The Surgeon's One Night to Forever Page 11

  Everything became a nightmarish blur as the ambulance seemed to take forever to enter the bay. They all rushed forward, Liz leading the charge, to open the doors to get at the patient. The gurney’s wheels dropped to the ground with a clang, the sound reverberating in her chest, as she got her first look at the young man lying there, so perilously still.

  Her gut clenched and for a sickening instant the edges of her vision grew dark.

  Wheat-blond hair, a little too long, matted with blood. A hawkish nose prominent in the narrow, too-pale face. The motorcycle leathers, black with splashes of decorative blue.

  Andrew.

  Then reality returned, although her stomach continued to churn.

  It wasn’t Andrew, who, had he lived, would be in his midthirties now. It was just a young, desperately hurt young man who happened to look remarkably, almost horrifyingly, like him.

  Even so, it took everything she had to gather her control, to take firm hold of her senses and the gurney as they ran back into the hospital, the paramedic in charge spewing information she somehow heard and absorbed over the clamor of her heartbeat. OS rate, BP, the horrifying list of known injuries, which made a hole of despair open in her stomach. Even if they had been functioning at full capacity, just from the severity of his wounds his chances of survival were slim.

  Into the emergency room, Liz giving the count to hoist him onto the stretcher, beginning her examination even as the nurses were cutting his blood-soaked motorcycle leathers away, inserting the IVs and then administering Ringer’s at her command.

  Steady. Steady. Focus.

  Put everything else aside and focus.

  But even as she admonished herself, her gaze went back to the young man’s face, and her heart contracted with pain.

  “Should we remove the neck brace, Doctor?”

  “No,” Liz replied, swallowing against the sick taste rising at the back of her throat, doing everything she could to sound normal. “He’s going to be flown to Roosevelt. Keep it on.”

  It made completing her examination more difficult, but taking it off and putting it back on would only increase the risk of exacerbating any potential neck injury.

  His breathing was ragged, shallow, his oxygen saturation so low it was at near critical levels.

  “I’m going to intubate.”

  She stuck out her hand and closed her fingers around the laryngoscope when the nurse slapped it into her palm. Moving to the head of the stretcher, she tilted his head back. When she opened his mouth and inserted the laryngoscope, her heart sank even further. Bloody mucus obscured her view.

  “Suction.”

  How calm her voice sounded, in contrast to the desperate chant in her head. Hang on. Hang on. Hang on. We can save you if you just hang on.

  There. Now she could see a clear path down the trachea. “Eight-point-five millimeter,” she said, sticking out her hand for the endotracheal tube. The brief spurt of relief she felt when the patient was properly intubated and she resumed her examination didn’t last long.

  Depressed skull fracture. Pupils responsive but sluggish. Broken ribs and suspected sternal fracture. Muffled heart sounds. Bruising forming on his abdomen. Severely broken femur.

  And that was just for a start. Just what she could see in this first examination.

  “Blood pressure dropping, Doctor. Eighty over sixty.”

  “I suspect cardiac tamponade. Portable ultrasound.”

  She’d been distantly aware of Dr. Yuen, who’d come in and had been doing his own examination of the patient, but she’d been too focused on her own to even look up. Now, hearing his words, she moved to the left side of the exam table in order to see the ultrasound screen. The surgeon squirted gel on the patient’s chest, then started running the wand over the area. Liz watched, seeing the heart beating frantically, trying to keep working although surrounded by blood.

  “Pericardiocentesis kit.”

  Liz gave the order, but Dr. Yuen said, “I’ve got it, Dr. Prudhomme.”

  “Yes, Dr. Yuen.” But she stayed in place, ready to assist should he need it.

  Another nurse came in, and said, “The ’copter should be here in ten minutes.”

  Dr. Yuen froze for a moment, his hands poised over the patient, whether from the nurse’s words or from some reluctance to do the procedure, Liz didn’t know.

  “Dr. Yuen, either you insert that tube, stat, or I will.”

  The fierceness in her tone drew the younger man’s gaze for an instant, his eyes wide behind the splatter mask, and then he turned back to the patient.

  * * *

  Cort stood against the wall, staying out of everyone’s way, observing the team working to stabilize the young accident victim. There was really so little going on otherwise that when the call had come for a trauma team, he’d come down, even though he’d known Dr. Yuen would probably beat him to it.

  Now tension tightened the back of his neck as he watched the young surgeon perform the pericardiocentesis.

  There was something wrong with Liz, with her reactions, the way she was moving. He’d had ample experience of working with her, so it was easy to recognize the difference between her usual way of behaving and what he was seeing.

  She looked pale to him, and her movements were choppy, although he could discern no lowering in the standard of care she was providing for the patient. But it was the way she was hovering over Dr. Yuen, almost crowding the young surgeon and snapping at him to do the procedure that was most surprising.

  Then she turned to one of the nurses and said, “Make sure Roosevelt has a neurosurgeon on standby when the helicopter lands.”

  “I’ve got it under control, Dr. Prudhomme.” Dr. Yuen’s voice held a hint of steel. “Nurse Hayes, watch that line.”

