Chapter 3 Shared Shifts
Coffee and Combat Zones
By the middle of Adrian Kane's second week at St. Vincent, Mason Reyes had reached an uncomfortable conclusion.
The surgeon was everywhere.
Not literally.
That would have been concerning.
But every shift seemed to place them in the same orbit.
If Mason brought in a trauma patient, Adrian was usually waiting in the emergency department.
If a major accident flooded the hospital with casualties, Adrian somehow appeared at the center of the chaos.
Even on quieter days, when emergency calls slowed and the city seemed determined to behave itself for once, Mason still found himself crossing paths with the trauma surgeon.
The pattern was becoming difficult to ignore.
Not that he spent time thinking about it.
Much.
At least not more than was healthy.
Probably.
A busy Tuesday afternoon found Mason sitting in the ambulance bay finishing paperwork while Connor reviewed inventory inside the truck.
The weather had finally improved after nearly a week of rain. Sunlight reflected off nearby buildings. Traffic noise drifted in from the surrounding streets. For a rare moment, the city felt calm.
Mason stared at his tablet.
The report wasn't getting shorter.
No matter how long he looked at it.
A tragedy.
"You're glaring at that thing like it insulted your mother."
Connor's voice came from inside the ambulance.
"It knows what it did."
Connor laughed.
The sound carried years of friendship and entirely too much amusement.
Mason ignored him.
Mostly because he didn't have a good comeback.
Before he could continue pretending to work, the radio crackled.
"Unit Twelve. Respond to possible stroke. Residential address attached."
Connor immediately climbed into the driver's seat.
Paperwork could wait.
Patients couldn't.
Within moments, the ambulance was moving.
The patient turned out to be a seventy-two-year-old retired teacher experiencing stroke symptoms. Mason completed the assessment while Connor drove. The woman remained conscious but frightened.
As always, Mason focused on reassurance as much as treatment.
Fear often arrived before medical problems did.
Sometimes calming patients mattered just as much as medications.
By the time they reached St. Vincent, the stroke team was already preparing.
Including Adrian.
The surgeon stood near the treatment room entrance reviewing information from a tablet. His dark scrubs looked surprisingly neat considering the pace of the emergency department.
Mason pushed the stretcher forward.
The handoff went smoothly.
Questions.
Answers.
Vital signs.
Treatment details.
The usual routine.
Adrian listened carefully throughout the report.
When Mason finished, the surgeon nodded once.
"Good catch."
The simple compliment caught him off guard.
It wasn't dramatic.
Wasn't particularly emotional.
Yet Adrian rarely handed out praise.
The fact that he offered it at all felt significant.
Mason grinned.
"Careful, Doctor Kane. People might think you like me."
A nearby nurse immediately looked interested.
Hospital gossip traveled faster than ambulances.
Adrian didn't even blink.
"You identified the symptoms early."
"That sounds suspiciously like another compliment."
"It was an observation."
"Sure it was."
The nurse laughed.
Adrian sighed.
Then walked away.
Mason watched him go.
Again.
A habit he probably needed to break.
The rest of the shift passed quickly.
Several routine calls.
A minor car accident.
An elderly patient with chest pain.
A teenager who managed to injure himself attempting something he absolutely should not have been doing.
The city never lacked creativity when it came to emergencies.
Later that evening, Mason entered the emergency department carrying yet another stack of paperwork.
A cruel and unnecessary burden.
He spotted Adrian near the nurses' station.
The surgeon stood with several residents reviewing scans.
Teaching.
The realization surprised him slightly.
Adrian always seemed so serious that Mason sometimes forgot he spent much of his day mentoring younger physicians.
The residents listened attentively.
Nobody interrupted.
Nobody checked phones.
Nobody looked distracted.
The respect was obvious.
Adrian noticed him approaching.
The briefest flicker of recognition crossed his face.
Small.
But present.
Mason counted it as progress.
"Bad news."
Adrian looked unimpressed already.
"What happened?"
"I finished my reports."
The surgeon frowned.
"I'm not sure that's bad news."
"It means I have time to bother people."
Several residents laughed.
Adrian's expression remained unchanged.
Mostly.
Mason thought he detected amusement.
Maybe.
A little.
The surgeon dismissed the residents and finally focused on him.
"What do you want?"
"A thank you."
"For what?"
"Keeping morale high."
The answer arrived instantly.
"That's not your job."
