Page 51 of Cat's Outta the Bag

But every time I let myself think, maybe, my dad’s voice rings in my head. I almost lost sight of my career. I just don't want you to make the same mistakes I did. What if I let him back into my life and nothing changes, and I suddenly find myself in an unhappy relationship with my career on the line? Maybe if there was a sign that Jason was trying to work on his insecurities I would feel differently, but after three months of radio silence, I’m starting to lose any hope that we might be able to work through this.

I stare down our hallway toward his unit every time I come home. And I think, what if I just go down and knock? But my feet never move.

I’m just numb.

But the worst question of all keeps me awake despite how exhausted I am. What if I made a mistake?

***

It's nearing midday, and I'm just getting back after my lunch break. I'm parked at the nurse's station, about to pull out a tablet to see who's next when dispatch calls. From the way the nurse sits up straighter, I know this call is for a serious incoming patient. Probably another car accident. It feels like there's been a lot of those lately.

She gets off the call and immediately turns to me. “We’ve got a mass casualty event. Multiple patients with gunshot wounds, there was a shooter at a movie set.”

My heart nearly stops. But no, this is L.A. I'm sure it's not his movie. But even though I know the odds are low, I can't stop myself from asking, "Did they say which movie?"

The nurse doesn't look up; she's too busy starting to call in doctors and other staff. We're going to need all hands on deck for this. "I think they said something like Primordial Fallout?”

“Do you mean Primogenesis Fallout?”

“Oh yeah, that’s the one. Two buses are incoming with the first victims. I’ve already paged Dr. Jordan.”

I barely hear her; my mind is reeling.

This can’t be happening. Don’t let him be hurt, don’t let him be hurt.

Dr. Jordan meets me in the ambulance bay, gowned up and ready to help me do the same. I’m a robot, throwing on gear from memory, not because I’m paying attention. She gives me a weird look but doesn’t comment. I’m not sure I would even hear her over the ringing in my ears.

The first ambulance squeals in, the doors opening before it even comes to a complete stop.

"We've got a thirty-year-old male, two gunshot wounds to the chest, one to the leg." Dr. Jordan steps up, and her team takes over. I try to see the patient's face and catch a glimpse. The man’s hair is dark, so not Jason. It only eases my worry slightly.

The driver comes out and rounds the truck, beginning to reset before they drive out again.

“Do you know how many patients we’re getting?”

“No, Doctor, just that as soon as my partner gets back, we need to go back to the scene.”

I nod, trying to calm my nerves. This will be one of the most important days in my career so far; I need to get my head in the game.

"Do you," I hesitate, not knowing if I should even ask. But if I don't, it will make me worry. "Do you know if Jason Adams was on set or was injured?"

The guy gives me a weird look, probably wondering why the hell I'm asking. "No doctor, I'm sorry, I don't know."

Before I can press for more information, the next ambulance pulls in. My team comes up behind me, ready for the patient transfer.

"We've got a twenty-four-year-old female, one wound in the arm and a graze across her temple." As I listen to their report, I let the medical professional inside me take over. This woman needs me, and I won’t let her down. I’ll have to worry about Jason later.

***

My shift ended hours ago, but I haven't left. I treated six patients and lost two. But I still haven't learned if Jason was on set. I’ve called him maybe a hundred times, straight to voicemail. Texts remain unanswered. Jason is many things, but he isn’t petty. He would never ignore me like this just to spite me. And I know it’s the movie that he was considering. I’ll never forgive myself if he was there.

I'm doing another pass of the ICU, checking charts, trying to figure out who is who. I interrogate every person who isn't injured that I pass. But no one seems to know. But if he isn't here… oh god, I don't even want to consider it.

I feel myself starting to unravel. My breath is coming in quick, and it feels like the walls are closing in. The doctor in me is noting that I’m having a panic attack. But I can’t stop it.

I barely make it to an on-call room before I fall apart. I'm on the floor, rocking myself, trying to self-soothe while sobbing. I can't let our last conversation be the last thing I ever say to him. He can't be gone. He can't. All of a sudden, everything I was mad about seem dumb. Who cares if he wasn't ready to stick up for himself to Steven? What does it matter that being at that party put a ding in my career? Why did I just shut down instead of helping him? None of that matters if he’s dead.

What he took the role because I walked away? What have I done?

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