Nick
Eleven hours and seventeen fucking minutes.
My spinal fusion turned hemorrhagic shock case kept me on pressors and the rapid infuser for hours, hanging an ungodly amount of blood while I chased her pressure, calcium, and coags.
These cases can easily run eight hours without complications; getting her through eleven and safely to the ICU took everything we had.
She's alive, and that makes the day a win.
My lower back and bladder strongly disagree.
Grabbing some electrolytes and a protein bar, I take a seat at a physician charting station. I remove my scrub cap, raking my fingers through my hair before massaging the tender muscles of my neck. God, what I wouldn't give to get a neck rub from—
Shit.
Leah and I were supposed to take Angus to the dog park and grab ice cream tonight. When my case first went up in flames, I managed to shoot her a quick text letting her know I’d be late. That was hours ago, and I haven’t looked at my fucking phone since.
1 New Message
My thumb taps on the notification, pulling up a two-second clip of her blowing me a kiss.
Her hair is wet, her face completely bare of makeup, those cute freckles on full display. But it’s the negligee I recognize immediately, and there’s no way she put it on without knowing exactly what it would do to me.
My little flirt.
I glance over my shoulder, checking the hallway before sitting up a little straighter.
I comb my fingers through my hair, smooth down the front of my scrub top, then spin my chair until the overhead lights stop making me look half-dead. Satisfied no one’s wandered in, I lift my phone, angle the camera, and give her a pout.
Click.
Not bad for a man who’s been awake since four.
I send it off with three little words: I miss you.
“Did you just take a selfie?”
I nearly broke an ankle, spinning around to find Jonathan standing behind me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He smirks, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall. “I work here. I'm kinda your boss.”
Right.
“I meant, why are you here so late?”
“Admin on call.” He pushes up his glasses, doing a piss-poor job of hiding his grin. “So … you weren’t just giving the camera your best Blue Steel?”
Goddamnit.
“I was using the camera as a mirror.”
My phone buzzes against the desk.
His eyes drop to it. “I'm guessing that's the mirror responding?”
I work my jaw, but I have no retort
Jonathan snickers. “Dude, relax. We all know you’re in love. We also know this job makes you get creative about staying connected.” He nods toward my phone. “Although if you're going to do a thirst-trap selfie, go to the call room or even the bathroom.”
“It wasn’t a thirst trap.”
“Hrm.” His eyebrows climb. “Interesting.”
“What?”
“You’ll defend the selfie, but not the part where I said you’re in love.”
I stare at him.
Is that what this is? Am I seriously so emotionally stunted that I don’t even know what love is? I mean, I care about Leah. Immensely. She’s become such an important part of my life.
If I'm being honest, the best part.
I… can’t really remember life before her. She feels like she’s always been there, woven into my days so completely that I can't imagine her not being there.
I don't want to.
Oh.
Jonathan pats me on the back. “Happens to the best of us, buddy.”
“Listen, Jon … I … I haven't—I mean, I don't know—”
He holds up a hand. “Hey, this is your relationship. If and when you're ready, you'll know.”
Something deep within my ribs flutters, making me want to scream and vomit and laugh all at once. It couldn't be this easy … could it?
“I better head to the ER and finish my rounds. Is your day done—well, at least here?” He smirks.
I chuckle. “Yeah, I need to finish up some charting, and then … yeah.” I blush.
“Catch ya later, Crawford.”
“See ya, Chief.”
I blow out a heavy exhale, shaking my nerves. I retrieve my phone, and dear God.
I knew it.
Leah is posing in one of her new lingerie pieces, looking all wholesome and cute with her back conveniently angled toward the mirror.
And there, reflected over her shoulder, is the slightest peek of her bare ass.
Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing.
ME: This is wildly unfair
LEAH: Motivation to finish :)
A laugh rumbles out of me as I set the phone down and badge into the charting system.
Oh, I'll finish alright.
I pull up my patient, and start verifying my intraoperative notes.
My phone vibrates again.
I shake my head, reaching for it. If that woman is showing any more skin, I’m going to have to find an empty call room and get handsy with myself.
My smile disappears when I see the screen.
GULF WATERS REGIONAL ECC
I answer immediately.
“Is this Nicholas Crawford?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, Mr. Crawford, this is Terry McCullough. I'm a social worker at Gulf Waters Regional Emergency Care.”
My stomach drops.
“Hi. Um … how can I help you?”
““Ms. Tiffany Stone identified you as Grady Stone’s father and asked that we contact you.”
“Right. He's my son.”
“I regret to inform you that they were involved in a motor vehicle collision.”
Everything inside me stops. The blood drains from my face as a high-pitched hum fills my ears, swallowing the sounds around me.
“Is Grady okay?”
“He’s awake and receiving medical care at this time.”
I grip the edges of the desk, my body suddenly motionless and docile. “Th-that's not what I asked. Is my son okay?”
There's a brief pause. “He is stable at this time, but the physician would like to speak with you in person as soon as possible.”
Stable.
Not fucking good enough.
My heart slams against my ribs as every little piece of Grady rapidly fires through my head.
The way he whistles when he talks with his toothless smile.
The way he always—always—reaches for my hand.
The way he loves to read with me.
And style his hair with me.
And have matching socks as me.
My beautiful boy was put in danger.
“And Tiffany?” I ask.
“She’s also being evaluated. Mr. Crawford, I do need to advise you that law enforcement is investigating her for driving under the influence.”
For a second, I’m not sure I heard her correctly.
“Under the—” My voice catches. “She was fucking drunk?”
“I don’t have all the details—”
“I’m already in the building,” I growl, badging out of my workstation, nearly knocking my chair over as I turn for the door. “I’ll be downstairs in less than a minute.”
