Chapter 15
“Paging, Doctor Graham. Paging, Dr. Graham.”
The monotone voice breaks over the loudspeaker of the on-call room, pulling me instantly from the dead sleep I was in.
If they were looking for Dr. Brody Graham, then I was also needed.
I glance at my phone and notice I still have nine minutes left of the quick thirty-minute nap I allowed myself to take in the middle of my shift.
After four years of being an emergency room nurse, I should be used to the hours and the shifts that tend to roll into each other.
Usually, I allow myself to take a thirty-minute nap in between the twelve-hour shifts, just enough to energize myself but not enough to throw myself into a drowsy, overslept feeling.
This was something I discovered about myself, my first year working in the ER, right after I became a registered nurse and was thrown headfirst into the crazy schedule of a big city hospital.
Although at that time I was also heartbroken, broke, and living mostly at the hospital I worked at while I searched for affordable housing close to the hospital.
When I left Dodger, I also left behind the security he gave me.
I had been clinging to it since we left home together as teens, knowing he was always there.
Not only had my dreams of love and a family gone down in flames, but so had the foundation of who I had been.
I was no longer Finn’s girl. I turned into the girl that Dodger played, and the worst part was that I let it happen.
Once I got to Atlanta, I applied and interviewed for a position at the largest hospital in the area.
A tip I had received from the group chat of girls I went to school with.
I didn’t think I would get the job and was even prepared to wait tables or take any part-time work until I could get hired as a nurse somewhere.
I was shocked when they called me back and offered me a position in their emergency room.
I threw myself into work, saving every penny I earned for a new place to live, finding my own furniture, and rebuilding my life.
The first time had been easier because I hadn’t been alone.
Dodger had secured us a place to live; he provided for us until I started working part-time in school, but this time, everything was on me.
I was a single woman in a new city, and I vowed to myself that I would never let myself be taken care of by a man.
Especially a man who makes pretty promises but puts in zero effort to keep those promises.
I turned my heart off. I let the useless organ die along with the fairy tale relationship I thought I had.
Bleary-eyed, I turn over and grab my watch from the side table, noticing it’s just after three in the morning.
“Paging, Dr. Graham.” The speaker goes off again, and this time I jump to my feet, shoving them back into my well-worn HOKAs, and refastening my watch before hustling out of the room.
The energy that hits me once I step out of the on-call room is a rush of panic mixed with adrenaline.
Life hangs in the balance here. Life is often in the hands of the nurses and doctors who work in these halls.
I’m instantly swept up as the commotion toward the waiting room has resulted in a standoff of two doctors and three nurses against a small mob of men dressed in stylish, expensive black suits.
My brow arches, and my eyes roam over the men.
Even five years after leaving life in the MC behind, I can still pick out weapons that are secretly holstered and hidden in suit coats and behind backs.
Weapons that are prohibited in the emergency department, to be exact.
Slowly, because the last thing I want to do is spook a group of men who are obviously either gang or mafia affiliated, I approach the group.
My eyes find Sonja’s first, and her gaze flashes with fear.
Her fingers are gripping the edges of her scrub top, and she looks ready to bolt.
Brody, the doctor on call, is holding court in the middle, his eyes bouncing between the man in front of him, who is angrily shouting, and the man who is slumped in one of the waiting chairs.
He’s covered in blood, the darkest of it coming from the side of his head, where it looks like he has a severe head wound.
Brody hears my footsteps and his gaze swings to me. “This is Winnie, and she’s our charge nurse this evening. Why don’t we let her see Mr. Bianchi so she can address what needs to be done?”
The man in front of Brody looks to the man sitting in the chairs before his gaze lands on me.
His eyes are dark, almost black in color, and I don’t miss the way they narrow on me after sweeping over my body from head to toe.
Not that I’m not used to the extra scrutiny from loved ones who bring patients in.
I may wear the standard light blue uniform, but my shoes are bubblegum pink, as is my watch, my stethoscope, and my pens.
I tend to be fresh-faced, and am often told I look too young to be a competent charge nurse.
Trying my best to diffuse the tension, I hold my hand out to the man and give him my best polite smile. “Evening. Can you tell me the nature of Mr. Bianchi’s wound so I can assess where he’s bleeding?”
The man’s lips curl up in disdain. “She’s a woman. Mr. Bianchi can’t be under the care of a woman. I need a doctor to see him and patch him up.”
Brody shifts, and his arms cross. “I already told you that our charge nurse needs to assess Mr. Bianchi’s wounds to help with treatment decisions, and if I need to do surgery. Holding us all here hostage is delaying the care we could be giving him.”
Brody’s face is impassive, but I can see the way this man is getting angrier.
And his men are feeling it as well. They keep glancing at each other before moving in closer, surrounding the man I assume is their boss.
Bianchi doesn’t ring a bell to me, but I do know that it is a popular surname associated with the Italian mafia in the southern states.
Atlanta is a hugely populated city, and it wouldn’t be too out of the norm for them to bring their boss here if they felt they absolutely had to, which means the wound is serious or even life-threatening.
Ignoring Brody, I step up to his side, positioning myself so that I’m almost in front of him, and forcing the other man to have to talk to me.
This time, instead of smiling, I give the man the blank mask I’d worn for years inside the clubhouse.
One I perfected in front of powerful men who tried to intimidate me.
“Your boss is losing blood. That’s a fact you can see just looking at him.
