Page 22 of Saving Love (Pulse Medical #2)

EMILY

E mily stepped out of the OR into the hallway, peeling off her scrub cap and raking a hand through her hair.

The surgery had gone flawlessly—a clean, perfect repair of a compound femur fracture.

Motorbike accidents were never pretty. The bone had shattered on impact, but the fix had been smooth, the patient stable.

Emily had done her job, just like she always did before the accident.

But now, it wasn’t the surgery she was thinking about, or tomorrow’s rounds.

No, it was that damn kiss two nights ago.

A kiss that had led to sex. Mind-blowing, delicious, wonderful sex Emily couldn’t stop thinking about.

In fact, she’d used her vibrator just that morning while replaying the whole event over and over in her head.

Sex so good she’d like very much to repeat it. But that was the problem.

Emily hadn’t seen Bette in two days. They hadn’t talked about what happened—about Emily’s confession in Bette’s office.

Not after sex or even the next morning. They’d both agreed not to.

Bette had let Emily stay over on the condition they didn’t talk about anything deep.

And Emily hadn’t minded at the time. Playing small spoon with Bette Bridge had been worth the silence.

Emily had expected things to be awkward the morning after, maybe stilted conversation over coffee.

Or maybe, miraculously, if Bette had changed her mind, a chance to talk.

Properly talk. But that never happened. Bette had been polite but distant.

She’d slipped back into that composed, untouchable person Emily just wanted to shake and say, “ Do you ever just let anyone in? ”

Scrubbing a hand down her face, Emily walked into the staff lounge.

The place reeked of microwave leftovers and stale coffee.

There were two other doctors milling about, but Emily didn’t have the energy for small talk.

She headed straight for the fridge and reached for the container of chicken and rice she’d optimistically packed that morning but hadn’t gotten time to eat.

It wouldn’t be nearly as tasty as it was last night.

Emily could go home and order something, but then Tessa would be there, sprawled out on the couch with her oversized mug of chamomile tea, eyebrows raised, ready to launch into her favorite new interrogation: “So, Em. Did you and Bette finally have that chat or are we still playing the let’s silently pine and avoid our feelings game? ”

Home was a battlefield she didn’t feel like entering into. And so, she headed to the microwave instead. Emily placed the Tupperware inside and was just about to set the timer when the door to the lounge opened.

Bette walked in. The woman was still in her work clothes—scrubs and sneakers and her hair framing her face so perfectly that Emily felt a jolt between her thighs. Two days and she still couldn’t get the image of naked Bette out of her head.

Bette’s eyes locked onto hers.

“Hi,” Emily muttered, feeling a little dazed at the sight of Bette, especially when she hadn’t expected to see her at all, let alone at eight p.m.

But Bette didn’t say anything. She just crossed the room toward Emily and before Emily could figure out what else to say, Bette was in front of her, cupping her face with both hands.

She kissed her.

Not just kissed her, claimed her. Lips grazing.

Tongues slipping together. It was an oxygen-stealing, bone-melting, not-meant-for-public-consumption kind of kiss.

Emily’s knees nearly gave out. She gripped Bette’s forearm to steady herself, fingers curling into the fabric of her long sleeve as if she might float away.

Bette’s lips moved harder against hers, her hands cradling Emily’s face, tilting her chin just so before her fingers moved down, and down until they slipped under the hem of Emily’s scrub top.

Emily exhaled and leaned into the kiss, into her . She wished they were somewhere else, somewhere with a bed and privacy, somewhere where they didn’t have an audience.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, Bette pulled back leaving Emily breathless and dazed and just so fucking confused.

What the hell just happened?

“I’ve been wrong,” Bette said, her voice low and raspy. “I should never have avoided you these last two days. I thought if I kept my distance, I could figure out what to say. How to say it…”

Emily’s gaze flicked past Bette’s shoulder to the doctors lingering by the coffee machine, blatantly staring, smiling far too annoyingly in their direction.

Emily had every intention of telling them to fuck off, but one of them—Dr. Amelia Frank, a gastroenterologist—was at least twenty years her senior and that would be extremely disrespectful.

Instead, she just brushed her hair away from her cheeks and focused entirely on Bette.

“But I don’t want to do this anymore,” Bette went on, her arms by her sides when they should be on Emily’s hips.

“I’ve been trying to tell myself that what happened didn’t matter.

That it wasn’t—” She shook her head and breathed in deep.

“I’ve been hurt before and the only way I could protect myself has been to push people away.

To push you away. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel something.

Because I do. I care about you, Emily. More than I probably should. ”

The staff lounge suddenly felt too small, too bright, too overwhelming. She wanted to be somewhere else. Somewhere that was just the two of them.

“Can we go to your office,” Emily said, dropping the Tupperware onto the counter before Bette could say another word. “Or my office.” Frankly, she didn’t care. As long as they were alone.

Bette nodded and Emily, who refused to look at the two doctors still watching them, took the lead out of the staff lounge.

Tomorrow, gossip would run around the hospital like wildfire, and by the end of the morning, everyone at Oakridge and their great-aunt would probably know about Emily and Bette and that kiss.

The rehab center in the evenings was oddly hollow. That was the best way Emily could describe it when they entered the space and Bette flicked on the light. Shadows of equipment stretched long across the floor and the space itself felt larger somehow, like it had doubled in size.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been here at night,” Emily said, glancing around. “I didn’t think this place could feel so…empty.”

“It’s not empty,” Bette said, walking toward the far end of the room. “It’s calm.”

Emily, who was following her, staying just a few steps behind, nodded even though Bette couldn’t see.

Instead of heading to the office at the back of the center, Bette stopped at an extra-large plinth and gestured for Emily to sit.

Which she did. The plinth was more than wide enough for two people to sit comfortably apart, but Bette didn’t take the extra space.

