Page 2 of Saving Love (Pulse Medical #2)
EMILY
D octor Emily Sharp walked into the orthopedic wing of Oakridge Hospital, the place that had once felt like her second home, but now felt more like a stage she wasn’t sure she remembered how to perform on.
The polished floors gleamed, the faint tang of antiseptic still clung to the air, and her colleagues all bustled around her with that purpose that once fueled her.
Now, it all just felt… loud. The voices, the movements, the relentless energy of a place where no one ever sat still—where life had carried on without her.
“Doctor Sharp!”
Emily turned at the sound of her name to find Dr. James Caldwell striding toward her, his usual charming smile fixed firmly in place. The female patients loved him.
“Good to have you back,” he said, his voice loud as usual. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” Emily said, forcing a smile.
The lie had slipped off her tongue effortlessly enough, thanks to the script she’d rehearsed in her head countless times.
If anyone asked how she was doing, she’d tell them fine.
If they asked if her shoulder was on the mend, she’d say it was getting there.
If they said anything about how lucky she was to have come out of an accident that had completely totaled her car, she’d nod and agree like a good sport.
It was the only way she’d get through the day.
“Well, you look great,” James said, nodding to underline the compliment. “Don’t hesitate to holler if you need anything. You know we’re a family here. Everyone’s been asking about you.”
“Thank you, James.”
“Of course.” He gave his best flashing grin, the same one he not only used for his patients but had also used on her when she first started at the hospital two years ago.
He had tried to ask her out to dinner, that was until he found out she liked boobs and not dicks and had spent several weeks thereafter trying to convince her to give him a shot anyway, even going as far as jokingly offering to change her mind.
She watched him walk away before continuing down the corridor. Several more colleagues sent her well-wishes and concerned glances, and by the time she reached her office and shut the door, she let out a deep, relieved exhale.
The kindness was almost suffocating. Every smile, every sympathetic glance felt like a reminder of what happened.
Of the crash. Of the hours she had spent staring at the ceiling, immobilized in a hospital bed, wondering if she’d ever operate again.
The image of twisted metal and shattered glass stuck in the corners of her mind every time she closed her eyes.
The car accident hadn’t been her fault. A drunk driver had run a red light.
But that didn’t stop her from feeling somewhat responsible for her injuries.
If only she hadn’t been in a rush to get to work.
If only she hadn’t been exhausted. If only she looked twice for any rogue cars coming her way.
If only she’d accelerated a second later.
But if only didn’t change a thing.
That was the thing about guilt; it didn’t always need a reason.
It latched on, sunk its claws in deep, and didn’t let go, even when logic didn’t line up.
Emily could still remember the screech of tires, the flash of headlights, the impact.
How her own body shook uncontrollably after the crash, her heart pounding in her ears and the sickly sweet smell of blood.
She pushed the memory away, locking it in her mental vault. There would be no time to unpack that today. She had patients to see, cases to review, and enough distractions to hopefully keep her mind busy.
“Doctor Sharp?” A familiar voice suddenly cut through her thoughts. The next moment, the chief of surgery, Dr. Barry Meissner, poked his head into the office. “I’m happy to have you back.”
Emily forced her lips into what she hoped resembled another grin.
“Happy to be back.” The lie felt worse than the last one—sticking to her like a coat of paint she couldn’t scrape off.
She’d never been good at pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.
The truth was that she was barely holding it together.
But now her shoulder, her body, and her vulnerability were all reminders that she wasn’t invincible. That, sometimes she needed help. And frankly, Emily hated it.
Doctor Meissner gave her a scrutinizing look, his sharp gray eyes scanning her face as if he were searching for cracks in her composure.
But she knew he meant well. Barry Meissner ran the surgery department with an iron fist and never let anyone get away with anything less than the best. But he was also compassionate in a way that few people saw.
He genuinely cared about this team, about their health, and saw them as more than just surgeons.
He saw them as people. “How’s the shoulder? Healing up alright?”
Emily stiffened at the question. She’d been pushing through the pain, thinking she could just power her way back into the operating room without anyone noticing.
She’d tried not to think about the rehabilitation process.
