressively.

“He just got hit by a bike.” I nod to the little guy. “Might want to be a bit gentler.”

“And you might want to shut up.”

I hold in a laugh at her bite and turn my attention to our patient’s x-rays, which were taken before class. “Looks like he’s got a fracture along the caudal vertebrae.”

“Busted tail.” She snaps on a pair of gloves and wraps her hands around him, being careful as she maneuvers. She gently lifts the tail with her pinky finger, and the squirrel jerks. “Any chance of resetting it?”

“Probably not without extensive surgery.” I hover over her shoulder, ignoring the vanilla scent she’s wearing.

“Well, we should get to it, then.” She sets the guy down and closes the cage. She preps him with an IV, and sets the monitor so we can get his heart rate. Despite her frustration, her hands are steady.

She bends for the anesthetic, and I set a hand on her wrist. A zap of electricity sparks in my fingertips, and I choose to ignore it.

“I’m thinking amputation might be best here.”

“What? We need to save the tail.”

“Amputation is likely the better option. With good physical therapy, he could be released.”

“Not necessarily.” She rips her arm from my grasp and continues with the anesthetic. “The tail is essential for its survival.”

“It will learn to jump and balance without it.”

“That’s not for certain.” She crosses her arms, her bun flailing as she turns to face me head on. “I think it’s worth the risk to reset it with minor surgery.”

I shake my head. “No go. Minor won’t help it.” I point to the screen, running my finger over the fracture. “It’s deep at the base of the tail, which will impact the spine if we don’t put in a bar. The physical therapy for that would be a year or so, if he survives the surgery at all.”

---