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M ichelle

If you have a weak stomach, nursing isn’t for you. If the sight of blood makes you woozy, try accounting. And if the smell of urine makes you gag—well, good luck making it through the first week. Someone to my right was already failing that test, retching into their elbow. Rookie mistake. I, on the other hand, barely noticed. A successful nurse doesn’t flinch, doesn’t fumble with the bedpan, and definitely doesn’t dry heave over a bodily function they’ll be dealing with for the rest of their career.

Ally Kay, a middle-aged veteran, who had the most badass name for a nurse, watched with her usual sharp gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. She doesn’t coddle. She doesn’t offer sympathy. And she definitely doesn’t have patience for students with weak stomachs. She is the best clinical instructor to be paired with.

“If you can’t handle the smell, this career will be quite difficult for you,” she said, her tone clipped, eyes peeking over the edge of her glasses a little too long on the girl beside me. Then, without missing a beat, she moved past me. Ally rarely handed out praise, and I respected that. Details were her thing, but they were also mine. They had to be my thing if I was going to survive nursing school and I most definitely had to survive nursing school. There was no plan B. No other options on the table for me.

“Now, if the patients are connected to a catheter, you will need to remove it like so.” She held up the device that emptied into a large bag. “Make sure you always check the bag when you enter the patient’s room.”

“And we just dump the urine in the toilet?” a student whined.

“Yes. You empty the bag into the plastic container, making sure to always measure the amount and then dump the urine in the toilet.” She modeled the final part. “The sooner you get over the fact you will get bodily fluids on yourself, the sooner you can prepare your mind to be a nurse.”

Our small group mumbled under their breath at her, but I stayed focused. She wasn’t wrong.

Ally checked her watch and sighed. “You’re going to be on your feet for at least eight hours, often without a real break. Make sure you hydrate.” She glanced around at us. “I’ve had students pass out from dehydration, and trust me, no one has time to catch you if you drop.”

She led us out into the hallway, away from patient rooms, before taking a long sip from her water bottle. The rest of us weren’t allowed drinks anywhere near the patients, but one guy in our group took her words to heart a little too seriously. The moment we hit the break room, he cracked open a neon-colored sports drink and started chugging like he’d just crossed the desert. I couldn’t help but laugh.

Ally gave him a single, unimpressed glance before continuing. “Alright, listen up. This week is your first clinical rotation at Victory Hospital—three full days on the floor, the other two in classes. Victory is the busiest hospital in the valley, so keep up, pay attention, and for the love of everything holy, don’t pass out.”

Ally clapped her hands together, her no-nonsense tone cutting through the murmur of students. “You’re all paired up with a seasoned nurse today. You’ll shadow them for eight hours before debriefing and giving reports to your preceptor. Professor Hannigan made it clear—this is not an observation day. You’ll be taking care of patients. That means vitals, toileting, washing, assessing, and whatever else the day throws at you–which means yes, more bodily fluids will be thrown at you.” She crossed her arms over her dark blue scrubs and tapped her foot twice. “Any questions?”

The room went still. No one wanted to be the idiot who slowed things down.

Except Bella.

The girl next to me, chatty and friendly but apparently lacking basic self-preservation, raised her hand. Ally barely moved, just a slight tilt of her jaw to acknowledge her. “What is it, Bella?”

“Will we be out of here by four?”

I stiffened. Bad choice. Very bad choice. Despite the fact I desperately needed to leave by then to make it to my best friend’s engagement party, I knew better than to ask when we’d be done.

A thick silence settled over the group. Even the students who had been zoning out suddenly looked alert, watching to see what Ally would do. We all knew better than to ask about leaving early. This wasn’t some casual part-time gig—it was clinicals. Even though I already knew I’d miss a good chunk of my best friend’s engagement party tonight, the thought of skipping out early never even crossed my mind.

Bella, though? She might as well have just set her own career on fire.

