29. Cole
29
COLE
T he call went straight to voicemail again. For the fifth time today. I clenched my phone so hard I thought it might snap in half. “Rose,” I said after the beep, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s me. Please, just… call me back. I need to talk to you. I’m sorry about… everything.”
I ended the call and stared at the screen, waiting like an idiot for a text, a missed call notification, anything. Nothing came, just like it hadn’t come yesterday or the day before. I tossed the phone onto the couch and rubbed my face with both hands. I needed to shave, but the thought of holding the razor made me wince.
I looked at my hands, holding them out in front of me. They had become my enemies, trembling the same way they did frequently lately. I’d tried the treatments—meds, therapy, even that damn brain stimulation they recommended. Nothing worked. The tremors came and went as they pleased, cruelly reminding me that my body wasn’t my own anymore.
The lawsuit had been dropped weeks ago, but I didn’t feel free. I didn’t feel anything close to normal. Kansas City was supposed to help me reset, give me space to think. Instead, it felt like I’d packed all my problems into a suitcase and brought them with me. I carried it all around on my shoulders again, and it felt as bad as the anxiety over that lawsuit had felt. The one thing I hadn't done was start drinking again.
I shuffled into the kitchen, opening the fridge out of habit more than hope. A few takeout boxes stared back at me, their contents unappetizing and stale. I hadn’t cooked in days. Maybe weeks. It was easier to order out, to avoid handling knives or pots that reminded me of what I’d lost.
My stomach growled, but I ignored it, slamming the fridge shut and leaning against the counter. I stared at the cabinets, willing myself to do something, anything productive. But the thought of chopping vegetables or even boiling water felt like scaling a mountain.
Instead, I grabbed my phone again and scrolled through my delivery app. Burgers. Pizza. Tacos. It didn’t matter. I picked the first place that looked halfway decent and placed the order. Another thirty bucks wasted, but at least I wouldn’t go hungry.
As I waited for the food, I stared at the blank TV screen across the room. It felt like my life—empty, static. Rose had been my anchor in all this, and now she was gone. I didn’t blame her. Not really. But if she didn’t call me back soon, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep pretending I was okay.
I stared at my phone again, the delivery timer ticking down in the corner of the screen. Fifteen minutes until the food arrived, but it might as well have been fifteen hours. My gaze kept drifting to the call log—her name sitting there over and over, a painful reminder of every unanswered attempt.
She wasn’t just ignoring me. She’d turned her phone off. That hurt more than I wanted to admit. Rose wasn’t the type to ghost someone without a reason, and I knew I’d given her plenty. Still, I couldn’t stop the gnawing feeling in my chest, the fear that I’d pushed her too far.
What if she didn’t want to talk to me? What if she never wanted to talk to me again?
I ran a hand through my hair, the tremors making it hard to focus. She had to call me back eventually… didn’t she?
The cab ride to work felt like it took forever, though the driver barely spoke and the streets were clear. I’d debated calling in sick, but what was the point? Sitting at home wasn’t going to make me feel any better, and I’d already missed enough time during the lawsuit and my treatments. If I didn't show up, I'd be fired. My hands fidgeted in my lap, trembling slightly. I shoved them into my pockets before the driver noticed.
When we pulled up to the hospital, I hesitated before stepping out. The place felt different, like I was walking into someone else’s life. I used to belong here. Now? I wasn’t so sure. I'd done everything humanly possible short of having part of my brain cut out, and I'd never perform a surgery again. I couldn’t wrap my brain around that. And how would I tell my bosses?
The nurses’ station buzzed with activity as I walked in, but it didn’t take long for someone to notice me. Kiki gave me a tight smile. “Hey, Dr. Hastings. Good to see you back.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to respond. My head felt like it was underwater. My chest felt hollow, and the only reason I showed up today was to see if I could bump into Rose, the way we bumped into each other when we first met.
"It's good to be back." The lie rolled off my tongue easily. "Have you seen Rose Williams?" I hated that I felt so needy that the first question out of my mouth was about her. I was weak.
"Oh, you didn't hear? Of course… You've been out for weeks now. Rose quit. She said she was moving back in with her mom or something. Not sure why." Kiki shrugged one shoulder and sighed. "I have to get back. Good to see you."
She sauntered off as if she hadn't just destroyed my motivation, and I stared at her blankly for a while. Rose left? She just quit and vanished without saying a thing to me?
I walked to my office and sat behind my desk, staring at the paperwork piled in front of me. It wasn’t just paperwork, though. It was a mountain of responsibility, every form a reminder of the life I was supposed to be living—the surgeon, the fixer, the guy who had it all together. My hands trembled as I picked up a pen, the slight shake making the simple act of writing my name feel like a chore.
The treatment was supposed to help. That’s what they’d told me when I’d agreed to the deep brain stimulation. It wasn’t a guarantee, of course—nothing in medicine ever was—but I’d let myself believe it would work, that the tremors would calm, that I’d get my hands back, my life back. But so far? Nothing. In fact, maybe it was worse now. The doctors had warned me it could take months, maybe even a year, to see any real improvement.
And even then, there were no promises.
