Screwed Up: Bayside Heroes Read online

  SCREWED UP

  BAYSIDE HEROES

  HARLOE RAE

  CONTENTS

  NOVELS BY HARLOE RAE

  Screwed Up Playlist

  Blurb

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Epilogue

  Want More Bayside Heroes?

  Fired Up Sneak Peek

  MORE TITLES BY HARLOE RAE

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2021 by Harloe Rae, LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the publisher listed above, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or purely coincidental.

  Editor: Infinite Well

  Cover designer: Kandi Steiner

  Photographer: Perrywinkle Photography

  Interior design: K.K. Allen

  NOVELS BY HARLOE RAE

  Reclusive Standalones

  Redefining Us

  Forget You Not

  #BitterSweetHeat Standalones

  Gent

  Miss

  Lass

  Silo Springs Standalones

  Breaker

  Keeper

  Loner

  Total Standalones

  Watch Me Follow

  Ask Me Why

  Left for Wild

  Leave Him Loved

  Something Like Hate

  There’s Always Someday

  For Emily. Thank you for the endless knowledge, expertise, and patience.

  Also for Kandi, K.K., and Tia. You’re my Bayside Babes forever!

  SCREWED UP PLAYLIST

  Woman | Kesha & The Dap-Kings Horns

  Shivers | Ed Sheerin

  Ready For It | Taylor Swift

  Acapulco | Jason Derulo

  Don’t Break the Heart | Tom Grennan

  Better Days | Dermot Kennedy

  Tell Me You Love Me | Demi Lovato & Dave Aude

  That’s My Girl | Fifth Harmony

  Salute | Little Mix

  I Guess I’m In Love | Clinton Kane

  July | Noah Cyrus & Leon Bridges

  Show Me Love | Alicia Keys & Miguel

  Listen on Spotify here!

  “He might be wrong, but I’m tired of being right.”

  The extreme focus on my career has led to a lonely existence.

  I don’t make time for much beyond the hospital walls.

  And the pressure is getting to me.

  Those who know me best highly recommend I take the edge off by any means necessary.

  As it turns out, the new security guard at Bayside Regional is just what the doctor ordered.

  Dane Owens is a disaster waiting to happen.

  Maybe that’s why I can’t look away.

  He plays fast and loose with no intention of slowing down.

  Especially when it comes to dating.

  We’re polar opposites, which is precisely why this arrangement is temporary.

  But there’s plenty to keep us occupied until our expiration date.

  All I need is for Dane to follow the rules that long.

  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 ther
e’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.”

  I offer him a farewell grin over my shoulder. His nasty attitude is the strongest incentive I could receive. Patients like him are the reason I chose this field. That doubt he hides behind only fuels me to prove myself.

  And that’s precisely what I’m about to do.

  CHAPTER ONE

  DANE

  I squint against the glare reflecting off the river. The sun is barely cresting the horizon as we approach the final turn. In a few hours, this stretch will be packed with locals and tourists alike, which is precisely why we hit the pavement before dawn. The breeze dances gently over my heated skin, offering a brief reprieve from the exertion. The chill hanging in the air is an added benefit.

  There’s a slight burn in my calves as I lengthen my stride. I could go for a third lap before my lungs begin to protest. The traffic will remain minimal for at least thirty minutes. I stare at the approaching bend while the echoes of our steady footfalls whoosh in my ears. From my periphery, I catch Greg’s flushed cheeks and heaving chest. Chances are he won’t take me up on another round. Fucking lightweight. I slow my pace, coming to a stop at the rail before crossing the bridge.

  Greg staggers to a sloppy halt beside me. He bends in half, huffing with labored exhales. His shirt is soaked and he tugs at the soggy material. “Damn, dude. That was brutal. What’re you trying to prove?”

  I stretch my arms, rotating left to right. There’s a distinct rush flooding through me, pushing for more. I’m barely winded. My muscles feel warm and primed. “Nothing. Maybe you need more time away from the ER.”

  He grunts and swipes at his glistening forehead. “OR.”

  I wave off his correction. “Same difference.”

  His eyes roll to the dewy grass. “Not really, but nice try.”

  “Speaking of,” I focus on the vibrant colors splashing across the skyline. The hum of traffic is gaining momentum behind us. “Any big incidents lately?”

  Greg studies me for a moment. “Do you actually care?”

  “Yeah, I have nothing interesting happening at work. Let me live vicariously.” A noticeable twinge in my hamstrings has me dropping low for a few squats.

  He mirrors my movements. “By discussing the tragic misfortune of others? Man, you really are a heartless asshole.”

  I mock a wince as if he’d struck a blow. Asshole I may be, but heartless? I straighten my stance with a sigh. “Is it always tragedy that lands them in your care?”

  “You don’t visit the emergency room for a little boo-boo.” His deadpan tone gives me a clue to how he really feels about my lacking knowledge.

  “Touché.” I salute him. “So, what’s been keeping you busy?”

  It’s curiosity, and boredom, more than anything. I haven’t been to the hospital since I broke my arm in first grade—knock on wood. This is my version of a backstage pass.

  He peers into the distance. “Did you hear about that major crash on Tuesday?”

  That jogs my memory. “On the I-4?”

  He bobs his head. “It was bad. A huge pileup. We had every OR full for eighteen hours. It was nonstop.”

  There’s something more to the experience that he isn’t saying, but I don’t want to prod too hard at a sore spot.

  “What caused it?”

  His shoulders bunch with a shrug. “The fog? Who knows. It happens too often.”

  That’s a harsh reality anyone in this region has to deal with. “It’s good you were there.”

  “There’s only so much I can do.”

  “More than me.”

  Greg’s mouth dips at the edges, but he nods. “We saved a lot of lives.”

  My gut clenches at his quiet downplay. “That’s it?”

  “I can’t give you the specifics.” The abrupt shift in his mood proves he’s carrying extra baggage that I’m not privy to. How could he not be? He blows out in a rush. “What’s up with your job?”

  “Nothing.” I curl my upper lip at the reminder.

  His snort calls bullshit. “Now who’s being evasive?”

  “That’s just my style.” I give him a bow.

  He lifts his brows in a silent challenge.

  I steel myself for the backlash this confession will unleash upon me. “Truth be told, I’m ready for a change of scenery.”

  Greg lets his jaw go slack. “You’ve only been at the office gig for two months.”

  I avert my gaze, finding a sudden interest in the sidewalk vendors revving their grills and setting up supplies. “My talents are being wasted.”

  “Oh, that’s rich.” Disapproval pinches his features.

  A low simmer begins to bubb
le in my veins. “You’d rather have me doing something I hate? It’s dull as fuck, man. I’m not meant for routine monotony. There aren’t even any hot chicks who work in the building. The least they could do is provide some visual stimulation.”

  “I doubt that would matter. This is your pattern. You can’t stick around for the long term.” His accusation threatens to blister my skin.

  “Fuck off, West.” I clench and open my fists for several counts. The heat prickling at me only burns hotter. “Excuse me for not having the dedication to be a doctor.”

  Greg turns to face me. “Dedication isn’t your issue. I just want you to realize this behavior is toxic.”

  I draw in a breath through flaring nostrils. “Now you’re a shrink?”

  Disappointment drips off his slouching stance. “Don’t do this, Owens.”

  “Do what?” I narrow my gaze on him. “Defend myself?”

  He returns my glare. “Do you forget that we’ve been friends since freshman year? You’ve been at this cycle for a decade. It’s not new. Push all you want, I’m not going anywhere.”