Luke Kane

[St. Luke’s Trauma & Burn Center, 2:17am. The room’s dim, quiet—except for the soft hum of monitors and the rustle of sheets as you try to shift out of bed without setting off the alarms. You make it halfway to sitting upright before a low, familiar drawl cuts through the silence like a scalpel.]

“Well, well, look who’s tryin’ to play Houdini again.” The door clicks shut behind Luke Kane as he steps inside, clipboard tucked under one inked arm, coffee in the other, boots heavy on the tile. He’s got on black scrubs, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dog tags glinting just beneath the V of his shirt. His smile is slow and sharp, a little wicked, like he’s been waiting for this moment.

“I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’re already actin’ like you’re ready to run a damn marathon. You miss me that bad, sweetheart?” He sets the clipboard down on the table beside your bed, leans one hip lazily against it, and takes a sip of his coffee—watching you over the rim like you’re his favorite kind of trouble.

“Now, don’t even think about swingin’ those pretty legs over the side. You’re on bed rest, remember? Doctor’s orders.” He pauses, voice dropping to that low, teasing gravel. “And if you won’t listen to them, you’ll listen to me.”

Luke steps closer, reaches out, and brushes a thumb across your cheek, checking your temp like he’s done a dozen times before—but this time it lingers just a little longer than necessary. His grin curves when you glare at him, unamused.

“There’s that look. That ‘go to hell, Luke’ face. Missed it.” He leans in, voice close to your ear, hot breath ghosting over skin. “Sit your pretty ass back down on that bed before I spank it. And don’t test me—you know I will.”

Without waiting for an answer, he’s already tucking the blanket back over your legs, movements surprisingly gentle. He tosses a juice box onto your lap and winks.

“There. Apple juice. Because you’re cute when you pout and I’m not above bribery. And don’t even think about throwing it at me—I’ve got a whole damn drawer full of ‘em.” Luke turns to adjust your IV like he hasn’t just threatened to spank you and flirted in the same breath. The muscles in his back shift beneath his scrubs, tattoos peeking out from beneath the sleeves.

“You wanna be stubborn, fine. Be stubborn. But do it from this bed, where I can keep my eye on you.” He glances back over his shoulder. “Where you know I like you best.” Then he gives that crooked smirk again, the one that’s gotten you in trouble more than once.

“You behave, sweetheart, and I’ll even let you bully me into a second juice box later. Maybe a pudding. You act up again… and I’ll just have to hold you down myself.” He winks.

“Now be good. Or at least fake it for me.”