Chapter 2 - The Shadow in the Lobby
Nathan Vale was used to intimidating residents, med students, and nurses who feared losing their shifts, but he had never faced a man who looked at him like he was already dead. The hospital air felt freezing cold.
“Excuse me?” Vale tried to chuckle, though his voice came out thin. “I don't know who you think you are, but you cannot come into St. Catherine’s and dictate—”
“I didn't ask who you were,” Julian interrupted, his voice dropping an octave into pure ice. “I told you to pick up the charts.”
Vale’s face flushed bright red. He looked around for the hospital security guards who usually loitered near the emergency bay, but the two security guards at the main entrance were already standing completely rigid against the glass wall. One of them, an older retired cop named Miller, was looking at Julian Cross with wide, terrified eyes, shaking his head gently at Vale to tell him not to push this.
“Pick them up,” Julian repeated, not raising his voice by a single decibel.
Marco Bell stepped into the triage bay from the lobby, shaking the rain from his dark trench coat. He didn't look at Vale either; he simply stood by Julian’s right shoulder, a hand resting casually inside his pocket.
Vale swallowed hard. He looked at Emma, hoping for an ounce of sympathy, but she simply folded her arms across her scrub top, watching him with unwavering blue eyes. Slowly, humiliated to the core of his bones, Dr. Nathan Vale bent his knees, crouched down onto the linoleum floor, and began gathering the loose papers with trembling fingers.
Julian turned back to Emma as if the attending physician did not exist.
“You didn’t eat,” Julian said, observing the dark shadows under her eyes.
Emma blinked, caught off guard. “I’m on duty. We don't have time to eat five-course meals here.”
“You had half a cracker twenty-four hours ago,” he said evenly. “That isn't fuel. That's neglect.”
“How do you even know that?”
“You talk in your sleep,” Julian replied, a ghost of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Among other things.”
Emma felt her cheeks flush hot. She took her badge from his outstretched hand, her fingers briefly brushing against his warm palm. A sudden, electric shock ran up her forearm, making her pulse skip a beat. There was something familiar about the rough texture of his skin, something buried deep under years of long nights and trauma wards.
Vale stood up, shoving the messy stack of papers onto the desk. “I am reporting this breach of hospital privacy to Administration, Hayes. You and your... associate... will answer to the board.” He turned and practically stormed down Hallway B, his shoes squeaking furiously against the floor.
Emma watched him leave, letting out a ragged sigh before looking back up at Julian. “You just made my shift ten times worse. He’s going to make my life hell now.”
“He won't,” Julian said calmly.
“You don't know the Vale family. His father basically runs this medical network.”
Julian adjusted the cuff of his coat, the expensive silver watch on his wrist catching the harsh fluorescent lights. “Then he should teach his son better manners before someone else does it permanently.”
“Julian, why are you here?” Emma asked, leaning against the counter, her voice dropping into quiet exhaustion. “You drove me home. You gave me back my badge. Men like you don't hang around public emergency rooms in the middle of a rainy Tuesday.”
Julian looked at her for three long seconds. The faint white scar running along his jawline stood out against his clean-shaven skin.
“You asked me to take you home twelve Maple Street,” he said quietly. “I did. But you forgot to tell me why you never left Bellmont.”
Emma frowned. “Why would I leave Bellmont? I was born here.”
Julian’s eyes darkened with an emotion so deep, so painful, that it made her chest tighten.
“Twelve years ago,” Julian whispered, leaning in just close enough that she could smell the cold rain, cedarwood, and leather on him. “You made a promise to a dying boy in the back of an alley on 4th Street. You told him that if he survived the night, you’d never forget him.”
May you like
Emma’s breath hitched in her throat. The room seemed to dissolve around them.
The alley. The freezing November rain. The young man bleeding out from two bullet wounds in his abdomen while she pressed her bare hands against his torn shirt, whispering over and over: Stay with me. Just stay with me.