  As the team worked in tandem to stabilize the young man, Cort kept his gaze on Liz, becoming more convinced there was something going on with her.

  “Helicopter is here,” someone called out.

  Liz checked to make sure the endotracheal tube and IV lines were properly secured for transport while Dr. Yuen checked the pressure cuff surrounding the young man’s leg.

  With one more check of the young man’s vitals, Yuen said, “He’s as stable as he’s going to get. Let’s get him on the transport board.”

  The team checked and rechecked the lines and tubes, clearing any in jeopardy of being displaced by the move, and then, on Yuen’s count of three, transferred the patient onto the board. Once he was strapped down, covered to keep him warm, and everything had been checked once more, they were moving, heading for the roof.

  Cort hung back, but instead of following them to the nearest elevators, he ran to the bank on the other side of the ER. By the time he got to the roof observation area it was to see the patient being transferred over to the flight crew, Dr. Yuen going along to monitor the young man en route.

  The rest of the trauma and ER team members turned and came back inside, chatting amongst themselves, but Liz stood watching as the patient was loaded. And she still didn’t move when the helicopter took off, the rotors kicking up a cloud of dust and swirling rain, or after the aircraft disappeared into the New York skyline.

  There was a slump to her shoulders and her fingers were fisted so tightly that even from a distance Cort could see her knuckles were white.

  She looked so defeated Cort’s chest ached just looking at her. Knowing her, she probably wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t just walk away and leave her without trying to find out what was going on.

  Even if she rejected his interference, and him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT WASN’T UNTIL he got out to the helipad and next to her that he realized she was crying, tears streaming down her face, her body shaking with stifled sobs.

  “Liz—”

  “Go away, Cort.”

  She said it fiercely, but
there was no mistaking the pain in her voice, the hitch between the words. Part of him wanted to honor her request, turn away from the hurt of being shut out that way, but somehow, now he was standing beside her, that wasn’t an option.

  “I can’t. Not when you’re like this. Talk to me, Liz. Let me help if I can.”

  He was confused, unsure of what was upsetting her so much. From what he’d seen, the young patient’s prognosis was poor. There had been signs of abnormal posturing, which often indicated a less-than-happy outcome. Yet this was something all ER doctors and trauma surgeons faced. As much as they wanted to, they couldn’t save everyone and Liz’s reaction to this patient was more intense than any he’d seen her display before.

  “I don’t need help.”

  “Everyone needs help at one time or another, even if it’s just a shoulder to lean on or an ear to listen.”

  Still she hesitated, taking deep breaths, obviously trying to stem her tears.

  “Please, let me help in whatever way I can.”

  “There’s nothing you can do,” she finally said, swiping her sleeve across her face. “It’s just ghosts.”

  “Ghosts? What kind of ghosts?”

  She exhaled hard, through her mouth, and shook her head. “Once, a long time ago, I knew...someone. He died in a motorcycle accident in Germany. I’ve been thinking about him a lot recently, and when I saw that patient...”

  “He reminded you of your friend.”

  Liz nodded; just a sharp dip of her chin. “He even looked like Andrew. It...threw me.”

  The knowledge came to him in a flash, made a sour taste tickle the back of his throat. “You loved him.”

  “Yes.”

  It was a stark admission, almost resentful, and Cort remembered her indictment of love, her definition of it as a terminal disease that weakened the brain. His stomach churned as he realized Liz was still in love with this man Andrew.

  Yet he had to put his muddled feelings aside, concentrate on doing whatever he could to ease Liz’s distress.

  But what could he say? What could anyone say to alleviate her pain?

  “I’m so sorry, Liz.”

  She bit her lower lip then let it go on a hard exhalation. And, as if the rush of air somehow released the words, said, “He always rode too fast, took too many chances. But it was a long time ago. I should be over it by now.”

  Now he finally understood why, during their time in the Colombian restaurant, she’d withdrawn when he’d mentioned his motorcycle. There was no doubt bikes and riding held nothing but bad memories for her. Time didn’t heal all wounds, he knew that from hard experience, so he gently touched her shoulder, needing her to know she wasn’t alone.

  “It’s not something you can get over, I guess. You just learn to live with it.”

  She turned to him so suddenly he wasn’t expecting it, but when she gripped the front of his shirt with both hands and buried her face in his neck, he pulled her in tighter, embracing her.

  Wanting to shelter her from the pain.

  She was trembling, her agony a physical thing.

  “We’d argued,” she whispered, almost too low to hear. “He wanted to see the world. I wanted to finish med school. I was supposed to go with him, was on the verge of saying yes, but he decided he wanted to go alone. Didn’t want me to go with him.”

  “Why?”

  “He wanted to tour Europe on his bike, but we’d had an accident the year before, and I wouldn’t ride with him anymore. We were so mean to each other, Cort, saying cruel things. Then he left. I was a little relieved because then I didn’t have to put my studies on hold, but I always thought there would be time to make it up. There wasn’t. That was the last time I saw him.”

