We pull on our clothes but don’t get up. It’s dark in here. Quiet. And we take a beat to enjoy the peace.
In a matter of minutes, I realize Gina is asleep. I laugh. The girl could fall asleep anywhere. Before she went to med school, she volunteered for the Doctors Without Borders organization. She spent a year in Uganda observing and helping medical personnel. She had to learn to sleep through all kinds of shit. Guess it stuck with her.
I look down at her and study her face in the sliver of moonlight shining through the window curtain. Her hair is messy and coming out of her ponytail. Her makeup is smudged from the sleep I woke her out of. She has a long, elegant nose. One that I know has a small smattering of freckles across it even though I can’t see them now. She is beautiful by anyone’s standards. Gorgeous even.
I think back to the day we started all this. This, whatever it is. Friends with benefits. Fuck buddies.
We were a few months into our intern year when Gina fell apart after telling a patient’s family he had died. Doing that was supposed to be the attending’s job, or the resident’s at the very least. Interns are there to learn from them. Typically, they don’t let us do shit our first year. But Gina had a douchebag resident she was working with who decided to throw her head-first into the deep end. Without warning, the prick walks Gina over to the family and tells them Gina has news for them.
She was a wreck. The patient was sixteen years old and died in a car accident. I was sleeping in the on-call room when Gina ran in and broke down. She was almost in hysterics. She knew she’d have to do things like that. It was part of the job. But what the asshole resident didn’t know when he threw her up the goddamn creek without a paddle, was that her younger brother was killed in a car accident when she was in med school.
As interns, she and I had barely gotten to know each other, as our rotations were not on the same schedule. But when she came in the room, it was clear she needed something to help her through it. She needed someone. She needed me. So I gave her the only piece of me I could give.
I don’t even think we spoke a word. We just tore each other’s clothes off and had sex. Raw animal sex. Totally free from emotion. Quick and dirty. Then she went back to work and I went back to sleep. We never even spoke of it.
Then a few weeks later, I had my own crisis. A four-year-old kid came into the ER in anaphylactic shock from a bee sting. She was all but dead when the child’s Hispanic mother carried her in, screaming things in broken English, with the girl’s lifeless body in her arms.
We worked for forty-five minutes to try and get the small beautiful brown girl back. I was given point, which surprised me since I was wet behind the ears. I intubated her, which was no easy feat considering her throat was swelling up like a balloon. I performed CPR until my body simply gave out. We pushed drug after drug, pulling any and all stops to try to work a miracle.
In the end, I was told she was gone from the start, but that it was a good teaching case for me.
I was livid. I threw a procedure tray across the room and cussed out my attending and my resident supervisor. I stormed out, sure I’d be fired after my display of insubordination. Gina saw the tail end of my tirade and pulled me into the on-call room where she ‘helped’ me just as I’d ‘helped’ her a few weeks before.
After that, it just became a thing. When one of us had a bad case or a stressful day, we’d summon the other to an on-call room. It’s been almost a year since it first happened. It’s the ideal situation for two second-year residents owned by the hospital. No messy relationship. No complicated feelings.
I carefully climb over Gina, trying not to wake her. She’s on until morning. She can use all the sleep she can get. And I’ve got a six-pack of ridiculously expensive craft beer waiting for me at home.
~ ~ ~
Next shift, I’m finishing up a chart behind the nurses’ station when a familiar face walks through the ER doors. I smile when I see her, but then I realize she’s got someone with her and she looks worried.
I drop the chart and push through the doors into the waiting area. “Skylar, what’s wrong?”
“Oh, Kyle, I’m glad you’re here,” she says. “This is Jorge, my head chef. An accident in our kitchen caused some burns on his arms.”
I quickly assess the deep red flesh on both of his forearms and escort them into the back.
“Where can I put him?” I ask the charge nurse.
“Curtain two,” she says, before directing one of her nurses to take the case.