I should’ve told Rose. I should’ve told someone, anyone. But how could I? How could I admit to the people who looked up to me that I couldn’t control my own body? That I wasn’t sure if I’d ever step into an OR with confidence again? The thought kept me silent, burying the truth under layers of excuses and half-truths. I didn’t want her to worry. I didn’t want anyone to see how far I’d fallen.
But now, sitting here, the weight of my decisions weighed down on me harder than ever. Rose had quit, and I couldn’t help but think it was my fault. If I’d just been honest with her—if I’d told her what I was going through, what I was trying to fix—maybe she wouldn’t have felt so alone. Maybe she’d still be here. Instead, I’d pushed her away without even realizing it, too caught up in my own mess to see what was happening.
A knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see one of the surgical coordinators standing there, clipboard in hand. “Dr. Hastings, there’s an emergency case. OR Three. They’re asking for you.”
My stomach sank. My first instinct was to say yes, to stand up and scrub in, to do what I’d spent my whole life training for. But my hands betrayed me, trembling at my sides as if to remind me of why I couldn’t. I wanted to. Believe me, it was my deepest heart's desire. But I felt panic as I stood and followed the coordinator into the hallway.
"What's the situation?" I asked, and the coordinator rattled off some stats. “Dr. Hastings, we have a pregnant woman in distress in the ER. Possible placental abruption. They think she’ll need an emergency C-section for twins. You’re the only surgeon available right now.”
My stomach clenched. A C-section. The procedure was straightforward—one I’d done countless times before—but this wasn’t a training simulation or a calm, planned operation. This was an emergency. Lives were on the line, and the tremor in my hands hadn’t magically disappeared in the last two minutes.
“Can Patel assist?” I asked, grasping at anything to avoid saying no outright. No one knew, but I knew I had to tell them. I knew it was going to cost me my job and I had no backup plan, but I couldn't risk people's lives.
“She’s tied up in a liver case,” the coordinator replied, her tone edging toward desperation. “There’s no one else.”
I stared at her, my pulse pounding. If I said no, what would happen to that mother and her babies?
My heart was already pounding, but a call for my name over the PA system made it worse. The possibility of a placental abruption at twenty-four weeks was dire. Every second mattered. I tried to steady my hands by clenching them into fists as I walked, but the faint tremor persisted, a cruel reminder of how little control I had.
When I reached the ER, it was chaos. Nurses buzzed around the trauma bay, equipment beeped, and voices layered over one another in hurried medical jargon. The patient was partially obscured by the flurry of activity, but I caught sight of her dark hair and pale face. My entire body felt the slap of shock.
It was Rose. She was lying in that bed and I wasn't sure what to think.
My legs locked, and for a moment, I couldn’t move. My vision tunneled, narrowing on her face, pinched in pain, her hands protectively cradling her belly.
“What—” My voice cracked as I approached. “What’s going on? Rose?”
Her eyes snapped to mine, and the look she gave me was nothing short of furious. “Why are you here?” she whined, her voice tight but loud enough for everyone to hear. “Aren’t you supposed to be hiding from your problems?” The pain in her tone wasn't just emotional. I could tell she was in distress. I scanned her body quickly and saw no other trauma. My doctor's brain tried to kick in, but I wasn't sure how to push past seeing her belly swollen with pregnancy, a pregnancy she'd hidden from me so well I never even noticed.
The words hit harder than I wanted to admit, too. I ignored the nurses who were suddenly very interested in the monitors and avoided the knowing looks of the surgical coordinator, who hovered nearby. “I’m the only available surgeon,” I said stiffly, trying to keep my composure. “What’s happening?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she winced through a contraction. One of the nurses stepped in to explain, “Suspected placental abruption. Heart tones are borderline. She’s only twenty-four weeks, Dr. Hastings. We need a decision.”
I looked at Rose, panic blooming in my chest. My hands twitched at my sides, the tremor suddenly impossible to hide. I saw her eyes flicker down to them, her jaw tightening.
“You can’t,” she said flatly, her voice cutting through the noise. “You can’t operate like this. Look at you.”
My face flushed. “Rose, this isn’t about me?—”
“You’re damn right it isn’t!” she shouted, her voice rising over the hum of the machines. “This is about these babies. Our babies. And me, Cole. Me! Stop thinking about yourself for once and start being the man you should be." She started sobbing just as a woman who looked just like her but older walked into the room with a bottle of water. She tiptoed around me and offered Rose the water.
The room went silent. Every head turned, every set of eyes on me as the words hung in the air. My chest tightened, shame and anger warring for control. She was right, but hearing it, hearing her say that in front of everyone, hurt.
“I can’t do this right now,” I muttered, stepping back, my voice thick with emotion.
Her face twisted, part pain, part disbelief. “Of course you can’t. You never can.”
That was the final blow. I turned on my heel and stormed out, leaving the chaos behind me, but the weight of her words followed me, cutting deeper with every step. The coordinator tried to stop me, but I knew between the emotion and the tremors, there was no way I could do the surgery safely.
"Call Patel. Tell her it's an emergency," I growled, and I stormed out. The risk of her having to wait a bit longer was nothing compared to the risk of my causing harm by operating in my condition. I needed a breath of air to think.