The Darkest Sunrise (The Darkest Sunrise #1)

I forced a grin, setting my clipboard on the desk and then flopping down into the chair beside her. Yawning, I pulled my disheveled hair into a ponytail.

I needed a haircut. Strike that. I needed a shower, a massage, a meal that was not prepared in the microwave, a week-long date with the backs of my eyelids, and then a haircut.

With my schedule, a unicorn sighting would have been more likely.

“Sorry,” I mumbled around another yawn.

She rolled her eyes so hard that her retinas fully disappeared. “If I go back in that man’s room, you’re going to have to perform the surgical reattachment of his hand.” She rocked back in her chair while crossing her arms over her chest. “I get it when the old-timers come in with dementia. They can’t help themselves. But that man is forty and his only ailment is a nasty case of smokes-two-packs-a-day-induced asthma. Last I checked, your lungs do not affect your cognitive abilities.” She paused and looked back at her computer, muttering, “Though the concussion I’m going to give that fool if he grabs my ass again will.”

It sounded like a joke, so I offered her a chuckle, hoping that it came off as genuine.

Meanwhile, I stared at my watch.

One hour.

The minute hand had finally caught up with me.

When I’d gotten the call about Mr. Clark being admitted, a large part of me hoped I’d get tangled up and lose track of time.

But, regardless of how desperately I tried, I’d never be able to forget that day.

With nothing left to celebrate, that day only served as a reminder that I’d survived another year in the darkness he’d left behind.

“Look… I, um,” I stalled. “I have to go. Can you please make sure someone gets in there to help him?”

On a dramatic gasp, she clutched her chest. “Dear God, is the world ending?” She glanced around the nurses’ station and asked everyone and no one, “Did Dr. Mills seriously just say she needed to go? It must be the rapture.” Lifting her hands up to the heavens, she rejoiced, “Praise Jesus, I’m right with the Lord!”

“Ha. Ha,” I deadpanned.

Okay. It could be said that I worked a lot. So much so that the running joke around the hospital was that I was a vampire who didn’t require sleep to survive. For my last birthday, the residents had all chipped in and bought me a life-size Ian Somerhalder cardboard cutout. Apparently, he played a vampire in a TV show or something. But considering I didn’t own a television, the humor was lost on me.

While my days were spent seeing patients at my office across town, my nights were all-too-often spent at the hospital. I was one of the few pulmonologists who came in any time a patient of mine was admitted. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust the on-call doctors—not exactly. They were talented. (Well, except Blighton. I wouldn’t let that idiot treat my goldfish. And I didn’t even have a goldfish.) My patients depended on me, and my peace of mind came with the knowledge that they were getting the best possible care I could offer them. If that meant I had to be available to them twenty-four-seven, so be it. Besides, it’s not like I had much else going on in my life.

The most exciting thing that had happened to me outside of medicine in the last year was the blind date my best friend had guilted me into with the son of her hairdresser. His name was Hal, and he was an accountant. And not the sexy-nerdy type. I’m talking the balding, boring, pocket-protector-wearing kind. I’d sneaked out of the bathroom window halfway through dinner, and the following Monday, Rita had been forced to find someone new to touch up her roots. Luckily, she’d appeared to have learned her lesson and hadn’t mentioned setting me up again.

I looked back at my watch.

Fifty-nine minutes.

After contemplating swinging through the infectious-disease lab to see if I could catch a dreaded—but curable—illness, I finally gave up and pushed to my feet. There was no way to avoid it. And the sooner I made an appearance, the sooner I could leave and put the entire day behind me for another year.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Denise.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her doing the sign of the cross as she called out, “Have a good one, Dr. Mills!”

As I waited for the elevator, nerves and dread brewed within me.

I could do this. It wasn’t my first rodeo. I just had to show my face. Slap a smile on. Offer a few hugs. And then get the fuck out of there.

Oh, and be gutted all over again. Too easy.

I groaned as I punched the button for the parking garage.

“Charlotte, wait!” Greg yelled, attempting to slide inside the elevator with me. He managed to get his upper body through before the doors closed. “Shit!” he exclaimed as the elevator went into some kind of accordion mode, repeatedly opening and closing on him.

I could have helped by pressing the Open Door button, but I didn’t. It was the most entertainment I was going to get all day.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I didn’t try to hide my grin as he continued his battle with the elevator.

“What the hell?” he growled.

The doors finally gave up and his lanky body fell inside, banging into the wall.

I choked on a laugh and barely managed to get out, “Are you okay?”

“Seriously?” He snatched the lapels on his white coat back into place.

“You…uh”—I cleared the humor from my voice before finishing—“might want to report that to maintenance. Real safety hazard.”

He narrowed his eyes, and it made my smile spread.

Nothing in this world gave me more pleasure than pissing off Greg Laughlin. It hadn’t always been that way. Greg and I had been close since medical school. He was smart, handsome, and even funny in a weird way. If I’d had any interest in men whatsoever back then, I might have considered dating him. Fortunately, I’d dodged that bullet.

He’d married our mutual friend, now office manager, Rita, while we were still in our residencies. Greg and I both specialized in pulmonology, and the minute we’d been able, it was a no-brainer to go into private practice together. He was a good doctor but, as it turned out, absolute shit for a husband.

Earlier that week, I’d found out that he was sleeping with my head nurse. Talk about awkward. Rita was heartbroken, my nurse had quit, and my only way to exact any kind of revenge on my partner was through the karma-controlled doors of a malfunctioning elevator.

“I’m glad you enjoyed that,” he snipped, finger-combing his thinning, brown hair.

“Oh, I truly did.” I laughed.

“I’ve been texting you all day.”

“I know. I’ve been avoiding you all day.”

His lip curled in disbelief. “You can’t avoid me.”

“Um…I’m pretty sure I can. Remember, I’ve been doing it all day?”

The elevator came to a stop and I stepped off into the parking garage—not surprisingly, so did he.

“Is this about Rita?” he asked incredulously. “Still?”