  Cort was at a loss as to what to say. To him, it sounded as though her Andrew had been a selfish man who hadn’t deserved Liz’s love, but he certainly couldn’t say that. He wasn’t sure if he should push for more information either, afraid Liz would clam up on him, but he had to say something.

  “Was he a doctor too?”

  Liz sniffled, the sound heartbreaking Cort tightened his hold on her, pressed her close, wishing there was more he could do.

  “Yes. He was a year ahead of me, but medicine wasn’t a calling for him, more of an expectation, since his father was a doctor and hoped Andrew would take over his practice one day. Andrew was smart, but just scraped through. He wasn’t dedicated, you know?”

  No doubt that had been another bone of contention between them, Cort thought. Liz wasn’t the kind to do anything half-heartedly. She would have been determined to be at the top of her class.

  She sighed. “I know it’s wrong to second-guess everything, but it’s hard not to think about what might have been if the choices we’d made had been different.”

  That he could understand but, at the same time, she had to stop beating herself up over someone else’s decisions.

  “That’s true, but if you’d gone with him, you might not have survived the accident either.”

  Just saying the words made his heart contract, filled the pit of his stomach with an icy ball.

  “Or I might have convinced him not to be on the road when a snowstorm had been forecast. Or...”

  “Or what?” he asked, hearing deepening pain in her tone. “Or what, Liz?”

  “Or I might have been able to keep him alive until they got him to hospital.”

  There. Now he knew the crux of her agony. Recognized it far more clearly than she could ever imagine.

  “Survivor’s guilt, doctor edition,” he said quietly. “I completely understand.”

  “Do you?” she asked, lifting her head to search his face.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Tell me.”

  He never spoke about Brody with anyone except with Jenna, and had never, ever mentioned his feelings of guilt to Brody’s wife. But this was different. Liz needed to know she wasn’t the only one who had those kinds of feelings.

  “My best friend died almost six years ago from a prescription drug overdose. He worked construction and I knew he’d hurt his back a couple years before, but it didn’t even occur to me he might be hooked on painkillers. Despite the fact he’d hidden it even from his wife, I can’t get over the guilt of thinking I should have known, should have been able to help him.”

  “Were you already back home then?”

  “No, I was still posted overseas.”

  “So, if he didn’t want anyone to know, why do you think you could have helped him?”

  The pain around his heart intensified. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore, but she’d opened up to him and deep down inside he wanted her to understand how hurtful it had been.

  Still was.

  “I learned early not to get attached to anyone, Liz. When you get passed from one foster home to another, you get a clear understanding of how impermanent everything in life really is. But Brody... Brody was different. We were fourteen when we met, and we were like brothers almost right away. We aged out together, and I wanted him to join the army with me, but he wasn’t interested. Yet, although we took different paths in life, we were still family, always in touch. He was the only person I trusted completely, the only person I had a real bond with. Of course I blame myself for not considering what the pain medication might do to him.”

  She’d been holding onto his shirt the entire time, but now she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him as tightly as he’d been hugging her.

  “You can’t keep blaming yourself, Cort. There was nothing you could do.”

  He leaned back, and used the side of his hand to lift her chin, so they were eye to eye.

  “I’ll stop, if you will.”

  * * *

  As she looked into Cort’s dark, pain-filled gaze, Liz’s heart skipped one beat, then another, before it began to race. The emotions batt
ering her were as overwhelming as they were unexpected, making her eyes sting with tears all over again. Yet she couldn’t put name to them. They were alien, unrecognizable. She should be frightened by them but she wasn’t.

  Being held so tightly in his arms had muted her sorrow to melancholy, and it felt right to agree to let her guilt over Andrew go, although she knew doing so wouldn’t be easy. She’d carried it too long, let it become ingrained over the years. But if saying she was willing to let it go would ease the pain Cort carried...

  “I’ll stop,” she whispered, searching his face, feeling a weight lift from her chest when his lips quirked upward. “Will you?”

  “I know I have to. It hurts too much to keep thinking that way.” He took a deep breath, sighing on the exhalation. “And Brody wouldn’t like knowing I’m twisting myself up in knots over him. He was too down to earth for that.”

  Before she could reply, there was the distant clatter of helicopter blades, bringing Liz suddenly back to reality. She blinked, almost surprised to realize they were still on the roof. It felt as though she’d fallen through the rabbit hole and landed in a new, unexplored country.

  She stepped back, breaking their embrace, glancing around. They were alone in the dusk beneath the still overcast sky, the noise of the city muted. Her heart felt light and yet beat with deep, steady ferocity.

  All she wanted was to be back in his arms, to hear his voice in her ear, sink into the warmth of his strong embrace. A little voice in the back of her head whispered she was over-emotional, needed to gather her self-containment around her once more, so as to stave off the danger.

  But she didn’t listen.

  “I want to hear more about him,” she heard herself say, as if from a distance. “Come home with me.”

  For all the time they’d spent together, she’d never invited him to her home, needing that last little bit of distance, a sanctuary. Now there was nowhere she’d rather be, and no one she’d rather be there with.