Page 5

5

M ichelle

Work hard.

Always have a nest egg.

Follow a passion.

I repeated my mantra over and over, hoping it would ease the throbbing pain in my feet. Becoming a nurse and being financially stable on my own were more important than oxygen, and to achieve that, I had to attend school, complete my clinicals, and manage a restaurant most nights. Today was no different.

It was the last two hours of clinical where we reflected on what we learned, and when it was over, I’d have to head to Sully’s to work until midnight. Ain’t no rest for the wicked , as the saying went.

“Michelle,” Ally’s voice cut through my exhaustion, sharp and unwavering. “What did you learn today about bedside manner?”

Ally was a hard-ass. Intelligent, demanding, no-nonsense. The kind of nurse I admired. The only feedback I’d gotten from her after an eight-hour shift shadowing her was a curt good. That was it. No praise, no sugarcoating.

I liked that about her.

“Compassion, honesty, respect, and listening are essential,” I answered without hesitation, my voice steady despite the ache in my bones. “It can be challenging when a patient is complicated or agitated but we have to remember they are sick and in the hospital. We need to remain professional regardless of how they treat us. We don’t always know what’s happening in their lives and these situations can be very difficult.”

Ally nodded. “Exactly.” Then she turned to Bella, whose voice wavered slightly as she answered.

I listened, half-distracted, my brain already mapping out the next twelve hours:

Change into work clothes

Shove food in my mouth

Write a quick reflection before details slipped away

Work until midnight

There was no margin for error .

I zipped up my bag, ready to bolt the second Ally dismissed us. The other students lingered, like always, making after-class plans, grabbing coffee, talking about the nurses they’d shadowed.

They used to invite me. In the beginning. I always said no. And after a while?

They stopped asking.

It never stung. I had no room for friendship. No time for it. Fiona was the only person who snuck their way in and now she was stuck with me.

The elevator doors whooshed open, and I slipped inside, tucking myself into the back corner. The air was thick with the stench of sweat and antiseptic, a cloying mix of body odor and medicine.

I lifted my shoulder, pressing my scrubs to my nose. The scent of a hospital didn’t bother me. But this? This was rough.

The ride down felt endless, and when the doors finally dinged open, I rushed out, eager for fresh air, eager to get on with my routine until I heard it.

A voice.

Deep. Concerned. Familiar.

My stomach flipped.

I knew who it was before I even turned around.

Brooks .

He had his arm around a petite woman who had his coloring, and she winced with each step she took. His eyebrows were pulled tight in concentration and concern, and he helped her walk through the automatic double doors before studying the hospital map. “Do you need me to carry you, Mom? Or at least get you a wheelchair.”

“I can make it,” she said, her face set in determination. “Don’t baby me.”

“I’m not babying you. You hurt your ankle. Do I need to remind you how this happened?” His voice held a dangerous undertone to it, and I didn’t think twice about derailing my plans. I quickened my pace to catch up with them and ignored the slight ping in my chest at how Brook’s face softened when he saw me. “Michelle, hey.”

“You need any help? I can walk you to the emergency room.” I directed them down a long hallway that would take them where they needed to go. “It really is no problem for me to grab a wheelchair. You look like you’re in pain.”

His mom stared at me for a few seconds before her bottom lip pushed out, and she looked at Brooks. “Why are we in the hospital? Is someone sick?”

It felt like the ground swooped underneath me as Brooks’s face paled, and he gave me an accusatory look, as if perhaps her confusion offended me. It didn’t. Not in the slightest—and seeing him fret over his mom cracked a part of the shield surrounding my heart. It was a small crack, barely noticeable really, but I felt it nonetheless. “Brooks told me that you hurt yourself, and it’s important to get it looked at to make sure you didn’t seriously injure it. Can you put weight on your foot?” I asked, hoping to distract the frustrated tension that was building. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Oh, um, sure.” His mom’s brows furrowed as she shifted her weight onto her left ankle, testing it with a small, tentative step. Her wince was immediate.

She sucked in a sharp breath and clutched Brooks’s arm, her fingers gripping his sleeve as pain flickered across her face.

Brooks reacted instantly, his hold gentle but firm as he steadied her. His jaw clenched, the concern in his eyes undeniable.

I crouched down, carefully rolling up the hem of her pant leg. The bruising was already spreading—deep purples and sickly yellows, blotching against her pale skin.

“You banged yourself up pretty bad,” I murmured, frowning as I traced my fingers lightly around the swollen area, checking for any unnatural bumps.

She let out a soft laugh, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Story of my life.”

I stood, brushing my hands down the front of my scrubs, my mind shifting into professional mode.

