Heiße Rettung: Lesbischer Arztroman (Signiertes Taschenbuch)

Seiten : 94
ISBN : 9614622000570
Gewicht : 104g
Abmessungen : 127 x 5 x 203 mm

- Altersunterschied
– Enemies-to-Lovers
– Arztromantik
– Liebe am Arbeitsplatz
– Machtgefälle
– Slow Burn
– Knisternd/Prickelnd

Chapter 1

»Mom? Mom, do you hear me? Mom, please. Mom!«
Sam sat bolt upright with a strangled cry, her hands reaching out for the ghost of a woman who wasn't there – who hadn't been there for years. For a few seconds, she gasped for air, just as she did every time she woke up from a nightmare about the accident, then she became aware of where she was again.
It had been five years. She was lying in her bed, in her apartment, and it was dark because it was three in the morning, not because she was hanging upside down on a snowy embankment. The pain in her chest where the seatbelt cut into her skin wasn't real, and the biting smell of petrol burning in her nose was just a phantom.
She sank back into the pillows and counted down from ten in a trembling voice. A technique her therapist had taught her in the months after the accident. Sometimes it helped, sometimes it didn't, but it was always worth a try.
»Ten.«
She was home, in bed …
»Nine.«
The desperation in her voice when she had called out for her mother was now fading, growing softer …
»Eight.«
Her voice grew firmer; the tremor that betrayed her fear had disappeared.
»Seven. Six.«
Her breathing became calmer.
»Five.«
The smell of petrol faded, displaced by the lavender scent of the diffuser in the corner of her room. She continued counting down to one, and when she was done, the tension eased a little from her muscles. For a moment she lay still in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, then she let exhaustion win and slipped into a dreamless sleep – for the few hours she had left until the alarm clock would wake her.

****

While Sam waited for her first coffee of the morning, she leaned against the kitchen counter and stared into space, her thoughts on the nightmare that had woken her during the night.
She didn't have nightmares often anymore. The year after the accident had been the worst – she had woken up screaming almost every night, calling out for her mother until her throat burned, desperately grasping at the air in front of her, trying to cling to a woman who had long since passed. But with time, it became a little easier to bear the loss. In the end, it always was. The pain became a little more bearable, the grief a little less overwhelming, and the nightmares became rarer.
As she poured herself coffee, Sam wondered what had thrown her off balance, and then remembered the patient she had treated the day before. A young girl, barely older than eighteen, who had lost control of her car on the way home. She had taken a bend too fast, gone off the road, and crashed into a lamppost.
The car had been a wreck when the emergency services arrived, but the girl had survived. Sam couldn't help but wince when she thought of the terror on the young girl's face as she looked up at the paramedics. She wondered if she had looked the same back then. Young, scared, not sure if she was alive or dead.
The familiar churning feeling welled up in her stomach, but Sam pushed it aside as she sipped her coffee and exhaled through her nose. The girl was fine, apart from the broken bones and bruises. That was the only thing that mattered, that's what she had to focus on.
With a soft groan, Sam slowly stretched her aching muscles. At least she didn't have to work today. There was no risk of accidentally stumbling upon a case that would trigger another nightmare. All she had today was soccer practice in a few hours.
Sam had started playing soccer a few years ago, on the recommendation of her therapist. Sports were a proven form of therapy for people who had experienced trauma. Team sports forced you to interact with other people and reduced the risk of isolating yourself and sliding into depression, or something like that. Honestly, Sam had only joined because it gave her a reason to kick something, and back then, that's all she wanted.
It had quickly become so much more. Maybe it was because she was a natural talent, or maybe she just really liked team sports, but Sam had truly grown to love the sport. She loved the feeling of chasing across the field, loved the adrenaline pumping through her veins as soon as the game started, and she had almost immediately fallen in love with her teammates.
Actually, practice would have been perfect, if it weren't for one tiny detail – her tough coach, Chrissie. For some reason, the older woman had been on her case from the very first moment.