Heartstrings (A Rock Star Romance Novel) Page 2

  “You’re asking the wrong girl,” I laugh, “I have a strictly monogamous relationship with my vibrator right now.”

  “I’m sorry Julia,” Penny says, “I’m being so crude.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about it,” I say, “I have to live vicariously through someone. It might as well be someone who gets as much tail as you do.”

  “I’m honored,” Penny says, winking. “Are you all set for your trip coming up? You must be so excited!”

  “Hell yes!” I exclaim, “Just counting down the days until I set off. One week exactly, and then I’m free as a bird. For a little while, at least.”

  “You won’t get lonely, being away by yourself?” Penny asks.

  I have purposefully put that thought out of my mind until now. Chances are, I will feel lonely at some point. But it will be a good, enriching kind of loneliness. The self-affirming kind. Either that or it will just be kind of pathetic, I can’t really say for sure. “I’ll be fine,” I say to Penny, “I just feel bad about leaving you here on your own.”

  “I don’t really know what I’m going to do without you,” Penny says, “Who’s going to tell me how to work all this fancy equipment and pronounce all these big medical words while you’re away?”

  We burst out laughing together. Riffing on stereotypes about nurses is one of our favorite past times. If anyone knew how hard a job it really is, how demanding it is both physically and emotionally, no one would dare make fun of nurses. But if there’s one thing you learn from working is a hospital, it’s that people are pretty much solely concerned with their own points of view. Most people are short on empathy, truth be told. So when you find someone who has it, you hold on for dear life.

  Before either of us can speak another word, the doors of the ER fly open. A swarm of people surges through the door, tearing down the corridor with a stretcher between them. This in itself is nothing extraordinary—new arrivals are whisked back as quick as possible, especially if they’re in critical condition. What does surprise me is the sheer amount of people surrounding this new patient. A couple of nurses are already on hand, but at least three doctors as well. There seems to be quite a few hangers-on, as well. Penny and I fly into the pack and do our best to hold back the crowd of people who are trying to follow the stretcher as it disappears down the hallway.

  “Sir,” I say to a short man who looks something like a basset hound, “Sir, you can’t go back there unless you’re family.”

  “I’m better than family,” the man tells me, staring wildly after the stretcher, “I’m his manager! You have to let me through.”

  “I’m very sorry,” I repeat, “You’ll have to wait outside.”

  Penny is trying to calm a disconsolate young woman in a tattered black dress. I look around at the assembled group and notice a theme emerging. Every person present, save the basset hound manager, is incredibly attractive, young, and dressed up in some kind of punk rock ensemble. Who in the world could they be? My best guess was an off-season Halloween party gone awry.

  “Please,” says a man to my right. He was thick set but muscular, with a dark, scruffy face. “Let us go back with him. It’s our fault he got hurt—we should have kept him from trying to stage dive.”

  “Stage dive?” I say, incredulously, “What are—? No. Never mind. There’s no time. All of you need to go back to the waiting room right now so that we can go help your friend.”

  “Don’t let him die,” wails the beautiful young woman, “He’s like...the next messiah!”

  “I’m sure he is,” I tell her, shooing the herd back through the doors. They shuffle out begrudgingly, shooting mean glances back at Penny and I. As the doors snap shut behind them, we turn on our heels and race after the stretcher. I have no idea why there are so many doctors vying for this patient, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we do all we can to help him.

  I race around the corner with Penny hot on my heels and swing into the man’s room. Through the throng of doctors and nurses, I can see that he’s been laid out, and his clothes cut from his body. As I make my way closer, I finally get a good view of the man. My breath catches in my throat as I let my eyes linger on his well defined six pack, the firm panes of his chest, and his massive biceps that tense as he balls up his big fists in pain. My eyes dart up to his face. His long black curls are sweat soaked, and a thin trail of blood runs down the side of his face, but despite all that, he is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life. His eyes, when they open, are a warm chestnut brown. His razor sharp jaw and cleft chin are covered in dark stubble, and his lips are full and firm. For the first time in my nursing career, I freeze—stunned by the gorgeous person before me. I didn’t think that men like him existed outside of glossy magazines and, well, Greek mythology.

