And, if you want more from me, I recommend picking up the fifth anniversary edition of my bestseller, A Love Letter to Whiskey, which includes a brand new book in the back from Jamie’s point of view. This bad boy is thick! So, if you like big books and you cannot lie, it’s right up your alley.
And now, for your sneak peek at Dane and Larsen!
SCREWED UP
PROLOGUE
LARSEN
A slow inhale does little to relieve the dull throb pounding at my temples. The sullen man lying rigid on the mattress continues giving me the silent treatment, but his pinched scowl as he glares at me says enough. I can’t blame him for being upset. The standard-issue robe he’s wearing is nearly threadbare, and a nurse told me he’s been grumbling for hours about wanting real food. Not the stuff from the hospital cafeteria. On top of that, he’s protesting about being held at the hospital against his adamant demands for discharge.
He could leave, of course—it’s not like anyone is stopping him, but the laundry list of staff assigned to him will strongly recommend against it. His symptoms are progressing at such an exponential rate that he’d be back in this bed by nightfall even if he did leave.
I clear my throat for another attempt. “Mr. Astor—”
“No!” He throws a hand up inches from my face. “Already said I’m not talking to a head shrinker. You’re wasting both our time.”
The creative term for my hard-earned psychiatrist degree burns. I’m going to need more coffee, or chocolate. Or both. “This is not a therapy session, Mr. Astor. I’m just here for a psych consult.”
“Not buying it, Doctor Belle,” he sneers at my last name. “You sound like a Disney princess. Look the part too.”
That could almost be considered a compliment if he hadn’t been cursing my existence since I stepped into the room. “I just need to discuss your pain level.”
The man shifts, and a wince cracks his thunderous expression. “Everything hurts. Happy?”
If only that were all it took to appease me. The pressure against my skull kicks harder. “Is the medication providing any relief?”
“Oh, wait.” He pauses for a moment to prop himself upright, letting out a groan with his effort. “Are you the one who passes out the drugs?”
That’s an eloquent way to put it. I quirk a brow at him. “In your case, yes. I’ll be part of the team that monitors your condition from this point forward. We’ll collaborate to create an intervention plan that, hopefully, you’ll get on board with.”
“Great.” He claps his hands. “So, what’s next on the menu, Doc?”
His sudden spark of enthusiasm raises several red flags. I might look young, but I’m not naïve. This guy shouldn’t be too ecstatic about my involvement. His frequent flyer status has reached the point where a psych consult was ordered. I’m only just beginning with this meet and greet.
For appearances’ sake, I double-check his chart. “Your most recent dose should still be sufficient.”
“Nope,” he grunts. “I need more.”
I take another peek at his chart while dragging in a lungful of heavily sterilized air. “You’ve already had an adequate amount. Your next round won’t be for several hours.”
The wrinkles on his forehead deepen with a severe furrow. “Listen, lady. You’re new, so I’ll give you a history lesson on how this works. I’m sick. Very fucking sick. Your job is to make me feel better. If you want to be helpful, gimme the good stuff. Then I can go home and be done with you.”
The glassy sheen reflecting from his gaze heightens my concern. Between the rosy flush and damp brow, it’s clear his fever has yet to break. He’s a chronic case, and there’s not much we haven’t tried. His chart has extensive notes regarding his preference for certain narcotics. It’s vital that I proceed with caution.
I pick imaginary lint from my white coat. “Well, it’s not that simple.”
He rips his focus from me with a scoff. “Crank the tap or get out.”
Before I can argue any further, an extended buzz vibrates in my coat pocket. A lead weight immediately drops in my belly. That notification can only signal one thing. I whip out my phone to check the system alert.
“Shit.” I stab at the screen to scan the full emergency notice. The message is straightforward, in bullet points:
Major accident.
Mass casualty.
Countless injuries.
Totals on the rise as more victims are recovered.
All available staff needed for triage.
Report to ambulance bay.
My patient chuckles. “How about that. Doctor Snooty can curse. Not so prim and proper now, huh?”
I smooth a palm against my meticulous bun. The stereotype he’s slinging at me is neither new nor worthy of a retort. His reprimand is a smack against my cheek, though. There’s no excuse for cussing in his presence. He’s correct in that regard. I pride myself on maintaining my utmost professionalism, even when dealing with problematic patients, but high-stress situations tend to weaken my filter. It’s something I need to work on.
That’s not important right now. The real upset is due to the news flashing on my phone. I take a moment for deliberation, waging an internal war as I debate my next action.
Instructions from years past flood my brain. My mentors during residency would ignore the call and go about their psychiatric business. Their advice strongly suggests that I stay in my lane until specifically summoned. It’s safe to assume that most in my position would listen to the wisdom bestowed upon me—but I’ve never had the mentality to sit back and wait.
The opportunity to make a difference sends a spike through my pulse. This is my chance to carve a fresh mold. Screw relying on the roles set out for me. That well-worn career tread doesn’t suit my ambitions. The chief will admire my initiative and gumption. I can make a name for myself in this field by blazing a new trail.
Decision made, I turn to Mr. Astor. “There’s an emergency I need to assist with. I apologize for cutting this introduction short.”
“You’ve been standing around for at least ten minutes and haven’t accomplished a damn thing. Get out of here.” He flicks his wrist at the door. “You’re useless to me.”
“We’ll finish our chat later.” I paste on a smile—brittle as it might be—to brighten up this exchange.
“Don’t bother. I’ll be well on my way by then.” He tips an imaginary hat.
This conversation is circling the drain. I’d have more luck talking to the bleached wall beside me. “You’d be better off sticking around, Mr. Astor. We can’t provide you with appropriate care if you’re constantly in and out.”
“And you’d be wise to mind your elders.”
Another crack at me. Go figure. I chew on the snarky retort begging for escape. “Try to get some rest until Doctor Marshall can see you. I’ll check back soon.”
I’m halfway to the exit when his parting blow trips me.
“Send someone who isn’t fresh out of school. You don’t have a damn clue what you’re doing.”