The Stone Brothers: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set)

by Samantha Christy

  “Dr. Stone,” I tell her, taking her hand in mine. “What can I do for you, Rosita. Anything.”

  She must be in a huge amount of pain because of the injury to her liver. I up her morphine, hoping that will help.

  “Just sit,” she says. “Back in Guadalajara, I sit with dying patients. Talking helps. You talk.”

  Normally, I’d encourage her to talk. In medical school, they taught us it’s good to have terminal patients reflect on their lives. It helps them make the transition. But whenever Rosita speaks, it puts strain on her already swollen airway.

  So, I put the oxygen mask back over her mouth and do what she asks. I talk. I tell her about my childhood and some of the antics my brothers and I had shared. She smiles weakly and I know she’s thinking of Julio and how she hopes he will still have a normal childhood despite the fact he’s about to lose a parent.

  I tell her about my mom and dad and my nephew, Eli. I even tell her about Elizabeth. I tell her much more than what I shared with Cameron. I’m not sure why. Maybe I just needed to tell someone. Like a confession to a priest.

  Rosita pulls down the mask and then grabs my hand. “Don’t wait, doctor. Life is too short for worries about such things. Love will find a way, even if you no want.”

  Her breathing becomes more ragged and I check her throat. “Rosita, I may need to intubate you.”

  Sandra comes back in the room. “Her husband is on his way.” She looks sadly at Rosita. “I’m sorry, but your husband can’t get in touch with your son. He said something about a field trip.”

  Rosita nods. “Sí, Sí. Better this way.” She turns to me. “No tube.”

  “But—”

  She grabs my hand again, firmer this time. “I know you want to do everything to help. But I tell you—no tube. My Raul come. He is all I need.”

  I nod at her, my own throat becoming thick with tears.

  “No heroic measure,” she says, looking me square in the eyes. “Do you understand? I cannot put Raul through that.”

  “I understand,” I say, making the note in her chart. “You heard that, Sandra, right?”

  “Yes, Dr. Stone.”

  I watch Rosita try to fix her hair with her good hand. Hair that is matted and singed and only half there. It’s surreal watching people die. Once they accept it’s going to happen, they are only worried about those around them. And Rosita, being a nurse, knew the score immediately.

  She knows that even without the laceration on her liver, it won’t take long for the lactic acid building up in her body to cause major cell damage. She knows she’ll go into hypovolemic shock due to reduced blood circulation. She also knows it won’t take long for her organs to start shutting down, starting with her kidneys.

  I steal a moment away from her bedside to talk with Sandra. “What’s it like out there?” I ask.

  Sandra shakes her head. “It’s better now, but it got really bad for a while. Mostly because we don’t know what to do with all of the friends and family who are demanding answers. There were so many dead at the scene, a coroner went over there to pronounce them. People are scrambling to find their loved ones. And some people are still trapped in the rubble.”

  “How many did we get?”

  “Two dozen or so, but several of those died en route. We’ve lost a few more since. But the remainder are stable.”

  “Children?” I ask. “I heard Dr. Manning say there were children there.”

  She nods sadly. “A few.”

  Her pager goes off. “Looks like her husband is here,” she says, reading it. “I’ll go get him.”

  I walk back over to the bed. “Rosita, Raul is here. Sandra is bringing him back.”

  A tear trickles down her cheek and she removes the oxygen mask, taking it completely off her face for what we both know will be the last time.

  “Do I look okay?” she asks, trying to pretend she’s not in terrible pain.

  I grab her hand. “You look beautiful, Rosita. Raul is a lucky man.”

  Through the window, I see Sandra escorting a man to the door. I slip out and tell him what’s going on and what to expect, including his wife’s wishes for us not to use heroic measures.

  He starts to break down, chanting something in Spanish as his back meets the wall and then his hands meet his knees.

  “Raul,” I say, holding him up as he peers through the window at his dying wife. “You can fall apart later. Rosita needs you now. She needs to say goodbye. You need to say goodbye. I’ll be right there if you need me.”

