I sigh, scratching at my jaw. There are two reasons why I did what I did, but I can only tell Michael one of them. “He didn’t back down. He didn’t give up. He had enough fire in him to force me back a step, too. That’s something. Maybe there’s more.”
“Maybe.” Michael tosses me the keys to the Camaro, and I climb into the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind me. He remains silent on the drive over to St. Peter’s Hospital—the guy just knows when he should talk and when he shouldn’t—and I use the quiet to gather my thoughts. Yeah, I did let the kid get away with breaking into the gym because I can see some sort of potential in him. But I also let him get away with it because the way he looked at me, so fierce and determined yet downtrodden at the same time, reminded me of someone.
Someone we buried next to a river in the mountains.
Chapter Four
Sloane
I feel the tear widening even as I desperately try to pack the open cavity in front of me. Shit.
Fuck, shit, motherfucker.
The guy on my operating table is eighteen years old, and he’s been suffering from bowel cancer since he was thirteen. I’m not even his regular doctor. Since I came back to work, I’ve been making headway in the trauma department, forging a serious name for myself. I was always steady before, but now, after spending so much time with Zeth, dealing with psychotic mob bosses, human traffickers, and DEA agents, it’s like I’m bomb proof. Unshakable. People have started noticing, especially the chief.
So when Miles Rosenblat, eighteen, was rushed into the emergency room an hour ago complaining of severe stomach pains and Dr Wishall, his oncologist, wasn’t on shift, I was handed his patient and told to save his life.
“His father donates a huge amount of money to this hospital, Dr. Romera. Better not let his son die on your table,” were the chief’s exact words, in fact.
At this point, I’m not so sure I’ll be able to accomplish that. The kid’s bowels are a mess. He was supposed to be in remission, but it’s very clear that the cancer snuck back in and made itself right at home while no one was looking. His colon has just torn so badly there’s no way I’m going to be able to repair it. Best case scenario: I’m gonna be giving this kid a colostomy before I can close him up and his life changes forever. Worst case scenario: I give him the colostomy, close him up, he gets an infection, and then he dies in a couple of days’ time.
Either way, it’s not the bright and shiny outcome the chief’s waiting on up in the observatory. I’m sure she can see what I’m dealing with though.
Oliver Massey, my closest friend at the hospital, leans over the patient’s body and shakes his head. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. My thoughts exactly.”
“There’s too much to resect. You’ll have to take the whole thing.”
“I know.” I’m working quickly as I say this, already preparing to remove all of the damaged, necrotic tissue. Some doctors might be irritated by being told something so obvious by their colleagues, but I don’t mind Oliver giving his opinion. It makes me feel better about the decision I’ve made.
For the next three hours we work tirelessly over Miles, doing our best to remove anything that might be even faintly cancerous. When we’re done, Miles Rosenblat has a brand new stoma. He’s a fit, good-looking kid with a perky blonde girlfriend waiting for him out in the hallway. I already know he is going to hate having a stoma.
“Poor bastard,” Oliver says, ripping off his gown and tossing into the HAZMAT as we clear the OR. “I think the chief said he’s on his high school football team. Football jocks are assholes when it comes to this sort of thing.”
I scrub my hands over my face, my eyes stinging and tired from concentrating so hard. “But he’s alive.”
Oliver pulls a cautiously optimistic face. He knows Miles isn’t out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot. He doesn’t say anything, though. He knows I don’t want to hear it right now. Instead, he says, “Damn. It’s ten thirty. You wanna grab a beer before all the bars shut?”
My stomach rolls when I hear the time. Oh, boy. Zeth knew my shift was ending at eight. He was coming to get me. He’s either been waiting for me in the parking lot for two and a half hours or he’s already left. Neither of those options are good. “Ahh, crap. I can’t tonight, Ol. Maybe tomorrow?”
Oliver doesn’t even look surprised. I’ve bailed on him more times than I can count over the past few months. I’m a terrible friend. “Sure, Romera. Tomorrow it is. I’ll just head on over and pay Grace a visit instead.” He winks, leaving no doubt as to why he’s going over to see some girl called Grace. He holds the door to the residents’ locker room open for me, and I duck inside.
“Who’s Grace? What happened to Melanie?”
“Melanie decided she wanted to get married. Grace is happy for me to come over whenever we both feel the need to release some tension.” Another wink. Obviously code for sex.
“What? Melanie did not want to get married. You guys were dating for, what, six weeks?”