Chapter 2
“Genevieve?” Kyle repeated, as the face that haunted his dreams stared at him. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
“Take a deep breath for me.” She averted her face as he obeyed, frowning while she used the cold stethoscope. A nurse fussed with hooking him up to a machine to take his blood pressure and temperature.
“Do you have any medical problems?” the nurse asked.
“No.”
“Drink alcohol every day?”
“No.”
“Do you do drugs?”
“No.”
“Any surgeries prior to this?”
“Still no.”
“You two know each other?” Gerry murmured, as Gen studied his midsection which Gerry had helpfully uncovered.
“From a long time ago,” Kyle muttered.
Gen’s lips clamped—had she gotten prettier over the years?—and he could’ve sworn she was thinking Not long enough.
“What happened?” Her voice was low, calm, cool. Emotionless. Like he was a stranger and meant nothing to her.
“He was hit in the side with a stick during the game,” Gerry explained. “We thought a rib might’ve busted, but we didn’t pick up anything on the X-ray.”
“We’ll run a CT scan and see what that shows.” She laid a hand on Kyle’s forehead.
His pulse jumped at the unexpected touch, like every pore remembered her and leaped to reach her.
“You feel a little cool. Heartbeat’s high.”
He studied her, willing her to meet his gaze again, but she refused.
“Can you shift to your side?”
He rolled slightly, exposing the injury a little more.
How could she remain so cool and calm while his heart might hammer right out of his ribs?
For that matter, how had she achieved her goals so quickly, while he felt like he was skating on the sidelines of those big dreams that had taken him east years ago?
“Hmm. There’s a red welt.”
“That discoloration and swelling wasn’t there before,” Gerry said. “It didn’t look like that earlier.”
“These kinds of injuries can have delayed presentations,” she said. “It may be your kidneys, so we’ll need to do a scan and check for internal bleeding.” Her gaze touched his then instantly veered away, as if frightened. “Has there been any blood in your urine?”
He coughed, his cheeks warming. “No. I mean, I wouldn’t know.” He peeked at her. Why didn’t she look embarrassed?
“We’ll need to take some blood and check your hemoglobin and hematocrit levels.” She gestured for a nurse to do so.
“What then?”
“Well, depending on the results we may need to do an IVP—”
“What’s that?”
“An intravenous pyelogram. It’s a type of X-ray that examines the urinary tract including the kidneys and bladder.”
Why did every second he lay here seem more and more embarrassing? “You’re not going to be the one to do that, are you?”
Her dark eyes dipped to his for a second then strayed away again. “No. You’ll go to the team that specializes in identifying and treating this kind of trauma.”
“Trauma? It’s just an injury. I deal with them all the time.”
“This kind of injury needs urgent assessment and care. You don’t want to end up on dialysis, do you?”
“What?”
An older white-coated man with a lanyard that read Emergency Physician drew near. “Now, now, Dr. Rivas—”
It still amazed him to hear her called that.
“—we don’t need to worry the young man unnecessarily. Hello, I’m Dr. Singh. What seems to be the problem here?”
She told him, using a variety of medical gobbledegook Kyle had no chance of following. But Dr. Singh did, nodding, his eyes sliding to Kyle.
“I’m sending him to get a CT scan and the bloodwork ASAP. If necessary, we’ll consider an IVP,” Gen concluded.
“Sounds like you’ve done everything I would. Well, young man, let’s get things rolling.” He issued instructions to two aides who drew near.
“I can go home after that, though, right?”
Dr. Singh shook his head. Gen kept hers still, like she was unconcerned. “We’ll see. Depending on the outcome of your results we may need to keep you in for observation for at least a day, possibly more.”
A day or two? Seattle had a must-win game against Edmonton tomorrow night. Lose that and they were likely to lose home-ice advantage in the playoffs. His heart tensed, releasing higher-pitched beeps on the machine.
“Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of you,” Dr. Singh said, clapping Gen on the shoulder. “Dr. Rivas is one of our best.”
“But you’re not looking after me after this, are you, Gen?”
Her gaze lifted as far as his chin. “No.”
“But—”
“Excuse me.” She shifted away, huddling with the older physician and Gerry, their discussion too low for Kyle to hear. Which seemed unfair, especially when it was his body that was affected.
