Page 1 of Under Southern Stars
CHAPTER ONE
SOPHIA
The phone rings at the charge nurses’ desk; it’s an EMS squad calling report. I grab it, already eyeing the Starbucks cup I’d nearly inhaled on the drive here. Grande Sumatra red-eye, no cream, no sugar. The barista at the drive-through had looked horrified when I’d explained a red-eye was an espresso shot dunked in black coffee.
Amateur, I’d thought, but kept my mouth shut. She was working for a living, just like me. Honestly, some days a red-eye felt like the bare minimum to face the ER, especially when the barista looked at you like you’d ordered a cup of pure jet fuel.
My ritual morning coffee had cost nearly seven dollars—practically highway robbery compared to what it cost a decade ago—but it was non-negotiable. Like my carefully organized parking routine: teal section only, thank you very much. I’d learned that lesson my first week here, when security had wheezed their way into the ER to inform me I’d parked in the sacred yellow section. Three years later, they’d still asked if I remembered where to park.
“Emergency department,” I answer, putting on my charge nurse voice.
“Kia ora, Metro General.” That honey-warm Kiwi accent flows over the line. “Got a transport for you.”
My stomach does something I refuse to acknowledge. We’ve been doing this dance over the phone for months, but hearing Jack’s voice first thing in the morning still catches me off guard.
“Go ahead with report,” I manage, glancing at the digital greaseboard. Nine patients in a 45-bed ER. The night shift is practically whistling with relief. Easy for them; they’re leaving to go home. The ER gods are definitely going to make us pay for this.
“Fifty-eight-year-old male, chronic back pain, demanding transport after his GP wouldn’t refill his oxy script. Vitals stable, ambulating without assistance. He’s…not pleased with the wait time.”
I roll my eyes. “Sounds like a real emergency.”
He chuckles, low and rich. “Threatened to call his lawyer when we suggested urgent care instead.”
“Lucky us.” I check my staffing sheet while he talks. Nathan’s on today—solid. Tasha too—less solid. That girl has the skills, but the attitude…“ETA?”
“About eight minutes out.”
“Copy that. Plan on taking our friend to triage.”
“Ooh, brutal,” he says, but I can hear the smile in his voice. “Though I’d expect nothing less from the legendary Sophia Bentley.”
“Mitchell,” I correct automatically, then wince. “It’s Mitchell. The paperwork’s still catching up.”
Silence stretches across the line. I shouldn’t have said that. Too personal. Too much information for a professional EMS report.
“Right. Sorry.” His voice softens. “Mitchell. I’ll remember that.”
The line goes dead. I stand there for a second, clutching the phone. Behind me, Jen clears her throat.
“Morning, Sophia. Ready for report?”
I spin around, hoping my face isn’t as flushed as it feels. Jen’s got that knowing look night shifters get when they’re about to escape a quiet shift. Nine patients. Christ.
“Don’t even think about saying it,” I warn her. “You know what happens when someone says the Q word.”
Jen mimes zipping her lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Though honestly, after the week you’ve had, you deserve an easy day.”
I raise an eyebrow. “The week I’ve had?”
“You changed your badge back to Mitchell. And you’ve been ordering extra shots of espresso in your coffee. Plus,” she lowers her voice, “I hear you didn’t take any calls during your break yesterday. You always take calls from Madison.”
Damn. Nurses notice everything.
“She’s with her dad this week,” I say carefully. “And the name change paperwork finally went through officially, that’s all.”
Jen gives me a look that says she’s not buying it, but she’s too professional to push. “Mmm-hmm. Well, anyway, ready for report?”
“Please.” I pull up a chair, grateful for the subject change.