Ally took a deep breath before marking something on her clipboard. “No.” She opened her mouth to say something else, but her unit phone went off and she snapped her fingers and said my name. “Follow me, Michelle.”

Bella looked relieved at not being chosen by Ally, and I smiled. Tough people didn’t scare me. Neither did no-nonsense, no-small-talk or intimidating people. If anything, I appreciated them because my life was so damn busy that a minute saved from awkward conversation could be better spent doing anything else.

Ally held up the phone and replied to the charge nurse’s request. Each patient on the floor had a call button that went to the nurses’ station and unit phone, allowing for a quicker response when the patients needed something. It was pretty cool, and Ally met my eyes before responding. “We’re on our way.”

She went to a locked room storing medication, came back a couple minutes later with a med cart and a small cup with three different pill packages to bring to the patient’s room.

She walked fast and with purpose, and I matched her stride as she headed further down the maternity ward, informing me about the patient en route. “Lindy Jetton is recovering from an emergency C-section, and her baby is in the NICU. The night nurse will update us before our shift starts, and I want you to take her blood pressure, heart rate, and temperature then mark them down.”

“Will do.”

She stopped, knocked on a door twice, and eyed me. “I’ve heard good things about you.”

Pride filled my chest. That compliment meant everything. I put my blood, sweat, tears, soul, and sleep patterns for this degree. “Thank you. I work hard.”

“Prove it.”

We entered the small room with our med cart. Inside, a petite woman with blonde hair piled on top of her head looking exhausted laid on the bed. Her face was pale, her lips turned down at the sides, and the man I assumed to be the father of her child sat helpless on the small pull-out couch.

Heather, the night nurse, grabbed a clipboard and introduced Ally and me as the next people to take care of the patient for the day. She went over the last time the patient had taken medicine, then asked where her pain was on a scale of one to ten and if she had any questions.

“Do either of you object to having a student help with your care today?”

“No.” She said sitting up and giving me a kind smile. “You have to learn somehow.”

“That I do.” I moved to the side of Lindy’s and put gloves on, the non allergenic material sticking to my sweaty skin. Then I got the thermometer ready by putting a plastic covering on it. “Please place this under your tongue for me.”

She did, and I prepared to take her blood pressure. I briefly recalled having read that an abnormal blood pressure after giving birth was a huge red flag that something could be wrong. The thermometer beeped, and it was normal—I repeated the reading to Ally, who documented it and wrote it on the markerboard where the patient could see.

“Excuse me while I try to navigate through all the IVs,” I said, wrapping the Velcro material around her upper arm. One IV was positioned in an awkward spot, so I had to twist and turn the cords until they were straight. “Okay, keep your arm straight and flat for me.”

The machine started tightening around her. She stared at me for a second and I wanted to ease the worry on her face. “Is there any way to have more pain medication?” Lindy asked, her husband coming up to rub her arm. “I couldn’t sleep more than twenty minutes.”

“We can call your doctor to see if we can order another medication to help,” Ally said, still using the same confident tone. “We’ll make sure to send the request at a higher priority, hopefully won’t take too long. ”

“Please.” She smiled but her stress was visible. My chest ached for her. I couldn’t imagine not being in the room with my child, despite knowing the team in the NICU was the best there was.

“Did you have a boy or a girl?”

“A little baby girl. She’s perfect,” she said, emotion clogging her voice. She reached her other hand out to her husband, who clasped hers, before she looked back at me. “She’s upstairs in the NICU. Her bilirubin was elevated.”

I nodded but couldn’t hide my frown from them. “Oh, I’m so sorry you have to spend some time away from her, but she is in amazing hands.”

“That’s what I keep repeating in my head.”

“Have you been up to see her yet?” I asked. Relief went through me when her blood pressure was normal.

“No. The lactation consultant is coming in an hour, so we’ll go after that.” Lindy’s tired face softened as she exhaled. “I did get to hold her, though. It was the most… incredible thing. Do you have children?”

“I don’t. Maybe one day. But right now? It’s all about finishing school.”

