Chapter 1 #2
And on some days, like today, it didn’t matter if he did his best.
It didn’t matter if he was the most skilled doctor in the emergency department.
It didn’t matter if he had unlimited resources, time, and energy.
It didn’t matter if he had the best intentions.
It just simply didn’t matter because days like these were impossible to get out from under. And lately, John wasn’t sure he could ever shake the feeling.
He raked a hand through his short, dark, salt-and-pepper beard and up to his neck, tempted to work the muscles of his right shoulder but knowing it probably wouldn’t look too polite doing arm stretches at this posh, overly pricey bar.
So instead, he leaned forward on the bar counter, kneading the tight muscles at the back of his neck.
The bartender returned with his drink, slipping it between his elbows.
John glanced up and smiled thinly at the young man.
“Hope you like this one, too,” the bartender said.
John noted the flash of a flirtatious smile before he sauntered off to help the couple that had just approached the end of the bar.
Sighing, John released his neck and took a sip from the crystal glass.
He let the sweet whiskey sit on his tongue before swallowing it, letting it burn down into his lungs and through his chest. The sultry croon of the blues band playing in the corner on stage filtered over him, but he barely heard it, lost in his thoughts, which was the last place he wanted to be.
His mind of late had been an inhospitable place, if not, at times, a truly dangerous place.
Taking another sip, he ruminated on the losses that happened today, yesterday—hell, this whole damned month. It had been rough, rougher than usual. Or maybe it had been exactly the same, but his tolerance for it was lowering.
Fuck, he thought bitterly. He hated to think that. He loved his job.
It was exciting, thrilling, even when he made a major save. Except, all he could remember were the bad days, and they were stacking up in his soul like an avalanche ready to cave in and crush him.
John pinched the brim of his nose, refusing to see the faces of the patients who had died or their grief-stricken families, sobbing, wailing, or worse, just staring at him, vacant and empty—like him.
Stop it, John. Just fucking stop.
He pleaded with his mind to be quiet.
If it gets too bad, I can always quit. Set up a small, boring family practice somewhere just like Dr. Seevers did…
His mentor, Dr. Seevers, retired and set up his own practice, stepping away from the chaos of the emergency department and the bullshit bureaucracy of hospital work.
John wanted to talk to him, but he was worried that if he did, he’d end up quitting, and he wasn’t ready to do that.
Not yet. The difference was that Dr. Seevers was in his late fifties when he left the hospital.
John was only 46 years old, and yet he felt like the oldest person in the department lately.
Maybe it was because of the fresh litter of residents he had filling his hallways that made him feel ancient with their youthful, hopeful glow, so eager and optimistic.
He cringed, rubbing his temple. They were naive and had no idea what this life meant.
What it would cost them to dedicate their lives to being doctors, especially in emergency medicine.
Because eventually, it would take everything.
Or maybe just a shoulder.
John leaned back in his seat and rolled his shoulder, attempting to relieve the knot in the muscle.
He tried to stretch his shoulder, knowing he needed to see a chiropractor, or at least a physical therapist. Except, when would he have time for that?
When he wasn’t working, he was sleeping.
So he did what most busy physicians did: he relegated his physical health to convenience, settling for ice packs and a heating pad.
He tried cold plunges, steam rooms, and massages, but they were essentially useless.
The shoulder felt permanently stuck. Frozen in place like a crippling iceberg that wasn’t melting or yielding in the slightest. It was moderately painful, but mostly irritating.
If he moved his arm in the wrong direction or tried to lift a patient, then it hurt, and he was fucked.
Like today.
God, what a fucking mess…
He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the flush of embarrassment and shame.
John was the head of the department, the senior leading resident on his shifts, and the captain of the ship.
So when he couldn’t perform, people noticed and grew concerned, and he couldn’t afford for anyone on his team to see that.
But Lawson had seen him crumble.
Fucking Lawson.
If it had been anyone else, he would’ve maybe tolerated it. But it was the new resident, who had been there for less than six months, who saw it.
Lawson saw him hesitate, filled with doubt and pain…
Lawson, who stepped in and took over.
A kid!
Regret washed over him, and John’s thoughts returned to the day with a vengeance.
