Jacked (Trent Brothers #1)(129)
“No it isn’t,” Sarah interjected. “You should know where he stands on wanting a family. You have to know if his wants and yours align now before you…”
“Was it even mine?” Adam’s words from his confrontation with his ex ghosted through, smothering out their verbal debate. “I’m glad you went to that butcher,” he had said.
His voice had been pained, filled with hurt when he’d said it.
My heart sank; the pending loss of losing Adam overwhelmed me like a thousand knives to the heart, draining the last fragments of my soul through its gaping wound.
He’d want children.
Of course he would.
A son to run around the house in a cowboy hat and play gun, trying to be just like his daddy. Or a daughter—a little girl with ringlets in her hair that would light his face in a magical way no woman ever could.
“…feeling that life inside you… baby kicking…”
Skipping pictures, like fragments of a torn movie, showed me in dizzying fast forward exactly how his life should be.
The woman he smiled for, the woman he embraced in his arms and kissed at the end of the day wasn’t me.
The smiling children running through the grass to tackle hug their father weren’t mine. They wouldn’t be. Couldn’t be.
The babbling gush of happy laughter erupting around them were sounds I’d never hear. They were meant for someone else to cherish.
Someone else to covet.
He would leave me.
Of course he would.
It may not be today or tomorrow even, but eventually he would.
It would be ugly and brutal and lethal to my heart.
The chest pains were agonizing.
I’d committed myself, my future, to be barren. I wasn’t enough. I couldn’t be enough for him. How could I ever be enough? Why would any man want that?
“…didn’t mean to upset you. Erin? Honey? It’s okay. It’s your choice.”
The streak of black hair came into clearer focus.
Jen.
My pager chimed, vibrating my pocket for good measure. I remembered to breathe.
I smeared away the traitorous tear and focused on the pager. “I have to go.”
“Are you okay?”
Jen again.
I nodded. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s been…,” I took a deep, steadying breath, “it’s been an emotional day. I’ll see you later?”
I crammed my uneaten sandwich and the rest of my lunch back into my bag, tossing it in the trash.
White walls. Tiled floors. Smells of pungent fluids. I was losing my mind.
I wiped my face again, swapping heartache for self-assuredness.
I didn’t need the staff asking me questions or doubting my leadership.
Doctors were made of tougher stuff than that. It didn’t take long before I’d be put to the test again.
I PULLED THE curtain behind me, cutting off the prying eyes of other patients. “Start chest compressions.”
The patient we had in room nine, a twenty-seven-year-old female who’d been in and out of consciousness with a BP and pulse that had been steadily skyrocketing, had just coded.
Sherry had her knee on the bed, pressing with all her might. This was the moment it all came to a head; my own pulse racing with every passing minute.
We didn’t have time to wait for the results from the lab; this girl was slipping through our fingers rapidly and precious seconds counted. I called out all the necessary protocols I knew of to treat her. I was grateful I took the time to question her two friends who were out in the waiting room. They confirmed my initial diagnosis. Still, nothing made you feel as vulnerable as when you were playing God.
Watching her body jolt when we shocked her, giving her the last bits of hope we could offer before surrendering to the hands of fate, made me hold my own breath.
“Check for pulse,” I instructed, remembering that I was also responsible to pass the torch of knowledge along to the two residents assisting me. Good, bad, or otherwise, it was not only my job to cheat Death, but to teach others how to do it, too.
Relief washed over me hearing we established a rhythm, becoming almost euphoric in its wake. There was no other high quite like this; it’s the kind you want to celebrate with cake and fireworks and a huge-ass banner that announces loudly, “Fuck you, Death.”
Sherry gave me a fist pump, followed by a quick celebratory hip-check. “This was a caffeine OD?”
I nodded. “No more Jager-bombs for her. The future bride out in the waiting room almost had to find another bridesmaid.”
Twenty minutes later, I was reviewing party-girl’s latest ECG when one of our nurses announced we had multiple patients en route. “Three males with multiple gunshot wounds. ETA is ten minutes.”
So much for enjoying a victory.
“Doctor Novak?”
I spun, seeing one of our pediatric on-calls hailing me. I wondered if he was looking for my boss Sam since the two of them were best buddies. I’d never played golf, so I couldn’t understand their passion. “You need me, Doctor Weinstein?”
He gave me a quick chin nod. “Hang on. I want to talk to you.”
I braced, ignoring the wrinkle that creased his receding hairline, preparing to be chewed out for something. It was status quo around here; there was always someone your senior lurking behind a curtain to correct you. My mind quickly sifted through my caseload while I waited for his verbal berating on how he isn’t happy.