“I get it.” She smiled, and I patted her hand before getting back to work.

“Vitals are good. Okay, all set.”

“Thank you.” Her voice wavered with emotion, and I felt something tighten in my chest.

“Of course.” I shot her a small smile, but my attention caught on Ally watching me, one side of her mouth tugged up—her version of approval. It hit me like a lightning bolt.

She said nothing as she scanned Lindy’s wristband, verified her date of birth, then explained the meds we had for her to take. Finally handing her the medication. “We’ll be back in a bit with more pain meds, but call if you need anything, okay?”

“We will.”

As we stepped into the hallway, Ally pushed the cart ahead of her, nodding toward the next room. “Take note, Michelle—not every patient will be like them.”

“What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer. Her phone buzzed, and she was already walking ahead.

Hours later, I understood. Some patients were demanding, some flat-out rude, and my face ached from forcing a polite smile.

So when we got paged back to Lindy’s room, I sighed in relief.

Ally chuckled, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll learn to appreciate the patients who treat you like a person instead of the help. Not all of them will be as dramatic as 127B or 138B, but I remind myself—they just gave birth.”

“Good call.”

Inside the room, Lindy looked better, more awake. “Hi,” she greeted us.

“We heard you needed us?” Ally asked.

“I’m okay, but we’re heading up to the NICU for a couple of hours. Any chance I could take some pain meds before we go?”

Ally nodded, already moving through the routine of documenting and scanning her wristband.

The only difference in the room this time was the sound of the TV playing. I barely glanced up—until I did.

The air in the room shifted, pressing in on me, thick and suffocating. My pulse slammed against my ribs, my grip tightening around the thermometer like it was the only thing tethering me to reality.

“You a Soles fan?” Lindy’s husband asked, grinning. “Madsen just signed a hell of a five-year contract.”

I forced my lips to move. “Wow. That’s… great.” My voice wasn’t mine. It felt disconnected, distant—like I was hearing it underwater.

Lindy laughed, oblivious. “Figures we’d be watching baseball news right after having a kid.”

“Maybe it’s a good distraction,” I said, my throat dry as sandpaper. I locked my focus on her, anywhere but the TV, anywhere but on him. But it was too late. The damage was done.

“He is pretty to look at,” she added, smirking as her husband made an annoyed sound.

My stomach clenched. Pretty didn’t even begin to cover it. I knew every inch of him—his strong hands, the way his mouth had felt on my skin, the way his voice had unraveled me. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about him.

I risked another glance.

Bad idea.

Brooks was still impossibly gorgeous, his light brown hair a little shorter, his jawline sharper, his presence filling the screen like he had every right to be there. Heat crawled up my neck as memories I tried to avoid assaulted me.

“Anything else?” Ally’s voice cut through the haze, snapping me back to the present.

“No,” Lindy said. “That’s all, thank you.”

I was already moving toward the door, barely hearing the rest of the conversation. Outside, my eyes flicked to the clock. Fiona and Gideon’s engagement party started in an hour.

I was going to be late. Not fashionably late. Not oh-no-I-lost-track-of-time late. No, I was going to be full-on shitty friend late.

Fiona would understand. She always did. She knew how much nursing meant to me and how I couldn’t mess this up. It was my only escape. My only chance at the life I wanted.

I just hoped, when I showed up behind schedule, Fiona would still remember.

* * *

My dirty scrubs sat crumpled in the passenger seat, a stark reminder of the eight-hour shift I’d just barely survived. I swiped on a quick layer of mascara, squinting at my reflection in the rearview mirror. The bags under my eyes looked slightly less pronounced—so, yay, small victories.

My outfit was nothing special. Simple jeans, a dark blouse, and—oh, shit .

My nursing shoes.

I groaned, staring down at the scuffed, sad-looking sneakers that had spent the day wading through God-knows-what in a hospital. And here I was, about to track them across what was probably a house so clean you could eat sushi off the floor. Panic shot through me as I flung myself back into the car, yanking my worn-out flats from the backseat.

