Hit on Open Ice

Nine.

There are certain things about working in a hospital that no one really talks about, things that the movies and TV shows sweep under the rug to make it look more glamorous than it is. They never mention the sensory overload you experience the moment you walk in the door. The noise that caresses your ears is a melting pot—the humming of the overhead lights, the beeping of IV pumps, the screams and cries of pain. Then there's the smells—certain scents that, once you've smelt it you'll never forget it. You even become proficient in diagnosing certain ailments by using your sense of smell alone.

You eventually get used to it, all the horrible things you see and hear, the way a shattered bone feels under your fingers, the coppery taste of blood in the air as it pulses from an artery and rains around you. But there are some days, no matter how seasoned you are, that you just can't seem to drown it out.

I had been at work for less than an hour and was already having one of those days. I hadn't slept well; after I left my brother I spent the rest of the evening tossing back a few bottles of beer and thinking, then transitioned to my bed where I tossed and turned and thought some more.

There was a lot on my mind between my brother and Trent. Seeing Grayson was always bittersweet, and as much as I loved seeing him and spending time with the sober version of him, it brought back a lot of memories of when he was far from sober, pain pills coursing through his veins as he worked desperately to numb the agony he felt inside from losing the life he should've had.

And then there was Trent. He had never really left my mind, not since the moment I had laid eyes on him, but he was beginning to occupy most of my thoughts, day and night, and for whatever reason I couldn't shake him.

But today was the day he was finally going home, and I could only hope that the saying 'out of sight, out of mind' would ring true in this situation.

"You okay?" I blinked and looked up, my eyes meeting those of the male nurse on the other side of the desk. "Your eyes glazed over and you've just been staring at the wall for quite a while."

"I'm fine," I grumbled. "I'm just running on fumes this morning." I focused my attention back to the stack of papers before me, scribbling the discharge instructions for Trent on the lined paper and scrawling my signature beneath them before shoving them back to the nurse. "I'll do my discharge assessment and then you're free to take over and get him out of here."

He nodded and I pushed away from the desk, stalking down the hall towards Trent's room. When I approached I noticed it was empty, an episode of Friends playing to no one. With furrowed brows I looked down the hall and spotted him, crutches under each arm as he hobbled slowly around the unit. I could see the defined muscles of his back through his shirt, as if the fabric had been painted on. A pair of black gym shorts hung low on his hips, his calf muscles flexing with each step. I was practically drooling, dying to run my fingers over his hard body, taste his lips on mine, feel his hot breath on my skin.

"Hey, Dr. Spencer." A chipper voice broke me from my haze and I nodded at the nurse who strode past, giving her a shy wave. Trent had inched further down the hall, almost out of sight, and I found myself hurrying towards him, the squeaking of my shoes surely giving me away.

I fell into step beside him, my hands shoved in my jacket pockets, and his head swiveled to greet me, a slow smile spreading across his lips as recognition swept his face.

"Mornin', Chief," he remarked, nudging my shoulder with his. He kept up his slow strides, though his eyes remained locked on mine.

"Captain," I replied with a nod, an equally bright smile gracing my own face. "You look good." I paled, my eyes widening—I hadn't meant to say that. He arched a brow, suppressing a laugh. "I didn't mean it like that!"