Chapter 1 - Accident
Zoe’s P.O.V.
I know I shouldn’t be upset, but even after all this time, it still gets to me. I am a cardiac surgeon resident at one of the most prominent hospitals in Portland, Oregon, but many of the other surgeons treat me like a child. Yes, I’m young to be a surgeon at twenty-three. However, I graduated from high school at fifteen, and I had earned enough college credits for my bachelor’s degree. I went straight into med school, and I’m now in the third year of my residency, yet everyone acts as though I just got out of diapers. Many of those surgeons will be wearing diapers soon if they don’t watch it. I should have said that to their faces. Why do I always think of these things after the fact?
I slam the car door as I get into my well-used sedan. I’m petite at five feet two inches, and I keep my long reddish-brown hair in a braid most of the time. People say it makes me look even younger, but I like wearing my hair in a braid because it’s less of a fuss. I look in the mirror, and my green eyes look darker than usual. They sometimes get that way when I’m angry, and I’m flaming hot right now.
I’m used to the faculty doctors making jokes about me or trying to catch me off guard with something so I’ll look like an idiot, but today it was a few of the other residents. When we were with a patient, Dr. Saunders had the patient tell us their symptoms, then asked us what we would assess, which tests we should get, and which diagnosis we would try to confirm or rule out.
I took notes as she talked and as the patient told us everything that had been going on with them. I asked a few questions to clarify, which the patient answered freely. Dr. Saunders has always treated me with respect, so when she asked me to go first, I didn’t hesitate. She smiled and nodded when I was done, but before she could say anything, Brent, one of the other residents, spoke up. He poked holes in everything that I said, and the other two joined in. By the time they were done, the patient was looking at me as though I had two heads. Dr. Saunders tried to explain that I was right and the things the three men said weren’t, but I could see the doubt on the patient’s face. I finished my shift and left without another word. I know I should let it go and grow thicker skin, but it’s not that easy.
I pull out of the parking lot of the hospital and sigh. I thought that when I started my residency, people would start looking at me differently, but I was wrong. The pain and ridicule were supposed to have been left behind in Alabama. That’s where I’m from. My parents, Gina and Doug, treated me as though I was there to serve them, and when I didn’t do what they wanted, I paid for it. They would find new ways to hurt me with whatever was handy at the time. I knew the only way to get out of there was to go to school and work hard. I flew through school, skipping several grades while taking college courses.
When I asked my parents to sign the forms to allow me to attend med school out of state, they asked what they would get out of it. I was a minor, so I needed their consent. I told them that if the scholarship covered more than just my education, they would get a check for the excess funds. I knew it wasn’t true, but they were too dumb to realize it, so they signed, and at fifteen, I was on my way to the other side of the country. Things didn’t get better when I moved here as I had hoped. It has just been more of the same, except people don’t use their hands or other weapons to hurt me; they use their words.
It’s late out, and there aren’t many people on the road. I, of course, live on the other side of the city, and rather than getting on the highway, I decide to take the back roads. I need the drive to clear my head. I turn on the radio and begin singing along when suddenly I slam on my brakes. There’s an accident up ahead, and it looks like it just happened.
A truck is in a ditch on the side of the road, and a jeep is pulled over with its front end damaged. Two men get out of the jeep, and I pull over to see if I can help. Maybe someone will find my medical knowledge useful. I get out of the car and run to the two men who have just gotten out of the jeep. One is stocky and muscular with short brown hair. The other is really tall and muscular with dark blonde hair. Something about him makes my pulse race like I’ve just run a marathon.
“Are you guys okay?” I ask. They look fine, but I know looks can be deceiving.
“Yeah, we’re okay,” the stalky guy says while the other one just stares at me. I turn away from them and run to the man in the truck. The way his truck is angled, I can reach his door.
“Are you hurt?” I ask him through the open window. I look inside and see his hand is bleeding, and there’s glass in the wound. I remove my white coat, which I forgot to leave at the hospital, like I usually do, and fold it up. I look at the two men who seem to be arguing.
“Can one of you get the bag from my car? Did you call for an ambulance?” I ask them as I open the truck door and lay my coat on the man’s leg. It’s not exactly sterile, but it’s better than nothing.
“I called them.” The stocky guy runs over with my bag, and I put on gloves and get a pair of forceps. After carefully removing the glass from the wound, I clean his hand with wound wash and then wrap it with gauze.
“Wow, you did that fast,” the stocky man says.
“I’m a doctor. Are you hurt anywhere else?” I ask the man in the truck.
“My head hurts. I think it hit the windshield when I ran into their jeep.” I gently touch his head and feel a lump starting on his forehead. I look around the cab of the truck, and the wound on his hand doesn’t make sense unless he used his hand to break out the driver’s side window. Why would he do that when the door can open?
“You’re going to have a headache. Sit back until the ambulance gets here. What’s your name?” I ask him. I don’t know what big, tall, and handsome’s problem is, but he is still just staring at me while his friend stays with me.
“John, what’s yours?” the man asks. I smile and hear what sounds like a growl. Is there a dog or something nearby? I look around but don’t see anything.
“I’m Zoe. Just hang in there, the ambulance will be here soon.” John takes my hand with his good one and smiles.
“I feel almost as good as new thanks to you. Would you let me thank you by treating you to dinner?” Before I can reply, I hear a growl and, once again, I look around. The stocky man is looking at his friend, so I do too. He’s staring past me at the man in the truck, and he looks like he’s ready to attack him. However, that doesn’t explain where the growl is coming from. Luckily, I don’t have to answer because the ambulance is coming down the street. I pull my hand away from John and go up to meet the medics. After telling them what I did to clean and bandage his hand, the police took my statement and the statements of all three men. I walk over to the man who I now know is Ryder, because I heard him tell one of the officers. He hasn’t stopped staring at me, so I feel like I need to say something to him.
“Are you sure you’re not injured?” I ask him. When I look into his eyes, they seem to go from pale gray to grayish blue.
“No, I’m not hurt. Uh, Zoe. I, uh.” So he overheard my name, too.
“Yes, Ryder.” I have to look up to see his eyes, and he seems nervous or scared. I can’t quite tell which. I feel like wrapping my arms around him and telling him everything will be okay. Instead, I lay my hand on his arm and jump when I feel what can only be described as sparks run through my body. What was that? I forget about the sparks temporarily when I hear what Ryder says.
“Mate.” What does that even mean?