  He straightens up and wipes his tears. Then he takes several deep breaths and walks through the door.

  I go into the room with him and stand over in a corner. They both start speaking in their native tongue, but I don’t need to speak Spanish to know they are saying words of love and comfort and sorrow.

  Raul climbs onto the bed next to her, on the side with the fewest burns, and he cradles her in his arms. I hear their son’s name several times. I hear him sing to her softly. Then, her breathing becomes labored, and the monitors start to beep.

  I quickly shut the monitors down knowing there is no use for them anymore.

  As Rosita struggles to take her last breaths, Raul leans down and kisses her. He kisses her as she passes from this world to the next.

  When her body goes limp, he screams out in pain, burying his head into her chest. I walk over and put a comforting hand on him. There are simply no words.

  I give him a few minutes. He needs this time. I need this time. I’m not even sure I could use my stethoscope with the way my hands are shaking.

  Finally, he pulls himself together and lifts his head. “I need to make some calls,” he says.

  “There is a family lounge down the main hallway. It should be quiet in there.”

  He nods, peeling himself away from his wife. He leans down to give her one last kiss and then he walks out of the room.

  I go to the bedside and listen to her heart. Sandra walks in just as I pronounce Rosita dead. Then I sit in the chair and put my head between my legs.

  “I’ll finish up in here, Dr. Stone.”

  I nod, taking a few deep breaths before heading out to ground zero, where I see that over the past few hours, everything else has been handled. There is nothing left for me to do. Gina sees me from across the room and runs over.

  “Manning’s telling the residents to take a break. Re-group. Even go home if we need to. This was a lot to handle.”

  I turn away from her, walking and then running to the residents’ lounge where I just barely make it to the bathroom before I wretch into the toilet.

  I wipe my face and then use mouthwash to rinse out my mouth. Then I sit down in a chair and breathe.

  Gina comes up behind me. She runs her hands down my chest and then walks around and kneels between my legs. She takes my head in her hands.

  “It was a tough day,” she says, right before kissing me.

  I should want this. This is what we do for each other. This is how we numb the pain. This is how we handle our stress and our grief. So why can’t I kiss her back? Why can’t I do what we’ve always done?

  She pulls back, sensing my hesitation. She stands up and holds out her hand. “Come on, Kyle. Let’s find an on-call room. We both need this after what we’ve seen.”

  I let her pull me up. Her hands in mine don’t feel right anymore. Her fingers are long and slender, her hands a bit dry from all the washing we do, her nails short and bare.

  I find myself needing different hands. Ones that are soft and small. Ones that have pink nails to match a certain pair of pink pajamas.

  “I’m sorry, Gina. I can’t do this anymore.”

  I break her hold on me and walk out the door of the lounge.

  She calls out after me. “Kyle!”

  But I keep walking. I walk to the elevators, but when I see they are all up on top floors, I walk to the stairway. Then I walk up the stairs. Then I run up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I race up to floor seven an
d don’t stop running until I hit the very end of the hallway.

  I barge into her room and shut the door behind me.

  “Kyle. Oh, my God, what’s wrong?” Elizabeth asks.

  I don’t even hesitate before walking over to sit on the edge of her bed. I can’t stop the tears from falling. Painful tears that I held in all afternoon. Sobs bellow out of me as Elizabeth runs a soothing hand down my back.

  Small arms come up to embrace me when I start shaking uncontrollably. “Shhh,” she whispers, her hot breath flowing over my ears. “It’s okay, Kyle. It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”

  She consoles me like this for what . . . minutes? Hours? I lose track of time being in her arms. I lose myself in them. And by the time I come around and realize the colossal inappropriateness of the situation, I know—I know for sure this is the only fucking place I ever want to be.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  It’s been two days since the fire at the factory. Two days of Gina giving me the cold shoulder. Two days of Elizabeth and I not talking about what happened when I broke down in her arms.

