Sonnet left the hospital calmer than she thought she’d be. Between Kate, the Valium, and Griffith, her nerves were humming on low. She hadn’t been raped, beaten, or killed. Yes, her assailant had played grab-ass with her and threatened her life in a scary, too real way, but when all was said and done it could have been much worse.
Once home, she locked the door and drew the curtains closed against the bright morning sun. She showered for a long, long time, then changed into pajamas, fell into bed, and after turning over twice, she drifted off to sleep cuddling the soft teddy bear. It smelled of Griffith, clean with a hint of minty aftershave. As she drifted into slumber, her thoughts focused on him, and she relaxed when she remembered the safe warmth of his embrace.
She roused a while later, jumpy and disconcerted. She checked the clock. Just after two in the afternoon. Had she locked the front door? She’d set the keys on the kitchen counter, but had she locked it after coming in?
Feeling anxious, she couldn’t go back to sleep if her life depended on it. She got out of bed and checked the doors and window locks, and then checked them twice more until she knew for sure everything was secure. She trapped the top of a kitchen chair beneath the front doorknob for good measure.
Unsettled, she sat back on her bed and checked her phone while resting against the headboard. Griffith had sent her two messages. She’d forgotten to check after they discharged her.
This is Griffith. Let me know you got this. –G
Are you okay? Please text me back so I know you can reach me. –G
So, he was a worrier. She smiled a little despite her nerves, and began typing.
I got it. Thanks again for what you did. I’m back home, I’m doing okay. –Sonnet
He replied right away.
Good. Text me when you get to work Sunday night. I’ll come out to the parking lot to meet you. I hope you get some rest. –G
Ok. I’ll see you then. –Sonnet
If you need anything, ANYTHING, call me, okay? –G
She drew in a shaky breath. She didn’t register the tears until a few fell from the corners of her eyes.
Okay. Thanks, Griffith. –Sonnet
She set the phone on her nightstand, and struggled to fall back asleep. After tossing and turning, she decided it would be best to just get out of bed and do some housework. She’d intended to go out with Gina and the girls on Saturday, but instead she texted she had a cold and wanted to take the weekend to get better. She was a social creature by habit, but she spent that weekend staring out the window to her small backyard, reading a lot of articles online about how to overcome being a victim of attempted rape, and trying to convince herself she wasn’t as shaken as she knew she was.
She snapped out of her reverie on Sunday night. In the shower, she took her time shampooing her hair, willing herself not to think about what happened. Instead, her thoughts turned to Griffith, and the pathetic baked potato next to his keyboard.
“I’m going to make you a sandwich,” she said to the bathroom tiling. She put on a robe and went to the kitchen. She made him a turkey and avocado wrap with bacon bits and diced tomatoes. While she was at it, she figured he’d want some chips and maybe a piece of fruit. And what could a granola bar and a packet of fruit snacks hurt? Before she knew it, she’d amassed a rather huge lunch, complete with one of the small bottles of Gatorade she bought for herself.
Yeah, okay, so he’d think she was nuts—and right now she pretty much was—but what could it hurt to say thank you? And at the end of the day, how did you adequately thank someone for risking his life to save yours? There was no way…but she wanted to try.
Sonnet managed to get in some study time online and read up on organic chemistry of the brain. She turned her focus to medicine instead of what had happened, and it helped.
She wanted to specialize in neurosurgery. Abuela Graciela had epilepsy since her childhood, and though she took her medication and vitamin B6 to temper the seizures, she often had sets of myoclonic jerks in her later years, where her arms and upper body would jerk outward, as if she had Tourette’s. These were often a precursor to a seizure or a grand mal, but Sonnet believed Graciela’s symptoms could be cured or abated through a concentrated form of neurosurgery, which they were now testing behind closed doors in Japan. By the time she became a surgeon, though, it might be an actual possibility with all the recent breakthroughs.
Calmer after focusing on something other than herself, she got dressed for work and headed over to the hospital.
True to his word, Griffith was there waiting as she pulled the Taurus into an empty space in the parking lot.
