Page 25 of The Road Home
It was nearly an hour later before he was able to step back and take a breath. The man would live, but recovery was going to take some time. As he stepped out of the room, leaving it up to the nurses to get the patient upstairs, he finally allowed himself to take a deep breath.
He leaned against the wall for a moment as emotions started to flow again. They always did after treating a trauma case. A broken hand or stitches he could blow off, but the life and death cases always left a mark. This one hadn't been nearly as bad as some, but the fact that it was a homeless man jarred something inside him almost more than when he lost a patient.
This could have been Orson.
But why did it matter? Orson wasn't anything to him. Yeah, they had somewhat of a friendship, but they still hardly knew each other. They weren't close enough for his emotions to go all out of whack because of something like this. Hell, he'd treated friends before. Some after serious accidents. Even then, he had just done his job, wished them the best and moved on to the next patient.
Somehow, this one left him shaken, and he didn't like how that made him feel. He didn't like worrying. Orson was just a guy who worked for him, so why did the thought of him being attacked again hit him so hard?
He pushed off the wall and headed for the bathroom. Once there, he leaned over the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd been scared to death that the patient would be Orson, and at that moment, he actually questioned if he could have kept his emotions under control to treat him if it had been him.
After tossing some water over his face, he turned to grab a couple of paper towels out of the dispenser to dry it. As uneasy as the sudden burst of emotions made him, he needed to get back out there and help other patients.
Doing what he did best, he forced his feelings back and stepped back out into the emergency area. He glanced up at the board, seeing that he had two patients waiting to be seen. He noted the time they'd been brought in and took the one who had been waiting longest.
He didn't stop working until it was time for his shift to end, but he still had at least an hour of paperwork to get through before he could head home. Ignoring the aches and pains, he made his way back to the lounge with a stack of files in his hands. Usually, he just stayed at the nurses' station and made his notes, and entered everything on the computer, but tonight, he needed to be away from the chaos around him.
Glad to see the room empty, he took the same chair where Cameron had been earlier, and laid out the files over the table. He was about twenty minutes into the notes when a nurse walked into the room.
"Dr. Gains, there is a man asking for you in admitting." She took advantage of the chance to pour herself a cup of coffee.
"He's asking for me? Does he need medical attention?" He couldn't imagine who would be asking for him.
"No, at least I don't think so. Short, skinny guy, light brown hair. He's got a brace on his arm, but doesn't look like that's why he's here." She dumped cream into her cup.
"Shit." He stood, gathering the files he couldn't leave unattended. "Thanks." He hurried to the admitting area, pausing to drop the files at the nurses' station before hurrying out front, sure from the description that this time it was Orson.
As he stepped out of the back area into the waiting room, he was relieved to see that Orson didn't look hurt. He hurried over to where he was sitting, Orson unaware of his approach. "Hey, are you okay?"
Orson's head snapped up and he smiled. "Yeah, it's not me. I was hoping you were here. I didn't know what else to do. No one would tell me anything."
Confused, Jared gripped Orson's elbow and led him into the back, weaving them past the nurses' station to a small empty room down the hall. "Start at the beginning." He eyed Orson's chin, making sure it didn't look worse.
"I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't have bothered you here, but we were told Harry was hurt. Someone said they thought he was dead. I needed to know. I got the cop to tell me they brought him here, but they wouldn't tell me anything. We weren't even sure it was Harry. Did they bring him here?" Orson hardly stopped to take a breath as he stared at him.
"Easy, yes, they brought someone here, but he didn't have an ID. I can't tell you anything about his condition, but what I can do is take you upstairs and let you see if it's him. We need a way to identify him, and if you can do that…" Jared reached for Orson's arm, gently gripping it. "I know it's not much, but it's all I can do right now."
"Please." Orson nodded. "He helped me. If it is him, I want to be there for him too."
Jared would do anything he could to help Orson. "Okay, let me check where they took him, and we'll go upstairs together. Wait here a minute, alright?"
Orson sat down on the arm of the small couch. "Yeah, I'll wait. Thanks."
Jared resisted the urge to say anything more and headed back to the nurses' station. "Bev, I think I have someone who can identify our homeless man. Where'd you send him?"
"He's up on four, room…" She paused to look at her computer. "Room four-sixteen."
"Thanks." He gave her a quick smile before heading back to Orson. He found him standing near the window, staring out over the city below. He quietly walked up behind him, gently laying his hand on Orson's shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"
"Yeah, just worried." Orson turned, his eyes filled with unshed tears. He quickly blinked, then brushed the back of his hand over his eyes. "I know it's weird, but he really helped me. He probably saved my life by helping me find a safe place to stay."
Jared gripped Orson's shoulder. "I know. Let's go make sure it's him first. I need you to be prepared though. If it is him, he's pretty much a mess. It's not going to be easy to see."
"I know. I saw the scene. There was a lot of blood." Orson took a deep breath. "I'll be okay. I've seen worse."
Sure he didn't want to know what Orson had seen in his past, he simply nodded. "Okay, then let's go see if it's him." He kept his hand on Orson's shoulder as he steered him out the door and down the hallway to the elevator. He dropped his hand as he hit the button to call the elevator to their floor. "How did you get up here?"
"I walked." Orson glanced up almost looking guilty.
