Hard To Love (Love & War #3)

Round One

OLLIE

“Pedestrian versus vehicle. Female. Early to mid-twenties. Motor vehicle won.” Paramedics crash a stretcher through the emergency room doors of a small hospital in an even smaller town in the middle of nowhere, bringing with them deafening chaos and transforming an otherwise calm, quiet space into something else entirely.

Because maybe this is an ER, and sure, hospitals are typically hectic places, but out here in Plainview, where the population barely exceeds six thousand, and I could list, from memory, every medical emergency every single resident of Plainview has experienced in the last twelve months, that means my ER is, for the most part, a snooze-fest six nights out of seven.

C-collar already in place, her face is smeared in blood and debris from outside. Gravel rash from her temple to her shoulder, a gash on her cheek, a shredded shirt, torn jeans, and lips glowing a dangerous shade of blue.

“Pupils are sluggish. No deformities in her chest or pelvis that I could see.” Not nearly as composed as usual, Dara swings frightened eyes my way. “She was tachy when we scooped her up, then she slowed right down in the rig. Now she’s back up.”

I approach the bloody, busted, half-frozen woman, and while the EMTs move their stretcher out of the way, I snag the penlight from my pocket and pull her eyelids open, one after the other. “Was she conscious at all since you’ve had her?”

“Nope.” Fidgety—entirely out of character for my calm-under-pressure colleague—Dara peels her gloves off and reveals shaking hands. “Stayed out from the scene to here.”

“Alright. I need to get her in for scans. We’ll also prep for intubation, just in case.

” I fix my stethoscope over my ears and listen to her lungs, scanning along her too-thin frame over torn, well-worn clothes and an old shoe.

Singular. The other is probably still wherever the car is.

Her jeans are a size or two—or three—too big for her, held up by a belt circling her stomach twice.

“No signs of pneumothorax—lucky for her. Looks like she hasn’t had a warm meal in a while, though.

” I swing the stethoscope over the back of my neck and look around for my intern.

“Let’s get her upstairs for CT, then to the OR.

I just know we’re gonna find a mess in there. ” I glance toward Dara. “Name?”

“Nope. No ID. No jewelry. No purse. She’s got a nasty lac by her ribs and a massive shard of glass still sitting in there that’ll need irrigation and closure.

Didn’t see any obvious fractures in the field, but X-rays might tell a different story.

No visible track marks.” Her eyes flicker across and warm the side of my face.

“She looks the type, ya know? But I didn’t see any. ”

“Head’s the worst of it, then?” I look to my right and meet my intern’s terrified gaze.

Bleeding patients scare him, I think. “We’re headed upstairs.

Let’s get some saline going. Then I wanna type and cross, get coags, CBC, and lactate.

Then we need to look her over from top to toe to make sure we haven’t missed anything. ”

“She lost blood in the field.” Dara scampers along beside us, wringing her hands and racing ahead to slap the elevator call button. “Doubt she needs a transfusion, though.”

“She’s young. Looks relatively healthy, if we ignore malnutrition and her war with a ton of steel. Can’t be more than…” I stare at the woman’s youthful face, the clear skin hidden beneath mud and blood. “Mid-twenties at the most. Who hit her?”

The ER doors burst open again, but this time, with a couple of cops and a little old woman I’ve known my whole damn life. “Barbara?” I slap my hand against the open elevator door to stop it from closing again. “What the hell happened?”

“She called it in, Ollie.” Dara stands outside the elevator, her eyes glittering with anxiety. “She sat with her until we arrived. No alcohol on her breath. Didn’t notice anything weird going on. She says the patient ran out onto the road, and Barbara had no time to stop.”

“She hurt?”

Dara shakes her head. “Not at all.”

“Alright. We’ll leave it with the police.

” I back up in the elevator and wait for the doors to close, then I look to my just-about-to-hyperventilate intern.

“Our patient is breathing on her own. She’s bleeding, but not profusely.

She’s strapped to a backboard, and a C-collar is stabilizing her neck.

Unconscious is bad, but it is what it is. What do we think?”

“Errr…” He looks down at our Jane and gulps. “I think she smacked her head real good.”

Real good. Fuck me.

“Sluggish pupils suggest the patient has suffered a head injury. CT will tell us how bad it is.”

“And the lac on her ribs?”

His eyes flare wide and drop to her bleach-stained shirt, the old, floppy fabric torn from overuse, then cut by the EMTs on the way here.

He tears her shirt aside and reveals a creamy, flat stomach, ribs too easily counted, and a vicious gravel rash spreading from her hip to the underside of her arm.

Something tells me she left a whole bunch of skin on the road tonight.

“Glass, Doctor Darling.” He reaches shaking hands toward the inch-wide shard protruding from her side. “Oh, geez. Why didn’t the paramedics take that out?”

“Fuck’s sake.” I slap his hand away before he can pull it free. “No.”

