8. Chase
Chase
“Jackson!” I bellow, beating my fist against his bedroom door. “Open this goddamn door.”
A second later, a very tired-looking Jackson pulls his bedroom door open while rubbing his eyes.
“Jesus, Chase. Is the apartment on fire? I just got home, like, three hours ago.”
“No shit, asshole,” I seethe.
“Why are you so pissed?”
I hold up the empty carton of eggs. My eggs.
“Because you came home, ate my food, and put the empty fucking container back in the refrigerator because the trash was full! And now, not only do I have nothing to eat, I have to walk the trash to the dumpster because you’re a lazy, selfish prick.”
“Chill, man. Just leave it. I’ll take it out later,” he says, raising my blood pressure to dangerous levels.
“No, you fucking won’t, Jackson! You never do.
You haven’t swept or vacuumed a floor since you moved in here.
I’m the one who cleans your toothpaste out of the sink.
I’m the one who replaces the moldy shower curtain because you can’t be bothered to run the fan, and I’ll eat my fucking stethoscope if you can name one time you’ve ever emptied the dishwasher,” I rant.
“My bad, Chase,” he says, still half asleep. “I’ve been busy.”
“SO HAVE I! We’re in the same program, Jackson!
” I’m not a yeller. The fact that I’m losing my absolute shit right now is a testament to how bad things are between my roommate and me.
He’s pushed me to my limits, and I’m so fucking done.
“I’m writing to the housing board and asking them to find you another place to live,” I tell him.
“No, please don’t do that. I’ll get it together,” he says, finally sounding fully awake. “Please. I need to be able to stay here,” he panics.
Finding affordable housing close to the hospital is next to impossible, and as Sarah recently reminded me, the waitlist is two years long.
“Fine,” I relent. “But clean this place up and buy me more eggs.”
I turn on my heel and head to the hospital as my stomach growls.
By the time lunch rolls around, I’m so fucking hungry I can barely see straight. I pull my phone out of my pocket to see if Logan wants to meet me in the cafeteria for lunch.
We’ve texted and sent a few memes since going climbing a couple weeks ago, and I know he’s working today.
But when I pull my phone from my scrub pocket and open my conversation with Logan, the bubbles tell me he’s already typing.
Logan
Any chance you’re free tonight?
Chase
Hey man, I was just about to text you. Want to grab lunch?
Logan
I actually just got back with the chopper. Still have a shitload of paperwork.
I must have missed the arrival announcement because the intercom doesn’t play in the operating rooms. It’s too distracting, and no one working on an active case is ever assigned to the inbound chopper.
Chase
Okay, that’s cool. Tonight sounds good. I have to attend a dinner with a drug rep, but I can swing by around 9?
Logan
Yeah, that’s cool. I was actually wondering if I could get your help with something.
Chase
Sure, what’s up?
Logan
I’ll explain tonight. My place?
Chase
Sure.
Logan sends a thumbs-up emoji, and I spend all afternoon wondering what Logan could possibly need help with.
Then a thought hits me, and I’m probably way too excited about it.
Maybe he’s going to take me up on my offer to play wingman!
Oddly, I miss doing it for Hanlon. Dudes are so funny.
They all seem to think women are more jealous, but a guy’s reaction to me rubbing up on the man he wants to take home?
Fucking priceless. I’ve been screened on a dance floor like it was a fucking NBA court all because this guy wanted the chance to talk to Hanlon.
When Mr. Determined’s wingman acted interested in me to keep me occupied, I couldn’t help but laugh and explain the situation.
He didn’t have to pretend for my benefit. I was hoping his buddy would leave with mine. Turns out, the screening-master was also straight, and after our friends left to become more acquainted, he and I shared a beer and another dance just for the hell of it.
Good times.
I wolf down a quick lunch and manage to make it through the rest of the workday relatively unscathed.
No tempting flirtations with Sarah, I didn’t totally zone out while my attending was talking to me, and I didn’t fuck anything up in the OR.
I even had a chance to run up to the sixth floor for a quick visit with Marcy before grabbing a shower in the locker room and attending my mandatory dinner.
After stuffing myself full of chicken cordon bleu, mashed potatoes, and red wine, I make my way to Logan’s apartment complex.
It’s a little farther from the hospital than my own place, but back roads make it accessible without having to go through any of the popular, traffic-heavy intersections.
The building is plain, and although it’s dark out, I don’t see any signs for a pool or fitness room.
It’s definitely utilitarian and an older property.
Despite all that, I’m sure the rent is still astronomical.
I have to park a block over because it’s late, so everyone is home and occupying the curb-side spaces. Climbing out of my Jeep, I hear the beep of the lock and make my way to Logan’s door, knocking twice.
After spending the last two and a half hours with a bunch of salespeople and other residents I didn’t know, the sight of his familiar face makes me smile.
Until I catch the look on his face.
Anxiety pinches his brow and has his mouth turned down into a frown.
“Hey, you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Come on in,” Logan says, stepping aside so I can enter his place.
The first thing I notice is that the walls are bare. There’s not a single photo or personal item anywhere. His furniture is the minimum required to consider this space habitable, and none of it matches. His eyes are bloodshot, but I don’t smell any alcohol on his breath.
