Page 3 of Careless Whisper (Modern Vintage Romances #11)

Reggie

I had a double shift, so I took a quick nap in the on-call room. I woke up when my alarm buzzed against the edge of the pillow.

I’d given myself twenty-five minutes. Any more than that, and I’d be groggy.

I sat up slowly, feeling the tightness in my shoulders. The fluorescent ceiling light flickered above, half-dimmed to save energy—or maybe to keep people from mistaking this room for anything remotely restful.

The Harper Memorial on-call room was like every other one I’d ever been to—some combination of beige, antiseptic, and forgotten.

Two single beds were pushed against opposite walls, and thin hospital-issue blankets were tucked over them military-tight.

A narrow metal locker stood in the corner, dented from years of abuse.

There was a small side table between the beds with a Keurig that was on the fritz more often than not .

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for a second, elbows on knees, head bowed. My badge lanyard hung around my neck, cool against my skin.

I needed a shower.

And coffee.

And maybe a whole new life .

Damn it! I was doing fine. I had been doing fine.

Were you?

God! Of all the cardiac departments in all the worlds, why the hell did he have to walk into mine?

Like it always did when I was too tired to block it out, the past crept in.

The on-call room in Boston had been almost identical—but everything had felt different back then. It had been newer. Or warmer. Or maybe it was just him .

Elias used to find me there between shifts.

He’d tap his knuckles on the door, a half-smile playing on his lips, eyes still rimmed with fatigue from whatever marathon surgery he’d just come out of. We were always stealing time—twenty minutes here, a whispered joke there, a touch that lingered just a second too long.

I smiled when I thought about a time when, in another on-call room in Boston, he’d made me come so hard that I’d screamed his name into the void of our tangled sheets.

We’d been seeing each other for a couple of months. It was a Boston summer, the kind where the heat clung to your skin like a lover who refused to let go.

Elias had me in the on-call room, his body pressing mine into the wall with a hunger that made my knees buckle. His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling just enough to make me gasp, and then his lips were on mine, devouring me like I was the last thing he’d ever taste.

“Reggie,” he growled, his voice low and rough like gravel under bare skin, his hands hard on my body, so hard that they’d leave bruises.

I loved it, loved the way he marked me like I was his.

My scrubs were off, and panties were already soaked through. He didn’t waste time. His fingers hooked into the lace, tearing them off with a single yank.

I moaned, my head falling back against the wall as he dropped to his knees.

“Elias—” I started, but his tongue was on me before I could finish.

My legs trembled, and I clutched at his shoulders for balance as he buried his face between my thighs.

His tongue was relentless, flicking over my clit in quick, dirty circles, then plunging deep inside me until I was whimpering, my hips rocking against his mouth.

He was a fucking God down there, and I was his willing devotee.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he muttered, his breath hot on my skin. “Can’t get enough of you. ”

He sucked my clit into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive nub.

I let out a strangled cry, my fingers tightening in his hair.

He didn’t stop, didn’t let up until I was on the edge, my body coiled tight like a spring.

“Elias, I’m gonna—” I gasped, but he cut me off, standing up in one fluid motion and pressing his lips to mine again.

I could taste myself on his tongue.

His cock was hard against my stomach, straining against the fabric of his scrubs.

I reached for him, fumbling with the drawstring until I had him in my hand, thick and heavy and throbbing. He groaned as I stroked him, his forehead resting against mine.

“Need to be inside you,” he breathed, his voice tight with desperation.

I nodded, too far gone to form words.

He lifted me and pinned me against the wall again.

I wrapped my legs around his waist.

And…then he pushed into me, slow and deliberate, stretching me until I was full of him.

I cried out, the sound echoing off the sterile walls, and he stifled me with another kiss, his hips rolling against mine.

“Gigi, you gotta be quiet,” he breathed on a chuckle.

He used to call me Gigi when we were together—a soft, secretive nickname only he used. It started as a joke when one of the senior attendings kept calling me Gigi instead of Reggie.

Gigi! God! I missed the way he used to say that name, especially when we made love.

It was raw and messy and perfect, the way he fucked me, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside me until I was sobbing his name.

His hand slid between us, his thumb pressing hard against my clit as he drove into me.

I shattered, my body convulsing around him as I came.

He followed me over the edge with a low groan, spilling himself inside me, his forehead pressed to mine as we caught our breath.

I felt it in every fiber of my being—I was his, completely and utterly, and he was mine.