“I’ve got a referral letter for physical therapy,” she replied, not catching his eye.
“I just need to schedule the appointment. I’ll do it sometime today or tomorrow. ”
The thought of walking into the rehab center, being poked and prodded, was somehow worse than dealing with the pain.
“Today,” Doctor Meissner said sharply. “The sooner the better. You won’t be performing any surgeries until you’re cleared by the physical therapist.”
“Alright,” Emily succumbed. “I will call rehab and let them know I’m coming.”
“Good,” he said but didn’t leave as she expected. He only walked deeper into her office, his face softening with each step. “You’ve been through a lot, Emily. I don’t want you to make things worse by pushing yourself too soon.”
Her chest tightened at the chief’s unexpected compassion. She hated being in this position, needing someone to tell her to slow down, to take care of herself when all she had ever wanted was to take care of others, heal their pain, and mend their broken bones.
“I’ll take it easy,” she muttered, though it was more of a promise to herself. “I know I can’t afford to make it worse.”
Doctor Meissner gave a soft nod. “Sometimes healing isn’t just about the physical aspect, it can also be about giving yourself space to breathe.” He paused, his gaze steady on hers. “Maybe this shoulder injury is your body and mind’s way of forcing you to slow down.”
She didn’t believe in that––the idea that her body was trying to teach her something by forcing her to slow down. Nope. She was the type to push through pain, convinced that anything less was a sign of weakness.
But she also wasn’t going to argue with the chief of surgery.
“Maybe,” she said softly, hoping he’d leave so she could rub her aching shoulder.
A torn rotator cuff and a sprained acromioclavicular joint weren’t exactly life-altering injuries—nothing like the kind of trauma that ruined entire futures.
But still, the constant throb was a reminder of how close she’d come to losing everything.
The chief of surgery gave Emily a last glance before he retreated out of her office.
She blew out a breath and ran her fingers through her auburn hair. First things first. If she wanted to get back into surgery—which she did, very much so—she had to get her shoulder checked out and cleared by the physical therapist.
Emily grabbed the phone and called the rehab center’s office landline. The phone rang once, twice, then a third time before it finally went to voicemail.
“Seriously,” she muttered under her breath. She dialed again, her finger pressing the buttons harder this time as if the force of her touch would somehow hurry the receptionist along. But after three more rings, it was the same—silence followed by the robotic voice of voicemail.
Annoyance scratched at her skin. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t some regular patient; she was Dr. Emily Sharp, an orthopedic surgeon, and a graduate from John Hopkins. She’d survived a car wreck and multiple lacerations to her spleen. She didn’t have time for this back-and-forth.
“Just great,” she hissed, her voice low. She needed an appointment time before the voice in the back of her head convinced her not to seek help.
After the third try, she stood up from her desk and grabbed her white coat. If she couldn’t get them on the phone, she’d just have to go down to the rehab center.
By the time she stormed into the large space, with the treatment area and gym to her left and the reception desk to her right, her patience was long gone.
The bright, sterile environment with posters that said, Just Hang In There or Rehab Is A Journey, Not A Destination , did nothing to soothe her irritation.
In fact, it might even have aggravated it.
Emily walked straight to the reception desk, only to find no one there either. She took a sharp breath, considered reporting whoever was in charge, and was already in the hallway heading back to the orthopedic wing when she collided with someone rounding the corner.
“Oof––sorry, didn’t see you there,” Emily muttered, glancing up, ready to apologize again for not looking where she was going.
But then she froze.
The woman she’d collided with was tall with salt-and-pepper hair cut short.
She wore blue scrubs, and sneakers and had a name tag pinned neatly to her chest. Emily wasn’t paying attention to the name, her focus was instead caught by the soft freckles scattered over the woman’s nose—like stars in a night sky.
“No worries,” the woman said, her smile as easy as a summer breeze. “The corners are tight; you have no idea how many times I’ve bumped into someone.”
Emily blinked, her irritation from before was slowly fading into nothing. Here was a woman who’d nearly been knocked off her feet and still managed to remain composed. Emily, on the other hand, wouldn’t have acted so graciously if she’d been on the receiving end of the collision.
