Page 1 of Concussion Protocol
CHAPTER 1
SHANE
“Oh, good—Shane!”
It’s all I can do to suppress a loud groan as I bare my teeth in the closest impression of a smile that I can muster, and turn to face Regina. Her bright white teeth are gleaming, her own fake smile on display as she bats her false eyelashes at me.
“Remember how much you love me, and that I’m your favorite?”
I blink back at her in disbelief. Surely, she can’t expect me to do her any more favors tonight. My third double shift in a row is rolling into a triple, and I’ve barely even sat down. I’m beat. I just discharged my last patient and I’m desperate to go home, take a hot shower, and sleep for the next eighteen hours.
“Nope! Away with you, demon. The energy drink you bribed me with to stay and discharge ‘one more patient’ wore off several hours ago. Crash isimminent. I’m clocking out before I end up working through my only day off this week.”
Her smile twists into a grimace, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’m going to push through and help her with whatever it is that she needs. Regina isn’t just my shift manager, she’s my closest friend and the only other person I know thatworks as hard as I do. If she’s asking, especially knowing how long I’ve been here, it’s because she doesn’t have any other options.
“Curtain three just projectile vomited all over my shoes, and we’re short staffed until shift change. I’ve got everyone covered except Mr. Wilton in curtain six. He’s just about ready for discharge, just needs some help to get dressed. Nice guy, low maintenance. He got some pain meds and something for his nerves before CT, so he’s a bit loopy. By the time you’re done helping him get dressed, I’ll be changed and can take over. I promise.”
I look from her pleading glare down her body where she’s gesturing. There are some suspicious splatters on her black scrubs and across the tops of her white sneakers. The smell, which is something you get used to working in a place like this, is obviously coming from her. And now that I’m looking closely, the distress of a busier than usual Saturday night in the ER has my typically infallible charge nurse looking frazzled.
With a deep sigh, I nod and spin on my heel towards curtain six.
“You’re my favorite!” Regina calls out after me.
“Knock, knock,” I say out loud, pausing a moment before I open the curtain and greet the patient. “I’m Shane, I’m going to be helping you?—”
I barely peek around the edge of the curtain and nearly choke. I’m met with an unobstructed view of his ass as he climbs off the bed. His very round, muscular, completely bare ass.
Averting my eyes as quickly as I can unglue them from the beacon in front of me, I stammer my apologies and pull back, but the poor guy trips and nearly faceplants. Lurching forward,I manage to catch him before he hits the ground, but his IV tube gets tangled and yanked out of his arm.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry," he mumbles, directly on the spot beneath my ear that makes gooseflesh erupt across my skin.
“It’s alright, I’ve got you.”
Directing him to hold on to my shoulders, I steady him with one arm around his waist while extricating him from the IV tubing. He’s still reeling a bit. I guide him to sit down on the edge of the bed.
Slipping on a pair of gloves, I use some gauze and saline to clean up the drops of blood that are smeared down his arm from where the IV got pulled out. While I’m cleaning him up, I look him over to check for any other injuries. But also, just to look at him. Not that I perv on my patients, I don’t. I’m a professional. But he looks familiar, and I can’t put my finger on where I know him from. I'm barely a head taller than him while he's sitting, but it's enough that he's looking up at me. The vulnerability in his expression is at odds with his large size.
"You're pretty," he slurs.
I snort. "The medications are making you a bit loopy. You shouldn't try to stand again without help, okay, sir?"
"Jon," he corrects.
"Jon," I nod, accepting how he'd prefer to be addressed. Then I pause. Wait a second… "Jon Wilton?" Realization hits me like a truck. I know exactly where I know him from.
"That's me."
"You play for the Quayville Hornets."
The Quayville Hornets is our town's rec rugby league, which has amassed a following lately thanks to thirsty social media. I'm unfortunately quite familiar with the team, outside of the notoriety they've gained with their TikTok page. My douchebag narcissist of a cheating ex-boyfriend plays on the same team.
I'm surprised it took me this long to realize where I know Jon from. I used to go to all the games and spent enough time hanging out with the team. I suppose being confronted with his bare ass and potential injury was a fair distraction, though.
Jon’s eyes crinkle at the sides when he smiles. "Wait. I know you. You're Eric's?—"
“Ex!” I'm quick to cut him off. "Ex-boyfriend."
I take a breath. It’s not this guy’s fault Eric Stiles is a giant douche.
