Free Nash by Jay Crownover

recent run-ins with Nash and
    categorize them as trivial and fleeting.
    I was walking out, dragging my feet and unwinding my long hair from the tight bun on the top of my
    head, when I ran into the only person outside of my sister who I considered a friend here in Denver.
    Sunshine Parker was the assistant nursing director, my boss, and probably the most honest and forthright
    person I had ever met. She was just a tiny little thing, part Filipino, with jet-black hair and a smile that went
    on for days. She had made the transition to this emergency unit bearable considering all my weird social
    hang-ups that often made settling into a new environment challenging. She was a few years older than me,
    totally dedicated to her career and to helping people in need. I so wanted to follow in her footsteps. She
    was just like me, only she had no problems talking to people or interacting like a normal person. She also
    wasn’t struck dumb by simple conversation.
    “Hey you. Rough day?”
    I was rubbing my fingers hard into my scalp where my hair had been trapped, and had to admit I was
    exhausted. Today I’d seen an excessive amount of blood and guts, even for an ER, and my short
    conversation with Nash had worn me out. I felt awful for him and what he was going through, but it also
    grated on my nerves that I cared at all one way or the other. I wanted to be immune to him. Only that didn’t
    seem to be an option my hormones were allowing.
    “I’ve had better. It was a busy one.”
    She tossed her blanket of shiny hair over her shoulder and cocked her head at me.
    “You are an amazing nurse, Saint.”
    Those kind of compliments I could take. I grinned at her and pulled out my phone as it started to ring.
    The display showed my sister’s face, so I silenced the call and shoved the phone in my pocket. I loved
    Faith, hard, but lately the only time she called me was when something was up with our parents, more
    specifically our mom, and the drama could wait for a second.
    “Thanks, Sunny. That’s always nice to hear, and coming from you it means a lot.”
    She grinned at me and put a hand on my shoulder, which had to look comical because she was so much
    shorter than me.
    “Right. So believe me when I tell you that you need to find more in your life than this ER, or any ER.
    This is a job, a career, and yes, it’s an important one, one that requires dedication and sacrifice, but it does
    not require that you lose yourself in it. You’re a lovely, brilliant woman who has a bright future ahead of
    her. I see a lot of similarities between the two of us. Believe me when I say none of that means anything if
    you don’t have anything else.”
    I made a confused face at her and shifted my weight so that she had to drop her hand off my shoulder.
    “What brought that on, Sunny?”
    She gave a little laugh and flipped her long hair over her shoulder again.
    “I heard a rumor Dr. Bennet asked you out for drinks the other night, and you turned him down cold.
    Why would you do that? He’s gorgeous, and you have work in common, so I know you would have things
    to talk about. Why didn’t you even consider it? It just makes me worry about you. You’ve been here for
    almost two years, and you never socialize with us, never open up. I like you. I want you to be living the
    best life possible.”
    Dr. Bennet was the hospital’s catch. He was twenty-eight, built like a fitness model, and had wavy black
    hair and dreamy green eyes that made most of the nurses and any other female whose path he crossed turn
    to mush. He was a total Lothario, but a seemingly nice guy, and had been hinting around for the last six
    months that he would like to get to know me better outside of work. Generally, I brushed the attention off. I
    wasn’t the type of girl doctors wanted to date, and there was no way I was in the market for an office
    hookup—not when I could hardly act normal as it was. But he had flat-out asked me on a date on
    Thanksgiving.