The double doors of the ER blasted open, bringing with them the metallic scent of copper and the harsh wail of sirens. I rushed forward, my hands already trembling in my sterile gloves. Another multi-car pileup on the interstate. As I prepped the trauma bay, the paramedics wheeled the gurney in, but my eyes locked onto him.

Captain Hayes.

He stood at the head of the stretcher, his turnout gear caked in ash and grease, his expression as blank as a fresh sheet of paper.

"Male, mid-thirties, blunt force trauma to the thorax. Vitals dropping," Hayes rattled off, his voice completely devoid of inflection. He wasn't looking at the patient; he was looking at the monitor, dictating the horrific reality as if reading a grocery list.

"How can you be so calm?" I snapped, struggling to stabilize the patient's airway while my heart hammered against my ribs. "He’s bleeding out!"

"Panic doesn't save lives, nurse," Hayes replied smoothly, stepping back to let the surgeons take over. "Precision does."

I glared at him. He was a machine. A stone-cold automaton who dropped shattered lives at my feet and walked away without a second glance. I poured my soul into every cry of pain in this room, while he simply wiped the soot from his jaw and headed back to the truck. He didn't care. He couldn't. I just didn't understand how someone could look at so much tragedy and feel absolutely nothing.

 "Panic doesn't save lives..." Ouch! 🥶 Does anyone else think Hayes needs to thaw out a bit, or is Clara just too hot-headed? Tell us what you think of this icy dynamic below! 👇 Hit ❤️ if you love a grumpy/sunshine ER romance, and share with your reading bestie! 🚑🔥