Chapter 30
There must have been a full moon coming.
We had a fairly easy Wednesday at work. That was until four o’clock hit and chaos ensued. The waiting room seemed to fill up in the blink of an eye, and we received one ambulance after another.
We pushed through as usual. While still precepting with Blake, my increased experience meant that when things got busy, I could split off to cover the less extreme cases. This way, we could be more efficient during a rush.
Blake was currently finishing up stitching a laceration when an ambulance came through the bay, wheeling in a mildly belligerent patient. Marie and I met them, leading them to room thirteen as they started giving a quick report.
“This is Eric Kaine. Fifty-two. Police called for a med transport for intoxication. All I could get was a BP on him before he started fighting with me—it was one-forty-eight over ninety.”
I nodded, stepping back with Marie as the man grumbled obscenities under his breath and slid himself off the ambulance stretcher and onto the hospital one.
“Mr. Kaine, is it okay if we get some vitals on you and ask some questions?” Marie asked, adjusting the head of the bed so he could sit up a little more.
He flew up on the stretcher and ripped his shirt over his head, throwing it on the ground. “Just do what you gotta do!”
I could smell the alcohol on his breath, could see his red and watery eyes, his flushed and clammy face. “Can you tell me how much you had to drink, Mr. Kaine?” I asked as Marie placed the blood pressure cuff on his arm.
“Just call me Eric, for Christ’s sake!”
“Okay, Eric. How much did you have to drink?”
“None of your fucking business, bitch!”
I nodded. “Alright.”
It wasn’t either Marie’s or my first time dealing with a patient like this, so I didn’t take offense. Plus, when they were as agitated as he seemed to be, it was both easier and safer not to argue.
When the blood pressure cuff squeezed his arm, that set him off. He flew up again, ripping it off and throwing it at Marie. “What the fuck do you bitches think you’re–”
“That’s enough,” Blake’s firm voice spoke from behind me as he stepped into the room. “You don’t need to speak to them like that.”
The man looked up at him from the stretcher, scoffing as he flopped back against it. “I’ll speak to them and anyone else however I damn well please!”
“Mr.”—Blake looked at the screen of the tablet in my hand—“Kaine–”
“Eric,” I corrected him, letting him know the patient wanted to be called by his first name.
“Eric,” Blake echoed, “you need to relax.”
He flew up again. “Don’t fucking tell me to relax, buddy!”
His arm flew up, moving to smack the tablet from my hands, but Blake quickly moved me out of the way just before he made contact. He gently pressed a gloved hand to the man’s chest, forcing him back.
“Calm. Down.” There was an air of authority in his voice. “I understand that you’re frustrated, but yelling at and fighting with everyone here isn’t going to do anything other than make us frustrated along with you.”
“I’m frustrated because I don’t want to fucking be here! So just let me leave!”
“You were brought in on a police hold, so you have to stay here until you sober up,” Blake explained. “Let us do what we need to do, then you can sleep it off, and we can figure out where to go from there.”
The man huffed in annoyance, but, surprisingly, he didn’t argue further.
“We need to get some labs. Are you going to cooperate and let us do that?” Blake asked.
“Fine!” he yelled.
Blake, seeing that the patient responded only to him, even if reluctantly, decided to stay in the room with security when Natasha from the lab came in. He watched closely as she drew the labs, and only after she finished did we step out together and head down the hall.
“Are you okay?” he asked me.
“I’m fine. Not my first go-around with a patient like that.”
He nodded. “If you want, I’ll get his orders in, and you can get bed five ready for discharge?”
“Sounds good,” I said just before we split off.
Ten minutes later, I walked back into the charting area to find Blake sitting in front of the computer, wearing an expression that seemed almost haunted.
“Everything okay?”
“He’s a vet,” he said quietly.
My brow furrowed as I sat next to him. “Who?”
“Kaine. The guy in room thirteen. He’s a vet…
” I looked from him to the computer screen, where he was reading over the patient’s medical history.
“He’s been here eleven times in the last two months, each visit the same—intoxicated, belligerent, combative.
He talked with one of the crisis counselors after his fourth visit, had a psych consult, and was diagnosed with PTSD, but he refused any options for resources or services, and has refused them each time since. ”
“Well, they can’t force him to use the resources offer–”
“I know that,” he cut me off.
