2. Trevor
Chapter 2
Trevor
I reach for the chart as I stride past, the nurse’s face tense with barely concealed urgency. “What’s the situation?” I ask, flipping through the pages even before she answers.
“Severe chest pain, shortness of breath, and diaphoresis,” she rattles off quickly, falling into step beside me. “Possible cardiac event. Vitals are unstable. Blood pressure’s all over the place.”
I nod sharply, adrenaline spiking as I scan the preliminary notes. My pulse quickens, but my hands remain steady, a muscle memory born from years of training and countless hours in the hospital. The hallway feels longer than usual, a stretch of polished floor and blinding fluorescent lights that seem to go on forever. The familiar surge of urgency pulses through me, sharpening my focus like the edge of a scalpel.
Room 305 comes into view, and I push the door open, slipping inside. A middle-aged man lies on the bed, his face ashen and glistening with sweat, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. His wife, pale and wide-eyed, clutches his hand like a lifeline. Her gaze flickers to me, desperate and full of questions she can’t bring herself to ask.
“Mr. Lawrence, I’m Dr. Jacobs,” I say quickly, my tone calm and direct. “Can you tell me what you’re feeling?”
“P—Pain,” he gasps, his voice strained and weak. “Feels... like a weight... crushing my chest.” One hand grasping at his chest.
“Alright,” I say, moving to his side. “We’re going to take care of you.” I glance at the monitor, a chaotic dance of numbers and irregular spikes that confirm my suspicions. I set the chart aside and grab my stethoscope, leaning in to listen to his heartbeat, a rapid, erratic rhythm that sends a cold jolt of urgency through my veins. “Let’s get him on oxygen, fifteen liters,” I instruct, my voice steady. “And get an EKG, stat.”
The nurse nods, already moving into action, and I take the patient’s wrist, checking his pulse as the seconds stretch and the air feels thick with unspoken tension. My mind races, piecing together the symptoms, filtering through possibilities, forming a plan even as I reassure the man’s wife that he’s in good hands.
The EKG arrives, and I study the printout with a practiced eye. My suspicion hardens into certainty—ST-elevation myocardial infarction. An acute heart attack. “We need to activate the cath lab,” I say, my voice tight with urgency. “Call cardiology. Let’s prep him for transfer.”
His wife’s eyes go wide, and she starts to speak, but I cut her off with a firm yet gentle hand on her arm. “I know it’s scary, but you need to trust me. We’re doing everything we can to help him, and we’re moving fast.”
She nods, her lower lip quivering, and I focus back on Mr. Lawrence, barking out more orders, my movements efficient and precise. The weight of my role settles deeper into my chest—a responsibility I both cherish and fear. This is what I’m here for, what I trained for. Yet every time I face this moment—the raw, real edge of life and death—it feels as if the air shifts, tilting the world slightly off its axis.
The team moves swiftly, each of us a cog in a well-oiled machine. In moments like these, there’s no room for hesitation or doubt, only action. Time blurs, compressing into rapid-fire seconds as we stabilize Mr. Lawrence enough for the transfer to the cath lab. I can feel the urgency thrumming beneath my skin, a live wire that drives me forward with each breath.
Finally, the gurney is ready to go, and we move in a controlled rush through the halls, navigating the maze of corridors with practiced efficiency. I stay close to his side, monitoring his vitals, speaking low words of reassurance that I hope will calm his racing heart. We push through the double doors, the atmosphere charged with the weight of the moment.
As soon as we reach the cath lab, I step back, letting the cardiology team take over, my chest still tight with the tension of the last few minutes. I watch them work, feeling the faint echo of relief tingling at the edge of my awareness—he’s in good hands now. For a moment, I’m frozen there, the adrenaline still buzzing beneath my skin, until I force myself to take a step back and breathe.
I check my watch—barely twenty minutes have passed since the nurse first called me in, but it feels like a lifetime ago. My heart slows, the urgency giving way to the familiar exhaustion that always follows these types of moments. The weight on my shoulders remains. It’s lighter now but never fully gone.
I make my way towards the next designated patient, I can't help but notice a young couple huddled outside one of the other rooms, their fingers intertwined in a gesture of comfort and support. A pang of longing hits me unexpectedly. When was the last time I felt that kind of connection?
