Caisey Quinn - Last Second Chance

Blinking, she looked up, half-expecting to see steel-gray eyes and tattoos. What she actually saw was a blond man in a white coat with a smile fit for a toothpaste commercial.

“Um, no?”

He chuckled softly and lowered himself into the seat across from her. “Dr. Tyler, but you can call me David.” He offered her his hand.

She shook it and smiled. It was kind of nice not to be sitting alone. And she wanted to get to know her colleagues, not shut everyone out like she’d been doing for far too long.

“Nice to meet you. I’m—”

“Stella Chandler, the new patient care coordinator,” he broke in. “Or client care coordinator. Whatever they’re calling themselves these days.”

She bit her lip and gave the doctor an apprehensive shake of her head. “How did you—”

Before she could finish the question, he grinned and gestured to her ID badge. Oh, yeah. Right. That was going to take some getting used to.

“Of course. I’m an idiot.” She laughed nervously, and the man across from her smiled.

With a wink, he eased her anxieties. “Nah, actually I knew because everyone kept talking about a pretty new brunette joining the staff and I knew the moment I saw you that you had to be her.”

Stella’s eyebrows shot up. She couldn’t tell if he was serious, but she had a strict policy about not dating anyone she worked with. A failed relationship would lead to her being miserable—or at the very least, uncomfortable—at work. And if things didn’t work out at SCR, the only other place to go was the absolute last place she wanted to be.

Giving the doctor a smirk she hoped would discourage any more come-ons, she rolled her eyes. “They were probably referring to someone else. But thank you.”

Dr. Tyler opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp squeal from the table next to them interrupted him.

“Oh my God, there he is.” Several of the nurses began whispering and nudging each other as the one who’d squealed pointed across the Atrium.

As if he’d been conjured by the potent combination of the nurses’ running commentary and Stella’s thoughts, Van Ransom stepped into the Atrium with another man. The two of them were joined by a statuesque blond woman in a coat identical to Dr. Tyler’s. Stella watched at they shook hands.

In her periphery, she was aware that the nurses at the nearby table twitching like cats in heat were practically falling out of their chairs to get a good look. Swallowing hard, she forced her eyes away from him.

Her not dating men she worked with was an umbrella policy that definitely included not getting involved with patients slash clients where she worked.

“So how long have you worked at SCR?” she asked, focusing her full attention on the man across from her. Whose name she’d forgotten. Thank God for ID badges.

“Long enough to know that guy won’t make it through the program.” Dr. Tyler jerked his head toward Van. His voice took on a snide tone that made her nerves twist in annoyance.

She took a drink of her water and composed herself before saying something she shouldn’t. “That’s a pretty negative outlook to have. Especially since he just got here. Not a very fair assessment, is it?”

He rolled his light blue eyes. “God, not you too. I expect the ditzy nurses to fawn all over these types, but you actually looked like a girl with a decent head on her shoulders.”

Whoa. Stella felt her blood pressure rising. “Excuse me? Just what the he—um, what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Dr. Tyler began, leaning in toward her, “guys like that don’t come here for actual help. The come here because someone in charge of their career says they have to. Surely you’re smart enough to recognize a thoroughbred loser when you see one.”

The man who’d been kind to her the day before didn’t have a single loser quality about him as far as she’d seen. This one, on the other hand…

Stella’s body ejected out of her seat without her having officially deciding to get up. Her knee bumped the table and it smarted like hell, but sheer adrenaline protected her from the brunt of the pain. “Yes. As a matter of fact, I was raised on a horse ranch, so I do recognize a thoroughbred loser when I see one.” She glared down at Dr. Prettyboy McAsshole.

“Calm down. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He stood and came around to her side of the table, effectively blocking her view of the rest of the room. “Sit back down before you make a scene.”

“Dr. Tyler, I can assure you, the only one making a scene is you. What a shame that someone in charge of helping people who need it is such a judgmental ass,” she hiss-whispered in his face.

As soon as the words left her mouth, his strong hand gripped her upper arm, while the other rested on her lower back. Eyes widening in surprise, she jerked backward in an attempt to free herself from his grasp.

“Get your goddamn hands off her. Now.”

The throaty voice was male. And eerily calm. Now had come out low and with the promise of violence behind it.

Chills shocked her spine and ran clear to her toes at the sound. It must have caught Dr. Tyler off guard too, because he dropped her arm like she’d caught fire. Kind of felt like she might have.

“Van, come on.” The same bald man who’d been with him the day before had a hand on Van’s arm and was doing his best to convince him to back away. Probably a good idea since his eyes had murder in them. They were only getting darker as he advanced in her direction.

It felt like the whole room had stopped to take in the scene. This was the stuff Stella’s nightmares were made of. Every nurse at the table next to them gaped at the show. All they were missing was the popcorn.

“I’m fine. If you’ll excuse me,” she said, edging around both Dr. Tyler and Van on her way out.

Her intention was to leave. Because that was the adult thing to do. Walk away and all that. But those nurses were still staring at Van like he was a piece of meat. So she stopped, and turned, giving them her best Texas pageant princess smile even though she’d never been in a pageant in her life.

“Y’all are gonna catch flies in those big open mouths if you’re not careful.”

And then she hightailed it out of there and back to the conference room where orientation was being held. So she could wait for someone to come fire her in peace.

“The son of a bitch grabbed her, Sid.” Van paced in his overcrowded room. “What was I supposed to do? Just sit there while he assaulted her?”

“Lower your voice,” his manager commanded. “I get it. I saw. Not that it doesn’t warm my cold, dead heart to see you suddenly turning into some random woman’s knight in shining armor, but you picked a damn fine time to do it. You get kicked out of here Van, and that’s it. No deal. No Epitaph. No band. No me.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he grumbled, dropping heavily onto the couch by his bed. “Just couldn’t find much cause to care at that particular moment.” Because Sid was wrong. She wasn’t some random woman. And apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. Dr. Aggressive Ass had come very close to getting a special lesson on how to keep his hands to himself. Van had just finished his very first therapy session. It hadn’t gone well and he wasn’t in the mood to see some white coat dickhead pawing the woman he hadn’t been able to get out of his head.

Sid left him alone to stew in his residual anger. If this were real life, instead of this messed-up parallel rehab universe where he actually cared about someone other than himself, he’d get high about now. His body felt weak, drained. The darkness threatened to surface and he craved that feeling of power. The rush from his confrontation in the Atrium was fading, lowering him quickly into the viper pit of hell that was solitude.