The Scheme

I stuck out my hand, automatically introducing myself to the child’s mother. But then I reeled back when I saw a familiar redhead—Clary Clensen, Bowlesville’s biggest skank.

My blood pressure rose. Had I straight up died and gone to Hell? I searched frantically around the room. Maybe I could run out and get her another nurse before she recognized me.

“Oh my goodness, Kendy!” Clary clasped her hands together as her son, no more than four, continued to wail in front of her. An older woman was cradling the boy in her arms as Clary’s protruding eyes scrutinized me.

She was wearing four-inch Louboutins designer shoes, and sitting at the edge of the bed was her Chanel purse, chilling like there was no tomorrow.

Fu

“Kendall,” I corrected her, adding under my breath, “Only my friends call me Kendy.” Even though everyone in my small town called me Kendy, I refused to be called a beloved nickname by this hooch.

I would never forgive her for what she’d done. Never. Ever. Even when I was ten feet under dirt.

“You’re a . . . nurse?” There it was—the condescending edge to her tone.

It took all my self-control to force a smile. “Yep.” I moved past her to wash my hands and slip on gloves. Regardless of how much we despised each other, there was a hurt child in front of me, and I had a job to do.

I advanced toward the cute child with a full head of short brown curls. “Shhh. It’s okay, buddy,” I told the little boy. He cowered inward, now sobbing quietly, but I couldn’t get a direct look at his knee. “I need to see your owie, bud. So I can make it better.”

I gave him a small smile, though he paid no attention since the pain consumed him.

I turned to Clary. “What happened?”

“I’m not too sure. I wasn’t there.” She turned to the older woman. “A

“He slipped and fell against a glass table.” A

My smile turned sympathetic. This was not going to be fun. Even being a nurse, I still hated watching people in pain, but seeing kids hurting tore at my insides. Each and every time, I’d wish it was me instead. Or even better—some other mean bitch, like Clary. Why couldn’t she have fallen on the glass table?

“We’re going to have him lay down,” I said firmly.

The little boy started to scream, and Clary narrowed her eyes at him, propping one hand on her hip. “Billy Bob, you need to quiet it down.”

My eyebrows shot to the ceiling.

Billy Bob? What the hell? We’re not in Bowlesville anymore.

Sighing, I turned to Clary. “Can you hold him still? I’ll need to examine his wound and get a better look to see if he’ll need stitches.”

Clary just stood stoic in her spot.

I quirked an eyebrow at her and waited for her to react. Do something. Anything. In the next second, I was about to cross the professional line and smack her on the side of her head.

“A

I rolled my eyes as I moved toward the poor child.

Focus on the task at hand.

Billy Bob started to flail his arms as A

I shot Clary an impatient look. “You’ll need to hold his lower body.”

A

I shot daggers at her. Any moment now I was about to let her have it, but finally Clary removed her jacket, rolled up her sleeves in slow motion, and held his sides, as if her child wasn’t wailing and his knee wasn’t oozing blood.

I leaned in to get a better look. When I swiped the infected area with an alcohol swab, he flinched and his cries heightened.

“It’s okay, buddy. We’ll get you better.”

I stepped back, reached into my pocket, and paged Dr. Klein. A few minutes later, he entered our room and Chlamydia Clary—as I had nicknamed her way back when—suddenly and mysteriously brightened up.

Surprise, surprise.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Klein.” He gave Clary his professional smile before his eyes focused on the boy, assessing him from across the room. His voice softened as he approached the hospital bed. “It’s okay. I’m here to fix you all up.”

Clary straightened her shirt and displayed her wi

Oh, hell no.

I stood taller, my bones tensing like a cat ready to spring in between them.

“It’s okay, Billy Bob,” Clary cooed as she replaced A

Unbelievable. A minute ago, she’d wanted nothing to do with him.

In my periphery, I saw Dr. Klein’s mouth twitch at the boy’s name. Though Clary’s fakeness raked on my nerves, I released a dry cynical chuckle. Being fake was my biggest pet peeve. You should never be fake, unless a man was lying on top of you and you wanted to spare his feelings.

Dr. Klein continued with protocol, asking the questions he needed to ask before he continued with the stitches. The laceration stretched deep enough you could see the child’s muscle. His wound spa

“So, Billy, are you into any sports?” Dr. Klein’s head peeked up as he continued to suture the cut. “Are you a Mets or Yankees fan?”

The diversion was working as the boy mouthed Mets through his tear-filled eyes.

“I root for the Mets as well.” He smiled warmly at the boy.

A few minutes later, he finished and the boy seemed better, all patched up. His loud cries had turned into soft whimpers.

Dr. Klein patted Billy’s shoulder. “All done, buddy.”

Clary stepped away from the bed and, without warning, pulled my doctor into a half hug. He moved away, but not before she squeezed his big arms. “Thank you,” she said in a tone that didn’t match her real voice. “You saved my son.”

His eyes widened as though he wasn’t expecting such an overly affectionate gesture.

My fists bunched at my sides, a

Saved her son? He needed stitches on his damn knee.

I didn’t know why this surprised me, though. Clary had always reigned as queen of melodrama in high school. I doubted things had changed.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, backing away, looking slightly uncomfortable.

I bit my tongue before a snippy comment fell out of my mouth, and I was turning to leave, when the bling on her ring finger caught my eye. It was massive and gaudy in a way that said ‘I’m a gold-diggin’ hoe’.

So she was married. And flirting with Dr. Klein. Figures.

“So, who’s the lucky guy who brought you to New York?” I asked sweetly to disguise my disgust.

She seemed taken aback as Dr. Klein cleaned up, disposed of his gloves, and moved to the sink. “His name is Arthur Je

Now that Dr. Klein was blatantly ignoring her, not interested in her trying-too-hard self, she felt the need to brag about the poor loser who’d won her.

I forced a smile as I gritted my teeth. “I’m so happy for you. You deserve to be happy after Tommy left you for your sister. How is Abigail, anyway?”

Clary blanched, and I tried my hardest not to laugh. If looks could kill, I’d be dead on the floor.