Chapter Twenty Eight
Accident and Emergency had settled into that strange rhythm it found after the initial rush.
Not quiet. Never quiet. But a contained, controlled chaos.
Monitors beeped in uneven patterns. Voices overlapped.
Nurses, doctors, patients. Each one carrying a different urgency that blended into something constant.
I moved between bays, checking obs, reviewing charts, keeping my hands busy even when my mind drifted somewhere it shouldn’t.
Back to him. Always back to him, like he was the only thing I could think about when I wasn’t stitching someone up, or applying pressure to a wound. The moment I stopped, he was all that was there.
“Ambulance inbound.” The call cut through, sharp enough to snap everything into focus.
My head lifted automatically.
“RTC. Motorbike versus car. Five minutes out.”
Something in my chest tightened. I didn’t move straight away. Didn’t breathe either.
Motorbike.
It was stupid. Irrational. There were hundreds of them. Thousands. I’d seen enough come through Accident & Emergency departments over the years to know that. But the word sat wrong. Heavy. Too close.
“High impact,” the voice continued. “Rider thrown from the bike. Possible head and chest injuries. Reduced GCS at scene.”
My stomach dropped.
I forced myself into motion then, stepping into the bay being prepped, pulling gloves on with fingers that didn’t feel entirely like my own.
It’s not him. It couldn’t be.
I hadn’t even checked my phone since I’d started shift. Didn’t want to. Didn’t trust what I might, or might not, find there.
“ETA two minutes,” someone called.
The air changed. Everyone felt it. That shift from waiting to impact. And then I heard it. Not the siren. The engine. Deep. Rolling. Familiar. My heart kicked hard, my head snapping towards the ambulance doors before I could stop myself.
No.
No, that wasn’t…
The ambulance doors burst open, paramedics already moving, voices sharp, controlled. The trolley rolled in fast, the body on it still. Leather. A cut. Patches on the front. Black and white. Familiar. A silver badge with three crowned skulls.
My breath caught, the world narrowing down to that single point as everything else fell away. For a second, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. My eyes dragged over the body, searching, desperate, terrified.
It wasn’t him.
The relief hit hard. Sudden. Violent. My knees almost gave. Air rushed back into my lungs like I’d been drowning, my chest heaving as the noise of the department slammed back into me all at once.
Not him.
Thank God.
Then, just as quickly, something else followed. Cold. Sharp. Because it was someone. One of them. And I was standing there, relieved it wasn’t Ryan.
“Dr Mercer?” someone called.
“Let’s move,” I heard myself say, already stepping forward, my hands finding the rails of the trolley as we guided him into the bay.
“Male, mid-thirties,” one of the paramedics rattled off. “High-speed RTC. Thrown from the bike. GCS eight at scene, dropped to six en route. Airway compromised. OPA in situ. Suspected chest trauma, decreased air entry on the left. Lost consciousness on the way in.”
“Okay, we’ll take over.”
I was already working.
“Airway first. Get me suction. Let’s prep for intubation. I want anaesthetics now.”
Gloves snapped into place as I leaned in, assessing, eyes moving quickly. Blood at the temple. Uneven rise of the chest. Wrong.
“Breathing. High-flow oxygen. What are the sats? Chest ultrasound now. Possible pneumothorax.”
My voice was steady. Controlled. Like it always was.
“Circulation. Two large-bore cannulas. Crossmatch. Let’s get fluids running. And I want a trauma call now.”
Around me, the team moved fast. Efficient. Practised. And I didn’t stop. Not until the noise shifted. Raised voices behind me, growing louder. Boots on linoleum. Multiple. Closer than they should be.
“You can’t all come through here. Sir!”
The footsteps didn’t slow. And I didn’t need to look to know. The bay filled at the edges, bodies pressing in where there shouldn’t be space, leather and presence in my peripheral vision. Security were already moving, hands out, voices firm but uncertain.
“Gentlemen, you need to wait outside…”
Security’s pleas were ignored. My chest tightened, but my hands didn’t falter, still working, still focused on the man in front of me, even as everything else threatened to spiral.
“Ryan…”
His name escaped before I could stop it. But it got him. The atmosphere changing. I didn’t look up fully, didn’t break from what I was doing, but I felt him there. Closer than the others.
“Ryan,” I said again, sharper now, controlled. Professional. “You need to step back.”
