The Trauma Response (Give a Bookish Girl a Biker #2)

1. Chapter One

Chapter one

Three months ago…

E xhaustion pulls at my mind. Not for the first time today, I chase it away with an espresso and sheer determination. The real world is always a shock when I emerge from the operating room after an eight hour surgery, but I manage to refocus my thoughts and tired eyes on my work. Once I finish updating my patient’s record and ensuring the nurses know when he should receive his next dose of medication, I can finally head home for the night.

Trauma surgery wasn’t always my top pick, but after watching my mentor reconstruct an entire chest cavity after a crushing accident, I was hooked. There’s something about holding a patient’s heart in my hands that puts life into perspective. Its fragility. Its fleeting span in the grand scheme of things. We are but a whisper in God’s timeline, and those few hours spent exploring and repairing the bodies of his creation are always surreal to me.

“Dr. Whitmore, it’s getting late,” Dr. Frasier checks his watch and frowns. “I don’t want you staying too much later. I need you at your best tomorrow.” Technically, he needs me at my best every day.

I finish the sentence I’m typing and nod. “Yes, sir. I’m about to head out as soon as I close out this report and double check the prescriptions.”

“Be careful. There’s a storm with heavy rain forecasted. I suspect the ER is gearing up for the usual accidents, and I don’t want you to be one of them.” My mentor adjusts his tie and brushes his gray hair back over his balding head. He’s like the grandfather I never knew, always ensuring his residents are in good shape mentally and physically. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a boss as thoughtful.

“Will do.” I close out the file and check the nurse’s notes. Everything seems in order, especially since my choice nurse is on the case. I can head home knowing my patient will be in good hands. “I’m all set. Have a good night.”

“You as well, Dr. Whitmore.” He smiles and heads down the long corridor leading to his office.

Before I can get caught up in the chaos of shift change, I dart to the doctors’ lounge to change and grab my things. Inside, it seems I’ve beaten everyone else and might get out of the parking garage without getting stuck in traffic.

Once I pull off my dirty scrubs and put on a comfortable pair of lounge pants and a sweatshirt, I check my phone. A grin spreads across my lips when I see my boyfriend, Jay, has left a message. I don’t bother checking it before calling him back. No doubt, he’s updating me on his progress. Living in different states has put a strain on our relationship, but since he’s decided to move to Denver, we’ve been doing so much better. I expect him to arrive any time now, but with the incoming storm, it might take longer than anticipated.

The phone rings while I drape my bag over my shoulder with a grunt.

He answers with an oddly suspicious tone. “Tulip? Um, did you get my message?”

I laugh and head out into the maze of hallways leading to the parking garage. “I didn’t. I just got off shift and figured I’d call you instead. Are you close? Will the storm delay you?”

“Uh, no actually. I wish you’d listened to the message before calling me back. I don’t think this is going to work out like we hoped.”

“Oh, no. I thought you said the storm wasn’t a problem. Did you have trouble with the moving truck? Can you come next weekend instead?” Disappointment deflates my previously happy mood.

“That isn’t what I meant. I mean, I don’t think moving to Denver is going to work out. And I definitely don’t think this relationship is going anywhere if I can’t even commit to relocating to be with you. Look, it’s been two years. We had a good run, but you and I both know we’re heading down different paths in life.”

I freeze in the hallway. “Wait, are you breaking up with me? Over the phone on the very day you’re supposed to move here?”

“You had to see this coming. You’re not willing to leave Denver—”

“Because I have a job as a trauma surgeon, Jay. What part of that sounds like it’s an easy transfer? Besides, you are the one who said it would be easier for you to find work here than for me to try to get a position at another hospital.”

“You never miss an opportunity to rub your success in my face. I get it. I’m just an electrician, but you know I’m trying to start my own company. I have a reputation here, and if I up and leave then I’ll have to start all over.” The irritation in his tone is apparent. My feet are glued in place. We’ve had this same fight a dozen times already, but I can’t seem to convince him that I don’t care what he does for a living.

“Jay, I’ve told you so many times that I’m proud of you for starting your own business. You deserve to be the boss and run things with how hard you work. I’m not sure how else—”

His sigh interrupts me and my heart sinks. The truth is, I did see this coming. When he offered to relocate to Denver I was surprised, but elated. Now, the reality hits me. It was a pipe dream to think he’d drop everything, move away from his family, quash his business prospects, and marry me.

He doesn’t love me. This proves that’s true. I swallow what’s left of my pride and accept my fate.

“Listen, Tulip, I don’t want hard feelings between us. I think if you sit with this for a while, you’ll see it’s for the best. I have too much respect for you and what you do to ask you to move here, and I’m just…not interested in Denver. I tried. I really did, but when the truck arrived this morning, I couldn’t do it.”

I glance out the window and notice that the rain has begun. And the traffic. Part of me wants to say the heck with it and go sleep in the lounge, but I’ll regret it in the morning. I need to get home, sleep, refresh my mind, and try to work through how I feel about ending a two year relationship over the phone.

“Sure. I guess you’re right,” I admit, though I can’t mask the frustration in my voice. I clench my jaw to hold back words that will only make this worse.

“I don’t like it. I hope you know that. I thought through this a lot, and I guess leaving a message or doing it over the phone was a bad idea in hindsight, but I didn’t see the need to drive all the way there only to get into a fight or something.”

In his own way, I suppose Jay did the right thing. I can’t fault him for what he wants for his life, but it hurts. Love isn’t supposed to be like this, and knowing I’ve failed in yet another relationship doesn’t make me feel much better. I’m thirty-one, and I’ve had three long-term relationships cave like a cheap wedding cake.

“I’m not mad. It’ll just take some time, you know?”

