Chapter SevenCalista
Chapter Seven
Calista
Six medical students, including me, stand in a circle, waiting for the Head Surgeon, Dr. Stevens, to address us. His expression is grim, and the tension within me builds. This is our first rotation in the ER, so I’m sure we’re all nervous. “Students, we need everyone to go down to the lab and donate blood, if possible.”
“What’s going on, Dr. Stevens?” Jacob asks.
“Today’s shift is going to be a crazy one. There has been a massive multi-car pile-up, and the victims are being brought in. We are in short supply of blood this month and in dire need over the next few days. Please head down in pairs and then come back to assist. The surgeons are already working on the first set of accident victims with the supplies we have, but we could use more as some will need transfusions over the next couple of days.”
We all stand there, stunned, stealing glances between each other when he adds, “Now. Move it.” He claps his hands together, and we rush out of the room, nearly tripping over each other.
Jacob and I head down together. “Was this in our contract with the program?” Jacob asks, grumbling his displeasure.
“I don’t know, but it’s not a big deal for me. Besides, we’re here to save lives, and that’s what I hope to do. Donating blood isn’t a big deal,” I answer, unbothered by it all. I just hope I have enough iron in my blood to donate. It’s my time of the month, so my hemoglobin might be a little low.
He shrugs, but I can see it’s bothering him. “You’re right, but my ass doesn’t like being told what to do.” I roll my eyes because we’re told how to breathe every second of every day since we started med school. If he didn’t like it, he wouldn’t be in year three.
I give him a light shrug. “Yeah, right. Just admit you’re afraid of needles.”
“I’m not afraid,” he says, but the truth is in his eyes. He’s scared shitless.
We enter the blood donation center, and we’re immediately stopped by men in suits. They see our badges and let us in. That’s when we spot who they’re protecting. Governor Donovan Saunders has just finished giving blood and is putting on his sport coat.
“Sir,” I say with a nod as we pass each other.
“I can’t believe you addressed the governor,” Jacob gasps, whispering over my shoulder, trying to figure out if I’m going to get in trouble.
“Why? It’s polite to greet someone in passing, especially when you know them.”
There’s a light tap on my shoulder, and I turn around to see the governor smiling at me. “Hello, Callie. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you right away.”
I smile at the older gentleman. I’m sure I look a little different since the last time he saw me. “It’s okay, Sir. I understand you’re busy.”
“It’s good to see that your dream is coming true.”
“Thank you.” He pulls me in close and gives me a kiss on my cheek. I see a man with blondish gray hair staring at us as he waits for his turn to donate. The man scrunches his eyes, narrowing them as his jaw flexes in annoyance. He’s sitting beside a beautiful woman who places her hand on his left shoulder as if she’s trying to calm him. I raise a brow, wondering what his problem is. Before I can see if the governor’s guards noticed, he stares at the woman next to him.
We break our hug, and he says, “Tell your grandparents I said hello.”
“I will.” He walks away, and then I return to my task.
“I can’t believe you know the governor. You never told me that.” Jacob’s reaction would be funny if we didn’t have an audience. I want to shush him, but I just answer his unspoken question.
“Well, I don’t brag about my connections. He was my neighbor when I lived with my grandparents.” My mind is still on that man who was staring at me with anger. It was totally unnerving.
“Wow, so you come from a wealthy family.” It’s not a question but a statement of fact, and he’s not wrong, but I don’t think about things like that because of who my father is. I wonder if the angry man is someone my father knows, and he recognized me.
“Oh, there you two are. What took you so long?” the pretty thirty-five-year-old phlebotomist asks with a bitchy tone. All I know is I’m grateful not to work with her. She’s a real cunt and seems to hate the female population.
“Calm down, Eva. We got caught up in the governor’s exit,” Jacob explains.
“Oh. I hope you didn’t bother him, Calista,” she scoffs as if I’m a troublemaker. Jacob gives her a guilty and apologetic look, and I can tell there has been some fraternizing.
Shaking my head, I lay a dead stare on her. “I don’t want you drawing my blood,” I tell her flat out. This woman has had it out for me since I arrived at the hospital a few months ago. Everything I do pisses her off, even when it has nothing to do with the blood center or labs.
“Fine. Eric can draw your blood. Don’t flirt with him too.” I clench my teeth and roll my eyes. Ah—I just discovered what the bitch’s problem is. I turn my head from her to Jacob and then back again. Their expressions say everything I need to know.
“Having an affair with a student while married is terrible, Mrs. Bunn.” She gasps, but she can’t get the lie out before we’re interrupted by Eric.
“Who is next?” he asks with a grin, eyes landing on me.
I raise my hand and smile at Eric, enjoying the look on Eva’s face as I pass by her. “I’m your next victim.”
“Come into my lair. What’s your name again?”
“Calista.”
“Very pretty,” he says, tossing me a wink before pointing to the bed I need to get on.
I take a seat, and then I see a man and woman enter. The same man that was staring at me so rudely is holding the woman’s hand. Eric gets me started, rubbing my arm before gently sliding the needle in. The way he does it feels intentionally erotic.
“Thank you for being gentle,” I say, thinking that Eva would have intentionally hurt me.
“Anything for a gorgeous doctor,” he adds.
“Yeah, I don’t want a vein blown out. Besides, I’m not a doctor yet.”
“Of course. I’ll be back to check on you.” He pats my shoulder and then walks off to work on couple.
They share conspiratorial looks with each other. Every once in a while, they glance my way. I scowl at them because I’m not in the mood for this shit.
Five minutes later, Eric returns with his paperwork on me. “So, gorgeous, you seeing anyone?” Eric asks after checking the blood bag.
