Quinn blew out a frustrated breath. “You’ve got to give that up, man. The universe doesn’t have it out for you.”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t get to her fast enough. She was hurt, I ran as fast I could to get to her, but my whole body was moving in slow motion. And then—against all my training—I cradled her in my arms and held her. That’s all I could do.” I felt Quinn’s fingers press into my shoulder. “I’ve only felt that helpless one other time in my life. I’m tired of being too late.”
“All paramedics get that way, buddy. It’s why we do what we do.”
“No, this was different. I wasn’t doing just my job. I needed her to be okay, Quinn. I need her to be okay. I have to see her again.”
“She’ll be okay.” Quinn said the words slow, watching me intently. “Are you? Okay?”
“I’m fine. And I know what you’re thinking.”
“That you hit your head harder than I thought? A little,” he admitted.
“I saw her get T-boned by a semi. I thought I’d lost her.” Heartbreak and loss were a part of life. Those of us who worked hand in hand with death learned early to appreciate those few precious moments we had before it was all taken away. I recoiled from Quinn’s expression. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“I get it. Sometimes I think about the people I’ve lost, and it makes me work that much harder to bring people back,” Quinn agreed.
“That’s not it. I made a decision in the ten minutes I listened to the sirens get closer.”
“What kind of decision?”
The possibility of losing something before it was even mine was something I'd never imagined. Watching what could have been slip away before it was in your grasp was enough to break a man. But it had also given me the chance to redeem myself, make myself worthy of her, in the event we finally got our moment.
“You’ll see.”
My muscles hurt even before I opened my eyes. I hadn’t dreamed, nor could I recall the moment of impact. My only memory was the pain. But when the room around me came into focus, it all but went away.
The hideous brown and mauve wallpaper was peeling in the corners. The fake plants and watercolor prints were meant to resemble a nineteen-eighties living room, even though anyone would know by the smell alone where they were.
Nurse Michaels walked in with a stethoscope hanging from her blue floral lab jacket. She had the same dark circles I’d had when looking in a mirror mid-shift. Michaels typically worked in ICU but sometimes moonlighted in the ER with me, not that she was any help at all. Being in her care was unsettling.
The tiny catheter wiggled a bit beneath the thin skin of my hand while she fussed with the tape covering the entry site of my IV. I frowned and peered up, seeing Michaels’ infernal, frizzy orange hair, and then my surroundings. Yep. I was definitely in Step-Down.
Unfortunately, it appeared Step-Down, the hospital wing for stabilized patients adjacent to the ICU, was short staffed, and Michaels clearly had hours to make up—as usual.
“Looking good, Jacobs. You hang in there. We’re all worried about you,” she said, pulling at the tape again.
“Jesus, Michaels. Take it easy,” I said. My voice sounded like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together, and my throat burned.
She startled. “Oh.” With her finger, she pushed her black-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose, her tone more surprised than excited.
“If you’re here, who’s taking my shift?” I asked.
“I’m just going to—” She reached for the tape again.
I pulled away from her. “Would you fucking stop?” I snapped, already feeling guilty. It was true: nurses were the worst patients.