InHisHeroesShadow

by Hecht, Stephani

  Her caregiver met them at the door. She’d been with Mrs. Roberts for years so she recognized Kiefer and Brody immediately.

  “Thank God it’s you boys. While I love the other crews, too, she really loves you two the best.”

  “How is she doing today?” Brody asked as they struggled to get the cot through the front door.

  After a couple of jiggles, they managed to get it inside her tiny, cramped living room. The normal furniture had been pushed aside to make room for a hospital bed, which included various other pieces of medical equipment.

  The caregiver shook her head. “Not well at all. I’ve had to give her numerous breathing treatments and her sugar has been low.”

  “How low?” Brody demanded, alarmed.

  It was bad enough that her COPD was acting up. The last thing they needed was for her to go into diabetic shock on top of it. He exchanged concerned looks with Kiefer.

  “It’s so low, the meter won’t even read it,” the caregiver confessed.

  He glanced down at his patient, his gut clenching when he noticed the glassy expression in her light blue eyes. Reaching out, he touched her paper-thin skin, wincing as he noted how cold and clammy it felt.

  Brody quickly started an IV, using some of the blood to test the levels on his own machine. When all he got was a blinking Low light, too, his heart raced. Shit, not good at all.

  He and Kiefer began to work in perfect sync, getting a line started, the patient hooked up to the monitor and some oxygen started. Brody pushed some glucose through the IV, but it didn’t seem to help. If anything, Mrs. Roberts appeared paler.

  “Let’s get moving,” Kiefer said as he began to stuff their supplies back into the jump bag.

  Brody nodded his agreement as he tried to calculate how long it would take them to get to the ER. He guessed it would be around five minutes, but that was still too long for his comfort.

  They put her onto the cot and wheeled her out of the overcrowded home. Once they reached the rig, Kiefer nodded to open the rear doors. “Here, let me drive. If she wakes up it may do her some good to see you.”

  Brody helped load in the cot before hopping into the ambulance. Kiefer shut the doors and made his way over to the driver’s seat.

  As the rig began to back out, Brody took another set of vitals, his heart sinking as he noted her breathing rate had dropped to nearly nothing.

  He grabbed a rescue breather and assisted with ventilations, all the while keeping a wary eye on the heart monitor. While he hated to admit it, even to himself, they would be lucky if Mrs. Roberts didn’t go into full arrest before they got her to the hospital.

  As the ambulance rushed down the road, the lights and sirens going, Brody spoke soothing, encouraging words to his patient. He didn’t even know for certain if she could hear them or not, but he knew he had to at least make the effort.

  When the familiar site of St. Anthony’s came into view, Brody was so relieved, he would have wept if he’d been the kind to give into tears. Giving the bag another squeeze, he murmured, “Hold on, sweetie. We’re almost there.”

  Kiefer pulled into the bay and raced around to the back of the rig. As he opened the rear doors, the heart monitor let out a long beep.

  “No,” Brody cried in protest.

  He turned to look at the screen even though he knew he wouldn’t like what he saw. When he spotted the straight line, his heart sank even lower. He began to do compressions as a handful of the ER staff rushed out to help.

  It wasn’t easy to do CPR while crawling from the back of the rig, but Brody managed. Once they got out, Brody braced his feet on the bottom rail of the cot so he could continue compressions while they wheeled in the patient.

  Kiefer began to rattle off the report, which was a good thing since Brody was already feeling winded. Running a full arrest was always a workout no matter how fit the EMS person may be. Sweat began to trickle down his back as a burning sensation built up in his arms and his shoulders screamed for relief.

  “Come on, you can beat this,” he urged the patient, his words coming out in gasps.

  They wheeled the cot into the largest trauma room since it had the most space to hold all the staff. Then the hospital personnel began to assist in the code. As always, a full arrest was equal combinations of a highly orchestrated dance and fucked up chaos.

  Mrs. Roberts’ clothes were cut away as X-rays were shot, additional IVs started, defibrillation pads put in place, an intubation tube inserted and more drugs were pushed.

  The entire time, Brody continued with the compressions. Not only did he not want to leave Mrs. Roberts’ side, but none of the staff moved forward to relieve him. A lot of them saw a medic as nothing more than trained muscles. Usually that sort of assessment annoyed Brody, but at that moment he was too upset about losing his patient to care.

  After what seemed like forever, yet not long enough, the lead doctor glanced at the clock. “How long have we been working this?”

  “Forty minutes,” a nurse replied.

  As soon as he heard that, Brody knew it was over. He continued CPR even though he knew it was an exercise in futility. All other activity in the room ceased as the rest of the medical personnel waited to hear the doctor’s order.

  Letting out a sigh, the doctor said, “Okay, people. Let’s call this. Time is nineteen thirty-five.”

  Brody pulled his hands back, but didn’t step away as he gazed down at what had been his favorite patient. She didn’t even look like herself anymore. All the procedures had given her face a bloated appearance. The tape holding the endotracheal tube in place further marred her features.

  Yet, some things remained the same. Her nails were still polished and impeccably filed. Her graying hair was still pulled into a French twist. Most bittersweet of all—she still wore her wedding ring…the one that she’d once confided had never left her finger since the day she married.

  Kiefer came up behind Brody and put a hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing else we could have done for her.”

  Brody shook his head, his gaze still resting on Mrs. Roberts. “I should have anticipated her respirations would have dropped that quickly. If I had, then maybe I would have been more prepared for the full arrest.”

  “You followed protocol and did everything right. We’re medics, not psychics.”

  God, how Brody wanted to believe that. He really, really did. Yet some part of him still couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he could have done things better. Maybe if he’d made wiser choices in his treatment she would still be alive.

  Kiefer gave Brody’s shoulder a gentle tug. “Come on. We need to write our report and clean the rig.”

