8. BLAKE
BLAKE
“FUCK!”
The medical chart hit the wall of the on-call room, papers scattering like confetti. Not professional. Not doctor-like. But for one goddamn minute, I needed to not be Dr. Morrison. Not when my hands were still burning from the feeling of her lifeless body beneath them.
I slammed into the bathroom, bracing my hands against the sink, watching water spiral down the drain. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Years of medical training, countless hours in emergency rooms, and I’d never felt this unstable after a code.
The last time I’d felt this helpless, I was seven years old.
My sister, Faith, was five, and we were at our grandmother’s house while our parents finished their holiday shopping.
The kitchen had been warm, filled with the sweet scent of chocolate chip cookies and the sound of Faith’s giggling.
I could still see her, perched on her step stool, chocolate smeared across her cheek, oblivious to how our world was about to shatter.
Then the doorbell rang.
Some memories blur with time while others carve themselves into your bones until every detail haunts you.
I can still see the police officer removing his hat, that slight tremble in his fingers telling me something was wrong before he even opened his mouth, the way his Adam's apple bobbed before he spoke.
Then came Grandma's hand flying to her chest and that animal howl she made before collapsing, her heart giving out right there on her foyer floor with the news that her daughter, my mother, would never come home again.
That was the last day my parents’ hearts had beat. The last day my grandmother’s heart had beat too.
And now, Tessa’s heart had stopped. On my watch.
My stomach began churning, like it hadn’t been trained to be unaffected by ER traumas.
The reason I cared this much was because she was Ryker’s family …
Right?
I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the image of her lying there, lifeless on that gurney. The cardiac monitor’s shriek still echoed in my ears with that terrible, continuous tone that meant someone you cared about was slipping away.
I couldn’t think about how, for sixty hellish seconds, I’d been that helpless seven-year-old boy again, watching someone I cared about slip away.
But Tessa’s heart was beating now, and I would be damned if I let anything stop it again.
I couldn’t save my parents. Couldn’t save my grandmother. But I could save Tessa.
I had to.
Because the alternative was unthinkable.