Say Less I Love You Episode 1

Chapter 1

Nyla

"Take them up to surgery!" Dr. Beam yells over the noise, pointing to a stretcher carrying a woman whose leg looks like it's barely hanging on.

Blood paints my scrubs like some twisted Jackson Pollock piece. The ER is a symphony of chaos—doctors shouting orders, machines beeping, and the groans of the injured. I press down on a man's chest, counting compressions, my muscles screaming for relief.

I release a breath I didn't know I was holding when the man's heartbeat returns under my hands. "He's back!" I shout, moving to wrap another patient's arm that's mangled beyond recognition.

"Quick thinking, Nyla, that’s a wrap," Dr. Fitzpatrick says as he passes by, barely glancing at me before he's on to the next crisis.

I step out of the chaos and into the narrow hallway, pressing my back against the cold wall. The cacophony inside the ER fades, replaced by the steady hum of fluorescent lights and distant chatter. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, smearing blood across my skin. It’s not mine, but it doesn’t matter. It’s just another day in paradise.

The alarm on my watch rings, time for my actual scheduled shift to start. Not this one, which I picked up at the last minute for some extra cash.

"Here we go, bright eyed and bushy tailed," I mutter to myself.

I make my way to the nurses station, ready to start the day, or well, continue the day rather, seeing as I've been here since 7pm last night.

“Morning, Nyla. Ready for another day in paradise?” asks Jen, the charge nurse, her eyebrows doing a little dance above her glasses.

“Always,” I say, giving her a wink. “Who’s first on the hit list?”

Jen hands me a clipboard. “Mr. Delaney in Room 4. Fell from a tall scaffolding on the work site, probably a worker's comp situation.”

“Ah, those are my favorite,” I reply, flipping through the pages. My eyes scan the notes: 30 year old male, concussion, small head laceration, possible bruised ribs.

“Hey, Nyla!” A voice calls from behind. It’s Lori, my right hand, and best friend. She's holding two cups of coffee, one of which she offers to me. “You look like you need this.”

“Lori, you’re a lifesaver,” I say, taking the cup. The first sip warms me, cutting through the sterile chill of the hospital. “Spill the tea. What’s the gossip over in ICU?”

“Nothing special,” she says. “Oh, there's a new intern. Cute but clueless. Dr. Harris nearly canned him two hours into his shift.”

“Can’t wait to see that,” I laugh. “Alright, duty calls, lunch in the cafe on break?”

"You know I can't turn down hospital cafeteria meatloaf, I'll be counting down the hours," Lori says with an eye roll as she walks away to check on her own patients.

I step inside Room number 4, checking the chart in my hand. The guy on the bed stirs, with a groan

Despite his bruised face, I can't help but notice just how handsome he is.  His stark jawline, he's shaggy blonde hair. My thoughts are only further personified as he slowly opens up his striking blue eyes, orienting himself with his surroundings. 

"Good afternoon, Mr. Delaney," I say, pulling up a stool. "How’re you feeling?"

He rubs his forehead and squints at me. "Like I got hit by a truck. Twice."

I laugh. "Well, you did take quite a tumble. I’m Nyla, your nurse for the day. Can you tell me your name?"

"Ryan," he mutters, wincing as he tries to sit up. "What happened, anyway?"

"You had a little disagreement with gravity," I say, glancing at his chart again. "Landed yourself a nice concussion, some stitches, and a couple of bruised ribs."

"Great," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. 

"Well, look at the bright side," I say, adjusting his IV. "You’re still alive to tell the tale."

He chuckles as his eyes scan me, then winces. "Pretty sure I won’t be mentioning this. To anyone."

I find myself smiling at him. "So, any family I should call? Wife? Girlfriend? Let them know you’re in one piece?"

Ryan shakes his head. "Is this your way of asking me if I'm single, nurse Nyla?” he asks with a sly grin. 

"Just hospital policy." I respond, sensing that’s not the answer he was anticipating.

His confidence waivers. "Nah, I’m good. It’s just me."

"Alright, Mr. Delaney," I say, jotting down some notes. "Let's get you checked out, okay?"

Ryan shifts on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position, when Zara, a fellow nurse, and the third tier of the 3 musketeers, as Lori and I so cleverly call it, saunters in.

"Morning, Nyla, did you get your coffee from Lori?"

I'm about to respond when her eyes lock onto Ryan, and I can practically see the gears turning in her head. She adjusts her posture, sticking her chest out, and gives him a sultry smile.

“Well hello there, handsome,” Zara purrs, basically pushing her chest in his face as she leans over to check his IV, though I know it doesn’t need adjusting. “How are you feeling?”

Ryan glances at her, then looks back at me. “I’ve been better,” he says, clearly uninterested.

Zara’s not deterred. She leans in closer, brushing her arm against his. “You’re in good hands here. We’ll take great care of you.”

I stifle a laugh. Zara’s antics are as transparent as glass. I can’t help but admire her persistence, though.

“Thanks,” Ryan says, still looking at me. “Nurse Nyla has done a pretty good job at handling it.”

Zara’s smile falters for a second, but she recovers quickly. “Let me get you some ice, I'm sure you're parched, that saline has a way of making your mouth dry,” she says, giving him one last lingering look before sashaying out of the room.

As soon as she’s gone, Ryan lets out a breath. “Does she always come on that strong?”

I chuckle. “More often than not. She’s harmless, though.”

“Good to know,” he says, eyes twinkling. “I’d rather focus on getting better. And talking to you.”