His breaths fill the line, then he says, “I know. I care about you, Tulip. I really do, but I know you’ll find a guy who is better suited for you. I’m gonna let you go. You said there are bad storms that way, and I want you to focus on driving. Be safe, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Bye, Jay.”

He doesn’t even say anything before he hangs up. It’s over, just like that. He made a decision for us both, a short discussion ensued, then he hung up without further fight. That’s it. Again.

I cram my phone in my pocket and head to the door. With any luck, I’ll at least miss the dinner traffic.

Half an hour later, I’m still not home. A multi-car pile up on the interstate slowed everything, so I took a few back roads, got stuck in a bridge washout and had to turn around. Now, I’m basically lost in my hometown. I can’t see anything between the rain and my tears, though I have tried to no avail to stop crying about my horrible love life and pay attention to the road.

The wipers slosh back and forth, but the downpour is too much for them to manage. Arcs of water are replaced by floods moving over the windshield, leaving me with very little choice but to pull over when I find a safe place. I blink a few times, trying to clear my vision enough to see the side of the road. I can’t see where the embankment is, so I keep going with the hope that it clears soon. A flash of white from the left startles me, as a deer runs into the road. I swerve right to try to miss it.

The back end of my car gets loose and swerves in the opposite direction, and before I know it, I’m hydroplaning across the road. The deer slams into the hood of my car, rolls up the windshield, and disappears over the top. Airbags smash into my face and my head whips back while my left arm flies backward and slams into something unforgiving. My car spins, and no amount of controlled braking or counter steering with one hand helps. It’s out of control, and my heart pounds. Flashes of light cross my now broken windshield—probably oncoming vehicles—but I can’t get out of their way. I’m not even sure which way is up, where the road ends, or if there are more deer headed my way.

I’m going to die.

Panic brings a surge of adrenaline over my body. My skin goes clammy and the wheel slips in my right hand until it jerks the opposite direction. I slam forward and the seatbelt crushes my chest a moment before the front end seems to dip, then everything turns upside down. Crashing and crunching sounds echo through my skull as my entire body is jerked this way and that. My breaths come in gasps. And then everything stops.

No more crunching and shrieking. No more moving. Only the steady pounding of rain, washing away everything else. And then, screaming.

“Someone call 9-1-1!” A man yells.

My left hand is numb and I’m not sure I can move it. I suck in a breath of blood-scented air and blink, but the pounding in my head is almost too much to bear. I wiggle my fingers, but feel nothing. I blink again and try to raise them in front of my face, but it requires pulling against something. The pain is too much, so I stop trying. Blood dribbles everywhere. Down my hand to my wrist, soaking my sweatshirt. I manage to glance up and find my hand has punched through the glass of my driver’s side window. Before more panic can wash over me, someone yells.

“I saw everything. It was a deer!”

“The car flipped twice! Is the driver alive?”

“I don’t know. Help me remove this windshield!”

Over the rain, the crunching of boots distracts me for a moment. My brain swirls. “He…help.” I try to speak, but my voice wavers and croaks. Sharp pain radiates up my arm from my left elbow. My face stings. I can’t focus on anything but the pain and dizziness.

The front windshield is almost entirely busted out. Several gloved hands reach inside of the car and yank it toward them working to release it entirely. Even if they get it off, there is every reason to believe that getting me out of the car will be almost impossible. It’s probably not recommended either. I can’t assess the amount of trauma my body has experienced, especially not while my head pounds and my hands ache.

“Careful of her hand there,” someone says. “Can we wrap that?” The faintest touch on my left hand tells me someone is inspecting the damage. They slowly pull shattered parts of the window from around it and lay it on the road. Merely extending my arm is immense relief.

It no longer aches at the joints. Instead, it burns as if I’m holding molten lava.

“Help me,” I manage to squeak.

“I’m trying. Anyone else in the car?” a man asks.

“No…no one.”

Finally, the windshield bursts all the way free and the man wiggles in beside me, pushing the air bags aside. “All right, ma’am, judging by your injuries, I think it’s best if we wait for assistance to try to remove you from the car. I’m gonna sit right here with you until they get here, okay?” His deep southern accent tells me he’s not from around here, but it’s soothing and helps calm my nerves.

I try to nod, but searing hot pain slices my mind in two. “Ah,” I groan.

“Here, can I try to support your neck? Hanging upside down is probably not helping.”

I nod as best I can. He slides his large hands behind my neck and relieves a little of the pressure. This helps my headache, and I breathe a sigh of relief. The familiar scent of blood fills the air while the rain slows around us. Everything slows. And fades.

“No, no. Don’t do that. Stay with me. Don’t close those pretty eyes of yours, darlin’,” he says and squeezes my shoulder.

My eyes snap open, and I try to refocus. “I hit a deer.”

“I know, darlin’. I saw the whole thing. An ambulance is on its way any minute now, just need you to keep talking to me until they get here.”

“My fingers are numb,” I whisper and try to wiggle them.

“It’ll be all right. You still got all of them but a nasty cut on that left one. I’m sure the hospital will get you all fixed up.” He shifts his weight and relieves more of the pressure on my neck. I have no idea at this point if I have injuries to my spine, but I’m not sure I’d know if there are. I wiggle my toes and am delighted I feel them.

The rain slows further. I blink a few times to orient myself. Outside of the car, all I see are legs and feet, the shine of lights on the wet road, and an upside down forest to my left. Another blink and my eyelids grow too heavy to open again.

“Open your eyes,” the man says, but I can’t.

Haziness fills my mind and a warm sensation envelops my body. The last coherent words I hear are the man’s pleading, begging me to open my eyes. But I can’t.