Guarding Over You (Sunset Ridge #4)
Prologue
“Stabbing victim incoming!”
The words stung like a starter’s gun.
Dr. Blaze Ridgeway snapped on gloves and sprinted toward the ER doors.
The sound of his sneakers rapidly squeaking on floors with the metallic scent of blood filled his senses as the EMTs burst through with the gurney rattling.
He took in the sight of red smeared across the patient’s chest, hands, the shredded remnants of a shirt.
“Twenty-six-year-old male! Multiple stab wounds to the chest, abdomen, left flank. Lost consciousness en route, pressure dropping fast!”
“Let’s move!” he commanded, taking one side of the stretcher as they swung into the first open room. The rhythm of chaos took over. Nurses calling vitals, monitors beeping, suction whining.
“On three! One, two, three!” They lifted the limp body onto the bed. He pressed hard against one wound, feeling the warmth of life slipping through his fingers.
“This one is not holding!” someone shouted.
“I see it.” He didn’t lift his gaze, he couldn’t. “Clamp ready. Suction. Now!”
He leaned in, his eyes narrowing to the jagged tear just above the heart. The blood welled, pulsing with each failing beat, spurting out faster than hands could stop it. Somewhere behind him someone said, “Where’s the trauma surgeon?”
“Five minutes out!” another voice shouted.
“He doesn’t have five minutes.”
Blaze peeled back the soaked gauze. “Suction. Clamp. Let’s go, come on—”
The room was a symphony of noise all around him. The rasp of the ventilator bag, the slap of gloved hands moving over the body, the shrill monitor. He found the nick in the aorta, applied the clamp, and then—
“Flatline!”
“Chest compressions! Bag him!” he shouted. His hands moved automatically, pressing, counting, silently pleading. Sweat rolled down his temple and stung his eyes, but he couldn’t stop to wipe it away. “Come on, come on, damn it.”
A minute stretched into eternity. Then... a blip. A pulse. Faint but there.
“He’s back!”
“Hang in there, man,” he whispered, his voice rough. “You made it this far. Don’t quit on me now.”
The doors slammed open. “I’ve got it.” The trauma surgeon took his place. Blaze stepped back, his arms trembling, his scrubs soaked with sweat and blood and his body ready to give way, though he’d never allow it.
Relief and frustration beat in his chest. He wanted to stay, to finish what he started, but this was his ending. His part was complete.
He backed against the wall, his lungs burning and his heart pounding.
“Great work, Dr. Ridgeway,” a nurse said, handing him a towel.
He exhaled, his breath shaky, his voice low. “Not bad for my second day.”
Blaze peeled off the gloves and tossed them into the red bin with the disposable gown. The sound of the wet slap almost felt on his face over what they’d just experienced.
He pushed through the doors into the corridor that smelled faintly of coffee and disinfectant, and thought about how he’d imagined his homecoming. Not like this. Not with blood still on his hands.
Two hours later, Maddy, the nurse who’d told him he’d done a great job, caught him at the nurse’s station. “Dr. Ridgeway.”
He turned, already knowing by her tone. “Yes.”
“The stabbing victim... he didn’t make it. He coded on the table.”
He went still. Pissed at the outcome, but relieved it wasn’t on his hands. Not the best feelings to combat each other. “Shit.”
“I’m sorry. You did everything right. He’d already lost too much blood before he got to us. You gave him a chance no one else could have.”
He nodded once, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. “Doesn’t make it feel any better.”
Nor did it later when he overheard other staff commenting on the woman who came in with the victim, covered in blood, her hands held up and screaming, then passing out when she’d found out he hadn’t made it.