Chapter 7

The pulse oximeter hit the stainless-steel tray with a clatter, the little plastic device sliding across the metal before stopping. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Logan sat on the examination bench, breathing hard as he stared at his right wrist. His hand was clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He had his forearm pressed against his ribs as if that could somehow keep anyone from seeing what was happening. Sweat ran down the side of his jaw beneath the bright fluorescent lights. Maya didn’t move. She didn’t gasp or take a step back. She stood where she was, her hands loose at her sides, watching the quick rise and fall of his chest. She had seen panic plenty of times in the ER. Some people screamed. Some cried. Others fought anyone who came near them. Some simply shut down. Logan was different. Everything was happening inside him. He wasn’t angry at her, he was angry at himself. His brows pulled together as he stared at his shaking hand. The pulse in his neck was racing. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, his body was giving him away. He hated it, hated that one accidental touch from her gloved thumb had made him jerk away like that. A six-foot-two professional athlete, reduced to losing control over something so small. “Mr. Blackwood,” Maya said quietly. She used the same calm tone she used with patients in the trauma bay when they were scared and needed someone to bring them back down. Logan looked up. His gray eyes were hard, but there was embarrassment beneath the anger. “If my presence or the way I’m examining you is making this difficult,” Maya said, “I can step out. I’ll call Dr. Vance back in, or I can speak to management and have another physician take over your care.” She left the decision with him, and she expected him to choose the second option. It would be easy for him. He had enough influence in this building to have her removed without much effort. Logan’s jaw tightened. His breathing slowly settled as he forced himself to calm down. “No,” he said. Maya raised an eyebrow. “No?” “No.” His voice was rough. “Vance is a loudmouth. He’ll talk to the press whenever it gets him a photo op. And everyone else here walks on eggshells around me because they’re scared of losing their credentials.” That was all he gave her. He didn’t apologize for what had happened. He didn’t explain why he reacted the way he did because he didn’t need to. Maya understood enough. He didn’t trust Vance. And he clearly didn’t trust people who treated him like he might break at any moment. She picked up the pulse oximeter and checked the screen. “Then let’s finish this,” she said. “Give me your index finger. I won’t touch your wrist.” Logan hesitated before holding out his hand again. This time, his finger stayed still. Maya slipped the small rubber clamp over the tip of it, careful to make sure only the soft inside of the device touched his skin. The monitor beeped as Maya made her observation. “Oxygen saturation is ninety-nine percent. Your resting pulse is ninety-two. It’s higher than normal, but with the pain and adrenaline, that isn’t surprising.” She entered the numbers into her tablet before removing the device. Then she stepped back. Logan pulled his hand away immediately and placed it on his thigh. He breathed out slowly, his shoulders finally dropping a little. “You have a minor intercostal contusion,” Maya said. “No fracture. No signs of a pneumothorax. I want you resting for forty-eight hours. Cold compression every two hours, soft tissue therapy with Marcus tomorrow afternoon, and anti-inflammatories.” “I have morning ice practice tomorrow.” His tone made it clear he wasn’t asking permission. “You have a couch and an ice pack tomorrow,” Maya looked up from her tablet. “If you take another hit on that side while the muscle is still inflamed, you could fracture a rib. Then you’ll be sitting out for four to six weeks instead of forty-eight hours. You do the math.” Logan looked at her, his jaw tightened. He hated being told what to do, especially by someone who had been in the building for barely any time. But he knew she was right. He got off the examination bench carefully. His ribs protested with the movement, and he reached for the black jacket hanging over the chair. He pulled it on, wincing when the fabric brushed against his side. He tried to hide it but Maya noticed anyway. Logan zipped the jacket to his throat and headed toward the double doors. He stopped before leaving. Turning his head, he looked back at her. “What happened in this room stays in this room.” His voice was quiet now, but the threat behind it was obvious. “You saw a routine physical evaluation. Nothing else. If one word about... anything else... gets out of this bay, you’ll be off this facility’s payroll before the sun sets.” Maya stopped typing. She placed her stylus on the desk, pulled off her gloves, and dropped them into the biohazard bin. Then she turned toward him. “Mr. Blackwood,” she said, “I spent four years working in high-volume trauma centers. I treated state officials, accident victims, and patients who came into the ER in the worst moments of their lives.” She rested her hands on her hips. “My medical ethics aren’t for sale. I don’t gossip about my patients. I wouldn’t do it to a homeless teenager in the ER, and I wouldn’t do it to the captain of the Boston Wolves. If you want to fire me because I told you to stay off the ice for forty-eight hours, go talk to management.” Her voice remained calm. “But don’t question my integrity by assuming I’d walk around this building telling people about your personal triggers.” Logan froze. He had expected an argument. Maybe fear or an apology. He got none of those. For the first time since Maya had arrived at the Brighton facility, he didn’t have an immediate response for her. He just looked at her. She wasn’t trying to impress him or get on his good side. And she wasn’t nervous just because he was Logan Blackwood. She meant every word she had said. That seemed to bother him more than an argument would have. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her. Who was this woman? She stood there like she had nothing to prove to him. Logan took a slow step back into the room. He was still guarded, but the anger in his face had eased. Now he was curious, and he didn't like that either. He looked down at her, his voice quieter than before. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”