“I’d strongly recommend using a wheelchair,” I told her, keeping my tone gentle but firm. Hopefully its just a sprain and ice, rest and elevation can make it better, but if you continue to walk on it you can cause more serious injury.””

She sighed, the fight leaving her shoulders as she gave me a long, assessing look—like she was seeing me for the first time, like she wasn’t just processing my words, but something else entirely.

Then, finally, she nodded. “That would be lovely.”

The weight in Brooks’s shoulders loosened just slightly, his tense posture easing as the hard set of his jaw softened by a fraction.

I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn’t look at him. I didn’t dare. I never met his mom before, despite him asking me to. I always found an excuse, and now here I was, helping her.

I just offered a quick, small smile, then turned on my heels and strode toward the emergency room wing.

The hustle of the ER was a stark contrast to the moment I’d just left—doctors moving swiftly, nurses following orders, the murmur of patients mixing with the rhythmic beeping of monitors.

I reached the triage nurse and explained the situation quickly, then within seconds, a nurse wheeled a chair toward me.

“Here you go,” she said, eyeing my scrubs curiously. “You a student?”

I nodded, gripping the handles of the wheelchair. “Yeah, I just finished todays clinicals.”

“Well, you handled that like a pro.”

Something in my chest warmed, but I didn’t let myself dwell on it.

“Thanks,” I said instead, already turning back toward the hallway, pushing faster than necessary—not because I was in a hurry, but because I needed something to do with my hands, something to focus on that wasn’t Brooks Madsen.

When I rounded the corner, I found them exactly where I left them.

Brooks was still standing close to his mom, one hand on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing small, absentminded circles against the fabric of her cardigan.

It was an instinctive touch, one that spoke of years of being a protector, of someone who had spent so much of his life looking out for others.

And, damn it, something about that unraveled me a little.

I cleared my throat. “Here we are.”

His mom smiled gratefully, and Brooks turned, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity I wasn’t ready for.

And just like that, the air between us shifted.

I felt it in the way his gaze lingered, in the way his lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but was holding it back. I focused on the task at hand, ignoring the way my heart knocked against my ribs, and positioned the chair in front of his mom.

“Let’s get you sitting,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady.

Brooks watched me too closely, his brows pulling together, but he didn’t say a word.

I knelt beside his mom again, helping guide her into the chair, keeping my touch careful and precise.

She exhaled a soft sigh of relief once she was settled, her smile genuine. “Thank you, dear.”

“Of course.” I squeezed the armrest gently, offering her one last reassuring touch before stepping back.

But Brooks?

Brooks didn’t move.

His gaze stayed locked on me, his expression unreadable, his lips pressed into a line.

And I had a feeling that whatever had been brewing in his mind, whatever words he hadn’t said yet, I wouldn’t be able to avoid them for much longer.

“Thank you,” he said to me before repeating it to his mom. She smiled with a bit of sadness and relaxed. I started wheeling her down the hall, and Brooks matched pace with me. “Are you interning here or…working?”

“I’m doing my clinicals here.”

“How does it work?”

“Three days a week I’m here shadowing different nurses for ten hours. The other days, we’re in classes.”

“I like your outfit,” he said with just a hint of amusement. I glanced at the secondhand green scrubs and shrugged. I’d found them at a consignment shop, and despite a little wear and tear, they were my most complimented ones.

I smiled at him and continued walking at a brisk pace while pushing his mom. I wanted to ask him about her, the glazed look in her eyes and the sudden forgetfulness of why she was there. But it wasn’t my business, and we weren’t friends. Not really. “How you doing, ma’am? Comfortable?”

“It’s Tiffany, and I’m okay. The pain throbs with my heartbeat, but I can’t recall what I did. Nothing else hurts, so it wasn’t like I fell.”

Her voice sounded disappointed, as if the fact that her memory wasn’t great upset her, and another small crack formed next to the last one in my chest. Dementia. Brooks’ relatively young mother was showing signs of dementia, and I wanted to hug him. He looked a little broken if I studied him long enough, and I forced myself to lighten the mood. He was one of those people who was meant to wear a smile. The lines of his face framed it perfectly, and I needed to see it instead of the growing concern.

“You know, I find these bruises on my hips all the time, and I have no idea how they got there. It’s insane. I’ll be in the shower and look down to see a large purple circle there without a clue when it happened. “

“Yes! That’s happened to me too.”

“I think I run into things. It’s the only explanation.”

Tiffany laughed, and any leftover awkwardness evaporated. We arrived at the counter, and Brooks went into boss mode, explaining what had happened and asking for the right forms.

It appeared his mom hadn’t been paying attention and had tripped on a curb while she was staring at her phone. His mom winced when he told the receptionist the story, and I fought the urge to stop him. It was obvious his anger stemmed from concern for his mom. “Want me to hang around for a bit, Brooks?”