I couldn’t quite read Blake’s thoughts, but his worry was unmistakable. The tension in his jaw, the restless tapping of his fingers—this was more than just work stress.
“I’ll handle anything to do with him,” he said before abruptly standing.
My brow furrowed. “Blake–”
But he was already walking out of the room.
Something had been off about Blake for days.
He seemed locked somewhere unreachable, burdened by something I couldn’t name.
I hadn’t asked because, at first, I thought I might be imagining it.
While I knew seeing a fellow veteran with PTSD was probably difficult for him, it was the way he just dismissed me and walked away that told me something more was going on.
A few hours later, when our shift ended, I left the hospital by myself. Blake decided he wanted to stay to see if the patient in room thirteen was going to wake up anytime soon, so he could try to talk to him, one veteran to another.
I didn’t try to persuade him otherwise. And I didn’t ask if there was something more going on because work wasn’t the place for that conversation. I planned to wait it out and talk to him later.
I didn’t realize then that it would end up being a few days later.
It was Saturday. The group’s usual night out at The Sandbar had been canceled because Callie was sick, and Wes and Gabe were away at a law conference in Florida. With my evening unexpectedly free, I messaged Blake to see if he wanted to hang out.
Since Wednesday—after that patient came in—Blake had seemed even more withdrawn.
Over the last few days, I hadn’t found a chance for an in-person conversation, and it wasn’t something I wanted to handle over text.
So, when he replied and told me I could come to his place, I didn’t hesitate, letting him know I’d be there in ten minutes.
When I got there, he still seemed distant in a way, and the vibe just felt off.
A little while after I arrived, I found myself sitting in his living room with Maverick half-sprawled across my lap on the sofa. Blake sat on the other end, lost in thought.
I couldn’t take it anymore. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, why?” he said coolly.
“Blake…” He looked at me, and I held his stare for a moment. “I can tell something is up. You seem…distant and upset. Talk to me.”
“I’m fine, Haley.”
“You’ve been off, but even more so since that patient came in—the veteran.”
“I’m fine,” he repeated, and just when I thought he was going to leave it there again, he started talking. “It’s just hard…seeing someone like that.”
“What happened to him after I left? Did you ever get a chance to talk to him?”
“Yeah,” he scoffed. “I tried to level with him…to tell him I knew what he was going through. But he didn’t want to hear it.
He started yelling, even tried to throw a punch, but missed.
” My eyes widened, mainly because he said it so unfazed, as if he were talking about the weather.
“I gave him several resources to utilize. I even got permission from my therapist to give him his contact information, which I did. He ripped up every piece of paper I gave him, told me to fuck off, and then left.”
I let out a breath. “Blake, you tried–”
“It’s not good enough,” he snapped, then immediately corrected himself. “Sorry. It’s just…it’s frustrating. And it’s hard to see someone struggling so much. I just…I looked at him, and all I could think was…that could be me. And it is me, in some ways.”
My brow furrowed. “Blake, it’s not you.” He let out a breath tinged with disbelief. “You and that man aren’t the same, and you can’t equate his experience to yours. You’ve taken steps to manage what you’ve been through and to heal.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be healed.” There was an almost bitter edge to his voice when he said it, like he believed it, and was being held back because of it.
“Let me help you, then,” I said gently. “Just…tell me what I can do.”
He suddenly stood up, his entire body tense, startling Maverick, who jumped off my lap. “I’m not one of your projects, Haley. I don’t need you to fix me.”
Ouch.
The words pierced deep. Yes, it was true—I did tend to handle relationships in the past by trying to “fix” the other person. Hearing that raw judgment from Blake, though? That was unexpected and made my chest tighten, leaving me feeling exposed.
I steadied my voice, swallowing the sudden ache. “I don’t want to fix you,” I said quietly as I stood, purse in hand. “All I want is to help you feel whole again as you heal.”
He looked at my purse in my hand, then met my eyes, as if he just realized what he’d said. “I’m sorry–”
“It’s okay.”
“No.” He shook his head. “No, it’s not okay. I was out of line. And don’t do that. Don’t brush stuff like that under the rug. Call my ass out.”
“I think I’m gonna go…” I started for the door.
His brow dipped. “Haley, wait. I’m so–”
“Just…take a day or two, Blake. Clear your head. And then we can talk.”