I find one of the new interns and have her follow me. This isn’t a complex case and she can easily handle it.
“How did this happen?” I ask Jorge.
“I was stupid,” he says. “One of the strings on my apron got caught on the pasta pot on the stove, and I instinctively reached out to try and keep it from falling.”
A senior resident comes in to take a look and then lets me continue with my assessment. “It looks like second-degree burns mostly. We can give you some pain relief and salve the wounds, but they may take a few weeks to fully heal.”
While my intern, Hannah Clemens, gathers the supplies, I talk to Skylar. She manages a restaurant a few blocks over that bears her maiden name, and that of her parents who own it—Mitchell’s. Skylar grew up with Ethan’s wife, Charlie. She and her sisters, Baylor and Piper, were like sisters to Charlie. They are one big family into which I’m fortunate enough to be included.
“He’ll be okay,” I assure her. “Give him a few days off and make sure the burns stay covered with a non-stick dry bandage while working and he’ll be good as new.”
She breathes out a sigh of relief before she hugs me. “Thank you.”
I laugh. “I didn’t do anything. Looks like you did all the right things before you brought him in.”
“Dr. Stone!” a nurse shouts from the main triage area we call ‘ground zero.’
“Sorry, duty calls,” I say to Skylar on my way out. “I’ll be back to check on Jorge. Until then, Dr. Clemens will get started fixing him up. He’s in good hands.”
“Dr. Stone, hurry,” Joan, the admitting nurse says. “We have a woman in labor who is insisting on pushing.”
The double doors open and a young woman gets wheeled quickly through.
“Room five,” Joan says, directing us to a private room away from ground zero.
“Get Dr. Neill,” I tell Joan.
Dr. Neill is my supervising resident.
“He was called away,” Joan says.
“He was just in curtain two thirty seconds ago,” I say. Joan shrugs at me. “Shit. Then find Manning. And page OB.”
“Doing that now,” she says.
Debbie takes over for Joan, helping me put the girl on the bed.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Susan. Susan Markenson,” she belts out during a contraction.
“How far along are you, Susan?” I ask.
“I’m due in ten days. This is my second child. My first came very quickly.”
Great. The nurse hands me some gloves. “I need to check you, okay, Susan?” I ask.
She nods.
I lift her dress and Debbie helps me remove her underpants. And, Holy God, she’s crowning.
“This baby is coming right now,” I say. “Debbie, prep for delivery. Susan, try not to push for a minute. Let us get set up. Is there anyone we can call?”
“My husband is coming, but in this traffic . . . oh, my God, he’s going to miss it,” she cries.
Another intern comes in to see if he can help.
“Susan, this is Dr. Felder, but he prefers to be called ‘Joe.’ He’s an intern. If you want to give him your phone, he can video the birth for your husband.”
“Really?” she says, looking pleased.
“Really?” Joe asks, giving me a crazy look.
“You heard her, she doesn’t want her husband to miss it. Now get her phone. This is happening—now.” I turn to Debbie when she returns with the equipment. “Any word from
Neill or Manning?”
“Dr. Neill will be here in ten. Dr. Manning got called into another trauma. He said you can handle it.”
“Handle it? Fuck,” I murmur under my breath.
“Have you delivered a baby before, Dr. Stone?” she asks quietly so we don’t alarm Susan.
“Not by myself,” I admit.
“Well, it looks like you will today,” she says. “Come on, wash up.”
I strip off my exam gloves and wash my hands, then Debbie gowns and gloves me, having arranged all the instruments next to the bed and the panda warmer in the corner.
There isn’t a birthing bed in the room, so I have Susan scoot to the end of the bed and have Debbie stack pillows behind her. Then I ask Debbie to grab a few more nurses to hold up Susan’s legs.
“Uhhhhhhh,” Susan cries. “I have to push.”
“Okay, Susan, go ahead.”
What happens next is one of the most incredible things in nature. A dark head of matted hair slowly works through her opening. Once the baby’s head is out, it rotates up, and I quickly suction its mouth and then check to make sure the cord isn’t around the neck.
