Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Colton
There has to be another option. I’ve reviewed the scans, double-checked the blood work. Still, I’m sure I’m missing something. He’s only twenty-two. Just married.
This can’t be happening again.
My body stiffens as I click open the file for what feels like the hundredth time in the last three hours.
It’s ten o’clock, and I should be home, getting some much-needed sleep, but I can’t go home.
Because sleep means there’s nothing more I can do for Peter.
And I’m not ready to tell him and his wife that tomorrow morning.
I don’t want to take away the little amount of hope they have left.
Hope is a funny thing. I know what it’s like to hold on to it too hard.
It can be dangerous.
It can destroy you.
The only light comes from the monitor in front of me.
The rest of my office is dark. My elbow rests on my mahogany desk as I stare intently at my screen.
My eyes feel heavy as I scan the numbers again.
Nothing has worked so far. I scroll back up anyway.
Imaging. Labs. Notes. The same story, told in different fonts.
I lean back in my chair and look out at the lights of New York City. They twinkle like they are promises of a place where hopes and dreams come alive. That is not the case for everyone.
I know what the morning will bring. A conversation that starts with careful phrasing and ends with silence. I’ve had it before. Too many times.
There are things I can still offer—comfort, time, honesty—but none of them feel like enough. They never do. I tell myself I’m looking for options. What I’m really doing is delaying the moment when I have to say there aren’t any left.
I scrub a hand over my face. The clock on the wall clicks over to ten fifteen.
Then it dawns on me. I was supposed to meet the guys for happy hour tonight. I pull out my cell phone and see a dozen missed text messages from the group.
Lincoln: You running late? We’re at the bar, waiting for you.
Roman: Everything all right? I can’t stay long. Eva is home with the baby. Wanted to catch up.
Dean: Another late night at the office? Please text us to let us know you’re okay. We’re worried about you.
Sawyer: If you don’t text us soon with proof of life, I’m afraid Walker might storm the hospital to confirm it with his own eyes. You’ve been warned.
Lincoln: He’s right. Walker is starting to get worried.
I close out of the group chat and see a string of separate messages from Walker.
Walker: Just got to the bar. No one’s here yet. What am I ordering you?
Walker: Please come soon. Sawyer won’t stop talking about himself. We need a distraction. You walking in might cause his brain to shift subjects for at least two seconds.
Walker: Nvm. Dean told him to shut the fuck up. Are you almost here?
Walker: Okay, I’m concerned now. Text me or give me a call when you’re on your way.
Walker: If you don’t answer by the time we are done, I’m coming to find you.
I click on his name and text him back before I end up having to bail him out of jail for breaking through security. He’s become such a softy since he became a father.
Me: Sorry, man. I got caught up at work, looking over a patient’s charts. I completely lost track of time and forgot all about our meetup.
I see the dots appear right away.
Walker: You work too hard. You’re supposed to ease up as you get older.
I push my phone into my pants pocket. I’m too tired to deal with his concern. He doesn’t get it. No one does.
I massage the headache forming like it might help ease the pain, then look back at my screen. The data doesn’t change. It never does.
At some point, medicine stops being about answers and becomes about timing. When to stop pushing. When to stop pretending there’s more to offer.
Tomorrow, I’ll sit across from them and choose my words carefully. Tonight, I’ll keep reading. As long as I’m reading, there’s still something I can pretend to fix.
I wake up as my body registers the stiffness in my neck. I turn my head to the left, then to the right, and each movement sends a brutally sharp pain through my body.
Where the hell am I?
Lifting my head, I scan my surroundings in a blur. I shake my head in an effort to focus.
My office.
I rub my eyes, then proceed to open Peter’s chart again to see how his numbers were throughout the night.
No changes.
Dammit. I’m not surprised, but it’s not what I want to see.
There’s a sudden knock on my office door.
“Come in,” I shout.
Our nursing manager opens the door and peeks her head inside. “Hi, Chief.” She smiles brightly. “Wanted to remind you that we’ve got a new nurse starting today—Melissa Rivers.”
“Got it. Thanks, Stephanie.”
She retreats into the hallway. I push my seat back and stand up. I grab a new undershirt and dress shirt that I keep in my office for moments like this. Then I head for the staff locker room. I swipe my badge and push the door open.
All I need is a couple of splashes of water on my face, and then I brush my teeth, throw on some deodorant, change my shirts. I grab my coat from my locker.
Before I make my rounds, I stop to get a cup of coffee and a protein bar. That will have to be enough to keep my body moving.
I walk through the halls with my head in my tablet as I check to see which patient I need to see first. The break room is empty when I walk in. I eat the entire protein bar in four bites, then pour myself a cup of coffee.
I’ve decided I need to hold off on talking to Peter and his wife, Emily, until later in the day. If he’s stable and feeling okay, I’ll give them the rest of the day before I break the news.
Until then, I keep my brain focused on my work. Checking off my lists and seeing each patient to go over how their body is responding to treatment.