Protecting What's Mine(91)

But he also knew when something extraordinary was happening.

With Tyrone being looked after by an EMT, Linc returned to Mack’s triage area. She was snapping orders, her gloved hands moving in a concerted blur.

“You can’t just open him up out here,” the paramedic across from her warned.

“Argue with me later. When he’s open, you treat the bleed and give me room to massage his heart.”

“We don’t know if he’s on blood thinners,” he tried again. “The guy could bleed out right here.”

“The guy’s name is Leroy, and I do know that he’s not on blood thinners because I’m his goddamn family doctor. And I’m not letting him die with his grandson watching, so get the fuck on board.”

It hit him. A wave of love and pride so tall, so fierce, it made him weak in the knees.

“On board, doctor. You ever do this procedure before?”

“Nope,” Mack said as she slipped the scalpel into Leroy Mahoney’s chest.

“Holy shit. Is she—”

“Yep,” Linc told Brody as his captain approached white-faced.

Brody picked up his radio. “Dispatch, this is Engine 231 on Mulberry Road scene. Doctor is performing open heart massage on-scene.” There was a beat of silence.

“Copy that Engine 231. I’ll tell them to fly faster,” was the unfazed reply.

A hush fell over the scene, and Linc imagined dozens of prayers were floating up past the floodlights and into the dusk.

“Get that bleeder,” Mack ordered. She was up to her wrists in a human being’s chest. Linc felt a little light-headed, and he wasn’t sure if it was from love or the impossibility of watching his girlfriend play God with a man’s life.

“Beautiful,” she said. Her face was a study in concentration under the floodlights. Linc could hear the faint approach of the helicopter.

“Bleeding’s under control,” the paramedic reported gruffly.

“Good. Hang on. I think I’ve got something,” Mack said. Everyone held their breath.

Tyrone appeared at Linc’s side, a bandage on his arm, his eyes swollen from tears.

“Pop-Pop?” he whispered brokenly.

Linc put an arm around the kid and hugged him tight.

“I’ve got a beat!” Mack’s face was triumphant.

Breaths expelled in a whoosh.

“Got a radial pulse,” an EMT called from Leroy’s feet.

“Fuck yes!” Linc whispered.

“BP is stabilizing,” the paramedic observed. “I’d high-five you if you weren’t elbows-deep inside a patient right now.”

“Rain check,” Mack whooped. “Strong beats!”

A cheer unlike any celebration Linc had heard before rang out. His guys stuck their head out of the first-floor window and hollered right along with the collection of neighbors and first responders

There were tears, audible prayers of gratitude. The celebration continued as the chopper touched down in the pasture across the field while Mack quickly stitched her patient back up.

Linc watched her lean in and down, saw Leroy’s lips barely moving.

“Tyrone is just fine, Leroy. I promise you,” she said. “You hang in there, or I’m gonna be real pissed.”

Linc had never been prouder in his entire life than when he saw the professional admiration on the flight doctor’s face while she gave him her report.

“Never seen anything like it,” he said as EMTs and firefighters transferred Leroy to the spine board.

“I’m not surprised,” the hulking flight nurse said with a grin. He offered Mack a gloved hand and helped pull her to her feet. “You’re a hell of a doctor, O’Neil.”

“Thanks, Bubba,” she said. “Take good care of my guy here.”

The flight doc glanced down at her footwear and shook his head. “Who knew superheroes wore air casts?” With that, they turned and jogged with the stretcher to the waiting aircraft.

Stripping off her gloves, Mack watched them go. Stood still as the helicopter lifted off. When she turned and stumbled on her walking boot, Linc was there to steady her.

“Dreamy,” he said, wrapping her up when she sagged against him.

“I’ve never been so happy, hungry, and tired in my entire life,” she confessed.

“Dr. Mack. Is my grandpa gonna be okay?” Tyrone asked.

Mack pulled him into their hug. “He’s got a good chance, buddy. Your Pop-Pop is one tough guy.”

“I’m scared,” he whispered. “We were talking about what to pack for lunch at school tomorrow. I don’t like meatloaf. And Pop-Pop was laughing, and then bang!”

“It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t distract him or cause this. Your grandpa’s heart just picked that moment to stop working right.”

Linc gave the kid an extra squeeze. “We called your mom, Tyrone. She’s going to meet us at the hospital. So why don’t we swing by your house and pick up some things for your grandpa that he can use at the hospital?”

They bundled Tyrone into the chief’s vehicle, packed a bag of whatever a seven-year-old considered essential to a grandpa—including corduroy pants, the TV remote, and Tyrone’s favorite stuffed bear—and delivered boy and bag to the hospital.