54. -53-
Dorian
Fifteen minutes before the end of my shift, I kissed Aryna’s forehead and, with a promise to come first thing in the morning, I left her to enjoy dinner.
I planned to stay longer, but Nina finally replied to my texts.
She barely wrote three words, but it was more than zero, and a seed of hope blossomed in my chest. Maybe she was ready to let me in.
Dorian: Date night? We can try the new restaurant that opened on Friday. I heard great things.
I checked my phone every five seconds while packing my stuff in my office until the desperately awaited response came.
Wifey: I’m having dinner with Lucas.
My brows furrowed. I scanned the words again and again as if they would magically change if I looked long enough. But they didn’t.
She chose someoooone eeelse, the demon sang mockingly in my head, my teeth clashing together.
Nina was my wife. She forced that title on herself. And when the first real problem came, she picked someone else. And not just anyone.
Lucas. Fucking Lucas Colapino. Not a competition. Not someone I could choke or hunt through the night.
Her gay friend.
The urge to throw my phone out the window was strong, but I was a grown man with manners, so instead I replied.
Dorian: Have a nice evening.
The moment I hit send, the phone flew across the room and smashed against the wall, right beside my framed university diploma.
“Bloody hell!” I cursed, running a hand through my tousled hair.
“This is serious.” Melody’s voice came to me from the threshold. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking much better than a few hours ago when she saw me with Carlile. “Next time, close the door when you’re in a killing mood.”
“Don’t start,” I groaned, kicking the chair because it stood in my way.
“Oh, I’m definitely starting.” She slammed the door shut and plopped on my couch, pushing the stacks of books aside. “First, the guy in room 6, now this. Who the hell got your scrubs in a twist?”
“Melody, I’m serious,” I hissed, glaring at what remained of my phone.
“So is the drywall.” She lifted a shoulder, sniffing an empty mug. “Are you sure you don’t want to share?”
“There is nothing to share,” I ground out, closing my bag.
“Really?” Melody leaned into her seat. “I’ve seen you pronounce people dead with less emotion.” She cast me a pointed look. “It’s definitely something.”
“Why do you even care?” I snapped, turning my back on her. “Haven’t you seen enough today? Pack your things and go.”
“No, something is happening in your life. I need updates.”
“No.” I shook my head resolutely.
“Fine, let’s play a game.” She sat at the edge of the couch. “I’ll guess a category.”
“Melodyyyyyyy,” I whined, throwing my head back. I truly didn’t need that.
“Is it work?” she asked, tossing a notebook at me.
“No.”
“Family?”
“No! Stop.”
“Wait a second.” She squinted at me. “It’s a woman!”
Fucking great.
I rolled my eyes, unable to hide my annoyance. She gasped dramatically, pointing at me.
“There is a woman!” she yelled, jumping off the couch as if she’d just discovered a new species. “You’ve been single for years.”
“I’m not discussing this with you.” I turned my back on her and closed my briefcase, ready to disappear into an empty house.
“Is she pretty?” Melody asked, following me to the elevator. I glared at her, my jaw tight, and her eyes widened.
“Oh my God, she’s gorgeous,” she claimed with unshakable confidence.
“Melody,” I said, a clear warning lacing that single word, but she ignored me.
“Does she know you launched a phone into the wall because of her?” She crossed her arms over her chest, blocking the way into the elevator.
“I did not launch a phone into the wall because of her,” I growled, pushing her aside. She wavered, but quickly regained balance and stomped behind me.
“Right. It committed suicide.” She slapped the emergency stop button. The elevator jolted and came to a halt between floors.
“Seriously?” I threw my arms in the air helplessly, knowing I would have to toss her on the other side if I wanted to reach that fucking button.
“Explain!” she ordered, standing in front of the panel like a shield.
“She’s having dinner with her friend, okay?” I snapped. “Satisfied?”
Melody blinked.
“That’s it?” She raised a doubtful brow. “Don’t lie to me. I’m your best friend!”
I dragged a hand down my face, already regretting opening my mouth.
“There was a situation with my brothers,” I sighed heavily.
“She learned something that hurt her, and instead of talking to me, she called her best friend.” I paused, noticing Melody’s expression changing quickly.
“And tonight, she’s having dinner with him while I’m trapped in the elevator with you. ”
Melody’s smile widened.
“Ah.”
“Ah,” I repeated, annoyed to the bones. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re jealous,” she replied casually.
“I’m not jealous,” I almost yelled. “He’s gay.”
“Aaah.”
I clenched my teeth, using the opportunity to press the emergency button.
“Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
The elevator resumed its descent, bringing us to the ground floor.
“I’m not forgetting anything.” She shook her head resolutely. “You’re not jealous. You’re hurt.”
“I’m not hurt.”
