Page 38 of Blazing Hearts

For a moment, Mallory let herself feel the enormity of what was happening. She let the fear surge, let the love she felt for Kara flood her chest and fuel her resolve.

Then, she took a deep breath, steadying herself.

“Scalpel,” she said, her voice clear and commanding.

And the surgery began.

The operating room was a sanctuary of urgency, every surface gleaming under the harsh, sterile light of the overhead lamps. The rhythmic beeping of monitors formed a tense symphony with the muffled voices of the surgical team. Mallory stood at the head of the table, her eyes fixed on Kara’s broken body, the bright surgical drape doing little to hide the severity of her injuries.

Mallory had spent years perfecting the art of detachment in moments like this—shutting out the human connection to focus solely on the task. But this wasn’t just anyone on the table. It was Kara. The woman who had upended Mallory’s carefully guarded world. The woman she wasn’t ready to lose.

“Vitals are stable but fragile,” the anesthesiologist said, her voice breaking the heavy silence.

Mallory nodded, her gaze sweeping over Kara’s body. “Let’s start with the internal injuries. If we don’t stop the bleeding, nothing else will matter. Suction, please.”

The team sprang into action around her, each member moving with well-practiced precision. Mallory’s hands were steady as she made the first incision, her mind honed in on the task. Yet, beneath the focus, emotions churned like an undertow, threatening to pull her under.

For a fleeting moment, the sterile environment of the OR faded, replaced by the memory of Kara’s laughter echoing in her apartment. The way her eyes softened when she looked at Mallory, her teasing smile that always seemed to disarm her.

Mallory blinked hard, banishing the thought. Not now.

“Suction,” she repeated, her tone clipped but calm.

The nurse handed her the instrument, and Mallory guided it carefully, clearing the blood to expose the damaged tissue beneath. Kara’s abdomen bore the brunt of the explosion—torn muscle, ruptured vessels, and angry bruises that spoke of the violence she had endured.

She worked methodically, stitching vessels and repairing tears with the precision of a master craftsman. Her hands moved almost of their own accord, a testament to years of training and countless hours in the OR.

But her mind wasn’t so easily disciplined.

What if this was the last time she’d see Kara alive? What if she couldn’t save her?

A surge of fear gripped Mallory’s chest, her breath catching in her throat. She glanced up at the monitor, the steady blip of Kara’s heartbeat grounding her.

“You’ve got this,” she whispered to herself, too softly for anyone else to hear.

“Doctor Storm?” a nurse asked, breaking her reverie.

“Clamp,” Mallory said firmly, extending her hand. “Let’s keep moving.”

The team worked in tandem, their movements fluid and efficient, but Mallory could feel the weight of their watchful eyes. They knew this wasn’t just another patient to her.

As she continued repairing the damage, flashes of memory broke through her concentration. Those moments fueled her resolve, each one a reminder of the woman fighting for her life on the table. Kara wasn’t just another patient. She was everything Mallory had been too afraid to admit she wanted.

“Bleeding’s controlled,” Mallory announced, relief creeping into her voice. “Let’s stabilize the leg.”

Her gaze shifted to Kara’s mangled limb, a grim testament to the collapse. The fractures were severe, the muscle and skin shredded by the weight of the debris. It would take hours of reconstruction to give her even a chance at recovery.

Mallory forced herself to focus, leaning on the part of her that was all logic and skill.

“This will be the hardest part,” she said, addressing the team. “Let’s keep her stable. Every second counts.”

Mallory began the painstaking work of stabilizing the shattered bone, placing pins and aligning fragments with the precision of a sculptor restoring a masterpiece. Sweat beaded at her temples beneath her surgical cap, but her hands remained steady.

“She’s lucky to have you, Doctor Storm,” the scrub nurse murmured as she passed an instrument.

Mallory’s chest tightened at the words. Was it luck? Or was it something far more terrifying—a responsibility she couldn’t bear to fail?

“I’m just doing my job,” Mallory replied, her voice betraying none of the turmoil beneath.

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