Page 11 of One for the Money
Edmund huffs out a laugh, and I have to hold my own back. She said she didn’t want to be touched, but she’s got him on her lap and her hands on his face. She seems fine to me. I wonder why she has that rule in place, because she looks perfectly happy to have him resting on her.
“It’s a very comfortable lap, I know,” the doctor continues. “But I think your face is too pretty to have a big ol scar on it. Do you think you can stand?”
He nods, and several of the other stagehands help him stand up, wrapping their arms around him and carting him off towards the doctor’s trailer. She clambers to her feet, no one offering to help her up, and follows behind, barefoot and in wet shorts.
I don’t know why, but I follow her again, like a fucking creep. Jude intercepts her on the way.
“What happened?” he barks. She flinches almost imperceptibly at his tone. I sock that information away for later, because that was definitely a conditioned response.
If he was using the full force of his Alpha bark, I worry she would’ve hit the ground.
“According to witnesses, Edmund was smacked in the head with a support beam. He’s got a nasty cut, and it knocked him on his ass, but overall, it could be much worse. I’ll want to have him monitored for a concussion, but that’s just me being ultra conservative because I currently see no signs of one.”
“Who called you?” Jude asks her. Again, his tone is harsh. He’s the one who hired her, and yet he’s pissed at her for doing her job?
She doesn’t seem to notice his tone, and if she does, she writes it off. “One of the stagehands. Several of them came to see me yesterday to update me on their care plans and got my number.” The door to her trailer is wide open, and I can hear Edmund moaning a bit in pain. “What are your rules on narcotics and pain medication?” she asks Jude. “It wasn’t in my contract, and you don’t have an HR team to do orientation, so…”
“You have narcotics with you?” he hisses. “Are you malicious or just fucking stupid? Do you know how many people here struggle with addiction?”
I feel like I’m watching a soap opera. I lean against the trailer beside Dr. Shields’s, just listening to her back and forth with Jude.
She takes his attitude and throws it back in his face.
“Do you think I was able to leave my job at the hospital with a fucking case of oxy? That I just snagged armfuls of drugs as I ran for my li-” She takes a deep breath. “I meant to prescribe. But no narcotics on the property is a fine rule to have, and it makes my life easier. Having to worry I’ll getrobbed isn’t high on my list of things I want to concern myself with.”
Was she about to say she ran for her life?
That can’t be right.
But I can’t find another word that would fit in that sentence. It must be Omega dramatics.
Even though Dr. Shields seems like a perfectly competent addition to our team, I don’t want her here. Omegas are challenging to deal with on a typical day, and when their hormones get out of whack, they’re even worse.
She may seem just fine now, but if her suppressants fail, she could end up just like my dad.
Starting now, I’m staying far, far away from her.
Chapter 4
“All done, Edmund.”I push back the rolling stool and pull off my gloves. “Keep the stitches dry, and I’ll check on them in a few days, okay?”
The Beta smiles, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the exam table that takes up most of my living room. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate you not making me look like Frakenstine.”
“Frakenstine’s monster,” I correct with a grin. “Frakenstine was the doctor. Can’t have you stealing my job.” He snorts and slides off the table. “Catch,” I say, tossing him a small packet of pain meds. It’s just ibuprofen, but people believe that meds from their doctor work better than those from their medicine cabinet. That’s the power of a placebo. “I put the instructions on the front. Let me know if you’re in a lot of pain and those aren’t helping.”
He slips out of the trailer, waving me off. “I’m good now. Gotta get back to work.”
“Take the day off!” I shout behind him, but he waves me off.
Heaving myself to my feet, I groan at the tightness inmy back from bending over to stitch him up. I barely slept between the nerves of starting this role and finally getting out of town and the early morning wake-up call, and my body is pissed about it. I close and lock my trailer door before slipping into the bathroom. The shower is small, and the head is barely tall enough for me to slide under it, but I’ll make do.
Anything is better than where I was before.
I need to get my shower over with before they disconnect my water in preparation for traveling. There was a lot to be desired about my onboarding process, but Jude did give me a schedule for what a ship-out day looks like. Not formally or written down, because why would it be that convenient, but I typed it all up in the notes app of my cheap phone.
I peel off my cold, damp shorts, tossing them into the small, stacked washer in the corner of the bathroom. These trailers are very efficient, with everything someone could need to live. There’s barely enough room to turn around in this bathroom, and yet it has the washer and dryer, a toilet, a sink, and a shower stall. The walls are a faded seashell print wallpaper, which is God-awful, but to me, it may as well be a high-end hotel by how relieved I am to be here.
Not even the yellow-stained toilet seat could upset me. There is not much I wouldn’t put up with to get the fuck out of this town.
