https://www.authorcaseymorales.com

Enjoy a free sample of our upcoming contemporary romance, The Nursling, the second book in the Heartstrings of Honor series. This book releases for sale in late February, 2025.

Chapter 1

Omar

There’s nothing like waking up to cat paws making biscuits out of my cheeks to get my first day at a new hospital started off right.

“Ow, Isis, shit.”

I blinked awake to find golden eyes buried in puffy white fur glaring at me. Isis was a gorgeous cat, striking, really. Unfortunately, like so many “show gays,” she knew it and acted accordingly. If I could’ve heard her feline thoughts, I was certain she was thinking something like, “Why are you not worshiping me, human? I am awake; therefore, the world spins around me.”

Yeah, she’d definitely be thinking something like that.

And what was it with Persians and their scrunched up, snarky scowls?

Why did they always look like they were trying to pass the biggest turd ever?

With one arm, I pushed my hungry girl off, while my other hand reached up to check for blood. Despite the little rubber thingies I put on her claws, Isis could still slice through metal when she was in a mood, which was pretty much any time she was breathing.

As it turned out, she also had an impeccable sense of time.

A quick check of my iPhone told me I had two hours to shower, slip into scrubs, and head to my new hospital. In truth, it would only take me thirty minutes to get ready, another fifteen to down two cups of coffee and a blueberry bagel, and a solid hour of sitting in Atlanta traffic. I tried not to let the idea of commuter traffic sucking two hours out of my soul every day bring me down.

It was my first day at my new hospital, and nothing would steal my great mood.

First things first.

If I didn’t feed Isis, there would be an international incident, so I followed my yawling cat into the kitchen, dished out her breakfast, then slid a mug under my Keurig and pressed the magic buttons.

Coffee was the nectar of the gods.

At seven fifty-two, a friendly security guard with the cutest chin dimple snapped my photo and handed me a sticker with my grainy photo bordered in blue, announcing to the world that I was staff, not a visitor.

“Try not to let all the new hire modules bring you down,” the guard said with a sympathetic smile, as I stepped through the metal detector and retrieved my iPhone. “They’re not exactly Hollywood film quality. HR is on this floor. Just follow the signs to Administration. Eventually, they’ll get more detailed, and you’ll see one labeled Human Resources. Hospitals are all the same, right?”

I chuckled and nodded.

Clearly, my dimpled friend hadn’t worked anywhere else. The only way two hospitals were similar was in their mission to help sick people feel better. Everything else—the people, the layout, policies and procedures, even the color of their scrubs—was different, sometimes in strange and unpredictable ways.

Oh, there was one other way most hospitals were the same: their hallways and signs were harder to navigate than IKEA during a power outage. I’d worked at Atlanta’s Grady Hospital for two years and still got lost going to the cafeteria.

By some twist of fate, I managed to only make one wrong turn and step through the HR door at eight thirty. Eight other men and women sat in classroom style chairs facing a massive wooden lectern etched with the Piedmont logo, an odd square made of four lines that didn’t quite connect. A laptop computer sat atop small desks before each chair.

“You must be Omar,” a perky woman who couldn’t have been more than twenty-two said from where she sat at a desk to the side of the podium. “Come on in. We won’t bite . . . much.”

The girl giggled, but the rest of the gathered medical pros rolled their eyes as though they’d heard the jest with each new person to enter the room.

I took a chair on the front row beside a bored looking man in his forties. By his expensive suit, dark scowl, and annoyed bearing, I was sure he was a doctor, likely a surgeon. Most surgeons reminded me of Isis and her perpetually pouty face. I thought it strange that a doctor would be forced to sit through a day of HR, but it was nice to see that Piedmont took its policies seriously, even for the top-of-the-food-chain professionals.

“Alrighty then,” the girl said, hopping up from her desk like she was about to do a gymnastics routine. Her accent was thicker than Southern sweet tea.

The doc beside me groaned.

“Welcome to Piedmont Hospital. We’re so glad to have each of you joining our little family. This is a special place to work, and I know you’re going to love it.”

The doc shifted in his seat.

I didn’t look over but felt how hard he rolled his eyes.