He watched her, saw the stiff way she moved, the way she continued to avoid eye contact with him, like she was uncomfortable in his presence, which was fair.
He was plenty uncomfortable with her, even before there’d been any talk of bladders and urine and delicate parts of his anatomy he’d much prefer her not to think about.
Had their mistake ten years ago created this tension or something else? Who was he kidding—of course this was all due to his mistake. But she’d said she was fine, so how could she blame him still?
Yet the thought that this might be his one and only chance to try to set things right only increased the pressure within.
“Sir, you need to calm down,” the nurse advised.
The trio paused their conversations, glanced at him.
“His BP is rising,” the nurse called.
“We better get him scanned fast,” the older doctor said.
“But I need to speak to Gen—”
“Take him to imaging,” she said, still not looking at him.
Two aides began preparing the gurney as the nurse unhooked wires and leads. “Gen, we need to talk,” he pleaded.
She shook her head and walked away, taking his heart with her. Just as she’d done ten years ago.
* * *
Gen exhaled shakily, silently. No way had she anticipated meeting Kyle Tinker like this, let alone being forced to treat him.
Was God still punishing her for her mistake years ago?
Seemed so. How was she supposed to paste on neutrality and her usual facade of calmness, when everything inside felt like a pan of hot oil spitting chips?
As for talking to him… She’d never dreamed he’d want to speak to her.
What was he going to say, anyway? Try to make excuses?
Plead forgiveness? It was enough to see him let alone figure out what to say.
She thought she’d behaved professionally enough, but who knew what the others had seen?
Regardless, after the past thirty minutes she had zero capacity to remain composed in his presence a second longer.
Okay, so mature her—the person everyone here at Seattle General knew her as—did know they needed to talk, and yes, she had plenty of things to say. But talking would only lead to further uncomfortable truths, and that was a quagmire of pain she couldn’t afford to get into.
“Who was that?” Dr. Charan Singh asked, joining her at the nurse’s station.
“An ex.”
“You need to avoid him if you don’t want a perceived conflict of interest.”
“I plan to.”
He nodded, then was called away. Thank goodness. She needed to prove she could keep her mind on the job, to not let distractions—emotions—get in the way, especially if she was to make emergency medicine her specialty.
“An ex, huh?” Marcie grinned. “I wondered. Hmm. A rather handsome and can I say very fit young man.”
Yes, he was. A definite change from the usual people they treated here. “I need to get to my next patient.”
“Aww, come on. Don’t be like that. We’re just all intrigued to finally get a glimpse behind the cool, calm, collected exterior of Dr. Genevieve Rivas.”
“There’s nothing to see here.”
Marcie scoffed. “Patently untrue. But whatever. Just remember, if you ever need to talk, I’m right here. And won’t judge. Especially if it meant you once did something with a hot hockey player.”
Oh, she’d done something, all right. Except it wasn’t all right. Not at all. Her cheeks heated. Guilt strummed, and she instantly tamped it down, the reflex one she’d done a thousand times before. She’d done what she needed to do. It was best for all concerned.
Marcie laughed. “I’m guessing from that blush that means that’s a yes. Well, girl, you could be cashing in on that story for years. You know the fact we have Kyle Tinker here in emergency is already doing the hospital rounds.”
Just what she’d feared. What was the best way to avoid the rumors getting out of control? Ask Marcie to be quiet, or ignore it like a pro and hope for the best? She glanced up. “Marcie, if you care at all about me, I’d really appreciate it if you don’t link my name to his.”
“Whoa. Well, of course I now need to.”
Gen shook her head, her lips pressed together to hold back a quiver. Why, oh why, did her emotions have to surface now while she was still on show?
“Oh.”
Marcie’s look of compassion nearly did her in. Gen pivoted away, stripped off her gloves, busying herself as she didn’t need her friend seeing things that weren’t true. Or—more dangerously—things that were.
She completed paperwork then nodded to Cindy, womanning the registration desk like a boss. “Got anyone for me?” She should get a pay raise for her calm voice.
“Always, but Gen, you look a little weary. It’s almost time for your break. Want to take it now?”
She shook her head. “I need to keep busy.” If she had a new patient to focus on, then maybe she could forget the last. Even if she hadn’t quite been able to forget him these past ten years.
