Jet couldn’t be like that again.
Not ever again.
But it also didn’t mean that he wanted to see a woman he thought of fondly working herself to death.
She’d disappeared into a patient room by the time he walked to the computer and checked the charts then picked up his phone for the shift—so nurses and admins could reach him easily. Since the patient was one he’d need to see anyway, Jet headed into the room.
Trix was removing a blood pressure cuff from the man’s arm as he walked in. She glanced up, freezing for one brief moment before her eyes darted away and she removed the thermometer from beneath the patient’s tongue. One spin and she turned to the trash can where a flick of her fingers dropped the liner of the thermometer into the trash. Her next sharp movement gave him her back as she began to log the stats into the computer.
“This is Tom,” she said. “His BP is 143 over 86. Temp is normal. Came in with chest pain. No prior cardiac episodes or history of heart issues.”
Jet nodded his thanks and started to unwind his stethoscope. “Hi, Tom, I’m Dr. Hansen. Is it all right if I take a look at you and ask you a few questions?”
The chart told him Tom was sixty-four, but he looked good for that age. Not overweight, good coloring, though he was a little pale. Still, chest pain was never something to discount.
Tom nodded. “Sure. Thanks, doc.”
Jet began his rundown, listening to his lungs and heart, asking about his pain level—a seven—and what kind of pain Tom was feeling—squeezing. Neither of those made Jet think this was less concerning, so he ordered an EKG, blood tests, and asked Trix to start an IV and administer aspirin and saline, since Tom appeared a bit dehydrated.
“We’ll get you taken care of, okay?” Jet told him, putting the stethoscope back around his neck and resting his hand on Tom’s arm. “I’m going to go push those tests through so we can have some answers.”
Tom nodded. “Thanks.”
Jet left the room, heading back to the computers, getting the phlebotomist the orders, making sure the EKG happened as soon as possible.
By the time he finished with that, Trix had come out of the room, brushing a hand across her forehead. Even from ten feet away, he could see that it shook and that made fury crawl up his spine. He crossed to her, snagging her arm and pulling her down the hall. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Stormy gray eyes blinked up at him. “What are you talking about, Dr. Hansen?”
“Jet,” he gritted out. “And I’m talking about you.”
“You gave up your right to talk about me three years ago.” She jerked at his hold, snapping out, “Let go of me.”
He dropped his hand but didn’t back away. Partly because he was pissed she wasn’t taking care of herself again, that she was clearly exhausted and working extra hours that she didn’t need to take on. Partly, because she would keep pushing herself through this since some fucked up part of her thought that this—being a nurse, taking care of others—was her only worth.
She couldn’t see, wouldn’t ever see that she was so much more.
Jet sighed. “You’re exhausted.”
Her teeth clicked together. “I’m fine.”
Fury faded, bleakness taking its place. “Still the same,” he said. “Still can’t see—” His phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket, glancing at the ID. “Do what you want, Trix. Work yourself ragged to the detriment of everything else in your life.” He turned, started to walk away. “It’s what you do best.”
The phone rang again, but this time he answered it.
There wasn’t any point in not answering it.
Trix didn’t stop him from walking away this time, just as she didn’t stop him from walking away then.
He and Trix stayed far apart for the rest of the shift, aside from coordinating Tom’s care. The EKG showed he was having a heart attack, and so he was quickly admitted and brought to the Cath Lab where he would have a catheter inserted and his arteries cleaned out.
His prognosis was good, however. He’d come to the ED quickly, had received rapid care. He was in good shape and healthy, and so likely would be heading home after a short time in the ICU.
Trix and Jet were in less than good shape.
They’d barely spoken a word to each other over the course of twelve hours, and now they found themselves both in the break room at the same time, all of four stalls apart as they gathered their stuff from their respective lockers.
With a heavy sigh, Trix slammed the locker door and turned to face him. “I don’t need you to take care of me, you know that, right?”
Jet gritted his teeth, grabbing his cell from the locker and shoving it into his pocket.
“In fact,” she said and crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s probably best for our working arrangement if you don’t interject yourself in my life.”
“I’m not trying to interject myself—”
She sniffed. “Could have fooled me.”
“I’ve worked with you enough to know when you’re exhausted,” he said, crossing his own arms. “And you’re dragging ass, Trix.”
“I’m fine,” she said through clenched teeth.
Jet blew out a breath. “You’re running on fumes. I know it. You know it. You just don’t want to admit it because you’re fucking stubborn.”
Trix rolled her eyes, giving him her back as she shouldered her bag then strode to the fridge and grabbed her lunchbox. “Well, it’s a good thing we’re not fucking anymore because you don’t have to give two shits about me or my stubbornness.”
Red was creeping into the edges of his vision. “I care about you, Trix,” he growled. “You know I do.”
“Pft.” She headed for the door. “Why now, Jet? Huh? You’re so desperate for someone to fuck that I’m suddenly on the menu again?”
He slammed his locker, intercepted her. “That’s not fair.”
“Well, you said 'fuck' to fair years ago,” she snapped. “Why change now?”
Calm.
Calm.
He could manage a full ED with a short staff, could oversee a clinic without fresh water or electricity without breaking a sweat, but Trixie could make him madder than a toddler who’d had his lollipop stolen. She’d always been able to make him feel way too much.
“How was I not fair, Trix?” he said, coming closer, near enough to see the hint of blue in her eyes, to smell that tropical scent of her.
Her lids shut for a heartbeat, her shoulders lifting and falling on a long breath.
Jet felt a pulse of guilt. She’d worked two shifts. He knew she was exhausted, and now he was arguing with her. He should just let her go home and—
Those lids peeled back, and the pain in her gray eyes hit him in the gut.
“You left, Jet,” she said. “I gave you more than any other person, and you fucking left.”
The slice from her words was almost visceral, but the impact to his heart from witnessing the hurt in her expression as she spoke was definitely palpable. He didn’t think, didn’t bother with words.
He reached for her.
But she was already backing up, batting his hands away.