  “Julia!” yells Dr. Kelly, snapping me out of my stunned reverie.

  “Yes?” I ask, ripping my attention away from that incredible face, that solid body...

  “If you’re too star struck to be of any help, then please get out of the way.”

  I feel as though I’ve been slapped, and gather myself up. I don’t bother responding to the jab, I simply force my head back into the moment, onto the task at hand. Right now, this man is just my patient. However perfect his body might be, it needs some assistance at the moment.

  It becomes clear that he’s had a bad fall. No bones are broken, but he’s bleeding internally. The room is a flurry of activity as he’s prepped for surgery and whisked away. I fall back as the patient disappears from my sight. He’s hurt pretty badly, that’s for sure, but there’s no reason to believe that he won’t be OK. I look over at Penny and see that she’s practically vibrating with excitement. Not exactly the most professional response for the situation at hand.

  “You’re looking awfully chipper,” I say, “I didn’t know you were so fond of internal bleeding.”

  She looks at me like I have three heads, at the least. “Julia,” she says, “Are you serious?”

  “As a rule,” I tell her.

  “Did you honestly not recognize him?” she presses, taking me by the shoulders.

  “I think I may have seen him in an art museum somewhere. Those marble statues all sort of blend together, don’t you think?”

  “Julia!” Penny cries, “That was Slade Hale!”

  “OK...” I say. The name doesn’t ring a single bell.

  “Good god,” Penny says, throwing her hands up in the air, “I forgot that you only listen to Joni Mitchell and musical theater soundtracks.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” I ask defensively.

  “Slade Hale is the front man of Flagrant Disregard,” Penny says eagerly, “They’re only the biggest thing that’s happened to rock in the last decade.”

  “That’s a bold claim,” I laugh.

  “I stand by it!” she says adamantly, “They’re absolutely huge! I heard that they were playing around here this weekend. Who would have guessed that we’d end up with a real live rock star on our hands?”

  “Not me,” I say.

  “You don’t seem very impressed,” Penny says.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” I say, “That’s probably the most incredible looking person I’ve seen in real life. And I have you as a coworker. I guess I just don’t really do the whole pop music thing.”

  “A fact that will forever mystify me,” Penny says, smiling at my compliment nonetheless. “Haven’t you ever been to a rock concert, Julia?”

  “I played the clarinet for a year in fourth grade,” I tell her flatly, “That’s about extreme as I’ve ever gotten.”

  “You’re missing out,” she says, crossing her arms, “The right kind of concert can totally transport you. It’s like magic, and when it’s real good...it puts you in a state of euphoria you can't experience anywhere else.”

  I roll my eyes at her hyperbolic fawning and go along my way. "Better than sex even?" I jab sarcastically, as I walk away to get report from the day shift nurse.

  "Way bet
ter! Are you kidding?" She yells over my shoulder.

  I just shake my head and smile dismissively.

  There are other patients to tend to besides this Slade fellow, after all. I peek out into the waiting room and see the man’s entourage waiting for him. They look like they’re holding some kind of vigil for him. By the look of the group, you’d think that he was some kind of prophet. I frowned, realizing that the guy would probably have a gigantic ego when he came to. Those celebrity types always seem to think they’re god’s gift to the planet. Well, I wasn’t so easily swayed. Rock star or no, I was set on treating Mr. Hale just like any other patient.

  Chapter Two

  * * * * *

  As it turns out, he makes it through surgery just fine—the bleeding wasn’t as bad as the doctors had originally thought. As soon as he’s set up in his recovery room, his entourage wants to know whether they can go back and see him. I’m tasked with the unfortunate job of explaining to a bunch of groupies and band mates that visitors aren’t allowed at this time of night, except for family. And though several attempt to persuade me that “music makes family of us all,” I hold firm. The pack finally disperses, for the time being at least.

