9. Nash #2
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by guilt. I shouldn't want to stay. Shouldn't need to see for myself that she's going to be okay. Seven years ago, I made the choice to let her go, and she made the choice to leave. Clean break. That was supposed to be the end of it.
But watching the medical team work around her still form, seeing her blood on my uniform shirt, something primal and possessive claws at my chest. Mine. The word echoes in my head like a mantra, irrational and unwelcome.
She was never mine. Not really. One night doesn't make someone yours, no matter how it felt at the time.
But Eve and I, we're a thousand small moments stitched together. And I can't just let that go.
"Thanks, Sarah." I step back to give the team room to work, but I don't leave. Can't leave.
Dr. Martinez appears at my elbow—a compact man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and steady hands that have sewn up half the trauma cases I've brought in over the years.
"Callahan." He nods, already pulling on gloves. "Chen filled me in. Sorry about your friend."
Friend. The word sits wrong in my mouth, but I don't correct him.
"What are you thinking?" I ask instead, watching as they cut away Eve's blood-stained sweater.
Underneath, I can see the extent of the damage and that makes my hands clench into fists.
Dark blotches bloom across her ribs, and there's a scrape along her shoulder that looks like road rash.
Someone hurt her. Someone put their hands on her and left marks, and the rational part of my brain that usually keeps me steady goes completely silent.
"Head CT first," Martinez says, shining a penlight in Eve's eyes. "Pupils are responsive but sluggish. Possible concussion, but I want to rule out any bleeding in the brain. Then we'll get a look at those ribs."
I nod, forcing myself to focus on the medical details instead of the fury building in my chest. Professional. I need to stay professional.
"Any idea what happened?" Martinez asks as they prep her for the CT scan.
"Called in as a hit-and-run, but there was no vehicle on scene when we arrived. No skid marks. Just..." I swallow hard. "Just her, lying in the street."
Martinez's jaw tightens. He's seen enough assault cases to read between the lines, and the implications hang heavy in the air between us.
"We'll run a full workup," he says quietly. "And Sarah will make sure the social worker knows to check in once she's conscious."
"Good." The word comes out harder than I intend, and Martinez shoots me a look.
"Why don't you grab some coffee?" he suggests. "This is going to take a while, and you look like hell."
I probably do despite this being the first call of my shift. My uniform is wrinkled and stained, my hair's a mess, and I haven't shaved since yesterday morning. But I don't move from my spot against the wall.
"I'm fine here."
Martinez studies me for a moment longer, then shrugs. "Suit yourself. But try not to hover. The team needs room to work."
They wheel Eve toward radiology, and I follow at a distance, ignoring the curious looks from other staff members. This isn't how I normally behave. Nash Callahan doesn't get personally invested. Nash Callahan drops off patients and moves on to the next call without looking back.
But Eve Turner was never just another anything, and pretending otherwise would be pointless now.
The waiting area outside radiology consists of uncomfortable plastic chairs and fluorescent lighting that makes everyone look corpse-pale. I choose a seat with a clear view of the doors and settle in, my phone heavy in my pocket.
I should call someone. Her parents, at least. But what would I tell them? That their daughter ended up broken in the street, and I happened to be the one to find her? That I've been carrying her memory around for seven years like some pathetic ghost?
No. Better to wait until I know more. Until I can give them facts instead of fears.
My phone buzzes with a text from Rodriguez. Everything okay? You haven't come back out.
Personal matter. I'll catch up with you later.
Want backup?
Rodriguez and I have been working together on and off for years.
Good guy, solid EMT, and smart enough not to ask questions when I disappear for days at a time on "personal business.
" He doesn't know about the money I take to look the other way sometimes, doesn't know about the moral lines I've crossed—but I suspect he has a similar deal.
As far as he knows, I'm just Nash—quiet, competent, and reliable.
I'm good. Thanks though.
The CT scan takes forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes of sitting in that plastic chair, watching the clock and trying not to think about the last time I saw Eve conscious.
How I'd let her walk away.
"Nash?"
I look up to find Sarah approaching with a clipboard and a careful expression.
"CT's done. Dr. Martinez wants to talk to you."
I follow her back through the maze of corridors to Eve's room, my stomach tight with dread. Martinez is studying a computer screen, his face unreadable.
"Good news first," he says without looking up. "No brain bleeding. The concussion is mild to moderate—she'll have headaches for a while, but nothing that won't heal."
Relief makes my knees weak. "And the bad news?"
"Three broken ribs, but they're clean breaks. No punctured lung. The head wound needed twelve stitches, but it'll heal fine." He turns from the computer to face me. "Physically, she's going to be okay."
"Physically," I repeat, catching the emphasis.
Martinez nods. "You know how fickle brain injuries can be. We'll have to wait for her to wake up before I can find out anything else."
I nod, not trusting my voice. Through the doorway, I can see Eve lying still in the hospital bed, machines monitoring her vital signs. There's still a chance something could be wrong, and that mere suggestion has me feeling like I'm going to come undone.
"Can I..." I clear my throat. "Can I sit with her? Until she wakes up?"
Martinez studies my face for a long moment. "You said you grew up together?"
"Yeah. Same town. I should probably call her parents, but I wanted to make sure she was stable first."
It's close enough to the truth that Martinez buys it. "Family's good. She'll probably be confused when she wakes up, maybe disoriented from the concussion. Having a familiar face around will help."
He doesn't know that the last words she spoke to me were that she was nothing as she ran away. Doesn't know that my face is probably the last one she'd want to see when she opens her eyes.
But he doesn't need to know that.
"Thanks, Doc."
Eve's room is small and sterile, dominated by the hospital bed and the various machines keeping track of her condition. They've cleaned the blood from her hair and bandaged the head wound, but she still looks fragile under the harsh lighting.
I pull a chair close to the bed and settle in for what could be a long wait. Her breathing is steady now, deeper than it was in the ambulance. Good sign.
I should be finding out who to call, who should know about her. She's engaged. She chose someone else. Someone safe and respectable who could give her everything I couldn't.
And look how well that worked out for her.
My phone buzzes again, but I ignore it. Whatever crisis is brewing in my other life can wait. Right now, there's only Eve and the steady beep of monitors and the hope that she's going to be okay.
Then, I'll figure out what to do next.