“Well, as long as no one’s injured.” She glimpsed down at the name tag, which read Dr. Bette Bridge, PT, DPT in crisp lettering above the hospital’s logo, and frowned. “You’re a physical therapist?”
“I am,” the woman replied, her tone nothing but professional.
That irritation swept right back into Emily’s chest as she remembered why she was standing there instead of her office reviewing new patient files.
“Well, I’ve been trying to make an appointment for the last fifteen minutes and no one’s answering the damn phone.
” Her words came out sharper than she intended.
She wasn’t sure if it was because of how annoyed she was at the effort or because she’d just come face-to-face with a woman who looked like the human embodiment of aging gracefully, all sharp eyes, smooth skin and soft freckles.
It was distracting enough to leave Emily a little flustered.
“You’d think getting a doctor in for rehab would be easier than this,” Emily went on, feeling heat rising to her cheeks. “I’ve got patients to see, and this is taking unnecessary time.”
The woman’s honey-brown eyes hardened, making them seem that much darker.
“I understand your frustration,” she said evenly, though there was a subtle edge to her voice, a sort of unflappable authority that made it crystal clear she wasn’t one to be pushed around.
“But I assure you, Doctor Sharp, the world doesn’t stop spinning just because you’re on a schedule. ”
Emily’s mouth parted at the unexpected rebuttal. But even more so, the fact that the woman knew her name. “How do you know who I am?”
The woman crossed her arms over her chest and Emily’s gaze caught the veins tracing up her forearms. She was strong, no doubt. But wasn’t that part of her job? They spent hours a day lifting patients, guiding them through exercises, and providing support.
But then why was Emily still so surprised?
“You’re hard not to know,” Bette replied smoothly.
“A rising star in the orthopedic world, and last I checked, you almost lost your life in a car accident.” Her eyes flicked to Emily’s chest. “Oh, and I also read your name on your lab coat.” She pointed to the embroidered name right above the pocket, a small detail Emily hadn’t even considered.
Her cheeks burned, the heat creeping up to her ears. Just what she needed right now. A smart-mouthed physical therapist putting her in her place. Emily had always been the one in control, calling the shots in every situation, but now… Well, this Bette Bridge held all the control.
“Oh yes, of course,” Emily muttered. “Well, can you help me with an appointment?”
Bette held her gaze for a second too long before she said, “Come with me.”
Emily didn’t even get a chance to protest, claiming that she had better places to be when the woman walked off, back toward the rehab center.
All Emily could do was follow.
When they arrived at the receptionist’s desk, Bette leaned over it, scanning the schedule book. “We can get you in first thing tomorrow morning,” she said, glancing back at Emily.
Tomorrow was better than today. Emily needed at least a full day to get her head on straight. She had enough going on without adding whatever strange, inexplicable pull Bette seemed to have on her.
“First thing tomorrow,” Emily repeated, her voice feeling awfully thick as if the words didn’t want to come out.
Was it because she didn’t want to seem weak, to be injured, when usually she was the one who did the fixing?
Or was it because of Bette, who somehow had the ability to tie Emily’s stomach into a knot?
“Yep,” Bette confirmed, grabbing a pen. “Eight a.m. Don’t be late, Doctor Sharp.”
Emily’s heart gave a little leap at the sound of her name in Bette’s voice. She felt a strange flutter in her chest that had nothing to do with her shoulder. “I won’t be,” she replied, hoping she sounded more convincing than she felt.
“Good,” Bette said, grinning. “Now I’ve got some more patients to see. I assume you do too.” She stepped forward, moving past Emily, and added, “See you tomorrow.”
Emily watched as Bette turned and walked towards a door at the back of the rehab area. Only once she disappeared behind it, did Emily’s feet unfreeze.
On her way back to her office, Emily’s thoughts were a tangled mess. The way the woman had stared her down––unshaken and confident––left Emily strangely hot and bothered.
One thing was clear, though; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been that thrown by someone. Running her palm across her forehead, Emily groaned. And now she had to spend an entire session with her tomorrow morning. Ugh !