  In between patients, I check on our in-house celebrity. He’s resting, deep in a morphine sleep. I’m glad that everything went well—not just for his sake, but because god forbid our hospital gets a reputation for bungling the surgeries of celebrities. Not that I think rock stars are important, necessarily, but they can be to some people. I go about my work, and the hours continue to creep on by. After the initial excitement of Mr. Hales’ arrival, everything else seems pretty mundane. As I’m making the rounds, Dr. Kelly beckons me over to Slades’ room. He looks like a nervous little kid.

  “He’s just waking up,” Dr. Kelly tells me, “I want you to be there, in case he needs anything.”

  “OK,” I say, “But I have other patients. I’ll work him into—”

  “No,” Dr. Kelly says, “You stay with him. I know it’s a little unreasonable to ask, but he’s not exactly a typical patient.”

  “Do you want me to ask him for an autograph when he’s awake?” I ask dryly.

  “No need for snark,” Dr. Kelly says, “Just do it, would you?”

  “Of course,” I say, and brush past the doctor. I’ve never seen Dr. Kelly so much as crack a smile, now here he is, beaming and giddy and acting for the world like...well...a crazed fan. Who would have known he was the hard rock type?

  I walk into Slade Hale’s room and have to stop a moment to catch myself. He’s propped against the crisp white sheets, his head leaning to one side. His black curls are splayed out against his pillow like a halo, and his body finally seems to have relaxed. This thick, muscular arms lay at his sides, and his mouth is pulled up into the faintest of smiles. He arches his back against the bed, testing out his newly reclaimed consciousness. I take one deep breath after another, trying to compose myself. I don’t give a damn that he’s famous, but he might actually be fatally handsome. I’m not used to dealing with gorgeous men, especially famous ones. I force myself to adopt my most professional demeanor and wait patiently at the foot of his bed, giving him time to realize that I'm there.

  As if in slow motion, his rich brown eyes open and swing toward me like twin beacons in the darkness. Every cell in my body adjusts, and aligns to his gaze. I’m paralyzed, rooted to the floor. His eyes linger, and finally focus. Slade Hale draws in a deep breath as he takes in his surroundings for the first time. For a moment, confusion clouds his perfect features—then he starts to put the pieces together. I watch him take in the hospital bed, the harsh overhead lights, and finally, me. His expression lingers somewhere in between disgruntled and pompous, and I try to cherish the moment of silence before he inevitably opens his mouth and starts to speak.

  “Excuse me, little girl,” he says, his voice rich and smoky, “Would you be a dear and wrangle a medical professional for me?”

  My jaw falls open as the ire behind his words smacks me between the eyes. I feel a red hot surge of outrage break over me. I’ve never been what you might call an even-tempered sort of girl. I never learned how to keep my mouth shut, or how to abide self-important idiots. I plant my hands firmly on my hips and level my very best don’t-you-dare-screw-with-me face at the smug celebrity.

  “Excuse me,” I shoot back, “I happen to be the nurse who’s been tasked with looking after you. In case you’re keeping track, that means that I’m the one controlling your morphine drip.”

  “You’re my nurse?” Slade says, cocking an eyebrow at me, “I thought it was take your daughter to work day, or something.”

  “Nope,” I say, “Apparently it’s look after a condescending douche bag day. Hooray for me.”

  “You’re not allowed to talk to me like that,” Slade says, struggling to sit up in bed, “I’m the patient. I’m injured here.”

  “You’re fine,” I say, rolling my eyes, “You’ll be out of here by the end of the week.”

  “The end of the week?” he moans, his perfect jaw tensing, “That’s unacceptable.”

  “Tell that to your internal organs,” I suggest.

  “I need to speak with whoever’s in charge,” he says adamantly.

  “You already are,” I tell him, crossing my arms, “So I’d take the machismo down a notch. Is there anything you need that I can actually help you with?”

  “I need to get out of this place immediately,” Slade says, “My tour leaves tonight. I have shit to do. We’ve got a show—”

  “Don’t you have ‘people’, or something?” I ask, “You famous types aren’t much for doing your own work, are you?”

