Page 183 of Devil Mine

Tess

There’s no pain.

There’s only shock and a chill so cold it slowly ices me to my core.

But there’s also a glowing warmth that morphs into a freeing calm when Thiago says he loves me back. It’s followed quickly by bone deep, soul destroying sorrow that I won’t get to grow old with him after all.

It takes the last of my strength to open my eyes one final time. His face hovers above mine, awash with tears. The pain etched in his features is so raw and visceral that it’s almost enough to keep me from losing consciousness.

I ripped something inside of him. It’s a wound he’ll never heal from. I don’t want to leave him with that pain. I want to protect him as much as he’s protected me.

I’m not ready to go.

The injustice of it kills me.

Another tear trails down the side of my face.

But my breathing gets shallower and the lights start to dim and the birds stop singing and the darkness calls to me with the seductive voice of a siren guiding sailors to their deaths.

I guess it’s time, even though I’m not ready.

No matter how much I try, there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

With a devastating finality, the world goes black.

???

Chapter Sixty-Five

Cassie

“Tess Noble, twenty-five-year-old female, gunshot wound to the abdomen. Coded in the ambulance on the way to the hospital but was resuscitated. She’s been unconscious for approximately fifteen minutes. We started an IV and packed the wound which seems to have stopped the bleeding, but she’s lost a lot of blood. She’s going to need a transfusion ASAP,” the paramedic tells me as the woman is wheeled into the ER.

“Put her in Trauma Two,” I order, as nurses help me put on a gown and pair of gloves.

“Pulse is thready and blood pressure is low,” Dr. Jake Winter, my junior resident, informs me as the patient gets hooked up to our machines and a rhythmic beep starts sounding in the room.

“Page surgery stat and let them know we’ve got a high priority case coming up to them. Let’s get her stabilized and up to those guys, there’s not much more we’re going to be able to do for her down here,” I order.

Noble.

I know that last name.

The team busies themselves around the patient, following the trauma response instructions I’ve given them. I walk around one of the nurses and go to the patient’s head, looking down at her face.

I try never to look at patients, using only their names to humanize them. It’s easier that way. Easier to keep my distance from the pain of losing them.

But my stomach clenches when I look down. Even with her face half-obscured by the oxygen mask, I recognize her. She was in the ER weeks ago, responding as the next of kin to an assault on another patient of mine, her mother.

Seeing her unconscious and fighting for her life on my table is surreal. I lose all objectivity as I feel an inexplicable connection develop, linking us together.

I won’t let her die. I can’t.

All of a sudden a strident beeping noise explodes around us and all heads turn towards the monitors.

“She’s flatlining,” Jake yells.

My pulse pounds loudly in my ears as my body reacts to the burst of adrenaline. “Start compressions.Now,” I direct.

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