His color is off, and his eyes are unfocused, drooping closed, which leads me to believe his head wound is serious.
That and the fact that if it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have brought him in.
I understand that you prefer a male doctor to perform any needed surgery, and that’s fine.
If Dr. Graham isn’t to your liking, we also have another experienced doctor I could put a call into with the surname of Rossi,” I explain, keeping my voice calm, unattached, and void of emotion.
The feeling of being numb flows through my veins like an old friend.
It is so unlike the more sunny disposition I usually bring to the ED that I can feel Brody’s intake of breath and see the concern on Sonja’s face as her attention focuses on me.
The man in front of me grunts in response to my words. “Rossi.”
“Yes.” I nod, my eyes flickering to his boss in the chair one more time. “I’d be happy to have Sonja go call him, so he can be prepared to get here if we need him.”
“What’s wrong with the guy behind you?” the man asks, nodding his chin over my shoulder.
“He’s not Italian.” I shrug, which earns me a few smirks and low chuckles from the surrounding men.
The man raises his brow and glances one more time at Brody. “We’ll take the other one then.”
I glance over at Sonja. “Sonja, take Hakeem and please go call Dr. Rossi and explain he’s needed immediately.” She grabs Hakeem’s arm, and they both take off toward the nurses’ station, but not without silently thanking me as they go.
“Do I have permission yet to examine your boss?” I ask.
He still hesitates. His soulless eyes glance around the room at his other men, assessing. I think I have him, that I’ve proven myself, and he’s ready to give me his blessing when the man in the chair, Mr. Bianchi, starts convulsing.
“He’s seizing!” I yell and rush toward him. One of his men gets in my way, and once again, muscle memory kicks in. I easily manage to deflect his hands and knock him to the side using the same self-defense techniques I’ve improved upon over the years.
“Stop! Let her help the boss,” the man we had been talking to instructs, and everyone freezes.
I drop to my knees, helping lower the patient to the floor and tipping him onto his side. My hand cradles his head while Brody kneels next to me, checking his vitals and pupils.
“We need to get him into surgery now.” Brody’s hazel eyes meet mine, and I nod my head in agreement. Between this man’s head injury and this seizure, it means he could die.
“We need a crash cart and a roller now!” I yell to the two other nurses who are hovering nearby. Both set off with their tasks, both of them capable and trained.
Our patient stops seizing, and at the same time, his breathing stops. “Fuck.” Brody leans in to listen before opening the man’s mouth and checking his airway. “Start compressions.”
The man I had previously talked with steps forward. “You said the other doctor would be here.”
I glance up at him, letting him see the severity of the situation. “If we don’t do this now, he will die.”
The man’s eyes flick from me to his boss and back. His skin pales a shade lighter. “Save him.”
I start CPR compressions, and soon, with Brody’s help as well as my co-workers’, Mr. Bianchi is loaded onto a gurney.
I climb on with him, knees straddling his body, so he isn’t bearing my extra weight.
Brody and a team rush us to the OR for surgery.
The whole time I give compressions, my arms are strong and my thrusts steady.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins. I will not lose this man tonight, criminal or not.
In the OR, he’s hooked up to machines while an MRI is done quickly.
Brody scrubs in for surgery, and through all the commotion, I work to keep this man alive on the table.
Once the doctor is ready, only then am I able to leave.
On shaking legs, I manage to scrub my hands clean of blood before making my way out of the OR and back to the on-call room.
More blood covers my pants and scrub top, and I quickly change into a new set before fixing my ponytail.
At the charge nurses’ station, I request updates on the patient before going to notify his men.
After almost three hours, I’m able to tell them that Dr. Graham stopped the brain bleed, but the patient will need to remain in the ICU overnight for observation.
The scene in the waiting room is vastly different from the one I walked into earlier.
The boss’s men are still here, but instead of looking worried and panicked, they look solemn.
As if already mourning the man they pledged their loyalty and lives to.
I walk right up to their leader, most likely the second in command.
His head rises when he sees me, and his brow arches in a silent question.
“Dr. Graham was able to stop the bleeding. There were a few minor complications, however, and some swelling. For his safety, we’re keeping him in a medically induced coma. He’ll be moving to the ICU shortly.”
The man’s face moves from relieved to determined within seconds. “When will we be able to take him home?”
I pause, weighing my words. “This type of surgery generally requires two to six days in the hospital.”
The man shakes his head. “When can we move him home?”
Sighing, I tuck my hands into my scrubs.
I’m used to men like this. I also know that the longer they stay here, it can appear as a weakness or that their boss, impaired.
Something they won’t want their enemies to find out about and exploit.
“Twenty-four hours. When he’s awake and can verbally make the request for himself.
However, I will be talking to Mr. Bianchi about the severity of his wound and surgery.
I should let you know I plan to get him to stay the full two to six days, depending on how he heals. ”
The man scoffs, and his lips tip up almost as if he wants to smile. “We’ll be leaving when he wakes.”
I nod in response, refusing to argue about it with him. I know deep down things will most likely go his way, but I still plan to make sure my patient, Mr. Bianchi, knows his full list of options and which ones are better to serve him and his health long-term.
The rest of the early morning goes smoothly, and only one more emergency surgery occurs, which keeps Dr. Rossi busy once he arrives after being called in.
Glancing at my watch, I realize I’m due for one more power nap, with another four hours left to go in my shift. I hope the rest can be less eventful.