When she sat down beside Emily, their thighs brushed.

“Do you know those two doctors in the staff lounge?” Bette asked.

“Not well,” Emily replied, finding it incredibly difficult to concentrate on anything except for the heat radiating off Bette’s leg.

It wasn’t just warmth, it was a complete distraction, as if her brain had decided that every future thought had to revolve around that one point of contact.

She cleared her throat and focused on Bette’s face instead.

“But I’m sure they’ll tell everyone what they saw tonight.

You kissing me—especially like that—will be news tomorrow.

If Oakridge had a newsletter, we’d be on the front page.

” Emily added that last bit hoping to ease some of the tension clearly sitting in Bette’s posture.

It didn’t seem to help.

Bette bit at her lip, her eyes on her hands smoothing out the front of her pants. “I should’ve checked that we were alone.”

“Does it bother you?” Emily asked, not sure how Bette had even known she was in there. A good guess perhaps. Not that it mattered. She was just relieved Bette had finally come to her senses.

“What?” Bette looked up, eyes searching Emily’s face.

“That they know about…” Emily hesitated, unsure how to say it, unsure what it even meant.

The kiss. Bette’s confession. Whatever it was that was unfolding between them.

Emily wasn’t about to get her hopes up. Not yet anyway.

Not until Bette had written everything out on a piece of paper—in bulletin form. Easy to read. Easy to understand.

“Us,” Emily added after a pause, carefully watching Bette’s face for any sort of flinch or hesitation, any indication that the word was a mistake.

But there was nothing off, no sign of reluctance, no flicker of doubt in Bette’s eyes, which meant only one thing; Bette wasn’t going to run away this time.

“You know,” Bette said, staring off ahead at the anatomy posters stuck on the wall across the room. “I was married. For a long time.”

“I know,” Emily said, reaching forward to touch that faint, almost invisible ring tan on Bette’s finger.

“You told me, remember? The night of the gala, when, you know…” She let the words trail off.

If she said them out loud or even thought about what Bette did to her while she was pressed up against that stone wall, she wouldn’t be able to control the hum between her legs.

Sex in the rehab center was no doubt frowned upon.

Bette looked surprised for a second before that memory seemingly clicked into place. She smiled and nodded. “I do remember.”

“But you never told me what happened?”

“Do you want to know?” Bette asked, her gaze steady, though a slight wariness flickered in those beautiful honey-brown eyes.

Emily knew the right answer was to say no, to let it go, to keep the distance, and not dig into the past. But she couldn’t. In order to understand Bette, truly understand her, Emily had to find out about the woman who had hurt her.

And besides, how could they move forward without airing out all the messy truths first?

“Yes,” Emily said softly, dying to reach out and take Bette’s hand in her own. But she didn’t. Not yet anyway. “I want to know.”

Bette took a deep breath as if she was summoning the courage to speak. “I married Reba when I was thirty. We were together for about fifteen years.”

Emily bit back the gasp threatening to break free, swallowing it like it was a bitter pill. Fifteen years was a hell of a long time. A whole chapter of someone’s life. But she didn’t say anything, just nodded, giving Bette the space to continue.

“I thought we were happy,” Bette went on, her voice surprisingly calm. “Turns out while she was supposedly working in her studio on some new art piece, she was screwing our neighbor, Lucy Thomason. Mother. Wife and local dentist.”

Emily’s jaw dropped. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t that .

Bette turned to Emily and gave a bitter smile.

“Months, Emily. It went on for months and I didn’t have a clue.

Not until I came home one day from a walk and saw them in the driveway, in the backseat of my Mercedes.

You’d think they’d be a little more discreet.

Turns out, Reba was dying to get caught. ”

Emily’s stomach twisted. The visual of Bette’s ex-wife—though she had no idea what she even looked like—in the backseat of her car was like a sucker punch. The casual cruelty of it. The sheer disrespect. It made her blood boil.

“After that,” Bette said quietly. “I started thinking about the signs I missed. There were so many. Reba making excuses on weekends to spend time away from me. Heading to her studio at night saying she needed inspiration. Waking up in the mornings to an empty bed… And I just let it go.” Bette let out a soft, humorless laugh.

“I didn’t even question it. I trusted her. ”

Emily wanted to scream. Wanted to find this Reba woman and run a knife through her most valuable and loved painting. Or whatever hurt her more deeply.

“I can’t say it was all her fault.” Bette continued. “I didn’t exactly give her the attention she needed. I was busy with work, busy with…everything. I guess I made it easy for her?—”

“It’s not an excuse,” Emily interrupted before Bette could blame herself. A woman scorned was never to be blamed. “If she wasn’t happy, she could’ve told you instead of fucking your neighbor in your car. That’s on her, Bette. Not you.”

Bette smiled, and for the first time, Emily saw her guard drop. Not enough to call it gone, but enough for Emily’s heart to flutter and her stomach to feel queasy. This was the Bette she had seen the other night when they slept together. Unguarded.

“She broke something in me,” Bette admitted. “Trust doesn’t come easily after that. I’ve been scared of making the same mistakes, of missing the signs again.”

Emily’s heart cracked a little at those words. Without thinking, she reached out and covered Bette’s hand with her own. “You won’t make the same mistakes again. And not everyone is like her, Bette. Some of us… We’re not going to hurt you.”

Bette’s eyes met Emily’s, searching for something—truth, reassurance, or maybe just some kind of answer.

The only answer Emily could give was what she was about to do next.

She didn’t overthink it. Didn’t have to.

She just leaned in, her hand cupping the side of Bette’s face as she kissed her.

It wasn’t like before; no heat, no real urgency, just a soft press of lips.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Emily whispered, her mouth still pressed against Bette’s. “I promise.”