The first mistake was the bodybuilder patient.
The overly large man, wearing a paper-thin black t-shirt and bright green shorts with flashy sneakers, stumbled into the ED from the lobby with one of the nurses, and when he couldn’t make it to the stretcher, he collapsed in a mass of muscles, nearly taking the nurse down with him.
He was pale and shaking, and John was the first to reach him, followed by the closest available doctor-in-training, Lawson.
The nurses brought over a gurney and lowered it as much as possible to lift the man onto it.
Forgetting all about his shoulder, John knelt with Lawson and two other nurses and attempted to lift the oversized man.
The pain had been instant and he jerked, but he managed to maintain his grip, refusing to drop the patient on the floor in the middle of the goddamned ED.
Once they were able to transfer him, John let go and nearly stumbled back, pain etched in his features, which Lawson saw.
“Are you okay?” Lawson took a step toward him, his eyes darting over John’s body and leveling on his shoulder, seeing him roll it and trying desperately to release the muscle that refused to give.
“I’m fine,” John replied sharply. Too sharply, causing the heads of the two nurses to turn toward him, surprised. Because John was always the calm, cool, collected captain. And that reputation was something he strove to maintain no matter what.
They had taken the man into the first available room, and as the nurses were hooking him up, the patient revived.
In a panic, he shot up, his large arm swiping at one of John’s nurses.
John had reached out instinctively, catching the arm and firmly but gently guiding it back down while calmly informing the patient where he was and what John and his team were doing.
His shoulder burned in protest the entire time, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it until the patient was controlled.
He finally left the room a few minutes later, heading toward his locker to take something for the pain and, maybe if he had time, which he knew damn well he didn’t, put an ice pack on his shoulder.
Unbeknownst to him, Lawson had followed him.
“Excuse me, um…Dr. Donnelly?” Lawson asked tentatively from behind him.
John continued in his clipped pace down the hallway. “Good job in there.”
“Thanks,” the young doctor said, still following him.
“What do you need, Lawson?” John asked shortly.
“Are you… okay?”
John’s teeth mashed together, and he stopped abruptly, causing the young resident to collide into his back before quickly side-stepping around him to face him.
“Sorry,” Lawson fumbled, wiping his nervous palms onto his dark gray scrubs.
“I’m fine,” John repeated, attempting a bland smile of reassurance.
Lawson hesitated, eyes darting once more to John’s shoulder. “Do you need anything?”
John sucked in a tight breath, trying his best not to show his impatience. “That’s usually my question.”
Lawson was overstepping. John was in charge. Lawson was simply a crewmate. He wasn’t supposed to question his captain.
Lawson flushed, his cheeks reddening the longer they stood there, and he nervously took another step back. “Right, yeah. Okay, sorry…”
Lawson finally tucked tail and returned to the nurse station to take another patient. John had hoped that would be the end of it. But somehow, Lawson was everywhere he turned today. And by the end of the shift, John’s shoulder was throbbing.
The last patient of the day was a homeless man found unconscious outside a gas station. The paramedics wheeled him in on a gurney and transferred him to a hospital bed. Lawson and another junior resident, Reyes, came in to assist.
But as the paramedics were transferring the patient to the bed, the man reared to life, bucking wildly.
Usually, John was the first to jump in and attempt to restrain, but with his aching shoulder, he hesitated.
And Lawson saw it. In a flash, Lawson shouldered past John, forcing him to take a step back as the young doctor took over.
John watched closely, eyes fixed on Lawson’s strong arms as they bunched and tensed as he gripped down, pressing the homeless man down onto the bed as Reyes attempted to inform the man where he was and how he had been found.
The patient proceeded to be hostile, forcing the staff to administer a sedation shot.
Less than two minutes later, the patient was sufficiently subdued.
John praised the team for their good work and quickly left, feeling utterly useless and desperately wanting to go home and stew in a big glass of whiskey. But he couldn’t because he had booked his therapist appointment for right after his shift.
He was cursing under his breath when he heard Lawson. “Dr. Donnelly…”
Before John could give another placating answer, the young resident rushed out, surprising him. “You’re in pain.”