Chapter One

Present day

Sam heard the shouting and heavy objects crashing to the floor long before he saw the source of the anger and rage. He picked up the pace a bit, hurried towards the E.R., even as people scurried past him in the opposite direction. It wasn’t uncommon for fights and arguments to break out in the E.R., of course, especially at the weekends, and most especially in the middle of the night. But things could get tense and go south anytime – as shown right at this moment, at just before nine o’clock on a rainy, foggy Tuesday morning in late-winter.

He entered the large E.R. open space, set down his awful cafeteria coffee on the first available surface, took in the scene at a glance. There was medical equipment scattered all over the floor, patients were cowering on gurneys and visitors in chairs, the doctors and nurses were mostly hugging the walls, though Sam did see Doctor Harold Tillman trying to talk to a large man with reddish hair.

Harry’s voice was low and soothing, and he had his hands extended in a friendly gesture. Clearly, this red-headed man was the source of the mayhem and destruction, but even if Harry hadn’t been trying to calm the situation, Sam would still have known. The man was pacing and prowling, grabbing his hair and shouting, then randomly lashing out and knocking things over. This was pretty classic behaviour for someone on drugs, and Sam didn’t blame everyone for backing the hell up. Sam had been attacked more than once by someone high beyond reaching with words and logic.

“OK, calm down,” Harry said. “We want to help you, sir, so please just sit down.”

“Don’t touch me!” the man shouted back, throwing a chart at the wall. “Don’t touch!”

“Please,” Harry said. “You’ve been in an accident, and you may have a head injury. We just want to look at you. That’s all.”

“No!” The man spun, and now Sam saw his face. It was bloody and bruised, and it was clear that his head was cut pretty badly. “No! I want to go! It’s almost nine o’clock and I need to be at work at nine!”

“Sir –” Harry began, but the man cut him off.

“Work is at nine and I can’t be late! I have to go!”

Sam stepped a bit closer, suddenly getting a niggling feeling in his guts.

Do I know him? Has he been here before?

“Hey –” Harry said, but again he was interrupted.

“Nine o’clock!” The man was frantic, and started yanking his hair again. “Work!”

He turned a bit more, as if he was about to sprint out the door, and that’s when Sam recognized him.

Oh, my God.

“Noah?” Sam asked quietly, taking a step forward. Every person in the room looked at him, but he was totally focused on Annie’s son. “Noah Matthews?”

Noah’s blue eyes snapped over to Sam’s face and he blinked.

“Noah?” Sam took another small step forward, and Harry carefully moved back, letting Sam take it from here. “Do you remember me?”

“Doctor Sam Innis, trauma surgeon,” Noah rattled off. “We met at twelve-nineteen a.m. on September fourth, three years ago. In this E.R.”

“Right.” Despite the tension and gravity of the situation, Sam grinned. “That’s me.”

“You helped Sarah when she had blood and wouldn’t wake up.”

“I did.” Sam got closer now, but Noah stayed mercifully calm. “I helped your sister.”

“Yes. You and Doctor Mac.”

“That’s right.”

Noah contemplated Sam for a moment, then said, “I have blood. Right now.”

“Yes,” Sam agreed. “Where is it coming from?”

“Here.” Noah touched a matted tangle of hair just above his forehead. “Hurts.”

“Can I help you, Noah?” Sam asked him. “The way that I helped Sarah when she had blood?”

Noah gazed at him, and though he was standing still now, his hands were opening and clenching at his sides, so he was still agitated. Sam stood his ground, just stood and waited, didn’t come any closer. Sam was going to wait for Noah to give him permission, or he was going to stand there all damn day waiting to get it. He wasn’t going to force anything on this man. Doing so would just result in Noah getting more hurt – and maybe not just Noah. Annie’s son was large and strong, and he could do some damage if he lost all control.

“Yes,” Noah said at last. “But just you, Doctor Sam.”

“That’s no problem, Noah.” Sam smiled and gestured at a free examination table in a far corner. “If you sit down, I’ll help you.”

“Just you.”

“Just me.”

“Because I have blood,” Noah told him, wandering over to the table and sitting down. As soon as he did, a sense of relaxation settled over the E.R. Staff started picking up things from the floor, escorting patients back to gurneys and tables, and people exhaled in relief. “Lots of blood. Not as such as Sarah, but still lots.”

“Yes,” Sam said. “It is a lot.” He put on some gloves, moved closer to Noah. “Can you tell me what happened, Noah? Why you’re bleeding?”

“Oh!” Noah said suddenly, catching sight of the clock on the wall. “Nine o’clock!”

“Today is a special day, Noah,” Sam said firmly. “Today at nine o’clock, you’re at my work. OK?”

Noah stared at him. “Your work?”

“Yes.” Sam smiled at him. “Can you help me with my work, Noah?”

“Yes!” Noah said excitedly. “Can I be a doctor?”

“Sure.” Sam rolled his stool a bit closer, watched to see if Noah flinched or moved away. He clearly remembered that three years earlier, only Annie and Jax had been able to touch Noah, and he knew that for people with autism, touch was a potentially huge trigger. But Noah was fine, thank Christ. “You ready?”

“Yes!”