“Smooth talker, huh?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “You sure you didn’t hit your head harder than we thought?”

He laughs, then winces, clutching his side. “Okay, maybe no more jokes for a bit.”

“Deal,” I say, adjusting his pillow. 

Zara returns with a cup of ice. She hands the cup to Ryan, who takes it with a polite nod, then promptly ignores her to focus on me.

"Thanks, Zara," I say, trying to keep things professional. "Ryan, let's see how you're doing with your vision, can you read the first line of the chart over there on the wall?"

Ryan smirks, his blue eyes locked on mine. "Speaking of vision, you know, I don't think I've ever had a nurse as beautiful as you."

I laugh, shaking my head. "Must be the pain meds talking."

"Not a chance," he insists, winking. 

Zara crosses her arms, leaning against the wall. "You sure you're feeling okay, Ryan? Sometimes a concussion can make people speak strangely."

He doesn't even glance her way. "Oh, I'm sure. I mean every word."

I stifle a laugh, trying to stay focused.  "Any pain in your ribs?"

"Only when I breathe," he says, still grinning. "But it's worth it if I get to look at you."

Zara huffs, clearly irritated. "Ryan, if you need anything else, just let me know. I can be here in a heartbeat."

"Thanks, but I think Nyla's got everything under control," he replies, his tone dismissive.

Zara's patience snaps. "Nyla, can you come look at these lab numbers real quick?" she asks, her voice tight.

"Uh, sure," I say, turning to Ryan. "I'll be right back."

I step outside the room with Zara, who immediately rounds on me. "What is all that about? Do you know that guy?"

I sigh, rubbing my temples. "I know him as my patient as of fifteen minutes ago. Zara, he's on strong medication. He's not thinking straight."

"Right," she scoffs. "Like you believe that."

"Look," I say, trying to stay calm. "I'm here to do my job. If he wants to flirt, that's his business. But I'm not encouraging it."

"If it were me, I’d encourage it," she smiles, crossing her arms.

"Zara, this a hospital, not a glorified dating pool," I say firmly. "We're professionals, remember?"

"Fine, Debbie downer." She responds with a huff. 

I blindly reach for the hand sanitizer dispenser, it's muscle memory by now, and head back into the room.

"Everything okay?" Ryan asks.

"Oh yeah, just looking at some numbers on my other patients. Let's take a look at this head lac," I say, inching forward to check out the nasty cut on his scalp.

I lean in closer, my fingers grazing his hair. 

“Do you always take such good care of your patients?” he asks, voice low. 

“I’d like to think so, it kinda goes with the job,” I reply with a smirk, trying to keep things light.

“I see,” he says, grinning.

Before I can respond, the door flies open, and Lori bursts in, her face pale and eyes wide. My heart sinks immediately.

“It’s your grandpa.”

The room spins for a second, and I feel like the air’s been sucked out. I shoot up from the stool, nearly knocking it over.

My heart plummets as Lori’s words sink in. Grandpa. I don’t waste a second. “Ryan, I’ve got to go,” I say, my voice barely steady. “Lori, take over.”

Lori nods, understanding and worry etched on her face. “Go. I’ll handle everything here.”

I dash out of the room, my mind racing. Grandpa’s been here almost a year, fighting RND. He's in an induced coma to buy us time, but time’s a fickle friend. I speed-walk through the hallways, the sterile smell of the hospital intensifying with each step. Nurses and doctors rush by, snippets of their conversations blending into a chaotic symphony.

I sprint down the hallway, my shoes squeaking against the polished floor. My heart’s pounding, drowning out everything else. The ICU door looms ahead, and I push through, nearly colliding with Dr. Patel.

“Nyla,” he says, his face grim. 

“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to catch my breath. “Is he okay?”

Dr. Patel shakes his head. “His condition has worsened. The RND is progressing faster than we anticipated.”

I feel like the floor’s been pulled out from under me. “What can we do?”

“There’s a treatment,” he says, her voice cautious. “It’s part of a clinical trial. But it’s expensive, Nyla. Prohibitively so.”

“How expensive?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates, then says, “We’re talking six figures. And it’s not covered by insurance.”

My stomach drops. “I can’t afford that,” I say, my voice cracking. “There has to be another way.”

Dr. Patel sighs. “I wish there was. But this trial is his best shot. Without it…”

I don’t need him to finish the sentence. The weight of his words crashes down on me, and I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I can’t lose Grandpa. He’s all I have left.

“Is there any way to get him in without the money?” I ask, desperation creeping into my voice.

“Unfortunately, no,” he says, shaking his head. “The trial is privately funded, and they’re strict about their criteria.”

I swallow hard, trying to keep it together. “How much time do we have?”

“Days, maybe a week,” Dr. Patel says softly. “I’m so sorry, Nyla.”

I nod, unable to speak. My mind races, trying to think of a solution, any solution. But all I can see are dollar signs and a ticking clock.

“Thank you, Dr. Patel,” I manage to say, my voice shaking. “I need to go see him.”

He nods, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Take your time. If you need anything, let me know.”

I walk to Grandpa’s room, my legs feeling like lead. The door’s slightly ajar, and I peek inside. He’s lying in the bed, hooked up to machines, looking more frail than I’ve ever seen him.

I sit beside his bed, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only sound in the room. His hand feels cold in mine, the warmth of life slowly slipping away. My chest tightens as I look at his peaceful face, the lines of age etched deep into his skin. This isn’t how it’s supposed to end. Not like this.

“Grandpa,” I whisper, even though I know he can’t hear me. “What am I gonna do?”