He gave her a brief wave, and waited until she turned off the engine before he opened the car door for her.
“Hey,” she said. She held out the overstuffed plastic grocery bag she’d put his giant lunch in. “I made you a lunch.”
He tested the considerable weight of the bag, and regarded her with amusement. “No, you made me a feast.”
* * * *
Going back to work wasn’t as daunting as the prospect seemed. The ER had a talent for keeping her on her toes. She plowed right into work, and it served as a welcome distraction. She passed Tiago a few times. He seemed none the wiser about what happened, and greeted her with his usual affable nature.
Avani met her at the nurses’ station. “Did you get labs back on the patient in two-o-six?”
Sonnet handed her a clipboard with the patient’s information on it. “Yeah, still waiting on blood cultures, though. Dr. Mao wants to rule out diabetes before we do any more tests.”
“Okay. There’s an ETOH due to arrive in two-o-one at any minute. Middle-aged male. I’d like you to take it instead of Trey. He’s running a bit behind on his patients.”
“Sure. It would be my pleasure to take on the soused guy. They’re always fun.”
The drunk arrived, thrashing on the stretcher, yelling every curse word in the book. Sonnet took a deep breath and dove in. No matter what they did, they couldn’t get him to stop shouting at the top of his lungs and being impossible when they tried to get an IV going.
“Go get a tech,” Janelle muttered, trying to get the man to hold still so she could take his blood pressure.
“Is he not responding to anything? Have you tried asking him—?”
“When I asked him who the president was, he said Bugs Bunny.” Janelle glared.
“Yeah…I’ll go get someone.” Sonnet met Trey in the hallway. “Hey, is there a tech around who could help us with a patient?”
“No, only Matt’s on tonight, but he’s busy helping someone. I’m on my way to see a patient, otherwise I’d help you. Sorry.”
“Okay.” She found Griffith leaning back a little in his chair at the security desk, perusing Men’s Fitness with a raised eyebrow. “Officer Parker?” He lowered the magazine.
“We’ve been over this, high speed. Griffith. Say it.”
She smiled at his teasing tone. “Okay, Griffith. We have a charming ETOH that just arrived by ambulance. He’s a bit of a hard case and we’re having a difficult time handling him. Can you come hold him so we can get an IV in?”
“Why, sure. I’d love to patient wrangle.” He stood, then followed her, keeping a respectable distance behind her, but she couldn’t ignore the feeling he was checking her out. Against her better judgment, she clenched her buttocks and raised her chest, though he wouldn’t see it through her scrubs unless he had X-Ray vision. Still, she wouldn’t put it past him, given the whole hero vibe he gave off.
She paused in the open door to the patient’s room, and the heat of Griffith’s chest grazed her back. “Looks like a winner,” he murmured in her ear. Pleasant shivers broke out along her neck. He sidled past her into the room, approaching the bed. “How’s it going, man? Living the dream?” He used a loud, professional tone with the patient, and Sonnet could see why he was in the police academy; with his height and impressive build, he cut an intimidating figure.
The patient, a dirty, long-haired white guy with bad teeth, blew a raspberry and snapped his fingers, cackling. “Exactamundo, bro.” Sonnet stood next to an irritated Janelle and watched.
“So, these nice ladies said you’re giving them trouble. Why would you want to do that, man? They’re just trying to help you.”
“They want to poke me, man, and not in a good way.” The drunk lurched upward. Griffith placed a large palm on the patient’s chest and pushed him back.
“Lie down, sir. They’re trying to get an IV hooked up so we can get some fluids going and get you feeling better. Now, I’m going to stand right here, and you’re not going to move while they fix you up. If you do move, or if you try to hurt one of them, I’ll put you in restraints. Understand?”
The patient threw his head from side to side. “Man, I don’t want no stinking IV. What I want is a shot of whiskey, STAT.”
“Spoken like a true blue alcoholic. Hold still.” Sonnet watched Griffith grip the man’s arm and hold him. He looked at her, confident.
