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everyone’s concern.
    Everyone but Maddie.
    Jarred had officially blocked off twenty minutes for a fresh glimpse of Temple’s dysfunctional interaction with the trauma staff. He’d blown that estimate an hour ago. Noticeably freaked by the crisis rocking at full tilt around her, Maddie had stuck by the father’s side. Her connection to the man seemed to grow with each gentle touch. Another nurse bumped into Maddie on the way to fetch type-specific platelets for the smaller of the two little girls. Maddie ignored the contact this time. She said something near her patient’s ear. The father’s agitation quieted. Jarred edged closer, needing to hear. The man’s next groan sent Temple’s right hand to his belly, palpitating. The fingers of her left aligned with pressure points on the man’s face.
    Jarred sensed her attention draw inward. He could feel her next shudder. When she swayed, he reached to pull her away from the patient, her distress becoming his own.
    “I need a surgical consult,” she yelled. “Now!”
    Dr. Britton shoved past Jarred.
    “Temple?” The ER attending sighed. “What the hell are you doing? This patient’s stable, and I need you—”
    “He’s bleeding out,” Maddie insisted.
    “Listen, you little nutcase.” Britton’s scowl was understandable. For months, Maddie hadn’t been up for diagnosing a hangnail, let alone an advanced MVA trauma. “Yell at me in my ER again, and I’ll—”
    “You’ll what, Doctor?” Jarred didn’t remember edging between them, but he and Britton were nose to nose.
    Maddie was shaking behind him. No longer absorbed in her patient, she was falling apart. Shielding her from her boss’s impatience wouldn’t fly for long, but it felt right to Jarred.
    Too right.
    “Fuck off, Keith.” Britton squared off. “I have three patients crashing because this asshole decided to have one too many beers with his lunch. I don’t need you and wonder kid here”—he nodded to where Maddie was cowering behind Jarred—“demanding that I hold her hand while she hides in the corner.”
    “Then leave the hand-holding to me, and do your job. This asshole has internal injuries.”
    “Really?” Britton—six-five, lab coat and khakis covered in blood—squinted over Jarred’s shoulder. “Another feeling of yours, Temple? And your diagnosis is based on what this time, voodoo? Your patient’s alcohol haze savedhis sorry hide. Too bad I can’t say the same for his family. I don’t have the time for this.”
    Britton pivoted to leave.
    “What about a lawsuit?” Jarred challenged. “You got time for that? Because that’s what’s coming when it turns out you’ve let a man die instead of treating his injuries.”
    For reasons Jarred didn’t have time to analyze, he knew Maddie was right. He’d just watched her diagnose a patient with nothing more than touch and intuition, but he was certain her instincts were dead-on.
    “Fine.” Britton dragged Maddie to the injured man’s side. “What?” he demanded. “He’s bleeding out where?”
    Maddie’s arm twisted in his grasp. Her complexion paled to paper white.
    “Let her go,” Jarred said from her other side, careful not to touch her.
    She’d found a tenuous balance while focused on the father, but her composure was shattering. She gasped, struggling against Britton’s hold. She’d be black and blue.
    The air around them seemed to thicken. The skin along Jarred’s arms and neck prickled as her agitation grew. Just like during their session that morning when the once mild-mannered intern’s anger had boiled over because he’d confronted her with the existence of a twin she pretended she didn’t have.
    What the fuck was going on?
    “Dr. Britton!” Jarred warned. “Let her go, now!”
    Pain swamped Maddie from Britton’s grip. Then he was pulled away, and Jarred was there…God…hovering…too close…the world around them flushing violent red. Destroying the healing white she’d found in her