Silence stretched for a fraction of a second. “Let me do my job.”
Nobody moved. The swarm of leather had stopped. But it hadn’t stepped back, their presence heavy.
“You stay out there, or he doesn’t get the care he needs.” I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, knowing what I’d done. How that command landed. Another voice now. Calm. Quieter. Authority dripping from the words themselves.
“Everyone out. Let the doctors do their thing.”
There was a shuffle of feet behind me and the sudden feeling of space.
“And Dr Mercer,” the same voice continued. “Don’t let our brother die.”
I closed my eyes again, feeling the pressure strike at my chest. Not here. Not now.
“Waiting room, now.” My voice sounded stronger than I felt, but even the grey-haired man wearing the president patch stepped back, nodding at me solemnly.
*****
The doors swung shut behind me, the noise of the department dulling slightly as I stepped out into the corridor.
They were all still there, spread out across the waiting area like they owned it, tension rolling off them in waves thick enough to feel.
Security hovered in the corridor, unsure, watching.
Waiting for something to tip. I scanned the room.
I thought I’d counted eight when they came in.
Now there were more, like they’d multiplied in the time I’d been working.
Other patients watched them cautiously. Eyes darting towards them and glancing away again as quickly. Even the staff were nervous. My eyes found him first.
Ryan.
He didn’t move. Didn’t step forward. Just watched me, like whatever I said next mattered more than anything else in that moment.
Two women stood slightly apart from the rest. I recognised neither, but the small blonde held herself differently, and the way her eyes flicked constantly to the doors told me enough.
Her gaze fell on me, our eyes connecting right then, and I watched the grey-haired man step in behind her, drop his head and speak something into her ear. She started towards me.
“Is he…?” her voice caught.
“He’s alive,” I said, cutting in gently but firmly. “But he’s very poorly,” I continued. “We’ve stabilised him for now, but he’s being taken to intensive care. He’s not out of danger.”
The woman gave a little whimper of distress, pushing her hand across her mouth as she tried to contain it.
“Shush Suzy.” The president wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s Magnet. He’s the luckiest fucker any of us knows. He’s been in worse scrapes. He’ll be fine. He just needs time.”
The man looked at me then, searching hard, looking for an answer I couldn’t give him. Silence followed. Heavy and oppressive, everyone’s eyes on me, expectation on their faces. I glanced at Ryan then, holding his gaze for just a second longer.
“Can I see him?” she asked, her voice as small as she was.
“I’ll get someone to take you through.”
“It’s ok Dr…”
“Mercer. Sophie Mercer.” I added.
“I can take her. I know where it is.” The other woman with the light ginger hair spoke.
They turned back to the mass of leather, and the small crowd opened up. Men stepped forward, hugging and comforting the small woman. I watched quietly at the leather arms that swallowed her up, at the gentleness with which they embraced her, and the quiet words spoken that I couldn’t hear.
Someone touched my arm. Ryan. I smiled weakly.
“Well done in there, Soph.” His voice was quiet, thick with emotion.
“Just doing my job, Ry,” I muttered.
“Just pleased it was you treating him.”
The words sat strangely in my chest. Heavy. Personal. Dangerous. Before I could answer, the double doors behind me burst open.
“Dr Mercer.”
I turned sharply. One of the trauma nurses stood there, slightly breathless.
“He’s deteriorating. BP’s crashing.”
Everything inside me locked back into place instantly. The waiting room shifted around me. The Kings straightening. Watching. Every eye suddenly fixed on my face again. Waiting for meaning in words I hadn’t even spoken yet. Suzy made a small sound beside Indie, panic flashing across her face.
“No…”
A hand wrapped gently round my bicep, fingers placed but not tightening.
“Save our brother, doctor.” I didn’t miss the command in the president’s voice.
I glanced at Ryan, at the hazel eyes laced with anxiety, at his pursed lips and the tension in his body, and I felt that same tension in the weight of the room behind me. And expectation pressing into my back. Save him. Fix him. Bring him back.
Ryan’s eyes never left me. Not threatening. Not demanding. Trusting me. And somehow that felt heavier than all the rest combined. I glanced once more towards the doors as the tannoy echoed somewhere deeper in the department, calling teams to theatre.
Then I straightened my shoulders and turned back towards the chaos.