"Dr. Jacobs?" a nurse’s voice snaps me back to the present.
I shake off my thoughts, offering her a reassuring smile. "Sorry, lost in thought for a moment. Let's go see our next patient."
I pause outside the room, my hand resting on the doorknob and my heart beating a little faster as I prepare myself for the difficult conversation ahead. The weight of the chart in my hands is almost suffocating, heavy with the gravity of a complicated diagnosis and an even more daunting surgery to come. I take a deep breath, and I close my eyes trying to ground myself.
With a determined exhale, I push open the door, stepping into the room with practiced ease. Inside, the atmosphere is tense and charged, like electricity buzzing through the air. Mr. Bennett and his family all wear expressions of worry and fear. I make sure to keep my own emotions in check as I approach them.
"Good afternoon, everyone," I say in a calm and steady voice, trying to exude confidence I’m not sure I’m feeling. "How are you feeling today, Mr. Bennett?"
He attempts a weak smile. "Not great, Doc. Just anxious to know what's next."
I pull up a chair and sit down, making sure to maintain eye contact with each person in the room. "I understand, so let's go over the procedure we have planned."
As I explain every detail of the surgery, I watch their reactions closely, searching for any signs of confusion or concern. Mr. Bennett's wife grips his hand tightly, her knuckles turning white from worry.
"I know this must be overwhelming," I say gently, leaning forward slightly. "But please know that you are in excellent hands. Our team is highly skilled and experienced with this type of procedure."
"But what if something goes wrong?" Mrs. Bennett interrupts, her voice trembling with fear.
I meet her gaze directly and interject as much reassurance into my tone as possible. "We have prepared for every possibility, Mrs. Bennett. Your husband's safety is our top priority."
I continue to address all their concerns and answer their questions, I can feel the tension in the room slowly start to ease away. It doesn't disappear entirely but is replaced by a cautious hope which is the best I can hope for. It’s in moments like these where I’m reminded of the true purpose and reward of being a doctor - to provide comfort and healing for those in need.
As I finish explaining the delicate procedure, my eyes catch the subtle intertwining of Mr. and Mrs. Bennett's hands, their fingers laced together in a silent display of support. An unexpected pang of longing hits me again, a sharp ache in my chest. What the hell has come over me lately?
"Do you have any other questions?" I ask, pushing the feeling aside.
Mr. Bennett shakes his head, his grip on his wife's hand tightening slightly. "No, I think we're good. Thank you, Dr. Jacobs."
I stand up from my chair, offering a reassuring smile. "Of course. I'll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early. Just make sure to listen to what the nurses tell you to do. If I have to, you do, too." I joke.
Mr. and Mrs. Bennett smile and I can see a bit of relief in their expressions.
I make my way out of the room; the image of their joined hands remains etched in my mind. It's been so long since I've experienced that kind of connection, that unwavering support.
It's been exactly two years since my last relationship ended, and when I really think about it, I’m not sure I ever felt that kind of deep connection with her or anyone else for that matter.
Sure, there was Vivian during my residency at Tulane University, but that was a disaster waiting to happen. I shake my head, trying to banish the memories, the manipulation, the arguments, the way it all imploded in the worst possible way in the end .
I lean back against the wall outside the hospital room, closing my eyes for just a second. The weight of everything presses down on me, and I let out a long, heavy sigh, feeling the familiar ache of loneliness settle in my chest.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, snapping me back to the present. It’s a text from Reid, reminding me about our plans for dinner and beers at Hooplas tonight. I fire off a quick reply?—
Reid: Dude, dinner, beers, Hooplas. Don’t forget and don’t be late.
Me: I’ll be there
I shove the phone back into my pocket, a knot of uncertainty tightening in my chest. Am I destined to be married to my career forever? Or is there someone out there who gets it, who understands the long hours, the constant pressure, the need to be there when it counts—someone like Mrs. Bennett, who’s willing to stand by their partner, no matter what? I push the thought away before it can dig in any further, reminding myself I’ve got enough on my plate without playing the what if game.
