Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 136048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
I’m really going to miss him. He’s been an incredible mentor over these past few years. There’s no way I would have made it this far without his support, and now it’s my turn to offer that wealth of knowledge to the next intern who comes along.
My morning gets away from me, and before I know it, I’m taking my scalpel and making a Y incision across my patient’s chest and down through the torso before folding back skin to expose the rib cage.
“Rib shears,” I say, holding out my hand toward the intern who’s been assigned to observe me today.
Without skipping a beat, she hands me the shears, and I open them before positioning them at the lowest rib, needing to break through the bone. Just as I go to get started, a commotion across the morgue steals my attention.
“Nawww, fuck no,” Anders mutters, his face turning an ashy white.
A smile lingers on my lips, and the muted laughter that echoes through the morgue is all the amusement I’ll ever need in my life. “Oh hey, Anders,” I say over Dr. McKullan’s classical playlist, stealing his attention. “I could really use your muscles for this. These bones are a killer to get through, but you better gown up, this is going to turn into a splash zone.”
Anders looks at me as though I just asked him to give his great-grandmother a play-by-play demonstration of his first sexual experience, and as the seconds tick by, his skin grows even paler, until he’s flying to his feet and racing for the door. “Nope. Can’t do it.”
He body-slams the big double doors, barely having a second to swipe his visitor access card before bailing out into the hallway and racing to the men’s bathroom, all while a chorus of laughter fills the busy morgue.
Taking pity on the poor guy, I make quick work of getting through the ribs, and by the time he returns, he’s shaking his head and meeting my stare across the room, a stern warning in his eye that this isn’t something the rest of the boys can ever hear about. But unfortunately for him, I love sharing a good story.
“Feeling better?” I ask as he makes his way back over to his position in the massive room that gives him the best vantage point.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Good. I’m glad,” I tell him. “Now, come over here. I wanna show you how squishy this brain matter is.”
“Fuck you, Harper Madden,” Anders says, making for the door once again. “Fuck you right to hell.”
Two hours later, Anders has had eight separate, up-close-and-personal meetings with the toilet bowl, and I won’t lie, I was responsible for at least six of them. Some more intentional than the others. But I have to tip my metaphorical hat to him. That’s an average of one every fifteen minutes. If that were me, it’d be the equivalent of a full-body workout. I’d be writhing on the ground by now. He’s definitely putting in a good effort, though I don’t doubt he’ll be feeling sorry for himself come tomorrow.
My phone rings from across the morgue, and seeing as though I’m in the process of closing up, I hand my tools to the intern beside me. “Have at it,” I tell her, knowing Dr. McKullan will keep an eye on her, though it’s not as though she can kill the guy twice.
Dashing across the chilled morgue, I find my phone on my desk, and seeing Knight’s name across the screen, I turn to Dr. McKullan. “I’ve gotta take this,” I tell him. “Ten minutes.”
He nods, and I quickly answer the call before I miss it. “Hey, two seconds,” I say, slipping out of the morgue and into the quiet hallway where my conversation can’t be overheard by the whole morgue staff. They’re already too nosy and have been asking me questions about this mysterious new boyfriend who happens to have the pull to assign sexy SWAT team members to watch my every move. Naturally, they’re curious.
“Hey,” I say, letting him know I’m good to talk.
“How’re you doing, doll?” he asks, his tone low. “I hope you’re not pushing yourself too hard.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him as a stupid smile pulls across my lips, loving that he’s checking in on me like this. “Just like I was fine the day before, and the day before that.”
“Had no problems? Nothing out of place?”
“No, everything is right in the world. I haven’t been rushed into emergency surgery just yet.”
“Good,” he murmurs. “How’s Anders doing? I haven’t heard from him in a while.”
A laugh bubbles up my throat, and just as I go to respond, Anders barrels out the door, his hand clasped over his mouth as he sprints past me, and as he runs, I realize he’s covered head to toe in a cadaver’s stomach contents.