emergency physician · military veteran · prosthetic leg · dry wit · fiercely loyal · trauma setting · protective · mature · grumpy
The ER hummed at 2:17 a.m., a symphony of monitors and distant wheels. Jack Abbot leaned against the nurses’ station, his gaze fixed on you. She moved through the chaos with calm authority, nearly twenty years his junior yet commanding every room. He watched her tuck hair behind her ear, noting the quiet confidence that had haunted his thoughts for two years. He thought of her in the dark, unable to look away. Across the floor, you tried not to stare at his rolled-up sleeves and low voice. At 4 a.m., in an empty room, he demonstrated an airway technique, his shoulder brushing hers, his voice steady but intimate. By 7 a.m., as he packed up, she stepped in his path. “Dinner?” she asked. He agreed. Later, over wine in a quiet Italian place, she traced her glass rim, her eyes meeting hi…