“Go ahead. I’ve got him. He isn’t going anywhere.”
She approached the bed, prepping the IV. “Thanks.”
As she fit the IV, the patient sniffed her hair, and spoke with a slurred cadence. “You look like a princess. Like a pretty Disney cartoon. You smell good, too, nurse. Doesn’t she smell nice, officer?” He asked Griffith.
Griffith’s blue eyes sparkled with humor, and he leaned toward her a little, sniffing the air. “Yeah, she does. Almost makes you forget about the stench of alcohol in the air.” His voice had lowered, warmed. “Like a field of spring flowers. Have you taken your lunch break yet, Sonnet?”
Sonnet bit her lip, grateful for his quiet tone so Janelle couldn’t hear. God, the way he said her name with that deep, metallic undertone…He was so sexy up close. Then again, he was sexy from far away, too. “Not yet. I planned to go after this.”
“Mind if I join you?”
She blushed. “Not at all.”
“Great.” He gave the patient a firm push when he tried to wriggle out of the hold. “Now don’t move, man. I mean it.”
* * * *
As they walked to the break room, Sonnet looked around the ER. On graves, a certain kind of mood washed over everyone in collective waves, and she’d grown accustomed to it. There were the quieter moments on shifts where people began cracking jokes and goofing off, making balloons out of surgical gloves, or doing impressions of Janelle and Dr. MacIntyre having a bad day—those were her favorites. Then, with the loud ring of the ambulance phone, the sound of the ’copter landing on the helipad, the EMTs rushing in, the night shifted, and you could slice the tension in the air with a scalpel.
She had a pivotal role in those moments, because with a single flinch or letting nerves get to her during a trauma could make all the difference in the care of her patients.
I’m right where I need to be, and I’ll be a surgeon here someday.
She sat across from Griffith, and gave him a tentative grin. They were still feeling each other out, but he seemed down-to-earth with a dry sort of humor. So far, nothing red-lighted him. If anything, being near him made her feel safe.
“This is really good,” he said, after taking a bite of his sandwich wrap. He inhaled with a blissful expression as he took another bite. “Thanks for making this. I don’t always have time to make a lunch. I’m out the door the second I wake up. This tastes delicious, like it’s from a nice deli.”
She set her stethoscope on the table, and leaned her cheek into her palm as she watched him. “I should make you a real Argentinean meal sometime. Milanesa, homemade pasta, dulce de leche for dessert…” It burst out before her brain had time to register what her mouth was doing. Heaven help her, she had little to no filter around this man.
Offering to cook for him was ludicrous. Even though he’d come to her rescue, she was a woman living alone and she barely knew the guy. Yet she had the strangest urge to have him come over.
He blinked. Twice. “I have no idea what that is, but it sounds incredible. You can actually make stuff like that?”
“My abuela taught me,” she replied. “She lived in San Rafael most of her life. Her parents owned this pretty little seafood restaurant by the bay, and she grew up there. They used to have a lot of business before it got bought out, so she essentially lived in the kitchen. She made the best medialunas. They’re like croissants, just smaller and sweeter with a little tang. I can make them, too, but not as good as she could.”
“So what about the rest of your family?”
“My mom passed away when I was born. I lost my papi and abuela in the last few years.”
Griffith’s eyes softened, and he leaned forward as if he wanted to take her hand. “That had to have been hard on you.”
A well of emotion threatened to surface, but Sonnet cleared her throat and bottled it down. “I’ve learned to move forward. I miss them, though. Abuela was always cooking something delicious, and Papi loved to talk. It’s quiet without them.”
She tugged her earlobe. It’d been too quiet lately, so much that she’d begun to wonder if her leave-the-men-on-the-back-burner attitude was because of the dedicated sacrifices Papi and Abuela made for Sonnet’s education, or if she was afraid to let herself be happy after losing the people she loved.
As if he sensed her pain and reluctance, he tilted his head, wearing a gentle smile. “So, were you born in the US? You have an American accent.”