I was mid-shoe swap, hopping on one foot like an uncoordinated flamingo, when the massive front door swung open.

“Michelle.”

Oh, no.

I looked up just as Brigham Monaghan took in the scene—me, teetering on one foot, one shoe half on, the other dangling from my fingers. His grin spread, slow and amused, like he’d just caught me sneaking in past curfew.

“Uh.” I cleared my throat, quickly shoving my foot into the flat and straightening like I totally meant to be standing there like that. My face heated as I met his gaze. “Brigs.”

His smirk deepened. “Shoe crisis?”

“Listen,” I huffed, stepping forward as casually as humanly possible, “some of us don’t have the luxury of perfectly coordinated footwear at all times.”

His laugh was warm as he pulled me in for a quick half-hug, careful with his left side. “You’re way past the fashionably late window, you know,” he teased, stepping back to let me in.

“I know,” I groaned, throwing up my hands. “Clinicals ran over. Two students had a million questions, and I couldn’t exactly sneak out early.”

“I get you.” He shrugged, leading me inside. “Fiona won’t give a shit.”

“I’m hoping.”

As I stepped through the foyer, the warm scent of catered food mixed with the faintest trace of expensive cologne and a lingering woodsy candle. The space was sprawling but somehow still homey, decorated with soft golden lights and laughter echoing from the back patio.

And then I saw my friend.

Standing by the patio doors, radiant and so damn happy, her arm looped through Gideon’s, her face glowing with that rare kind of joy that made my heart squeeze. She was my closest friend—and I didn’t have many.

“Fi!” I called, pushing through the small crowd gathered around them.

She turned, and the second her eyes landed on me, her face lit up. No hesitation—she left Gideon’s side and barreled toward me, wrapping me in a full-body hug.

I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing her in, grounding myself. The knot in my chest loosened, if only for a second. Fiona had always been that for me—a safe place, a reminder that I wasn’t as alone as I sometimes felt. But the pressure twisted right alongside the relief. Being here, being in her wedding, meant I was supposed to show up, be reliable, be the kind of friend she deserved. And that? That had never been my strong suit.

I’d let people down before. Too many times. My life was a disaster zone of unfinished plans and burned bridges, and yet somehow, Fiona still saw me as worthy of standing beside her on her biggest day. The need to not screw that up sat heavy on my chest.

“Sorry I’m late,” I mumbled into her hair, guilt creeping into my voice.

She pulled back just enough to roll her eyes and wave me off. “Shut up. School is more important. I’m just glad you’re here at all.”

Her words should have made me feel better. Instead, they just made the pressure settle deeper in my bones.

“Me too.” I gave her another quick squeeze, then stepped back. “Fingers crossed they actually let me off for the wedding.”

Her smile faltered. “Michelle?—”

“I’ll figure it out,” I promised before she could stress. “For now, congrats, Fiona. I’m so happy for you and Gideon.”

Her cheeks flushed a little, and she glanced back at her fiancé, something unbearably soft in her expression. “Thank you.”

“Now,” she added, stepping back and motioning toward the food table, “help yourself. As much as you want. Gid invited some teammates, and they eat like animals. I saved you a plate.”

“You’re my favorite,” I said, meaning it.

I waved at Gideon, giving him a polite nod before my gaze flickered toward the small group of towering men gathered around the patio. The energy shifted.

One guy stood with his back to me, broad-shouldered, deep in conversation with a familiar face I’d seen on billboards.

Something in my body knew before my mind even caught up.

A slow, creeping awareness crawled up my spine, settling at the base of my neck.

Light brown hair that curled at the end. That stance. Those shoulders.

No .

It couldn’t be.

Could it?

I shook my head, blaming the damn interview I saw on TV for me thinking about Brooks Madsen. My too-intense fling from two years ago wouldn’t be here at Fiona’s engagement party, right?