“Susan, one more big push and your baby will be here.”
She grunts as she pushes her legs into the nurses’ hands. I watch as first one shoulder, then another comes through. After that, the baby just slides right out.
“You have a son, Susan!”
The door opens and in walks the OB resident followed by Dr. Neill. They take over for me, cutting the cord just as the baby makes his introductory sound in this world. Susan cries when she hears her son for the first time. After they place him on her chest, she thanks me.
But it’s me who is grateful. I just had one of the best experiences a doctor can have. With all the sickness and death that surrounds us, it’s humbling to be reminded of how wonderful life is. I find myself exhilarated. Pent up. I’m not frustrated or stressed. I’m on cloud nine. I pull out my phone and tap out a text to Gina.
Me: Room 1320 in 15 min.
Joe hands off Susan’s phone to one of the nurses who continues to video the baby’s first moments for the absentee father. Then he asks me, “Is it too late to change my specialty?”
We walk out of the room together. “Pretty fucking great, huh?” I say.
He nods and tries to discreetly wipe some moisture from under his eyes. “Yeah, pretty fucking great.”
Chapter Five
The only exercise I seem to get these days is walking to and from work. It’s two miles one way, a long walk by NYC standards, but the hospital is not in a part of town I’d choose to live in. Every time I can, I skip the subway and hoof it.
Walking home this morning, after watching Susan give birth, I can’t help but think of the pregnant patient I had last week. Elizabeth. I hope she followed up with the clinic. There are so many things that could go wrong if she doesn’t seek proper medical attention when she needs it. Bad things such as pre-eclampsia for her; and for the baby, cerebral palsy, fetal growth restriction, or even hypoxia.
I almost wish her bleeding wouldn’t have stopped. I wish it would have been bad enough for us to keep her in the hospital without endangering their health.
I find myself looking closely at every person walking a dog. I shudder to think she’s still out there being pulled along by a gaggle of furry creatures. She could fall. Hell, even if she didn’t fall, just the simple act of walking could cause her condition to worsen. But if she feels she has no other choice—if she truly has no one and has to pay the rent, she’s more than likely still working.
I see some dogs way up ahead and speed up my stride when I see a blonde head of hair atop a petite frame sporting a sundress on this hot July morning. I follow far behind the woman for a block or two. I suppose it could be her, but I’m not close enough to see.
“Elizabeth!” I call out.
She doesn’t turn around. I think I must be imagining things.
I need sleep. These sixteen-hour shifts can be brutal. But instead of hitting my bed after a shower, I get on my laptop and do an internet search.
Elizabeth Smith, dog walker, New York City.
I stare at what’s in front of me on the screen and laugh. I swear to God, Elizabeth Smith must be the most common name in NYC. Maybe even the whole country. I shut the lid of my laptop. Maybe a little too hard. Then I draw the curtains and throw myself onto my bed.
~ ~ ~
My ringing phone wakes me up. Shit. I forgot to silence it. But the clock on my bedside table tells me I’ve gotten a good eight hours of sleep. I reach over and grab the phone to see my brother calling. “What’s up, Chad?”
“Oh, man, I didn’t mean to wake you, bro. Did you just get off shift?”
“Got off this morning. It’s okay, I needed to get up anyway. I’m back on later tonight.”
“Do you have time to shoot some hoops at the gym?” he asks. “Mal is out with the girls and I’m bored out of my mind. Some of the guys will be there.”
Chad’s had a thing for basketball ever since he moved back from L.A. last summer. I agree to meet him at the gym after I grab an early dinner. On my way, I once again scan the streets for dogs and any blonde-haired girls on the other end of the leashes. This time I don’t see any.
The problem is, I can’t decide if I’m disappointed or relieved.
Someone runs up behind me and slaps me on the back. “Hey, Kyle,” Griffin Pearce says. “You here to shoot hoops?”