“My name is Amy Lynn Peters. I go by Amy Lynn, and my pronouns are she/her. Why don’t we start by introducin’ ourselves? You go first.” She pointed an open palm—because pointing with a finger would’ve been very un-HR of her—at the doc.

He sat up a little straighter and clicked his pen a few times.

“My name is Peter Halliway. I am a neurosurgeon. My pronoun is Doctor.”

Amy Lynn cocked her head like a baffled golden retriever. Sandy blond curls bounced as she blinked bright green eyes. A long moment passed before she turned toward me.

“Hi. I’m Omar Gamal. I’m an RN starting in the NICU.” My British accent was a sharp contrast to all the sugar floating around the room.

Amy Lynn waited.

Doc clicked his pen.

“Oh, sorry. I’m a guy. I mean a he. And at him. I’m a he/him.”

I shrank in my seat. God, I hated speaking in public.

Doc snorted.

Two hours later, we’d each introduced ourselves, Amy Lynn had read the Hospital’s mission statement and reviewed basic policies, and we’d watched a welcome video on our laptops that gave a virtual tour of the layout of the hospital, including the staff-only hallways that ran beneath. I knew the video was meant to help orient us to our new home, but I found myself even more lost after watching it. Maybe they’d hand out little maps or let us download an app to guide us through the maze.

“Let’s take a little break,” Amy Lynn said. “The hospital provides plain outfits for every employee, but if you prefer to fly the flag, one of the local uniform companies has scrubs and other gear embroidered with the hospital’s logo for sale at thirty percent off their regular prices. They’ll be in the room next door until the end of today, so feel free to take a look. Let’s meet back here in, oh, fifteen minutes, okay?”

A weak chorus of “okays” replied, as desks and chairs screeched, and we filed out of the classroom.

At the fifteen minute mark, Amy Lynn resumed her orientation by making us watch more videos. Doc figured out how to click through without watching the mind-numbing movies. I failed to find the magic button and struggled to stay awake.

By lunchtime, everyone was restless. It was palpable in the tiny room. Even Amy Lynn’s megawatt smile had lost a bit of its shimmer.

“Alrighty then. Why don’t we stop here for an early lunch? You can beat the rush. Our cafeteria isn’t Houston’s, but it’s pretty good. Make sure ya try the banana puddin’. It’s heaven.”

With that not-so-healthy admonition, nine newly minted Piedmont staffers fled the HR field in search of food and something to help get us through the rest of an endless day.

***

My classmates were milling about outside the HR classroom when I returned from lunch. Amy Lynn wove between us, her smile back to full brightness.

“Come on, y’all,” she said, waving us into the room.

Doc was already seated . . . and clicking his pen. I offered a smile he didn’t return.

It took a few minutes for everyone to get settled. Amy Lynn leaned against the podium, smiling and watching as we took our seats. Just as she opened her mouth, a guy barreled through the doorway.

“Sorry I’m late. It’s been a morning, like seriously, a Friday the Thirteenth kind of morning,” he said, his words falling out so fast I barely caught them all.

He turned to face the room, and I sucked in a breath.

The man was beautiful.

Not in the classic muscular, square jawed, Henry Cavil sort of way.

No, this guy was . . . what was he?

I narrowed my eyes and tried to define his look, but every word that popped into my head fell short.

Platinum blond curls fell across a pale forehead. Had his hair not been pulled back and tied off, I was sure it would fall to his shoulders, all wavy and even more bouncy than Amy Lynn’s. The lanyard holding his badge sported a bright rainbow covered with pins of tiny animals and cartoon characters.

“Alrighty, everyone,” Amy Lynn drew our attention back to her. “I know you’re all ready for that after lunch nap, but I have a special treat for ya.”

Doc’s clicking stopped. I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a precursor to a cataclysmic explosion.

Amy Lynn didn’t notice.

“This is Matty. He’s my all-time favorite ER nurse at Piedmont.” She gripped Matty’s arm and leaned over to whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. “But don’t tell anyone. HR isn’t supposed to have favorites.”

Matty grinned and flicked his hair back with a twirl of one hand. “Oh, honey child, there are no secrets at Piedmont. I’m everyone’s favorite.”

