Page 120 of Bloom: Part 1

The hallway seemed longer than I remembered, and the elevator was excruciatingly slow. Every ticking second felt like an eternity under the harsh fluorescent lights. My heart pounded against my ribcage with such force I thought it might burst out.

“I don’t regret it.” He gasped. “Logan, I don’t regret it.”

“Shh. Save your energy.”

We had a long day ahead of us. Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one able to snap into professional mode. When we reached the surgical ward, a full team stood ready to take my orders. We avoided the room where all this started and rushed him into room three.

As we pushed inside, Bloom’s breathing became labored, his eyes fluttering. His skin turned clammy and even paler, his lips blue.

“He’s going into shock,” Dr. McAdams cried.

“We need an IV on him now.”

A nurse stepped forward, her movements swift and efficient as she worked to insert the IV, threading a catheter into a vein in Bloom’s arm. The adrenaline in the air of the room was palpable. Around us, machines beeped and whirred, their noises merging into an urgent symphony.

“Logan,” Bloom wheezed out my name again, opening his eyes, which flickered with fear. He was scared. He’d said he wasn’t afraid to die, but he’d been lying.

“I won’t leave you. You’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

A nurse placed an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, and his eyelids fluttered closed again. A resounding silence descended as we watched the heart monitor for any signs of change.

Nothing else mattered except keeping Bloom alive.

I scrubbed in quickly, pulled on gloves and a mask, and stepped to the operating table.

“Dr. Collier, I must insist you let me do this.”

“If you want to repay him for saving your lives, you’ll work to ensure he doesn’t die.”

Just as I would.

Nods all around but no words were exchanged. There didn’t need to be. We all knew what was at stake.

Every fiber of my being was focused on Bloom’s body lying prone on the table before me. The sight of his chest with its deadly wound was daunting but also grounding. This wasn’t why I’d become a surgeon. To watch the man I cared about hang on by a thread. This was supposed to happen to other people—strangers—not to those I held dear.

Navigating through this minefield of emotions, I had to remember the golden rule—focus. One misstep could be fatal. And I refused to let him down.

Our team went to work with focused efficiency. The hum of machinery and my quiet directives became the only sound necessary. Each step I made was methodical, honed by years of experience, each surgical cut precise as I sliced open Bloom’s body to remove the bullet that had almost pierced his pulsing heart.

How ironic. It belonged to him, but he had no idea how beautiful his pumping heart was. But I could see it. Literally.

As we worked tirelessly, time became irrelevant, every second thwarting death that seemed to hover over my shoulder, whispering into my ear that my efforts were in vain. Sweat trickled down my forehead, stinging my eyes, but I never faltered. Despite McAdams’s cautionary glances in my direction, I remained at the helm.

I was the one bringing Bloom back to life. After all, it was because he had protected me that we were in this situation in the first place.

After what felt like an eternity, I found the bullet. It gleamed maliciously under the clinical lights as I extracted it. A collective sigh rose, but our job was far from over.

“Whaaat?” I shot up when hands shook me awake. I blinked several times to get the grittiness out of my eyes. Exhaustion weighed down my body. Where was I? My eyes landed on Bloom lying in a hospital bed, recuperating from his surgery.

That’s right. He’s in recovery.

“Dr. Collier.”

James. James was the one who’d woken me up. I’d asked one of the nurses to wake me after an hour.

“How’s he doing?” I stood and walked to Bloom.

“I just checked him. He’s doing well, considering the blunt force of that bullet. Just an inch to the right and it would have hit his heart.”

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