Sonnet nodded. “Yeah. My dad immigrated here and joined the army before he met my mom. She was in the army, too, born in Ohio. Didn’t have a lot of family.”
“Oh, so you were an army bra—”
“Careful,” she warned with a palm up. “Yeah, I grew up on bases, but I was never a brat. I played nice with others, and did well in school. I was a good girl.”
“Oh, I bet you were.”
Her heart beat a little faster at the growl in his voice. Their eyes met, and while she knew he hadn’t meant it to come off as a sexual innuendo, her body responded. Her nipples hardened, and a pulse began in her pussy. She thought he’d take it back, but he glanced away and drank his Gatorade.
Sonnet tried to get her body to behave. How could this guy have such a hold on her and make her react the way he did? She cleared her throat, and started to collect her trash. “So, what about you? You’re good at getting me to talk, but I know like nothing about you, and you saved my life.”
He shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. I don’t have any family—who I’m close with, anyway. I guess you’ve heard about the police academy, and my time in the corps.”
“Yeah, Dr. MacIntyre told me. How long have you been back from Iraq?”
“Not long, a little over two months.” He relaxed a little in his chair, and studied her.
“Did you have a hard time adjusting?”
His gentle blue eyes flitted about. “Yes and no. In an ironic way, I miss being out in the field. There’s something about coming home from duty that always throws me for a loop…It takes a while to adjust back to civilian life, and to gauge how to act or not to act in a nonmilitary environment. But being over there made me grateful for what we have here. Oh”—he tore open the wrapper of the granola bar—“I meant to tell you. When I went back to the academy, that morning…” He paused as his eyes scanned her face.
“I’m fine, Griffith,” she assured him. “It’s cool.”
He cleared his throat. “Okay. Well, when I got in, my whole training class stood and cheered. I guess they got word of what happened.”
The blush on his cheeks made her smile. “Griffith, you deserve it.”
He put a hand to the back of his neck. “I…thought I’d tell you.” His voice was pleasant, comforting, and it soothed her.
She reached across the table and put her hand over his. “I think it’s wonderful they did. You should be p…” Jeez, the way he looked at her…He was careful in how he handled it, but she could see the unmistakable desire, plain as day. He glided his long thumb over the top of her hand.
“I don’t care about recognition,” he said. “I just want to know you’re okay. I’ve been thinking about you. It’s all I’ve been thinking about. I’ve been worried. I wanted to call you, but I didn’t want you to think I’m some kind of a weird stalker.” Pain clouded his face, and she fought the urge to put her arms around him.
Instead, she turned her palm into his and squeezed it. “I don’t, at all. And I’m fine. Really. So, did they say anything else after you got back at the academy?”
He scratched behind his ear. “Yeah. They, uh, made me a squad leader and gave me an award.”
“Griffith, that’s great. Congratulations.”
He ducked his head, almost bashful. “Thanks. I guess.”
“Pfft, whatever, you guess. This is incredible. You should be proud of yourself. I am.”
His gaze latched onto hers, and the magnetic energy between their locked hands spread throughout her body. “It’s enough that you’re proud of me.” He squeezed her fingers lightly. “Listen, I’ve got to get back to work.” He slipped his hand out of hers, his long middle finger feathering across her wrist and down her palm. Her lids dipped to half-mast as a current of electricity traveled through her.
Come back here and touch me.
Griffith moved his chair, and the scrape of linoleum echoed in the room. “But come to the security desk when you’re ready to leave, okay? I’ll walk you to your car.”
She sipped her drink and nodded. “Okay.”
He paused in the doorway, and drummed the doorjamb with his fingertips. “And Sonnet? Thanks again for lunch. Best sandwich wrap I’ve ever had. Beats the hell out of an MRE.”
“Or a shriveled potato. You need to get out more,” she teased. “And you’re welcome. From now on, try to eat something a bit more substantial, would you?”
“Whatever you say, Nurse Mendoza.” He gave her a cheeky wink, light and innocent enough, but his come-hither voice sent a rush through her.