His gazed flicked to me for a second, relief evident in his dark eyes. “If you don’t mind. At least until we get called back in to be seen.”

“Of course,” I said, ignoring the guilt of missing my strict timeline. I’d be late to my shift, not have time to shower at my place, and have to stay up later to finish the reflection. But it was all worth it to help Brooks. “I’ll push her to an empty area.”

He nodded, and I gripped the handles on the wheelchair and moved toward a corner near a window. She had a blank look on her face, and she frowned when I came into view again. “Who are you?”

“I’m Michelle.”

“You’re my nurse?”

“No. Someday, hopefully. I’m going to school to be one and am an old friend of your son.”

She blinked a couple of times and looked down at her hands, wringing them together for a full minute of silence. She radiated confusion and sadness, and I asked the first thing that came to mind to distract her. “What’s the best movie you’ve ever seen?”

“Movies. Hmm.” She pursed her lips, and a little light came back to her expression. “Hitchcock is my favorite director. Rebecca or Vertigo , probably.”

“Suspense fan, then?”

“Oh yes. I love reading thrillers and trying to figure out the big reveal before it happens.” She smiled just as Brooks joined us, and his shoulders relaxed when he saw his mom. “Do you remember watching Psycho with me and pretending you weren’t afraid?”

“Psh, I wasn’t afraid.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes in a playful gesture. “What got you talking about movies?”

“Just chatting while you do the paperwork,” I said, admiring how Brooks sat down and started filling out forms for his mom without a single complaint. It was endearing and jarring to see the bond they had, when I hadn’t spoken to my parents in years. “So, Tiffany, are you a baseball fan?”

“Not really. I mean, I root for Brooks and watch his games, but sports aren’t my thing.” She gave a self-deprecating smile before talking about gardening and crystals she liked collecting. I listened and asked lots of questions before Brooks finished the forms and handed them back to the counter.

His gaze seemed softer when he met my eyes. “Nursing suits you.”

My entire body tingled and warmed at his compliment. “Thank you. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, so the fact I’m so close is surreal some days.”

Brooks patted his mom’s hands, his fingers lingering against her frail skin.

“Don’t let us keep you if you have something to do,” he said, his voice gentle, but edged with something else.

I didn’t mean to frown, but I felt it pull at my expression before I could stop it.

Brooks saw it immediately. His brows pulled together, his jaw tightening as his sharp eyes flicked to mine. “Wait, are we keeping you from something?”

His voice had changed—firmer now, slightly irritated.

“Mitch.” His tone dropped, low and demanding. “Be honest.”

I should have lied. It would have been easier.

But something about the way he was looking at me—too perceptive, too knowing, too much like he still understood me–made it impossible.

I shrugged, forcing nonchalance, but it didn’t quite land. “I have to work in less than an hour.”

His entire face shifted—jaw tightening, lips tugging downward into something that was half-annoyance, half-genuine concern.

He let out a low groan, dragging a hand down his face before twisting his mouth into an unhappy smile. “Damn, Michelle,” he muttered. “You should’ve said.”

I opened my mouth, ready to argue, but he cut me off.

“Do you need a ride?” he asked, already reaching for his phone. “I can order you a car. No way you’re sprinting across the city just to make it.”

“No,” I said, too fast, too breathless.

I saw the way his nostrils flared at my knee-jerk refusal, the way his fingers tightened around his phone, but I ignored it.

“I’ll be okay,” I said, softer this time, because some stupid part of me hated how frustrated he looked.

I stood, shouldering my bag, feeling the weight of everything settle in.

“The hell you will,” he muttered, shaking his head as he exhaled. But he didn’t push it. Instead, he looked at me, really looked at me, and something in his expression shifted.

Something serious.

Something unspoken.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice lower, rougher, the two words holding more meaning than they should have.

His gaze was too intense, too piercing, too damn much, and my stomach tightened at the way it sent a shiver down my spine.

I felt warm. Too warm. I didn’t trust myself to say anything, so I ducked my head, turning to leave, trying to shake off the weight of his voice, his stare, the unspoken tension that still clung to the air between us.

But then his mom’s soft voice floated through the air, carrying with it a single question that felt like a gut punch.

“Wasn’t Michelle the name of that woman who broke your heart?”

I stopped mid-step.

My breath caught, my pulse slamming against my ribs so hard it hurt. Brooks froze beside her, his body going rigid.

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

I felt him turn, knew without looking that his eyes were on me now.

Knew that if I looked back, I’d see something I wasn’t ready to face.

The air crackled with something undeniable, something that had never truly left us, and I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. But I didn’t turn around. I kept walking, burying all these feelings deep down where I’d never unpack them. I couldn’t afford to.