The chiffon that fell out of Matty’s mouth as he spoke couldn’t have been pinker or glitterier if we’d been watching a drag queen reading to third graders in Florida while waving Good Witch Glenda’s magic wand.

Amy Lynn covered her mouth and chuckled in her ladylike, Southern way, then turned toward us. “Matty is going to walk you through all the things he wished someone had told him on his first day at Piedmont. When he’s done, he’ll take questions.”

When Matty turned to face us and our eyes met, a troupe of butterflies I hadn’t known were trapped in my chest began to beat their tiny wings.

And I knew I was in serious trouble.

Chapter 2

Omar

A baby whimpered, then another squealed, then the whole room woke up and wailed.

There were only 4 wrinkled little pink things, but they sounded like an angry mob.

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.”

I reached for the first infant with both hands, hoping a little love might settle it down, but the other cries grew.

I yanked back and let my eyes dart from baby to baby. “Guys! I’m new here. Be gentle, please.”

They screamed louder, tiny birds with impossibly strong lungs and beaks wide.

“Omar!” barked a voice that carried enough authority to make a marine piddle.

I spun as three other nurses rushed into the room and scooped up charges. A mix of lullabies and other soothing sounds replaced the babies’ cries. I wanted to shrink under one of the nearby tables and vanish.

Olivia, the boss of all bosses who I feared was secretly the Mother of Dragons—or herself a dragon, the one you could never kill, only make her stronger—stood at the nurse’s station, clipboard in hand and an expression that could’ve curdled milk etched onto her ageless face. Sharp, beady eyes hid behind square glasses. A no-nonsense bun and a voice that frightened mountains into moving out of her way completed her uniform. “Come here.”

I scurried over like a guilty schoolboy. “Yes, ma’am?”

She squinted, a stare that felt like it could see right through my skin and into my soul. “Rule number one: Don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ I’m not running a finishing school, and I am not your mother. It’s Olivia. Clear?”

“Crystal, Nurse . . . Miss . . . Olivia.” I stammered then lowered my head in defeat.

“You have been a registered nurse how long?” Her question sounded more like an accusation than an actual query.

“Almost two years. I graduated—”

“Then stop acting like a rookie,” She snapped, silencing me with a wave of her wand, er, hand, then thrusting a clipboard into my chest. “You’re on Level One baby-watch. These are your assignments. Read them, memorize them, live them. If you have any questions, figure it out.” She paused, then added with a faint smirk, “Or come find me if you’re about to set something on fire, especially if it’s a patient.”

“Got it,” I said, flipping through the paperwork like it was written in a foreign language. Weight charts, feeding schedules, oxygen levels. Intellectually, I knew what it all meant. Of course, I did. I was a registered nurse and a smart guy, dammit.

But . . . if I knew so much, why did it feel like I was in over my head and sinking fast?

“Don’t look so terrified,” Olivia said, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “This isn’t a horror movie. Our patients don’t need an actor feigning terror; they need a level-headed nurse. Now move.”

Orders issued, she turned and strode away.

I stood there clutching the clipboard like it was a life preserver.

One of the other nurses holding a now-sleeping baby gave me a sympathetic look. I wanted to believe she’d been in my shoes, that she felt for the new guy facing Goliath for the first time, but no one could ever feel as lost as I did in that moment, could they?

Technically, Olivia had been right.

College lasted four years. I interned at our local hospital throughout that time. The nursing program I attended took another four years, three plus a year of clinical rotations. After passing my NCLEX and becoming properly licensed, Grady had taken me on staff. The head of nursing had promised to assign me to a department quickly, but a year later, I was still bouncing from one floor to another, filling in when one team or another ran short.

I’d probably seen a few hundred patients, maybe more, since my clinicals. Most were adults, though some were children.

None were infants.

I hadn’t even substituted for anyone in the maternity or neonatal wards. Hell, I hadn’t had any reason to pass by their doors.

Yet here I was, an official member of the NICU’s Level One team, standing in the middle of our open room with four babies judging and needing and . . . crying.

What had I done with my life?

I drew in a deep breath and scanned the room.

