26. Chase
Chase
Not only am I taking extra call because I’m trying to look good by easing my co-residents’ burden, but I’m also on the team receiving the Life Flight patients today because one of my co-residents is out sick and another ran off the road and is waiting on a tow truck to pull him out of a ditch.
I came into the hospital at four this morning, and I was going to text Logan just to say hi and try to restore some normalcy, but when I say I hit the ground running, I mean there was smoke coming from my shoes. I’ve been literally racing through the halls all morning.
I’ve just caught my breath when the announcement rings through the hospital.
“Life Flight inbound. Trauma team, prepare. Five minutes to touchdown. Repeat: Life Flight inbound. Trauma team, prepare. Five minutes to touchdown.”
Those of us assigned to the trauma team stop what we’re doing and haul ass to gown up and get the gurney ready. The head nurse from the ED calls with the details the flight nurse has provided and relays them to us.
“Male in his late teens to early twenties. Snowmobile versus SUV. Patient had no pulse upon arrival. Was revived with AED and CPR. Suspected collapsed lung, femur fractures, and internal bleeding. OR six is prepped and ready.”
As a first-year resident, it’s rare that we get to be involved with the Life Flight crew at all.
Time is of the essence; there is limited space—even on the ground—and every set of hands is a liability.
But here at Boston Memorial, they believe in trial by fire.
So, when that call comes in, you’d better be ready to roll because we first-years aren’t exempt.
There are four of us charged with transporting the patient to the OR and providing any care needed to ensure he stays alive on the journey.
I’m totally in the zone, prepared to jump in where needed. Dr. Porter is on as our team lead, and we’ll all take our orders from him.
It’s this kid’s lucky day because Dr. Porter is definitely his best chance for survival.
As we push through the door to the roof, the winds threaten to whip the gurney out of our grasp. The two of us on the left side of the rolling bed brace with our hips to keep it steady.
The guy in front of me yells what I’m pretty sure is an expletive as he pulls the collar of his jacket up higher.
Talking isn’t permitted except by the team leader so that everyone can clearly hear the instructions, but no one can clearly hear anything over the roar of the wind.
My head is bowed, and I’m squinting to prevent the snow from pelting me in the eye when I hear the faint sound of the helicopter’s approach.
It’s barely visible through the dense fog up here, but when I see it, my eyes widen, snow be damned.
“What is he doing?” Dr. Porter shouts, sending my heart into a chaotic rhythm. “He’s going to hit the south tower!”
No. No. Please don’t, I silently plead to anyone listening.
We all watch in panic as Logan fights to control the chopper as the wind batters it from all sides.
“How the fuck is he gonna land that thing?” the woman across from me asks to no one in particular, but I feel the need to offer an answer in Logan’s defense.
“I’ve seen him fly in worse. He’s going to be just fine,” I yell.
“Looks like he’s going to hit those power lines if you ask me,” she hollers back.
“He won’t.”
Dr. Porter looks over his shoulder at us.
“Silence. The only words spoken from now until the OR will be mine.”
Those of us in the back nod once before returning our attention to the helicopter.
Logan ends up angling his approach to stay facing the wind, which means he sets the bird down perpendicular to us, but he does set the bird down without getting tangled in the power lines or getting thrown into one of the nearby buildings.
Once he’s on the roof, our team takes over, rushing toward the side door. Dr. Porter is talking to the flight nurse who is preparing the patient to be transferred to the gurney.
Knowing my role here is purely backup, I allow myself a glance at Logan, who has hopped out of the cockpit and is struggling with what appears to be a tie-down strap.
A gust of wind pushes the chopper forward an inch, and Dr. Porter’s voice breaks me out of my reverie.
“Dr. Matthews! Help secure the chopper.”
I’m not sure if he asked me because I’m the grunt, I’m the biggest, or because he knows Logan is a friend of mine, but I’m grateful for the order.
“Yes, sir!” I yell to his back as the rest of my team and the flight nurse quickly strap the patient down and head for the door.
“HERE!” Logan yells.
I barely have time to register the metal end of the strap flying at me before the wind tries to take it away. Reaching out, I catch the tail and run backward toward the steel hook embedded in the concrete.