Mason looked offended.
"That sounds exactly like something somebody with low morale would say."
A nurse nearly choked on her coffee.
Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose.
The reaction felt like victory.
A small victory.
Still a victory.
The conversation ended when another patient arrived.
Work resumed.
As always.
Several days later, another long shift placed them together again.
A serious vehicle rollover brought multiple patients into the emergency department.
Nothing unusual.
At least not by St. Vincent standards.
The trauma response lasted nearly three hours.
When everything finally settled, exhaustion lingered throughout the department.
Mason headed toward the break room in search of caffeine.
Or survival.
Whichever appeared first.
To his surprise, Adrian was already there.
Alone.
The surgeon stood beside the coffee machine staring into a paper cup.
The posture seemed different somehow.
Less guarded.
More tired.
Mason hesitated briefly.
Then entered anyway.
"Please tell me that's coffee."
Adrian glanced up.
"It is."
"Good."
Mason grabbed another cup.
"For a second I thought you were one of those tea people."
The surgeon looked confused.
"Tea people?"
"You know."
"I don't."
"Exactly."
Adrian shook his head.
The gesture carried faint resignation.
Like he had accepted that certain conversations would never make sense.
Mason poured coffee.
The silence that followed felt unusually comfortable.
Not awkward.
Not tense.
Just quiet.
The break room remained empty except for them.
A rare occurrence.
Eventually Mason spoke again.
"Connor said you were military."
The change in Adrian was immediate.
Subtle.
But immediate.
His shoulders tightened slightly.
His gaze dropped toward the coffee cup.
The reaction answered the question before words arrived.
"Years ago."
Mason nodded.
He didn't push.
People talked when they were ready.
Or they didn't.
Both choices deserved respect.
Adrian stared toward the break room window.
The city lights glowed beyond the glass.
Beautiful from a distance.
Messier up close.
"I was stationed overseas for several years."
His voice sounded calm.
Controlled.
Practiced.
Like someone repeating information without discussing emotions attached to it.
Mason listened quietly.
"Combat zones?"
A pause followed.
Long enough to matter.
"Yes."
The answer felt heavier than the single word suggested.
Mason suddenly understood something.
Not everything.
Not even close.
But enough.
Enough to recognize familiar pain.
Emergency medicine attracted damaged people sometimes.
Not broken.
Just scarred.
People who carried difficult memories.
People who learned how quickly life could change.
The look in Adrian's eyes reminded him of some veterans he'd treated over the years.
People who survived things they rarely discussed.
People who carried ghosts.
Adrian took another sip of coffee.
The conversation seemed finished.
At least for now.
Mason respected that.
Yet as they stood together in the quiet break room, he found himself studying the surgeon differently.
Not as the cold, intimidating doctor who seemed immune to emotions.
Not as the man who constantly resisted every joke.
But as someone carrying burdens he preferred not to share.
The realization changed something.
Not dramatically.
Not all at once.
Just enough.
Because for the first time, Mason saw the walls Adrian kept around himself.
And more importantly, he began wondering what had built them in the first place.
Long Night
The call came in just after midnight.
Mason was halfway through a stale vending machine sandwich when dispatch interrupted what little peace remained in the evening.
The emergency tone immediately changed the atmosphere inside the ambulance.
Connor tossed aside a half-finished report.
Mason dropped the sandwich without regret.
Some things weren't worth saving.
The radio crackled.
"Unit Twelve, respond priority one. Pediatric trauma. Motor vehicle versus pedestrian."
The words settled heavily inside the ambulance.
Pediatric.
Every emergency responder hated that word.
Not because children were harder to treat.
Because children weren't supposed to need treating.
Connor activated the lights and sirens.
The ambulance surged into traffic.
Neither man spoke.
The silence felt different this time.
More focused.
More tense.
Outside, the city continued moving through another ordinary night.
People filled restaurants.
Couples walked sidewalks.
Music drifted from open bars.
Somewhere, life remained normal.
For one family, it had just changed forever.
Ten minutes later, they arrived.
The scene sat at the edge of a residential neighborhood.
Police vehicles blocked the street.
Several officers directed traffic.
A small crowd had gathered nearby.
The expressions on their faces told Mason everything before he even reached the patient.
The little girl couldn't have been older than eight.
She lay motionless beside the curb.
Paramedics from another unit were already working.
The child's mother knelt nearby.
Crying.
Screaming.