Page 11 of Shadows of Recovery

Tristan was sittingin a budget meeting when his pager went off. He glanced at it and saw Jenna's message: "Sophie victim of violence. Concussion and bleeding. Sending her to CT. Additional physician staffing requested."

His heart skipped a beat as worry surged within him. "I need to go," he said abruptly to the room, not waiting for a response before rushing out.

By the time he reached the ER, Sophie was already inside the CT scanner. He intercepted Jenna in the hallway. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice tight with concern.

Jenna quickly explained the situation, her own worry evident. "A distraught father. It was a horrible accident, Tristan. The kid was dead on arrival, and Sophie had to tell the parents. The father lost it and hit her."

Tristan's jaw clenched. "Where is she now?"

"She's in the CT scanner. We're checking for any serious injury. She was bleeding pretty badly from her nose and the back of her head."

Tristan ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady his emotions. "Thank you, Jenna. I'll take it from here."

He hurried to the CT scanner, where Sophie was just being wheeled out. Her eyes were closed, and her face was pale, but she opened them when she heard his voice. "Tristan," she murmured, her voice weak.

"I'm here, Sophie.” He took her hand. "We're going to get you taken care of. Just hang in there."

As soon as things settled down for a little bit, Tristan retreated to his office and dropped his head into his hands. His mind was racing, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t shake the image of Sophie lying on the stretcher in and out of consciousness after being punched by a patient. The chaos was overwhelming, but now that the immediate danger had passed, all he could feel was fear and helplessness.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Get it together," he muttered under his breath. Sophie needed him to be strong, to be her doctor, not just the man who cared for her. He had to stitch up the gash on her head, but his hands were trembling.

After a moment, he reached for his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found the name he was looking for. Chris Skylar, the chief psychiatrist for the Blackwell Institute. They’d known each other since their Army days, had seen each other through some of the toughest moments of their lives. Chris had been there when Tristan’s wife died, and now Tristan needed him again.

He hit the call button, holding the phone to his ear as it rang. On the third ring, Chris picked up.

"Tristan?" Chris’s voice was steady, grounding. "What’s going on, man?"

"Chris..." Tristan hesitated, his voice tight. "I... I need you to talk me down."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Chris’s tone softened. "What happened?"

Tristan rubbed his face, trying to find the words. "It’s Sophie. She... she got punched by a patient today.”

"Is she okay?" Chris asked immediately, concern lacing his words.

"She will be.” The words felt like a hollow reassurance. "But I’m rattled, Chris. I have to stitch her head, and I can’t even keep my hands steady."

"Tristan, listen to me," Chris said, his voice firm but compassionate. "You’ve been through worse. Remember the field hospital in Kandahar? You were under fire, and you still managed to save lives. You can do this."

"This is different," Tristan whispered, the vulnerability in his voice surprising even himself. "It’s Sophie. She’s... she’s gotten under my skin, man. Into my heart."

Chris was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his tone was gentler. "You care about her."

"Yeah," Tristan admitted. "More than I expected. More than I probably should."

"You’re not going to lose her," Chris assured him. "Not like you lost Mimi. Sophie’s tough, and she’s got you looking out for her. Focus on that. Be the doctor she needs right now. You can fall apart later."

Tristan closed his eyes, letting Chris’s words sink in. "You’re right," he said finally. "I can do this. I have to do this."

"That’s the Tristan I know," Chris said, a note of pride in his voice. "Now, go take care of her. And call me if you need to talk more, okay?"

"Thanks, Chris." Tristan felt a bit of the tension in his chest ease. "I’ll see you at Friday’s meeting.”

They hung up, and Tristan sat there for a moment, gathering his strength. Then, with a deep breath, he stood up, his hands steady. Sophie needed him, and he wasn’t going to let her down. Not now, not ever.

The next few hours were a blur of tests and treatments. Sophie had a concussion and a deep cut to the back of the head that needed stitches, but, thankfully, no fractures or serious brain injuries. Tristan oversaw her care.

As he carefully stitched the gash on Sophie’s head, his fingers moving with a precision that masked the anxiety he felt, he couldn’t help but steal glances at her face, searching for any sign of discomfort. Sophie winced slightly, but when their eyes met, she offered him a small, reassuring smile.

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