A rows of incubators lined the walls, each one housing a miniature human. I’d spent forever in training, but nothing prepared me for the reality of  . . . of any of this.

While I wasn’t working with the most seriously injured or ill of patients, these babies were tiny, and they looked so fragile, like porcelain dolls that might shatter if I even breathed too hard.

My hands were bigger than some of their heads.

How was I supposed to “handle with care” when the packages I was handling were made of living, breathing tissue paper?

“Hey, you okay?”

I wheeled about to find one of the nurses who’d rushed in staring at me. She was a bubbly woman with a messy ponytail and a name tag that read “Carlie.” Stickers of smiling and dancing Disney characters were stuck beside her name. They made me smile.

Carlie was holding a bottle of formula in one hand and a stack of blankets in the other. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Don’t forget to breathe, okay?”

“Breathe, right. That wasn’t on Olivia’s list.” I said with a nervous laugh. “I’m just trying to make sure I don’t break anything,”

She grinned. “Oh, don’t worry. You will break something. We all do. Just make sure it’s not a baby.”

I’m pretty sure my face lost the last of its color—and that’s hard for an Egyptian whose skin could make mahogany look pale.

Carlie laughed, patted my shoulder, and glanced at my name badge.

“Relax . . . Omar. You’ll do fine. It’s nice to have a rooster in here with all us hens.” She glanced around at the two other women holding babies. I mentally ticked down the list of other nurses I’d seen on the floor. All were women.

Growing up, I’d always been the “different” kid. My Egyptian heritage and British accent marked me as foreign, even to my own people, whoever they were. Begin the gay son of a devout Muslim father only added to my out-of-placeness.

Now, surrounded by patients I worried might shatter at my touch, I was the only man in a sea of female nurses.

This was turning out to be quite the first day.

“Just start with B5 over there. She’s easy—no IVs, no special orders, just feed her, burp her, and put her back to sleep.”

“Feed, burp, sleep. Got it,” I repeated, like I was rehearsing lines for a play.

The other nurses scooted behind Carlie, their babies now comfortably sleeping in their plastic cradles. Carlie, clutching her supplies, tossed me one last grin and left.

I sucked in another deep breath and held it for a calming moment.

“Here goes nothing,” I said aloud.

Approaching B5’s incubator with all the confidence of someone defusing a bomb without protective gear, I stared at the tiny life whose fingers and toes wiggled as she slept.

“Aren’t you the most beautiful girl in the world?” I said, meaning every word.

The baby’s eyes fluttered open, and I felt the smile that bloomed across my face filling the center of my chest. The baby didn’t cry. She just blinked up and reached her tiny, meaty fingers in my direction, gripping and releasing the air, as though my finger already rested in her grasp.

“Hi there, sweetheart,” I whispered, reaching over the lip of the crib and gently stroking her cheek. When she didn’t complain, my other hand joined its twin and lifted the precious lady out of her bed.

“I can’t call you D4. Do you have a name yet?” I lifted her arm with my off hand and read her armband. “Ana. What a lovely name for a cutie like you.”

It felt like I was holding a whisper.

“Alright, Miss Ana. Your bottle should be ready,” I murmured, grabbing the prepped bottle from the nearby station. “Let’s get you fed, okay?”

She latched on like a champ, and for a brief moment, I felt a spark of confidence. I rocked her back and forth, talking nonsense in what I hoped was a calming, low voice, as Ana devoured her meal.

“How do women feed you little terrors. You’re gumming that nipple like a sailor at a titty bar.”

Ana didn’t laugh or cry or respond in any way. She just kept sucking.

I brushed wisps of hair back, enjoying the soft perfection of her skin.

Another few moments passed before the bottle ran dry. I held the empty bottle in the air like a trophy I’d just won.

“Ana, that was so good,” I said, grinning as I held the bottle for the baby to see. Then more to myself than her, I added, “I can do this. I’m a good nurse.”

And then she spit up.

All over me.

Then did it again.

“Aw, really, Ana? I thought we were friends. You know, I feed you the good stuff and you don’t vomit all over me. That kind of friends,” I muttered, grabbing a burp cloth and trying to clean us both up without dropping her. “First day on the job, and I’m already a human napkin.”

