Page 25 of Bloom: Part 1

That annoying grin was back. “Told you I could help. Call me if you need anything else.”

He disappeared through the door, leaving me alone inside the sterile office with thoughts jumbling around in my head.I smacked my hand against my temple several times to calm things down. I should go. What was the use of staying here?

6

LOGAN

Fourteen hours of being on my feet was a normal day for me. Some days were worse than others, and today had gone downhill fast. I’d planned to take care of the emergency I’d been called away on, then sit Bloom down and explain to him patiently why we couldn’t have any kind of relationship. The chaos that had been waiting for me in the ER had quickly changed that plan.

I must have sucked the life out of an entire fourteen-pack watermelon gum. The chewing motion had kept my brain active and my eyes open. Fueled by my flavored saliva and familiarity with my practice, I managed to make it through the evening, navigating the emergency room of a crime-infested town.

I’d seen three different patients suffering from gunshot wounds, one I’d already extracted two bullets from in the last year. Without judgment, I’d patched him back up, certain I’d be seeing him again soon, or the next time we’d send his body to the morgue.

Just when I’d thought that was the end of it, a teacher who’d jumped from the second floor of Smoky Vale High waswheeled in, followed by victims of a multi-vehicular crash that plunged our emergency room into one of the blackest days I’d experienced since I started working at the hospital.

The crash victims came in waves. First the driver of the pickup, his body crumpled. Then the occupants of a sedan—a mother and child. The mother’s condition was critical; she’d taken the brunt of the impact. Her daughter was miraculously unscathed physically but remained an inconsolable bundle of terror until her father arrived.

Broken bones, ruptured spleens, collapsed lungs, and a crushed skull were just a few of the litany of injuries we faced. Blood-soaked scrubs, the harsh glare of surgical lamps, and the constant beep of life monitors became my world for hours.

I’d never felt more alive.

Family members poured into the waiting room, making the situation tenser. Desperate faces scanned the room, clinging to every announcement made. Some prayed, others cried, and then there were the difficult ones we tried to empathize with, but who demanded answers, not understanding that our priority was saving the lives of their loved ones, not answering their questions.

Consoling family members and friends had never been my strong suit. My mentor had once tried to convince me that to be a good surgeon, I needed to connect with patients and their families on an emotional level.

He’d said that the scalpel was my instrument but compassion was my tool.

But over the years, the knives and bullets extracted from bodies, the organs I’d stitched back together, the patients I’d seen come and go—or not go at all—had hardened me. Empathy was a luxury I couldn’t afford amid the chaos. My role was to mend bodies, not hearts.

You’re welcome.

What did it matter if I didn’t pick up the crying child who held on to my leg? I’d saved his mother’s life, hadn’t I? Wasn’t that the important thing?

Despite the chaos that had descended upon us, it was a satisfying evening when I finally walked out of the OR. Some patients were in critical condition, but I hadn’t lost any. As the waiting room slowly emptied, I breathed a sigh of relief and marched to my office. I loved my job. I wouldn’t want to do anything else, but I needed food and sleep to do it all over again.

Thank god I’d sent Jamie to inform Bloom that he should leave. I was too exhausted to handle his big emotions. With my guard down, I might share details I didn’t want him to know—like how the sight of him made me yearn for things I could never have. Every time he let it slip how innocent and untouched he was, desire filled me to be his first and his only. Dangerous thoughts I would do well to squash.

A small note was pinned on my office door.

Dr. Collier, see me when you get the chance-A.

What the hell did Andrews want? He was the hospital’s director and usually reserved his visits for special circumstances, emergency meetings, or distressing news about funding. We weren’t exactly seeing eye to eye after I’d chewed his ass out for cutting corners in the trauma unit last month. His whining about lack of funding hadn’t fazed me—not when he didn’t live in Smoky Vale but made use of a private jet so often that the money could easily have the abandoned wing repaired. But with him, everything had to go through the bureaucratic process.

Whatever he wanted could wait.

I entered my office. My empty office. I breathed out slowly, shying away from acknowledging the heavy feeling of disappointment. Bloom had left. Why was I surprised? I’d told him to leave, but he’d also promised to stay put.

“You need to make up your mind,” I muttered. “You want him, but you can’t have him. Just let it go already.”

I walked past the papers piled high on my desk and went straight to the bathroom. Though considerably smaller than the one at home, it was big enough for me to freshen up after a long day.

After scrubbing my hands thoroughly, I splashed cool water on my face. Fluorescent light reflected in the mirror, casting a harsh light on my features. My eyes looked more bloodshot than usual. I took a deep breath, struggling to keep my eyes open.

I dried off with a clean towel and trudged back to my desk. The chaotic mound of work stared back at me, demanding attention. The charts from today’s work: gunshot injuries, broken bones, and car crashes. Diagnosis, procedures, prognosis…every single detail had to be jotted down meticulously. There was no room for error.

I filled out the reports one by one. The process was usually monotonous, but today it felt particularly laborious. Shit. I shook my head. I was reading the same sentence over and over without processing it.

I need sleep.

---