Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
I’ve been through many fear-inducing situations in my life, especially once I stepped into my profession.
As a child, I watched my cousin split his chin when the handlebars of his bike clipped a mailbox.
When I was in high school, I was house sitting for my best friend’s family and lost their dog for almost a full twenty-four hours.
I’ve watched patients flatline on my operating table.
All scenarios sent me into a panic-stricken whirlwind which had me wondering if I was going into cardiac arrest.
“There’s only two options for the poor bloke.” Doctor Connors pores over a patient file for the millionth time, swiping his index finger in a forward motion to skim through the document on his tablet. “We operate, or he has no chance of survival.”
The fluorescent lighting bounces off the screen, making it impossible for me to see the information he’s looking at.
But I don’t need to see it to know exactly what he’s talking about.
We’ve been going around and around for the last three hours.
“Which we’ve been over countless times, Connors.
But as we’ve also discussed, it’s a high-risk procedure.
Survival is low regardless. At this point he’s on borrowed time. ”
“What does the family say?” Doctor Lambert, a trauma surgeon, pushes his bifocals higher up the bridge of his nose.
Connors opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “They want what’s best for their loved one. They want his doctors to see him as a person, and not just an opportunity to perform a rare surgery.”
Doctor Connors huffs and drops the arm holding the tablet so it hangs limply by his side. His eyes narrow on me as though he believes he has any authority over me whatsoever. “It’s a once in a lifeti—”
A high pitched scream penetrates the hall, cutting straight through the syllable Connors was speaking, and pierces straight through me.
Now I realize I’ve never known fear until this moment.
My head whips in the direction it came from, and I’m horrified as I watch Genesis’s body hit the epoxied flooring. A sickening crack I can hear even from this far down the hall permeates the air and has bile rising in my throat.
Not a thought passes through my mind before I’m sprinting to her, my shoes squeaking as I practically leap the last few steps, slamming to my knees down on the floor in front of her.
“Genesis!” Brushing the hair from her face, her eyes are shut, and my heart sinks. “Gen, can you hear me?”
Soft bursts of air come from her nostrils, and I know she’s still breathing, but even as I tap her shoulder, she doesn’t rouse.
“Someone get me a response team, NOW! And a cervical collar, immediately!”
The fear coursing through me turns my blood to ice. How could this have happened? And on Christmas—her favorite damn holiday.
Still kneeling, I stare down at Gen, urging her to wake up. My voice is a whispered mutter as I beg her to open her eyes. I’m a goddamn doctor, yet my fingers are trembling against her warm, velvet skin. “Wake up, Gen, c’mon.”
There’s a sharp aching in my chest as I watch her lying unnaturally still on the floor.
“We’ll take it from here, Doctor Stokes.” The response team comes up behind me, wheeling a gurney.
Rising to my feet, I nod once and step back to give them space. My throat tightens.
This.
Watching the woman I’ve been desperately trying to deny and hide my feelings for, injured and practically lifeless, unknowing of how hard her head hit the floor, or what her condition may be.
Knowing her favorite day of the year was just ruined because I was careless and walked away without spotting her on that rickety old ladder.
Not knowing when she’ll wake up.
This is what real fear feels like.