I end the call and run.
Two minutes ago, I was completely clueless, completely unaware that my whole world was in jeopardy, that there was even a question of whether my son was okay.
Now there’s only one thought pounding through my head with every step.
Please don’t take my kid from me.
Not another one.
I tear down the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. My lungs burn as I push through the doors of the emergency department, my hear beating somewhere in my throat.
“I’m here for Grady Stone.” I brace both hands against the front desk. “He was brought in from an MVA.”
The nurse looks up, recognition immediately crossing her face. “Dr. Crawford, what are you—”
“He’s my son. Grady Stone. Where is he?”
Her fingers move across the keyboard before she shakes her head. “His chart is restricted. I can’t access anything from here—”
“Bullshit.”
“You know I can’t override—”
“Where the hell is my son?”
Several heads turn, but I couldn’t give less of a shit.
The hum in my ears is back, my hands are shaking, and every second somebody keeps me standing at this desk is another second I don’t know what happened to my boy.
“Dr. Nicholas Crawford?”
A uniformed officer approaches me.
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m Officer Lesner. Ms. Stone identified you as Grady’s father and asked that we contact you.”
“Where is he?”
“I’ll take you to him, but I need to clarify a couple of things first. Are you and Ms. Stone married?”
I choke on a bitter laugh. “No. We’re not together.”
He nods. “Ms. Stone sustained non-life-threatening injuries and is currently receiving treatment. Once she’s medically cleared, she’ll be taken into custody.”
My stomach twists. “For what?”
“At this time, we’re investigating the crash as a suspected DUI.
We also recovered a quantity of suspected narcotics from the vehicle consistent with possible intent to distribute.
Given that a minor was in her care at the time, we’re also investigating child endangerment.
Final charges will depend on the results of the toxicology and narcotics testing and the remainder of our investigation. ”
For one terrible second, all I can do is stare at him.
She had Grady in that fucking car—
No.
This is bigger than one car ride. How many times has she had him while she was high? How many times has she driven him somewhere? Left drugs where he could reach them?
Fuck.
She hasn’t just endangered my son tonight. She’s been doing it right under my fucking nose for months.
“I don’t care about her right now.” My voice breaks despite every attempt to control it. “Please. Where’s Grady?”
The officer’s expression softens.
“He’s conscious and stable. Pretty upset. The emergency personnel are still with him. Come with me.”
I’m already moving before he finishes the sentence.
The officer stops outside a room near the end of the hall and pulls the curtain back.
I don’t see the monitors or the healthcare workers moving around the room. I don’t register the equipment scattered around the gurney or the voices speaking somewhere nearby. My entire world narrows to one tiny little human with rumpled blond hair.
All I see is my Grady.
He’s curled up in the lap of a petite firefighter sitting cross-legged beside the gurney. Tattooed arms hold him securely against her chest as she rocks him, his head tucked beneath her chin where strands of bright purple hair peek out from under her department cap.
My heart cracks in two.
“Grady?”
His head jerks up.
Those brown eyes find mine, and every ounce of fear on his face shatters.
“Dad!”
He’s moving, launching himself across the room.
I scoop him off his feet, crushing him against my chest. I cradle the back of his head while I bury my face in his hair.
“Hey, partner. Hey.” My voice catches. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
He buries his face against my neck, shaking so hard I feel every tremor through my scrubs.
“Dad ...”
“I’m here.” I press my lips to the top of his head, squeezing my eyes shut against the burn behind them. “Dad’s right here.”
I keep him tucked against me as we sway gently in place. His breathing settles against my neck, and eventually, his grip loosens enough for his arms to rest comfortably around my shoulders. I rub his back, letting the quiet stretch between us.
For a few moments, it’s just me and my kid.
A physician steps toward us, quietly clearing his throat. He offers me a small, reassuring smile.
“Well, Dad, his trauma workup looks good. Imaging is clear. We kept him in a cervical collar until we finished the evaluation, but he’s been cleared.”
The firefighter rises from the floor, brushing off one knee. “He just needed somebody to hold him. Every time we tried putting him on the stretcher by himself, he panicked.”
I tighten my arms around Grady.
“I understand.” My voice barely makes it out. “Thank you. Really. Thank you for staying with him.”
She gives Grady one last reassuring smile. “Remember the sign we talked about?” She holds up her hand, her middle and ring finger tucked into her palm. “I love you.”
Grady brightens, his little hand immediately lifting to mimic hers
“Dr. Crawford, there’s one other thing we need to discuss.”
Something in his tone puts every nerve in my body back on alert.
“Grady’s preliminary toxicology screen came back positive for THC and methamphetamine.”
I stare at him.
For several seconds, the words don’t arrange themselves into anything that makes sense.
“What in the actual fuck are you talking about?”
Grady flinches against me, and I immediately lower my voice, rubbing a hand over his back. “Sorry, partner.”
The physician glances toward him. “We don’t know the source or circumstances of the exposure yet. Given what was recovered from the vehicle, law enforcement and child protective services will need to investigate.”
My vision tunnels.
Every instinct I have is dragging me toward Tiffany’s room. I need answers. I need—
Grady’s fingers fist tighter in the back of my scrub top. His whole body is still trembling against mine.
I need my son. More than anything.
My fury doesn’t disappear; I just swallow every violent impulse clawing its way up my throat and press my hand protectively against the back of his head.
She can wait.
He can’t.
I shift Grady onto one hip and fish my phone from my pocket. My hands are shaking badly enough that it takes me two tries to unlock the damn thing.
I open Leah’s messages.
The picture she sent me earlier is still sitting there, a remnant of another fucking lifetime when the biggest problem I had was getting through the rest of my shift without losing my mind over my girlfriend.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard.
ME: I need you.