Page 37 of Blazing Hearts

Mallory.

Her name lingered in Kara’s mind as her vision began to fade, exhaustion and pain dragging her under. One thought remained as the world went dark:

I need to tell her. Tell her I love her.

“She’s got a crush injury to the leg and looks like a head and torso trauma too,” Scotti reported to the medics, her voice clipped and professional despite the situation.

As the paramedics worked to stabilize her, Kara’s eyes fluttered open again, unfocused but searching. Her lips moved faintly, and Scotti leaned closer.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Scotti’s throat tightened, but she nodded. “You’re gonna tell her yourself. Just hang on, Kara.”

15

MALLORY

Mallory sat at her desk, the faint hum of fluorescent lights above a steady backdrop to the quiet urgency of the hospital night shift. A stack of patient charts lay open before her, their neatly inked lines detailing lives she didn’t know but was tasked with saving. Her pen hovered over a note she had been writing when the sharp beep of her pager cut through the silence.

She glanced down at it absently, the movement automatic, but the moment her eyes landed on the name and details scrolling across the tiny screen, time seemed to stop.

Kara Brandon.

The surge of fear hit her like a physical blow, twisting her stomach and tightening her chest. Mallory froze, the words burning into her brain.Warehouse fire. Crush injuries. Critical condition.

Her heart pounded wildly as adrenaline surged through her veins. She gripped the pager tightly, her knuckles white against the metal casing. This couldn’t be happening. Not Kara. Not the strong, fearless woman she’d grown to care for so deeply.

But there wasn’t time for panic. Taking a deep breath, Mallory pushed herself to her feet, forcing the icy grip of fear into a locked box somewhere in the back of her mind. The surgeon in her took over, smoothing the frantic edges of her thoughts into calm determination. Kara’s life depended on her ability to stay composed, and Mallory wouldn’t let her down.

She strode quickly to the OR preparation area, her footsteps echoing in the hallway. Nurses and techs were already scrambling into position, the air buzzing with quiet urgency. Mallory scrubbed in, her movements precise but mechanical, the ritual a lifeline tethering her to something steady in the chaos.

The surgical team moved around her, glancing at her with subtle concern. They knew the stakes. It wasn’t uncommon for doctors to operate on people they cared about—it was part of the job—but the tension was palpable.

Mallory knew the rules. But Kara wasn’t family and she wasn’t technically her partner.

Either way, Mallory didn’t care. She wouldn’t let anyone else take this. Kara was hers to save. She was the best and she was determined to save Kara.

When the OR doors swung open, Mallory turned to see the gurney being wheeled in. Her breath caught in her throat.

Kara lay motionless, her normally vibrant presence diminished to a fragile stillness. Her fire gear had been stripped away, revealing a bloodied uniform beneath. Her leg was crushed beneath a mass of swollen tissue and exposed bone, and her face, streaked with soot and grime, was barely recognizable beneath the oxygen mask.

Mallory’s pulse thudded painfully in her ears, but she forced herself to focus. She stepped forward, her gaze scanning Kara’s injuries with a practiced eye.

“Severe crush injury to the left femur,” a nurse reported. “Blood pressure’s low, but stable for now. Internal bleeding suspected.”

Mallory nodded tightly, her voice steady. “Let’s get her prepped. Start a transfusion. We need imaging of the chest and abdomen to locate the bleed. Stabilize her leg, but don’t waste time—we’ll address it in the OR.”

The team snapped into action, their trust in Mallory evident in their swift, confident movements. She felt the weight of responsibility settle over her, a heavy but familiar burden.

She moved to Kara’s side, her gloved hand hovering over her face for a brief moment. The sight of Kara like this—so vulnerable, so far from the indomitable presence she had always been—was almost unbearable.

“Kara,” Mallory whispered, her voice soft but firm. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

Her words were for both of them.

As the nurses positioned Kara for the procedure, Mallory felt the full weight of what lay ahead pressing on her chest. She couldn’t fail. Not with Kara.

Once the team was ready, Mallory adjusted her mask and stepped into position. The bright surgical lights blazed overhead, illuminating every inch of Kara’s injuries. The antiseptic smell of the OR filled the air, mingling with the quiet beeping of monitors and the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator.

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