Stunned, he whips horrified eyes back to mine.

“You don’t take that out till you know what the hell you’re working with.

” I grab Jane’s bed and start pushing, timing my steps with the elevator’s arrival and the doors springing open.

The wheels roll across the threshold, noisily announcing our arrival, then we cut left and make our way toward CT.

“Don’t touch anything. Don’t spend time with the patient alone.

” I wave him ahead. “The next time you try something so stupid, I’m sending you to the opposite shift and taking Dawes’ intern.

She would never make that kind of mistake. ”

“Y-yes, doctor. I’m sorry.” He runs ahead and shoves the next door open, avoiding my eyes as we pass. “We never get these kinds of cases, that’s all. She’s caught me by surprise.”

“Uh-huh. And your literal job is to be calm when everyone else is freaking out. Trauma surgeons do not panic under pressure.”

My Jane Doe groans, her brows pinching and a pained whimper rolling along her throat.

“Hey. Hi.” I drag her to a stop and scoot around the bed. “Are you waking up?”

She battles through pain. Confusion. I take her wrist in one hand, my fingers pressed to her speeding pulse, and I check my watch on the other. “Can you hear me, ma’am? My name is Doctor Oliver Darling, and you’re in the hospital. You’ve had an accident.”

She moans, curling into the bed.

“Can you open your eyes? Can you tell me your name?” I tilt my head to the side and study her crinkling bow lips.

Her chin, doll-like in its proportions. Her petite, slightly upturned nose, marred by the line of dried blood staining the skin above her top lip.

“Ma’am? I’m Doctor Darling, but most folks call me Ollie. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Her pulse grows faster against my fingertips. Sprinting. Thundering.

“You’re safe, okay? You’re in the hospital.

You were hit by a car, but the little old lady who hit you is about a hundred years old and hates everyone equally, so don’t take it personally.

” I lean a little closer, lifting my lips into a kind smile she doesn’t see anyway.

“Ma’am? Can you open your eyes? I want to know your name before we go further. ”

“Doctor Darling?” My intern charges ahead and pops the CT room door open. “I’m ready for her.”

“Ma’am?” I brush the tip of my finger over her palm, searching for a reaction. A twitch. Anything. Then I move to her knee. Her un-shoed foot. “Open your eyes. I’d really prefer to be on a first-name basis before we head in there.”

“Doctor Darling?” My intern presses. “Is time not of the essence?”

“Always.” I drag my fingertips over her mottled neck, then the soft skin just beneath her jaw. “But if she’s coming around, I’d like to know who she is. Miss?” I inch a little closer, softening my voice. “I know you’re in there. You’re making me look bad right now.”

Her eyes wheel around behind her eyelids, and a pained groan crawls along her throat.

“I’m gonna give you till the count of three to be an equal participant in all this mess. Then I have to push on. I know you can hear me.” I brush the tip of my finger over her eyelid. “Can you feel that? Can you feel where I’m touching you? Open up and show me you can do it.”

“That’s three, Doctor Darling.”

“Ma’am?”

Little by little, excruciatingly slowly, she peels her eyes open and hits me with a pair of browns… but they’re also gold. But they’re also speckled with reds and greens and hell knows what else. Brown eyes are just brown eyes in most cases. But her brown eyes are something else entirely.

“Hi.” Pride bubbles in my blood, like we’ve been working on this for eons, and not mere seconds. “My name is Ollie, and I’m happy as hell to see you awake. That’s a good sign.”

She swallows and stares. Silent and a little terrified. Her bow lips stay closed, but her nostrils flare with the same viciousness as her speeding pulse.

“You’re in the hospital,” I repeat for the third time. Fourth? “You’ve been in an accident, but you’re safe now. I’m taking you in for a scan so we can look inside your head. You hit it pretty hard, I reckon.”

Tears well in her eyes, gathering in the corners.

“Do you have a headache? I bet it’s pretty loud in there at the moment, huh?” I lower my voice, anything to not make the pain worse. “Can you tell me your name? You arrived with no ID, and it always makes me feel weird calling a patient Jane until we know better.”

Her tears spill over, dribbling along her temples and down to disappear in long, black hair matted with blood and whatever debris she picked up from the road. Twigs. Snow. A bit of gravel. “Ma’am?”

Her pulse skitters under my fingers, visible against her throat. Then she closes her eyes again and drops into unconsciousness.

“Guess not.” I gently set her hand back on the bed and rush around to the end.

Kicking the brakes, I start her forward again.

“I know she’s bleeding, I know she’s in pain.

” I wheel her straight past my intern and into a massive, gray-walled room.

“I know your textbooks tell you to take care of her lacs and clean her up, but I’m not doing a damn thing until I get a look inside her head.

Brain bleed trumps sutures and a bubble bath any day of the week.

” I wheel her to the CT platform and jog around so I can drag her across.

“We’re gonna have to log her in as Jane. We’ll figure out the rest later.”