Page 6 of The Wrong Husband
“You’re not going anywhere until I stitch that up and clear you.” I reach for the tray. “Or you’ll collapse and end up back here.”
He grumbles, but he lets me clean the wound.
That authoritative voice?Works every time.
Outside the cubicle, someone screams. Here we go. Not a moment’s rest. My pulse ratchets up into higher gear. My vision narrows. The comforting thud of the blood at my temples tells me I’m in the zone.
Thank God for the chaos of the ER.
It gives me the perfect excuse to not dwell on the mess I’ve left behind at home. I spend so much time here—even overnight sometimes—that the ER feels more like home than my own place.
Besides, everything I do here is for a good cause.I’m saving lives, aren’t I?
“Need a doctor here!” another nurse yells.
My feet don’t seem to touch the ground as I move in the direction of her voice.
A middle-aged woman is slumped on the examination table, one hand pressed to her side, her coat soaked with blood. Her face is gray, her breathing shallow. “I… Was mugged… Stabbed… Near the station,” she gasps. “Hurts to breathe…”
I grab the trauma trolley. “Get her on oxygen. Start a large-bore IV—wide open fluids. I want crossmatch blood sent to the lab and a trauma panel drawn.”
I press down on the wound with gauze, my gloves slick with blood. “Suspected internal bleeding. Alert the surgical registrar. And get a FAST scan in here, now.”
My voice stays steady, even though adrenaline surges through me.
The crash team arrives seconds later.
By the time the rush of patients slows, it’s past nine p.m. I’ve been on duty for more than twelve hours.
I’ve forgone my entitled breaks, barely pausing to grab a drink of water. My eyes are scratchy, and my throat hurts. The makings of a headache bang at the backs of my eyeballs.Someone page me a nap and an IV drip.I might have overdone it a tad.
I should have stopped for a bite to eat. My stomach feels so hollow, the walls of my intestines may have fused. Medically, an impossibility, I try to tell myself.
I stagger toward the changing room, too tired to do more than wash my hands and face. I grab my oversized bag and make my way out. Now that I have a moment to catch my breath, Emma's worries about the looming closure of the ER catch up with me.
The administration has been threatening to cut this department for months, but it's unclear whether they'll actually do it. I have to believe they won't, for the sake of the surrounding neighborhood that depends on it. And for my own sake.
I need the nonstop urgency of the ER to keep myself from examining too closely the disaster of my own life.
It's dark when I step past the main doors of the hospital. I draw in deep breaths of the cool night air, take a few steps forward, then come to a stop at the site of where Mr. Hot &Mysterious rescued the cat this morning. Interestingly, despite not having a second to spare all day, thoughts of his deep, dark voice have not completely faded from my mind.
That has never happened before.
I've never thought of Drew when I’m at work… Except when I run into him. But this unknown cat whisperer? I can’t stop thinking of him.
I’m too tired to even hook on my earbuds and listen to my podcast. Instead, I allow my body to lead as I trace my steps back home.
At least, I’m not dreading going home. I checked the rotation in the hospital to make sure Drew’s on shift.Fringe benefits of working in the same place, huh?I snicker. I won’t have to tiptoe around my own living room. Hopefully, he'll move on soon, and I won’t have to avoid my own home anymore.
By the time I reach the turn off to my lane, I’m ready for a hot shower and bed, when a noise reaches me.
The hair on the back of my neck rises. I jerk my chin up and stare in the direction of where the sound came from.
“Who’s there?”
4
Connor