Even now, in the cold reality of this on-call room, that memory burned inside of me like a brand. I could still feel him, still hear his voice in my ear as he whispered my name like a prayer. And I hated myself for it, for wanting him still, even after everything.

Curled up on the narrow cot after sex, limbs tangled, talking, sharing, loving.

Once, he brought me coffee and a blueberry muffin. “You always get this look when you’re too tired to admit you need a break.”

I’d laughed into his shoulder. “And you think muffins are the solution?”

“They’re not, Gigi. But I can’t fix the world. I can only feed you.”

But I had believed he could fix my world—be there for me.

God, I’d been so stupid. So, trusting .

My breath hitched as the sterile hospital air seemed to thicken around me.

No matter how often I told myself that I didn’t love him any longer, that I’d moved on, the truth was that I hadn’t. I had stayed in stasis and merely changed how I looked at life and love.

Betrayal like the one Elias had perpetuated against me had left me cold. I hadn’t had a relationship since. Sure, a few one-night stands here and there. Sex was sex. But I was never the kind who just wanted to fuck. I wanted it all—I wanted what my parents had, my grandparents, my brother.

And I’d had that with Elias—for nearly a year.

I blinked, the memory slipping back into the quiet gray of the present.

There were no muffins now. No Elias leaning against the doorway, half-grinning. Only the hard bed, the hum of the old HVAC unit, and the dull ache behind my ribs where something used to be.

I stood and stretched, rolling out my neck.

Enough nostalgia, Reggie.

I had another eight hours ahead of me, and if the universe were feeling particularly cruel, I’d run into Elias again .

Maybe this time, I wouldn’t flinch.

The overhead speaker crackled just as I got to the nurse’s station.

“Rapid Response, Room 3B. Repeat—Rapid Response, Room 3B.”

I weaved through the hallway as my sneakers squeaked against the waxed floor.

Room 3B was one of ours—cardiac step-down. I processed my memory files. A post-valve replacement, stable this morning. He shouldn’t be crashing.

When I pushed through the door, the patient looked like he was drowning in the open air—clammy skin, labored breathing, his chest rising in uneven gulps.

“Tanya?” I queried the nurse who was there.

“Sudden drop in pressure,” my colleague said, breathless and pale. “Chest pain. Then this.”

I didn’t need to hear more.

Neck veins distended. Muffled heart sounds. Systolic pressure plummeting with every second.

Oh no. No, no, no.

“Tamponade,” I murmured, then louder, sharper: “We’ve got tamponade . Crash cart now. And page Cardiology. Dr. Graham. Tell him Sanchez suspects tamponade and the patient’s decompensating.”

Tanya froze for a second. “Dr. Graham? Are you sure he said that?—”

“ Now .”

I knew what he’d said to everyone on the team after introductions: Don’t page me unless it’s critical. If you don’t know what you’re doing, figure it out before I get there .

Tanya did as I asked.

I snapped on gloves and leaned over the patient.

I could hear the blood pooling around the heart in my head, even before the ultrasound.

I’d seen it before. I could feel it,

“Give one of epi,” I told the resident. “Open the fluids wide. We need to keep him alive long enough to tap the pericardial sac.”

The door opened behind me. I didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“Report,” Elias ordered.

“Post-op day two from mitral valve replacement,” I replied, not looking at him. “Sudden hemodynamic collapse. Beck’s triad. Classic tamponade. I was prepping for bedside pericardiocentesis.”

“Echo?” he barked in response.

“It’s en route.”

The monitor flatlined.

“ Code !” someone shouted. I think it was me.

I backed away as the Lucas device was wheeled in. Tanya moved to deploy it, hands shaking.

“Dr. Graham, field’s prepped. Tray’s ready.” I couldn’t keep the urgency out of my voice. “It’s tamponade—he needs the tap now.”

“I know what he needs,” Elias snapped.

I looked at him then—and regretted it because his eyes skimmed over me like I was a stain he couldn’t scrub out.

The echo arrived, and he took the probe. “Blood in the sac,” he confirmed.

Needle in. Dark red aspirated.

The monitor beeped.

Sinus !

He saved the patient, but I’d already started it. Not that he’d say it. Or even acknowledge it, I thought almost petulantly.

He didn’t speak to me afterward. Just walked out, tossing his gloves in the bin like the code had been nothing more than a Thursday afternoon nuisance.

I went back to the nurse’s station and tried to shake it off.

“Why was he so rude to you?” Tanya asked me later.

“Who?” I feigned ignorance.

“Dr. Graham,” she hissed.