  “So you know who I am,” Slade says, grinning smugly.

  “I had to ask,” I sniff, “Though I was tipped off by your entourage clogging up the waiting room. Do they always look that unwashed?”

  “Let me guess,” he says with a mean laugh, “You don’t like rock music?”

  “Not particularly,” I say.

  “No...” he says, “Let me guess. You’re more the Sarah McLachlan type?”

  “Carol King,” I correct him, “But thanks for the overarching generalization.”

  “Any time,” he says. “What’s your name?”

  “Nurse Baxter,” I tell him.

  “Your first name,” he clarifies.

  “It’s Julia,” I say warily.

  “What do your friends call you...?” he prompts with a sly grin.

  “You’ll never know,” I inform him with a less-than-sweet smile of my own. We glare at each other from across the hospital room. I had expected him to have an ego, but this is something else entirely. It’s hard to keep my eyes from wandering all over that exquisite body of his, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I find him attractive. Why do the best exteriors always house the most vile personalities? Such a waste.

  I reach for the blood pressure machine and undo the cuff.

  "May I check your blood pressure Mr. Hale?" I ask politely.

  He groans audibly and puts out his muscular arm. I immediately notice the intricate tattoo designs interweaving along his entire arm, and although I've never been much for tattoos - his did look sexy on him. I wrap the blood pressure cuff around his arm and secure it snuggly, press the start button on the machine and grab my stethoscope from around my neck to listen to his lungs.

  "May I pull your shirt up so that I can listen to your lung sounds?" I ask, desperately controlling the quaver in my voice.

  "Hey, hey, at least wait till the second date," he jokes. I'm sure he can tell how uneasy he's making me.

  I do my best to ignore the jab and lift up his hospital gown.

  Oh my God...look at those abs, I think to myself, Ryan Lochte ain't got shi...

  "I can assure you this isn't a free show young lady," he laughs.

  Now, I've been a nurse for a little while now, and I don't think I've ever turned this shade of red before, especially not in a patient's room.
The way he's making me lose my cool definitely has me worried. I place my stethoscope over his beautifully sculpted pecs and attempt to change the topic, "Take a deep breath for me please."

  He does.

  We do the charade a few more times, and I make sure that my mind's eye gets a good picture to take home. I finish and pull his gown back down.

  “Everything sounds good, and your vital signs are near perfect. I’m going to check on my other patients,” I tell him, turning toward the door.

  “You’re leaving?” he asks. He sounds genuinely offended.

  “Yes,” I tell him, “There are other people that exist in the world who also need medical attention.”

  As if on cue, Penny appears in the doorway with an anxious smile on her face. For a long moment, she stares dumbly at Slade, grinning from ear to ear. I clear my throat, and she tears her eyes away from the rock star long enough to look at me. “Dr. Kelly wanted me to know that he’s reassigned the rest of your patients.”

  “What?” I hiss, pulling her out into the hallway, out of earshot of Slade.

  “He wants you to stay with Slade and make sure he’s comfortable,” Penny tells me, “It’s a big deal having a celebrity here. You’re the best nurse here right now, and Dr. Kelly wants to make sure that this guy gets the best possible treatment.”

  “He might not want me to stay after all, if that’s the case,” I mutter.

  “What do you mean?” Penny asks.

  “I mean, I’m not sure if I can be in the same room alone with that man and not throttle him,” I say heatedly.

  “Come on,” Penny says, giving me a push back toward Slade’s room, “I’m sure he’s not that bad.”

  She disappears from sight as I begrudgingly turn my attention back to the rock star. He looks let down, all of sudden. “What is it?” I ask.

  “I was hoping she’d stick around,” the man says, “You two would look great co-starring in some of my nastier nurse fantasies. Do you have anything to wear other than that jumpsuit?”

  “You mean my scrubs,” I say, “That I am required to wear on the job. Which this is. My profession. I’m not sticking around so that men like you can belittle me and get their rocks off while—”