“Logan, what’s going on?” I ask, concern lacing my voice.
“This is really fucking embarrassing, but can you help me with CPR?” he asks.
“What?” I ask, totally confused. “Don’t you have to be certified to fly?”
“Yeah, but at Ricochet,” he clears his throat, “Stone always took care of it if there was a need. I just had to fly.”
“What about passing the test for the recert?” I ask, following him slowly into his living room, where I stand corrected.
There is a TV mounted on the wall, so he has something on his walls, I guess. A low server sits underneath the TV, housing his router and some other technological device.
Logan plops down on the small couch. Due to a lack of other options, I sit down directly beside him. The room, although small and barely furnished, is clean, smells nice, and is free of the normal clutter I’d expect from a bachelor.
“I know enough to pass the test,” Logan says. “It’s easy when you do the online module and then immediately do the hands-on portion, and no one is actually counting on you. Plus, everyone knows those instructors barely care if you get it right. They just have to say you showed up.”
“So, what’s different now?” I ask, wondering if he’s been on edge like this all day.
Logan swallows hard, but stays quiet, waiting for me to connect the dots.
“Does this have something to do with the flight you took today?” I ask.
Logan rubs the back of his neck, exposing the tattoo of a mountain range on the inside of his right biceps. My eyes snag on the way it dances as he moves his arm. The night we went climbing, his T-shirt hid this one from me.
“Yeah,” he finally admits. “My flight nurse needed my help, and I fucking froze,” he says, the shame washing over him in waves.
“Recent budget cuts mean I fly with one flight nurse instead of two these days, which is insane for critical cases, and when she asked for my help stabilizing a patient before takeoff, I didn’t know what to do. ”
I place my hand on his knee.
“Hey man, it’s normal to choke like that. Especially if you’re not expecting to have to jump in and contribute.”
“Maybe,” he concedes. “But it was embarrassing as fuck and dangerous for the patient. Thankfully, the flight nurse was able to multitask, but she shouldn’t have had to.”
“You’re going to lose patients now and then, even if you bring your A-game. It’s just part of the job,” I say gently, hearing my parents’ words as clear as day. I can’t even believe I’m repeating them because they sound so crass to me.
“I know that,” Logan says, pulling my attention back to him. “But I don’t want to lose them because of my ineptitude. And for the record, last I checked, that lady was still alive.”
“I know she is,” I tell him honestly. “I rounded on her before my dinner tonight.” I give him a reassuring smile before continuing. “Okay, so the only way to get comfortable performing CPR in an actual emergency is to be so familiar with the steps that you could do them in your sleep,” I tell him.
“Yeah, okay. Makes sense,” he agrees. “I mean, I know it’s like thirty chest compressions to two breaths, but there’s always so much going on.
Someone has to get the AED, but what if there isn’t an AED?
What if the victim is choking? If it’s a kid, you do something different, right?
I can’t keep it all straight in my head.
” Looking forlorn, he adds, “I never had to because there were two flight nurses. I’m afraid only flying with one means I’m about to be more hands-on with people in critical condition than I ever have been before. ”
I grip Logan’s shoulders to slow his spiral.
“Logan, relax. I’ve got you. Let’s break it down.
If a person isn’t breathing, they need air.
If they have no heartbeat, they need someone to give them one.
If they aren’t breathing and they have no pulse, just remember, you can live longer without oxygen in your lungs than you can without blood to your brain. So always start with the compressions.”
Logan nods, but I’m not sure how much of this is actually registering.
It’s late, and he’s clearly still upset from the events of today; therefore, it’s probably not the best time for him to fully capture all this information, but I understand his need to feel like he’s being proactive.
Standing, I shrug out of my dinner jacket and begin unbuttoning my shirt.
“What are you doing?” Logan asks.
“Helping you learn CPR,” I reply, lying down half-naked on his carpeted floor. “Come here,” I tell Logan.
“Jesus Christ. You’re huge,” he says, making me grin.
“Why, Logan, are you suggesting you find me attractive?” I tease, throwing his words from our first night out back at him as he gets on his knees beside me.
“You’re not really my type, Matthews,” he says, using my words against me.
For some reason, it makes the back of my neck warm knowing he remembers that night as well as I do.
I laugh and shake my head, clearing the thought. It’s time to get to work. I have an early start tomorrow, and I take the call pager back at seven a.m., so I can’t be here all night.
“Okay, the first step is always checking for scene safety. If you’re injured or dead, you can’t help someone else.”
“Scene safety, got it,” Logan echoes.
“Next is sort of multiple things at once. Shout for help if people are around and initiate the emergency response system. That basically just means tell someone to call nine-one-one and get an AED.” Grabbing his hand, I bring it to my neck.
“While you’re yelling at people, you’ll want to watch my chest to see if I’m breathing and feel here for my pulse. ”
Logan goes quiet as soon as his fingertips hit my skin. His concentration is endearing. He starts breathing faster, and I’m shocked that the prospect of CPR would make him so nervous, considering what he does for a living.
“Hey, man. Relax. This is a breeze. You’ll have it memorized in no time.”
“Memorized. Right,” he says, making me laugh as I guide his hand between my pecs next, showing him the correct placement for chest compressions.