“Welcome to the club,” Carlie called from across the room where she’d been watching from the open doorway. He grin widened and a laugh escaped as we made eye contact. “It’s a rite of passage. You’re one of us now.”

I managed to get Ana burped and back to sleep without any further disasters. By the time I returned her to her pod, it felt like I’d run a marathon.

And that was just one baby.

There were three more on my list.

The next few hours were a blur of bottles, diapers, and beeping monitors. Every time I thought I’d caught up, Olivia appeared like a hawk swooping down on prey.

“Omar, why is D6’s oxygen saturation at 94%? Did you check her cannula?”

“Uh, no, not yet,” I stammered, scrambling to fix it.

“And why is D3’s feeding chart incomplete? You need to log everything immediately.”

“Yes, ma—Nurse Olivia. On it.”

“And for the love of all things holy, tie your shoelaces before you trip and take down half the unit.”

“Right, sorry, ma’am, I mean sir, I mean Olivia.”

By the time lunchtime rolled around, I was ready to collapse.

I’d scarfed down half a granola bar when Olivia appeared again, clipboard in hand and an expression that suggested she’d just spotted me trying to dig a tunnel and escape through the prison yard.

“Omar, break time’s over. D2 needs a diaper change, and D4’s temperature needs to be rechecked. While you’re at it, try not to look like you’re about to cry. It unnerves the parents. Hell, it unnerves me.”

I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or hide.

Instead, I saluted her with what I hoped was a convincing smile. “Yes, Nurse Olivia. Right away, Nurse Olivia.”

As the day wore on, I started to find some semblance of rhythm—sort of—a bit.

I figured out how to juggle multiple tasks without spilling formula all over myself. I learned which monitors to ignore and which ones meant imminent disaster. Oddly, those cues were different in NICU than in adult awards. I also discovered that Olivia, for all her bark, wasn’t entirely the tooth-lined shark I’d taken her for. She actually smiled when I managed to swaddle D6 in under a minute.

“Not bad,” she said, her tone grudgingly approving. “You might survive your first week after all.”

“High praise,” I said, trying not to sound too smug.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she snapped, but I caught the faintest hint of another smile as she walked away. Under her breath, I heard, “Nursling.”

Was that irritation, amusement, or affection?

I had no clue.

By the end of my shift, I was a sweaty, exhausted mess, but I’d made it.

Barely.

Chapter 3

Omar

On my second day reporting to the NICU, Olivia assigned me two specific infants. Each was carried to term and delivered without issues. Neither was sick, malnourished, or needed special care in any way. I reviewed their paperwork twice to make sure I hadn’t missed some hidden malady Olivia might’ve snuck in to trip me up, but everything looked normal.

“Steel Bun give you the twins?” Carlie brushed past me on her way to a supply locker.

I snorted. “Steel Bun?”

She leaned toward me like she was about to share a national security secret and whispered, “That’s what we call her when she’s not around. I wouldn’t dare say it loud enough for her to hear. She might stab me with a syringe.”

“Right,” I said, shaking my head. Then something sank in. “They’re twins?”

Carlie stared a moment then nodded. “I know, they all look alike, but those two actually are alike. Didn’t see it on their chart?”

I grabbed the clipboard and flipped through the pages. “It’s not here. I read these twice.”

A slender finger reached over the paper and pointed. “Same last names, same parents. They’re subtle clues, but pretty obvious when you see them.”

My lips made an “O.”

Carlie grinned. “Don’t think you got off lucky. Most of the Level Ones are easy, but those two are terrors. You’ll want the biggest burp blanket we’ve got before you feed them, maybe one of those X-ray gowns with the lead lining.”

“Great,” I dropped the clipboard onto a table and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I can’t tell if Olivia likes me or hates my guts.”

Carlie patted my shoulder on her way by. Her other arm held a handful of tiny blankets. “She hates everyone . . . until she likes you. Hang in there. You’re our only man, and your accent is sexy like butter. With all the estrogen floating around this department, she’s bound to hump your leg before this is all over.”

My face must’ve contorted in horror because Carlie’s laugh echoed off the sterile walls of the nursery long after she vanished.