“Well, eat something, please,” Cindy said. “Those doughnuts we got donated were pretty stale—love how people think we want their leftovers.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, grab a yogurt at least to keep up your energy, okay? You know we need you staying switched on here, right?”
She nodded, knowing if she didn’t eat then Cindy would only keep hounding her until she did.
Cindy had—more than once—told Gen how much her calm, uncomplaining presence was valued in ER, especially when contrasted to Dr. Visek, whose muttered moans and groans often scored discreet rolled eyes from the nurses.
Yet while people said they valued her, she wondered sometimes if they’d say the same to the next person, that the connections here she called friendships were more situational than because of any real bonds.
But how could they be based on true connections when self-preservation meant she kept the real Genevieve locked up behind closed doors?
She moved to the staffroom and snagged a yogurt pot, peeled back the lid, and downed it quickly.
Doctors often had to eat when they could, which meant the stash of slightly healthier options like this beat the usual junk food options people often thought maintained energy.
While she liked chocolate as much as the next woman, she didn’t need the sugar rush and crash that often accompanied it.
Neither did she need the extra pounds on her hips.
Had Kyle noticed she no longer had the same slender frame she’d had in high school?
Stop it. She threw the empty yogurt container in the trash then went back to Cindy. “Okay, I’ve eaten. Tell me what’s next.”
“Okay.” Cindy winced. “I’m real sorry to do this to you, but it looks like we’ve got a GSW coming into exam room one. ETA is three minutes out.”
“Have police been notified?”
“They’re the ones bringing him in.”
She nodded, stripping off her white coat which would only get bloodied. Gunshot wounds always bled more than expected.
She entered the assigned trauma room, waiting with the rest of the team as the EMS crew wheeled in their patient, a thirty-four-year-old male, with a gunshot wound to the abdomen.
There was silence as they listened to the EMS team’s story, and cut off the patient’s clothes, checked the ABCs, making sure the airways were intact, that the man’s breathing was stable, and that the blood circulation wasn’t hampered by an exit wound that needed to be stemmed.
The next minutes were frantic, yet focused, as every part of the trauma team knew their role to play, just like a Formula One pit stop crew.
It was why they practiced and had simulations for exactly this type of event.
They administered fluids and blood while she got large bore IV access as they’d hand off to the surgeons to explore surgically.
Their goal was to get their patient to the OR or the CT scanner in under thirty minutes.
“Page the surgery team. We’ll need to send him upstairs.”
Adrenaline was fast fading as she consulted with Dr. Singh then finally released the patient to the next installment of his critical care. She stripped off her bloodied gloves and returned to where the police officers waited. “Gents.”
“Hey doc. How is he?”
“Alive. For now.”
The shorter one grinned. “We thought we’d bring you a Saturday night special, doc.”
“Thanks.” A Saturday night special was their code for gang-related activity.
“Any time.”
“Mmm, no thanks.”
Some of the men she encountered seem to think it was their job to make her smile.
Officer Pekoe was one of them. Hence she made it her mission to look serious, even if she did occasionally find some things amusing.
Hospital staff were notorious for black humor, just as police were too.
But it didn’t mean she’d smile. So they continued to play this game, people cracking jokes, her maintaining her serious vibe.
Just as she always had since she’d forgotten how to smile, thanks to the man who was probably having his insides lit up right now in a CT machine.
People could call her serious or intense all they liked.
She didn’t care. Besides, there was nothing amusing about an abdominal gunshot wound.
“I got a spare ticket to the policeman’s ball next month,” Officer Pekoe said.
“I hope you find someone who wants to go with you.”
“See?” The taller one nudged his partner. “I told you she wasn’t interested.”
“Come on, doc. Give a man a chance.”
“Sorry. Already booked.”
“But I haven’t even told you when it is.”
“I’m afraid I’ll still be booked whenever it is.”
“Ouch! Burn.” But Officer Pekoe’s grin suggested he wasn’t too upset.
Which was just as well. While she didn’t want to date, she didn’t want to get anybody offside, either. And as the medical staff here in emergency often worked closely with other first responders, she needed to maintain good relationships.
Even if she hadn’t told anyone exactly why she was reluctant to date.
Because she couldn’t. Especially now Kyle was here.