I get the first hook clipped and reinforced with a trucker hitch, thankful knots are an essential part of my surgical knowledge.
When I look back to tell Logan I’m ready for the next strap, he’s nowhere to be found.
What the fuck?
“Up here!” he yells, drawing my eyes to the top of the helicopter.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I yell, scared shitless that he’s going to get blown off the top of the damn thing and carried off the roof.
“Securing the rotors. I’ll be right down.”
I watch in a weird mix of awe and horror as Logan slides some kind of sleeve with a long tail over the end of each of the rotors. Once he’s safely back on the ground, he affixes the straps currently flapping in the wind to various parts of the helicopter so the wind can’t bend or damage the rotors.
He works so quickly that I don’t even have a chance to offer help.
Reaching back into the cockpit, he pulls out some kind of notepad-sized plastic box and locks the door.
“Let’s get the fuck off this roof,” he says, walking past me straight for the door.
As soon as it closes behind us, we’re encased in silence, but my ears continue to ring.
“Jesus, that was intense,” I say, forgetting all about the tension that’s been between us.
“That’s the kind of shit that separates the men from the boys and makes a pilot feel like God,” Logan says with the biggest grin I’ve seen on his face in a while…hell, maybe ever.
“That landing was pretty hot,” I admit, trying not to stare like a creeper as he adjusts himself in his flight suit—which is also pretty fucking hot.
“Chase, I’ve got an adrenaline dump the size of Texas happening right now, which tends to make me do dumb shit.”
“What’s your point?” I ask.
My eyes are still taking in the fit of his flight suit, and my brain is trying to process the fact that not only is he back safely, but the level of skill he just demonstrated with that landing has me hard.
“My point,” Logan says, taking a step toward me. “Is that if you keep looking at me like that, my tongue’s gonna end up back in your mouth, and we haven’t even recovered from the first time that happened.”
My eyes snap to his face, and I have mixed emotions about the cocky grin turning the corners of his lips up.
On the one hand, I’m glad one of us has finally mentioned the elephant in the room, and seeing Logan lean into the confidence he once had makes me happy.
On the other hand, it’s really fucking hard to ignore the fact that I want to kiss him again, and that thought causes guilt to slam into me harder than the wind still beating its fist on the door behind us.
I lick my lips because they’ve suddenly gone dry, and Logan zeroes in on the move.
“You’re killing me here.”
“Yeah, well, at least the feeling is mutual.” The admission slips out without my permission, and Logan groans.
“Chaaaaase,” Logan half-whines, half-growls my name in agony.
I can’t help it.
It makes me smile.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, you sadistic fucker?” Logan asks, but there’s no venom behind his words.
“Oddly, yes,” I confirm.
“Great,” Logan deadpans, making me laugh.
“So, my dick’s gonna fall off because I forgot torturing the gay guy is your favorite game,” he says, adjusting himself once more.
His hand on his dick draws attention to the outline it makes as it strains against his flight suit, making me curious about how it would feel to touch it, to hold it in my hand.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Chase. Tell your eyes to stop broadcasting your dirty thoughts. I gotta go. I’ll see you at home at some point,” Logan says, breaking the spell.
Home.
“Oh, hey,” I say, moving to catch up with him. “Um, I went out yesterday and looked at a couple of townhouses.”
Logan stops to look at me, his brow furrowed.
“You what?”
“We had talked about maybe finding a bigger space, right?” I ask, confused about why he’s confused.
“Oh. You went looking for a place for us together?” he says.
“Dude, we’re roommates. The whole point of a bigger place is because there are two of us,” I point out.
“Right,” he says in a tone that leaves me unable to read his thoughts.
As we walk back toward the aviation locker room, I spill the details about the amenities like the pool, the gated and heated garage, how parking is included, and that the best part is it will allow me some autonomy from my dad.
The more I talk, the more certain I am that this is a good idea.
Plus, a small part of me likes the idea of owning property with Logan. It kind of ensures that we have to stay friends and be in each other’s lives, and that brings me an incredible amount of comfort right now.
After the last several weeks of barely communicating, I’ve realized I’ve come to really count on Logan’s presence in my life, and his absence is detrimental to my well-being.
Before he can respond, my freaking pager goes off.
“Shit. I gotta go, but let’s talk soon, okay?” I ask.
