Page 20 of Doctor Enemy

Cara turns wide eyes on me. “What?”

“That’s how this works. You don’t know her. I don’t know her. She’s a patient that we don’t want to lose, and we’re going to try our damnedest to fix everything wrong with her right now,” I say, firmly. “But if you go into this acting like she’s your friend, then your emotions are going to get the best of you, and you’re going to make stupid mistakes.”

Cara looks like she’s gearing up to argue with me about it, but Maddie says, “He’s right.”

Ding. The doors slide open, and the rush resumes.

“If we’re emotional about our patients, then we’re going to miss clear signs of hidden issues. Do I need to call for someone else to come help?”

Cara swallows hard, then shakes her head. I can practically see the way that she steels herself up. “No. You don’t.”

And it’s the last thing that we have to say to each other about Lori, outside of whatneedsto be said about her injuries. It doesn’t take any time at all to figure out that the brain bleed is severe enough it needs to be surgically treated. The pressure needs to be released, and fast.

It’s a fast prep for surgery. Most of my trips to the operating room are. Sure, once in a while someone comes in with a scheduled surgery for a tumor that needs to be removed. But by and large, it’s this.

Spur of the moment accidents that send us careening onto the table.

It’s a good thing that I know what I’m doing.

Cara comes in as a nurse because we’re short-staffed. She’s never worked for me in these situations before. The woman works well under pressure, though.

The lights beat down upon the backs of our necks as Lori is put under, and I open her up. Craniotomies aren’t easy, but they’re the best way to deal with subdural hematomas in the head.

A temporary flap is cut into the skull, so suction and irrigation can be used to clear away the hematoma. Sweat drips into my eyes and Maddie uses a clean cloth to dab it away. My hands are steady. I keep my own advice in mind. My emotions can’t affect my job.

I’ve got years of experience with that. It’s sad to say, but Lori isn’t the first person who I've known that’s ended up under my knife. Back in college, I met a man named Brady. Three years into my regime as a doctor, he showed up with a brain tumor that needed to be removed.

That’s when I learned how to turn faces off when I operate and turn them back on soon as the last stitch is put into place. It’s complicated, but it helps.

I work fast but thoroughly. It takes four hours before everything is closed back up. Even through the rubber gloves, her blood is hot against my hands. It’s a struggle to listen to my own advice, to not think about the fact that it’sLorilaying under my knife.

Something about the sight of her on the table makes my chest twist up tight. I silently repeat my own rules; I don’t know her. Not until I know for a fact that she’s going to be stable after this.

The moment that she’s sent to trauma recovery, I head for the doctors’ lounge. I want a stiff drink. In place of that, I’m going to make myself the strongest cup of coffee that I can manage.

Nate is already in there.

I ask him, “Thought you were with—"

Nate shakes his head. “Heart failure. He didn’t pull through. What about yours?”

“She’s in recovery.” I grab one of the dark roast pods and put it into the single serve maker. It comes to life with a hiss and a sputter. The scent of the coffee brewing is like a balm to my nerves. “You won’t believe who it was.”

“Tom Cruise,” jokes Nate, tilting his own mug of coffee toward me. It’s so light, it’s practically just faintly colored milk.

I shake my head. My mouth twists into a thin, irritated line.

“No,” I tell him.

“It was Lori.”

Chapter eight

Lori

Pain.

Hot, searing pain that lances through me, head to toe.

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