  Two days of me trying to figure out my life.

  “You holding up okay?” Ethan asks after dinner.

  My brothers thought I could use a night with family and friends after what happened. And I think the girls are using this as a chance to plan that baby shower Baylor was talking about.

  I nod. “I’m fine.”

  I don’t tell him I haven’t slept since that day. Not well, anyway. Because every time I close my eyes, I see Rosita. I see her burned and broken and trying to be strong so she could say goodbye to her husband. I see her telling me life is too short. I see her showing me just how true that is.

  I hold my twenty-month-old nephew, Eli, on my lap and bounce him around. I take in his fine blonde hair, his chubby cheeks, and his hazel eyes and wonder what Elizabeth’s daughter will look like a year or two from now. Will she have blue eyes like her mother? Some shade of brown hair, perhaps?

  Or will she resemble the bastard who helped make her, but who wasn’t man enough to stick around for the big show?

  The past few sleepless nights, I’ve found myself wondering what life would be like if I brought Elizabeth and the baby home with me. What would my apartment look like with diapers, highchairs, and toys strewn across the floor?

  It’s not something I’ve ever allowed myself to wonder.

  I want kids, yes. But I’m not even twenty-eight years old. Not even a bonafide doctor yet. I have so much more I need to accomplish before I do that.

  Like what? I ask myself.

  Like becoming an attending. Like working in the ER for a few years and then opening my own clinic.

  I stare at the cute kid drooling onto my lap. Who says I can’t do all that and this?

  “Who, indeed,” I hear behind me.

  I whip my head around to see Charlie standing over my shoulder, staring at me while I play with her son.

  “Did I say that out loud?” I ask.

  She laughs and sits down next to me. Eli reaches out for her and crawls onto her lap, yawning at the late hour.

  “It’s okay, Kyle. You went through a very stressful situation. It’s only normal you’d readjust the way you look at the world. But I get the idea you were thinking about doing that even before the fire.”

  I look at her and cock my head. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, come on. I’ve seen the way you look at Elizabeth. I’ve seen the way you touch her, Kyle. I’ve heard the way she talks about you. There is definitely something there if you want it to be.”

  “You’ve been to see her a lot, Charlie. Has she ever said anything about the baby’s father?”

  “No, she hasn’t. I don’t think she’s spoken to any of us about him.”

  “It could be a big issue,” I say.

  “Yes, it could be. Some of us do tend to have those,” she says, with a loving glance over at Ethan. “But you just have to figure out if those issues are worth overcoming.”

  “How can I, if I don’t even know what they are?”

  “Have you tried asking her outright?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “No. She clams up whenever I make any references to her past. She’s got enough on her plate right now. Maybe after the baby comes she’ll be more willing to talk about it.”

  “I’ll bet she will be,” Charlie says. “It’s amazing how having a child can make you want to change your entire world.”

  A bottle of beer gets handed to me. It’s the same craft beer I brought Ethan a few weeks ago. I turn around and raise my eyebrows at him. “You do like it,” I say.

  “It’s his favorite now,” Charlie whispers to me. “But don’t tell him I told you that.”

  She puts Eli down for the night and then the girls get together and plan Elizabeth’s baby shower as the guys gather around the television to watch the sports highlights.

  When the baseball reels come on, I can’t help my smile. When I see the Nighthawks won their game today, I might even shout out.

  “Wait, what?” Griffin says with a sour face. “So now you’re a Hawks fan? Traitor.”

  I toss a bottle cap at him. “How can I be a traitor when I’m not even from Ohio?”

  “What’s wrong with the Hawks?” Mason asks Griffin. “Some of my good buddies are on that team.”

  “What’s wrong with them is that they aren’t the Indians,” Griffin says.

  “Care to make a friendly wager on who wins out at their next meeting?” Mason asks.

  Gavin gets out his wallet. “I want in on this action,” he says. “I’m with Griffin. Put me down for a hundred on Cleveland.”