Logan nods.
“Yeah.”
Looking at him one last time, the electricity between us having calmed down a fraction since I began talking about the townhouses, I pull him to me for a hug before I can overthink it.
“I’m really glad you didn’t crash.”
His arms wrap around my waist as he buries his face in my neck.
“Me too.”
“I’ve also really missed this. Can we catch up on cuddles once your on-week is over?” I ask, suddenly feeling a little needy.
Logan groans and moves out of my embrace.
“Maybe. But we’re gonna need to have a long conversation first.”
I nod enthusiastically.
“I can do that.”
The wind refuses to let up, and I swear it’s like the sun will never shine again. A mix of snow and ice swirls beyond the glass, giving my reflection a ghostly appearance. I’m waiting with bated breath for the inbound flight.
Six of us stand at the ready to play the hand of God and attempt to draw this patient back from the brink of death. My colleagues’ minds are focused on the patient; mine is focused on the pilot.
The heavy chopper sways from side to side in the wind. Once, twice, it looks like the pilot is going to lose control, but he holds on.
Until a gust of wintry wind whips between the buildings, pushing the chopper sideways unexpectedly. We all watch in horror as the tail clips the power line.
No.
NO!
The nose of the chopper dips, and its body sways before ultimately losing the fight. The rotor blades get tangled in the swinging line until the line snaps, sending a shower of sparks to shed light on my worst nightmare.
I stand frozen, watching in horror as the chopper falls from the sky, landing in a fireball of magnificent light against the darkness of the night.
Without thinking, without asking for permission, or caring about anything at all, I turn and race back inside, adrenaline and fear giving me wings as I fly down thirteen flights of stairs.
There is no doubt my speed is faster than the elevator.
I’m jumping entire sections, gripping the railing to ensure my landing as my lungs burn.
I won’t breathe until he does.
I push past people in the hallways, not stopping to explain or offer apologies.
Once I’m out the front doors, I turn left and make a mad dash up the street, almost causing an accident when I don’t stop at the crosswalk.
Nothing matters. No one else matters. I have to get to him in time.
Rounding the first block, I turn left again, the fire lighting my path until I turn one more corner, going right this time, and stop dead in my tracks.
The heat is brutal.
Unsurvivable.
Still, I press forward.
People are shouting at me to turn back. It’s a suicide mission.
Another ten feet closer.
My skin is melting, but I can’t be bothered to care when my eyes land on an arm beneath the rubble.
Quickly moving everything I can off the body, I brace myself for what I’m certain awaits me.
The flames are licking higher, threatening to trap us in this inferno.
I briefly think about the night I helped him with CPR.
Scene safety is long gone, and if I don’t pull him from where he lies right this second, I won’t have to worry about chest compressions because we’ll both be dead.
Grabbing his forearm, I pull with every cell in my body, every beat of my overworked heart, and every breath from my burnt lungs. I heave until his limp body slides free of the metal trying to pin him down.
I’m suffocating from the heat as I fall out of the open doorway, dragging his lifeless body with me. He lands on top of me, cushioning his fall.
I grunt as I roll us onto our sides, but the noise sounds foreign.
Bending, I scoop him into my arms.
Everything hurts, but I’ll be damned if I stop now.
I have no idea what else is happening behind me. My tunnel vision is getting worse as my brain fights for oxygen, but I cradle his body closer to mine.
“I’ve got you,” I tell him, even though I know he can’t hear me.
Even though I know he’s gone.
“LOGAN!” My scream wakes me from the nightmare, my neck damp with sweat.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, sitting straight up. My heart is racing a mile a minute as I jump up to look out the window. Much to my relief, the weather from earlier has subsided.
I’m a trembling mess, my hands shaking with the remnants of the adrenaline coursing through my system.
“It was just a dream, you fucking moron. Chill,” I tell myself.
The pep talk does nothing to help me calm down.
Before I can think through what I’m doing, I grab my phone off the nightstand and walk down the short hall before pushing open the door to Logan’s room. He’s still at work. I’ll just lie here for a couple of minutes. Maybe being surrounded by his things will ease the panic clawing at my throat.
Setting an alarm for five a.m.—just in case—I wrap myself in his sheets and close my eyes.