“Yeah, you?”
“Gotta win my money back. Gavin and Mason really took it to me last time. Hey, speaking of winning money, are you ever going to join us for poker on Monday nights?”
“I’d love to, man, but I’m usually working. Maybe in a few years when things calm down.”
“We’ll be here. And we’d love to have you anytime,” he says, opening the door to the gym.
Or should I say his gym. The one he owns with Gavin McBride and Mason Lawrence. The three of them are either married or engaged to one of the Mitchell sisters.
“I saw your wife yesterday,” I tell Griffin.
“Skylar told me you took good care of Jorge. Thanks for that.”
We see the other guys emerging from the locker room just as we head in. Ethan is the only one who’s not here. “Three on two?” I ask. “Ethan’s not coming?”
“Well, with you playing, it’s more like two on two and a half,” Chad jokes. “Ethan’s stuck working a case.”
“It won’t be so funny when I’m mopping the court up with your ass, old man,” I say.
“Fuck you,” he says. “I’m one whole year older than you. And a whole lot better looking.”
“According to the guy staring at you in the mirror,” I quip.
Mason comes over to shake my hand. “How you been, Kyle?”
“Can’t complain. Hey, thanks for the box seats. Great game the other day.”
Mason is the starting quarterback for the Giants. Since meeting him last year, I have a renewed love of sports. Medical school and residency don’t leave much time for sports, but I try to watch whenever I can. And Griffin is a huge Cleveland Indians fan so I’ve grown to like baseball as well.
“Hey, man,” Gavin says. “Nice to see we could pry you away from the hospital.”
“Hi, Gavin. How are Baylor and the kids?”
“Good,” he says. “Baylor just published her twentieth novel. It’s what the girls are out celebrating tonight.”
“Shit, really? Twenty novels? That’s great. Will your production company be making this one into a movie, too?”
He laughs. “Who knows. We’ve done three already. Life’s good, that’s for sure.”
“Are we going to stand here and kumbaya all fucking day, or play some basketball?” Chad asks.
Just as I turn to go into the locker room, my phone rings. I’m not familiar with the number. “Hello?”
“Uh . . . Dr. Stone?” a hesitant voice asks.
“Yeah, speaking.”
“This is Elizabeth Smith. I’m sorry to bother you, and you probably don’t remember—”
“I remember you, Elizabeth. Is everything okay?” My heart starts to beat a little faster. It’s the adrenaline rush.
Her shaky voice replies, “I don’t think so. I’m bleeding again. And it’s worse than before. It won’t stop.”
“What’s your address? I’m calling you an ambulance,” I say, turning around to head back out the front doors of the gym.
I wave at Chad through the glass and point to my phone. He knows what that means. He salutes me in understanding.
“No. No ambulance.”
“If you’re worried about the money—”
“No ambulance,” she says, louder and more insistent this time.
I blow out a frustrated breath. “Where are you? I’ll come get you.”
“I . . . you can’t.”
“Elizabeth, you need to get to a hospital.” I hear her crying now. She’s scared. Maybe I’m scaring her. “Listen, maybe the bleeding will stop once you get there, just like before. But for your sake and the baby’s, you need to let someone examine you. Please.”
“But I haven’t even paid my bill from last time.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “They still have to see you.”
“Are you there? At the hospital?”
“No. I’m on my way. I can be there in thirty minutes. Give me your address and I’ll pick you up along the way.” I hail a cab, wondering if it would be faster to walk considering it’s rush hour. But I’m hoping she’ll change her mind and let me swing by and get her.
“I’m only a few blocks from the hospital. I can walk.”
“You shouldn’t be walking, Elizabeth.”
“I’ll see you there, Dr. Stone.”
The line goes dead. I try to call her back but she doesn’t answer.
Chapter Six
“Hurry, please,” I tell the cabbie after rattling off the address of the hospital.
The Stone Brothers: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set) Page 63