  “Hell, yeah,” Chad says. “I’m good for a bill on my home team.”

  “Wait.” I put a stop to their schoolyard betting. “You have friends on the Nighthawks?” I ask Mason. “Do you know number eight?”

  “Kessler? Yeah. I’ve met him a couple of times. Had drinks with him a few weeks ago, when he and some of his teammates showed up at a Giants’ benefit. Why?”

  The wheels in my head are spinning. “Is he the kind of guy who would do a favor for a friend?” I ask. “Like a big favor?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “Guess it depends on the favor.”

  “Elizabeth, my pregnant patient in the hospital, loves the Hawks, and him in particular. She’s been stuck on bed rest for weeks and still has a while to go. Do you think—”

  “Dude,” Chad says, interrupting me. “You want to impress your girlfriend by bringing her a baseball star?”

  “Fuck you,” I say, shooting him a death stare. “She’s not my girlfriend, Chad. And if all I wanted to do was impress her, I’d have shown up in her hospital room with your sorry ass.”

  While the guys share a laugh and continue to talk about their moronic bet, Mason pulls me to the side.

  “I’ll give Caden a call,” he says. “How long will she be laid up?”

  “Only until she has to deliver the baby. Could be tomorrow. Could be next week. The sooner he could get there, the better.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he says.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Not a problem,” Mason says, giving me a supportive squeeze of my shoulder. “Sometimes we have to pull out all the stops for the ones we think are worth it.” He looks across the room to his fiancée, Piper.

  I look around at the couples sitting in Charlie and Ethan’s living room, thinking of all the shit they had to go through to get where they are today. My life has been a walk in the park compared to what some of them have endured.

  Then I think of what Elizabeth is going through. What she might have gone through to get here. What I don’t ever want her to have to deal with again. And I know with one hundred percent certainly that she’s worth it.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “Thank you so much for doing this,” I say, shaking Caden’s hand at the entrance to the hospital. “You’ll never know how much this means to me and my
patient.”

  “Happy to do it,” he says. “Especially as a favor to Mason Lawrence. He’s a great guy. He makes all pro athletes look bad with his portfolio of causes and foundations.”

  “Yeah, I’m honored to have him as a friend.” I open the doors and escort him through. “I can’t believe you could do this on such short notice.”

  “Our rain delay turned into a cancellation,” he says, gesturing to the storm outside. “So as luck would have it, my afternoon is free, thanks to mother nature.”

  A few kids horsing around in the atrium see Caden and get all bug-eyed as they run over to us.

  “Mr. Kessler, can I have your autograph?” one asks.

  “Sure, slugger. What can I sign for you?” He points to the kid’s ball cap. “How about this?”

  “Oh, yeah,” the boy says. “That would be sweet. Thanks.”

  Caden scribbles his name on the kid’s hat and then turns to the other one. “How about you? Your shirt, maybe? Unless you think your mom will get mad.”

  The boy, who is maybe twelve years old, looks over at a woman who then nods her head.

  “Looks like Mom’s okay with it,” Caden says, kneeling down to sign the back of his shirt across one shoulder.

  “James is gonna die,” the kid says. “He’ll never believe he missed this.”

  I laugh as the boy tries to see the autograph without having to remove his shirt.

  “Who is James?” Caden asks. “Your friend?”

  “Our brother,” the small one says. “He got sick and is having surgery. App . . . uh, appendus . . .”

  “Appendicitis, stupid,” the older one says.

  Caden looks at them in thought. “Is James a Hawks fan?” he asks.

  “Oh, yes. We all are,” the younger one says.

  Caden takes off his own hat and writes ‘James – get well soon, Caden Kessler #8’ on the bill. He gives it to the smallest boy. “Give this to James when he wakes up, okay?”

  “Wow,” the kid says in awe. “He gets your hat? He’s lucky.”

  They thank Caden and run back to their mom who smiles over at us.

  “Do you get that wherever you go?” I ask him as we walk away, thinking how my brother, Chad, has the same problem.