“Yes,” I lied, even though my thoughts immediately went to Ian. I missed him like crazy.
“That’s a shame, because you are stunning.” Why is every phlebotomist in this place a horn dog? Seriously—I just want to get my job done and go home, although I have a feeling my shift is going to be a long one.
He gives me a tight-lipped smile before taking the vials he needs, and then he closes up the line to the blood bag. He removes the needle from my arm and bandages me up. “Okay, you’re good to go and sit down a minute in the recovery room.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
I overhear the woman speaking to the man. “Love, they said we are capable of donating. It sucks that Connor had to leave before donating. Do you think they’ll make up?”
“Yes, love. He’s in love with her,” the rude man says.
“I could see it.”
“Calista, are you all right?” Jacob asks, standing in front of me and waving his hand.
I snap to attention at Jacob and give him a soft smile. “Sorry. I’m totally ready.”
“Okay.” He raises a brow and then turns to the couple. I grab his face and then turn him to look at me, so they don’t confront me or report me just to be assholes.
“Calis-ta,” Eva hisses my name.
“E-va,” I snap back at her. “Your jealousy is pathetic; so, leave me alone before I report you to HR.” She gasps and then walks away in a huff.
When I return to the emergency department, I’m swamped with both physical and mental tasks that make me forget about the man who was glaring at me. I’m completely wiped out by the time I go home to my apartment. I barely wash off the grime from the day and eat a bowl of cereal before collapsing on my bed. Tomorrow will be brutally fun. I have a twelve-hour shift after my class.
****
I’ve just returned to the hospital after my class. It’s one in the afternoon and the hospital is a little less chaotic, but there are still tons of people milling around, wanting answers. All of us med students have been assigned to a doctor and certain rooms.
“Ms. Vitale, you will be assisting me with the care of the patient in room six in ICU,” Dr. Fisher says. He’s one of the senior doctors on duty.
“What? Why me?” I’m not qualified to help patients in the ICU. We are only supposed to work in the ER.
“Because I’m not telling them anything that could upset them. As a young woman, they’ll take it easy on you. Besides, you’ll have the nurses there to assist,” Dr. Fisher says.
He hands me the chart on the tablet as we make our way to the ICU floor, which I read and then I gasp, quickly masking it. “As you can see, he’s one of the mobsters, and his family isn’t going to take it lightly if something happens.” Thankfully, he doesn’t grasp why I’m shocked by the name on the file: Ian MacNamara. My Ian, my only lover, the man who hasn’t left my mind over the past few weeks.
I review his medical records and he’s in stable condition, having had a four-hour surgery and one pint of blood from an AB+ donor. The doctor opens the door, and we enter the room where Ian isn’t conscious. “Has he awakened at all?”
“Yes. Briefly. It’s on the second page of the notes. Please review all of them. We’re going to check his vitals, and then we’ll examine his bandages to see if they need to be changed. Normally that’s the job of the nurses, but since you’ll need experience in all areas, it’s a good time to practice. He had three GSWs that left both entrance and exit wounds on his body.”
I read the surgical notes and saw that they were able to remove the bullets that didn’t exit his body. He’s extremely lucky because he should be dead. After checking the machines and doing a visual examination, we walked to the side of the room to not disturb Ian with our conversation.
“Should we attempt to wake him?” I ask. It’s not what I really want because I’m afraid of the backlash I’ll get for running out on him. God, I’ve relived that night so many times in my head, and I never thought that I’d ever see Ian again. This is definitely not the way I expected our paths to cross. He looks so vulnerable and yet so intensely powerful. Ian’s full lips are a bit chapped from the lack of fluids. I want to run an ice cube across them or maybe dig in my bag for my special lip balm. His dark hair is splayed out on the pillow, but I can see hints of blood on the side of his cheek.
“No. His vitals are steady, but please gather the materials to clean the wounds, and then I’ll be back to check your handiwork in a half an hour,” he says as if he’s unbothered by the situation.
“You’re not going to supervise?” I asked calmly, trying to come off polite instead of dismayed by his unprofessionalism.
“I have several other patients to check on, and frankly, I don’t give a fuck if something happens to men like this piece of shit.” Damn, that was harsh, and he hadn’t bothered to say it low enough for only my ears. It’s as if he wanted Ian to hear it as well. I understand that Dr. Fisher doesn’t like him, and he has good reason, but I still want to kick him in the shin for speaking about Ian like that.
“What about his family?” I question, hoping that I won’t run into his brother I saw at the club. If I do, hopefully he won’t remember what I look like. After all, it was dark, and I was dressed up.
“If they ask, tell them he’s lucky to be alive and they should let him rest. Maybe leave him here so someone can finish the job.”
“Doctor,” I hiss. I can’t believe he just said that. I want to report him, but that’s just pointless because it would be my word against his and sure as hell, I would be tossed out.
“I’m just kidding.” He smirks, but I doubt that’s the case. I read him loud and clear. Dr. Fisher has it out for Ian, and I wonder if it’s more than just Ian’s profession. After all, people like Ian keep Dr. Fisher in business. It’s wrong, but I hate the way he spoke about my…well…my former lover.
As he leaves, I return to Ian’s side, checking on his vitals. In reality, I can’t take my eyes off him. Even in this terrible condition, he’s still so beautiful and masculine. I gently brush my fingers through his blood soaked, matted hair. Although he was shot in the chest, he must have sat in a pool of his own blood because it’s still in his beautiful, dark locks.
I go into the closet in his room and grab some washcloths, wetting one and gently wipe the blood out of his hair, doing my best to clean it. The soft touch is a bad idea because I’m still so attracted to him. Remembering to do my job, I exit the room for just a moment to get the supplies to reapply the bandages.