Time to focus on the here and now. I glance at my watch—damn, I’m cutting it close. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late. With a sigh, I straighten up and make my way out, determined to leave the weight of the hospital behind for one night, even if it’s just for a couple of hours with old friends.
I push through the heavy wooden doors of Hooplas, and the comforting aroma of sizzling seafood and fried food wraps around me like a warm blanket. The tension in my shoulders eases as I spot my friends at our usual table, their laughter and banter blending seamlessly with the hum of the bar.
“Trevor!” Reid calls out, his ginger hair catching the golden glow from the overhead lights as he waves me over. “We ordered you a burger and here’s your beer.”
I slide into the booth, grateful for the easy company and the familiar atmosphere of Hooplas. “Appreciate it. So, what’d I miss?” I ask, glancing around at the faces that have been with me through thick and thin—Kane, Reid, Hudson, Jax, and Declan. We’ve been part of a crew since grade school, a brotherhood that’s survived more than most friendships could handle.
Kane smirks and slides my cold beer my way. “We were just talking about joining that new co-ed kickball league. You in?”
I take a swig, considering the idea. “Kickball? The one with the big red bouncy ball? Aren’t we a little too old for that?” I tease, raising an eyebrow.
“Speak for yourself, old man,” Jax shoots back, grinning. “Come on, it’ll be a blast. And let’s be honest, it’s a great way to meet some new ladies.”
“Ah, there it is,” I chuckle, shaking my head. “I knew you had an ulterior motive. You just want to widen your dating pool.”
Hudson laughs, clearly amused. “Can you blame him? It’s been a while since any of you went on a decent date. But then again, I guess that’s easy for me to say.” He throws a casual arm over the back of the booth, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. He’s been with Kate for over a year now, and they’re already talking about the future. It’s hard not to envy him sometimes—the way he’s found his person and settled into it with ease .
Reid, sensing the shift in the conversation, clears his throat. “So, Trevor, how was your day?”
“Long,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m starving, and I could use something other than hospital coffee. Speaking of which...” I glance toward the bar, realizing my burger is taking longer than usual.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell the guys, sliding out of the booth. I make my way to the bar, weaving between crowded tables and dodging a waitress with a tray full of drinks. The air is filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses, and for a moment, it feels good to be away from the sterile, high-pressure environment of the hospital.
When I reach the bar, I spot the bartender, Steph, busy chatting with a couple of regulars. I lean against the polished wooden counter, catching her eye. “Hey, Steph,” I call over the noise, flashing her a smile. “Any chance my burger’s coming up soon?”
She looks embarrassed. “Um… I didn’t realize it was yours.” She points to a woman sitting alone at the other end of the bar, “I gave it away. I’m so sorry! I’ll get you a new one right now.” She starts typing on the computer console at the bar – her conversation with the other customers forgotten. “Coming right up, Doc. We’re a little slammed tonight, but I’ll make sure it’s the next thing out.”
I don’t know what came over me, but I wave her off, “Don’t worry about it.”
Making my way towards the other end of the bar, my eyes are drawn to a flash of vibrant red hair. A woman sits alone, a notebook and pen beside her and her hands holding a burger poised over a plate that looks all too familiar.
"Excuse me," I say, gently tapping her shoulder. " I think you’re eating my dinner. I ordered a burger, but it seems to have found its way to you instead."
Startled, she turns to face me, and I'm immediately struck by her vivid green eyes. "Oh my god!" she stammers, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "The bartender said it had been sitting here for a while with no owner, and I was starving to death. It just looked so good..." She places the uneaten burger back down on the plate and slides the plate over to me. “I’m so sorry!”
Normally, I would be annoyed at someone taking my food, but there's something endearing about her embarrassment. "Hey, don’t worry about it." I find myself saying before I can stop myself or over think it, "How about we share it? Can’t have you starving to death, now, can we? I'm Trevor, by the way."
“Share?” Her smile lights up her face, and suddenly, I'm not so hungry for food anymore. "I'm Brooke," she replies, extending her hand. "And I'd love to share. It's the least I can do for snatching your food."
As I sit down next to her, I can feel my friends' curious gazes on us from across the room, but in this moment, all that matters is the intriguing woman sitting in front of me. Something tells me this chance encounter might have the potential to turn out to be interesting.