A tiny squawk from one of the twins banished all laughter.

When the second raised her voice, their insistence clawed beneath my skin. How could something so tiny command such immediate attention?

“Alright, you two. It’s time to eat. Just give me a minute.”

Rather than calming at the sound of my voice, they cried louder. I tossed a bottle in the fancy warming device, pressed start, then turned and picked up Demon Number One.

“Come on,” I said, bobbing up and down with the infant. “It will be warm in two minutes. You can hold out that long, can’t you?”

Right on cue, Demon One spewed all over my brand new scrubs.

“Aw, really? You haven’t even eaten.” I set the baby back in her crib and searched for a towel. By the time I rinsed off and dried down, the bottle warmer was beeping.

Demon One took her bottle like a champ. She even managed a monster burp without a second round of scrub destruction.

Demon Two was stubborn.

He refused the bottle, slapping at it with his meaty little hand and squirming so hard I almost dropped him. I had to dribble some of the milk onto my finger and feed it to him to get his interest. After that, he made me hold the bottle to my chest so the nipple stuck out where, well, a nipple should be. Only then did His Highness deign to dine.

He was not as considerate as his sister, vomiting baby juice all over the side of my scrubs his sis had left clean.

At least I was symmetrical.

The one thing Demon Two was better at than his sister was falling asleep. The moment he was changed and set in his crib, the little beast gripped my finger and closed his eyes. Even with bits of milk gunk all over me, I couldn’t help but feel a tingle and a smile at his firm grip.

“You’re going to be a strong one, aren’t you? A footballer? American, of course.” I glanced at his itty bitty toes. “Maybe a real footballer, like the gods intended?”

Motion at the giant glass wall between the nursery and hallway brought my head up.

One lone figure stood there.

Matty, the ER cutie with the platinum hair, pressed his palm to the glass and smiled his million dollar grin.

I’d been a bit mesmerized by Matty when he’d spoken to our new hire group, but seeing him out in the wild, staring back at me, I realized just how deliciously cute the guy was. His hair was even more platinum than I remembered—and a lot more curly, to the point of intentionally disheveled—making him look like some forgotten member of House Targaryen. It wasn’t a look I’d seen more than a few times, TV shows excluded. It was captivating.

Oddly, his eyebrows were brown without a hint of white or whatever that other color was. I squinted, studying his roots, but couldn’t find any clue that he dyed or peroxided. As badly as I wanted to ask, I would never dare. Aside from the glass wall separating us, there was a special circle of gay hell for questions like that.

His skin was about as creamy white as they came, a stark contrast to the rich darkness granted to me by the Egyptian gods. The nurse in me wanted to check his Vitamin D levels. He looked pretty thin, but in a fit way. Maybe he liked to run or jog?

And then there were his eyes.

I sucked on my bottom lip staring into those pools of gray, so clear and bright they rivaled the lightness of his hair.

Suddenly very self-conscious of my vomit covered scrubs, I tried to turn, but some force of nature or gravity or magnetic propulsion, if that’s even a thing, fixed me in place.

I blinked but couldn’t look away.

“Hungry?” he said—or mouthed—I couldn’t hear him through the glass.

I blinked a few more times, looked down at my shirt, then at the baby, then at my watch.

It was lunchtime.

I was two minutes from my break, and I was hungry.

I glanced back up to find Matty’s smile even wider than before. “Two minutes.” I held up two fingers, then motioned at my disastrous shirt.

Matty chuckled. At least, I think he did. I could feel him laughing, and oddly, it made me warm inside.

What the hell?

“Two minutes,” he mouthed, holding up two fingers just like I had. He then pointed to the end of the hallway where a few chairs allowed parents to relax. “Meet me down there?”

Without thinking, I reached up and pressed my palm to my chest. The sickening squish reminded me I needed to wash or change or burn my shirt. When I pulled my hand away, and my face scrunched at the goo covering my skin, Matty burst into laughter that somehow penetrated the glass.

“Let me get a fresh shirt,” I said, pulling at my shirt like an idiot.

He nodded, wiggled his fingertips again, then vanished down the hallway.

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