“Yes, you are,” she pushed, grabbing my arm and halting me in the middle of the hall. “She clearly is important to you, and you’re hurt because someone else occupies the place you don’t deserve yet.” She slammed my shoulder. “You can’t be a lover and best friend after a few weeks.”
“I’m the husband,” I mumbled inaudibly, a deep exhale slipping from my mouth.
“Want to grab a drink?” Melody suggested, stopping in front of the locker room door. “I have a free evening.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but before any sound left me, the emergency lights went on. Two residents rushed out of the call room, glancing expectantly at Melody and me, but my pager stayed quiet.
“You two!” The chief of surgery, Dr. Watson, who had the night shift, yelled, pointing in my direction. The residents instantly ran to him, but he walked past them as if they were invisible. “Dorian, for fuck’s sake!”
“What?” I glared at him, but followed as he waved at Melody to join us, too.
“Two incoming traumas,” he said, referring to them while yelling orders at nurses and other personnel. “Two bikers hit a fully loaded truck at full speed. Both critical, that’s all I know. I’m taking the first one. Dorian,” he pointed at me, “you take the second. Let’s go!”
“Shit!” Melody cursed, throwing a T-shirt my way. “Back to scrubs, boss. This will be messy.”
The familiar rush hit me instantly. Moments ago, I was ready to strangle Lucas Colapino with my bare hands. Now, I couldn’t remember the color of his eyes.
Two people were dying. Everything else could wait.
Within minutes, Trauma Bay Two was ready. Nurses moved around me, preparing blood, medication, and equipment while I pulled on gloves and mentally ran through every possible scenario.
“ETA?” I asked, checking the monitor.
“Less than a minute,” Melody replied, appearing beside me.
The ambulance doors burst open with the last syllable she said.
“Male, approximately forty years old,” the paramedic reported while the stretcher rolled into the bay. “High-speed motorcycle collision. Found unconscious at the scene. Hypotensive, significant blood loss, suspected internal bleeding. We intubated en route.”
I stepped forward, my gaze sweeping over the injuries. Blood soaked the patient’s clothes. Road rash covered most of the exposed skin. His left leg was bent at an angle that made my stomach tighten.
“Current pressure?” I asked.
“Seventy-eight over forty and dropping,” came the response.
“Get blood ready,” I ordered. “Two units immediately.”
The words left my mouth on instinct, hands working automatically, but then my eyes reached his face.
The floor disappeared beneath me. For one horrible second, my brain refused to process what it was seeing.
No!
Dark hair matted with blood. Sharp cheekbones. The face I had known my entire life.
“Holy shit,” Melody whispered beside me.
My lungs forgot how to work. The monitors screamed. Someone called out another pressure drop. A nurse asked me something, but I couldn’t comprehend a single word. All I saw was Malin lying motionless on the stretcher, his skin unnaturally pale beneath the blood smeared across his face.
Not Malin.
Anyone but Malin.
“Dorian.” Melody’s voice sounded far away. “Dorian!”
The sharpness of her tone cut through the fog. Years of training took over before panic could.
“Move,” I barked. “Trauma Bay Two. Now.”
The team immediately sprang into action.
“Abdomen is rigid,” Melody said while helping transfer him onto the hospital bed. “Possible internal bleed.”
“Possible?” I snapped. “He’s practically bleeding out in front of us.”
“Dorian.” She caught my arm before I could move toward the ultrasound. “You can’t operate on him.”
The words hit harder than they should have, because she was right. Every hospital policy. Every ethical guideline. Every lecture I’d ever attended said the same thing.
Don’t operate on family.
My gaze shifted toward the hallway beyond the glass doors. On the other side of the emergency department, Watson was already disappearing toward the operating rooms with the first trauma patient, surrounded by residents, nurses, and enough chaos to keep him occupied for hours.
“And who exactly should do it?” I asked, pointing to the other side. “Watson?”
Melody followed my gaze, and her jaw clenched.
“Fuck!” She cursed when a monitor shrieked again. Malin’s blood pressure was dropping, his heart rate climbing. Time was running out.
“If we wait for another trauma surgeon to get here,” I turned back to Malin, “he dies.”
The words tasted like poison, because they weren’t an exaggeration; they were a fact.
Melody looked at my brother, then at me, and finally released a slow breath.
“Damn it,” she muttered, reaching for an intercom.
“Get me an operating room,” I ordered.
“I’m on it.”
I stepped closer to the bed, my gloved hand pressing against Malin’s abdomen while nurses hurried around us.
In that fucked-up moment, I hated being a surgeon. Because every instinct inside me screamed to be his brother, to sit beside him, to call Zyon and Mom. Instead, I was summing up blood loss and planning an operation.
“Stay with me, sunshine,” I whispered under my breath, and then I looked at the team.
“We’re taking him upstairs.”
I wasn’t a brother right now. I didn’t have the luxury. Right now, I was his only chance.