  “Who will take care of her?”

  It was a stupid question. Brody knew full well the hospital’s procedures for preparing the deceased. It just didn’t sit right with him to leave her. After all, she had requested him. So shouldn’t he see her through to the end?

  “It’s okay, they’ll make sure she’s treated right,” Kiefer urged.

  This time when Kiefer tugged, Brody allowed his partner to pull him away. He gave one last regretful glance to his patient before he peeled off his examination gloves, tossed them in the garbage and then followed Kiefer back to the EMS room.

  As they walked in, Brody’s attention drifted to the table and the now empty chair that Chauncey sat in earlier. He wondered if the more experienced trauma nurse would have failed Mrs. Roberts.

  Brody sank in the chair. His body felt numb as his brain tried hard to process all the emotions swirling through him. Anger, hurt, disappointment, plus the normal adrenaline crash that always followed a full arrest vied for center stage in his mind.

  “Somebody needs to tell her husband,” Brody finally said.

  Kiefer poured him a cup of coffee and brought it over. “I’m sure somebody will go over to his nursing home to inform him.”

  Not that Mr. Roberts would remember the conversation. One of the reasons he had been moved from his own home was bec
ause he was in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s.

  “She got her wish.” Brody took a sip, barely registering the slightly bitter taste.

  “What was that?”

  “She didn’t want to live longer than her husband.” Brody gave a sad chuckle. “She told me that she didn’t know how to survive without him.”

  “I guess that makes sense. Ray and I have only been together for a little while and I know I’d be lost if anything were to happen to him.”

  A pang of hurt sliced through Brody. Yeah, he knew from personal experience what losing a loved one could do to somebody. He’d seen it bring out the worst and the best in people.

  “And yet, Chauncey seems to think that we all should have somebody special in our lives,” Brody snorted. “He doesn’t realize how much it hurts to be left behind.”

  Kiefer’s gaze softened. “He doesn’t know about what happened to your family. Maybe you should tell him.”

  “Why? With as much as he hates me, the last thing he would want is to have to hear about my life.”

  “I know he can be mean sometimes, but so can you. Have you even once had a civil conversation with him?”

  Brody fiddled with the lip of his cup. “Not unless it concerns you.”

  “Why don’t you try to be nice to him? I know my cousin. He would be very open if you just give him the chance.”

  “I’m sure he’s just dying to go slumming with me.”

  “Has Chauncey ever once held it over your head that he has more money than you?”

  After mulling that over for a moment, Brody had to admit that Chauncey had never been guilty of at least that crime. “No, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t thinking it. Besides, I’ve seen the guys he picks up at bars. He always goes for the big, smooth, rich types. I’ve never seen him hook up with somebody like me.”

  Kiefer narrowed his eyes. “Who ever said anything about you guys getting together that way? I was just pointing out that you two should be more civil to each other.”

  Heat came over Brody’s face as he realized just how revealing his little slip-up was. He opened and closed his mouth a few times as panic made him stupid. “I…what I mean is…I was just pointing out what type of people Chauncey likes to hang out with. If he’s only friendly with his hookups, that’s not my fault.”

  “Of course not.” The corners of Kiefer’s mouth twitched.

  “In fact, that’s kind of slutty behavior on his part. You may want to talk to him about that.”

  “Funny, and here everybody thought you were the slut.”

  Had that comment come from anybody other than Kiefer, Brody would have been insulted. Although, to be perfectly honest, up until a year ago, it’d been damn accurate. While not proud of the fact, Brody had never been able to say no to any request if it came from a sexy, hot bodied guy.

  Then Chauncey had to go and ruin that too, damn him. Now, whenever Brody saw another guy, instead of checking the man out, all Brody could do was compare him to Chauncey. Every time the other guy came out on the loser end.

  “You do have a point about my sluttiness. Chauncey makes sure to always bring that topic up, too.” Brody pasted on his best saucy grin. “Besides, what’s wrong with a little variety in life? Not all of us want to find our happily-ever-after and settle down like you.”

  Kiefer grew pensive. “I worry about you sometimes.”

  “I can take care of myself. I’ve been pretty much doing it for ten years now.”

  “News flash! When you say stuff like that, it only makes me worry more.”

  Brody finished his coffee and tossed the cup into the garbage. “You needn’t concern yourself at all. I’m perfectly happy with the way my life is.”

  He quickly got up and left the room before Kiefer could figure out that Brody just told him the biggest lie ever. Because Brody knew deep down that he’d never been more miserable. Things were only going to get worse, too. Because it was only a few weeks until Brody had to remember the worst moment of his life, September 11th, the day his father died and Brody’s family was forever shattered.

  Chapter Three

  God, what in the hell possessed me to come here tonight? Chauncey scanned the inside of the bar.

  It’d been several months since he’d last visited this particular establishment because whenever he’d wanted to go to a gay bar this was always the last place on his list. Not only was it smaller than all the others, but it looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in the past decade.

  The floors were so filthy and crusted over that nobody could decipher the original color of the tiles. The walls were equally filthy—the yellowed, peeling wallpaper and dented wood paneling looking as if it hadn’t seen the business end of a cloth in ages.

  Several tables dotted the cramped space. Most of the chairs were mismatched and broken. A large dance floor took up the front of the building. Save for one couple, who were slow dancing, it was empty.

  “Again, why in the hell am I here?” Chauncey grumbled under his breath.

  Oh yeah—because of Brody. Now it seemed as if the brat was fucking with Chauncey’s personal life instead of just his professional one. This particular incident was proof enough.

  It all started off innocently enough. Just a simple call coming into his cell phone. By the time said call had finished though, Chauncey had been pissed and certain that his night would be a wash.

  Chauncey swept his gaze over the place, looking for the brat. When he finally spotted the medic sitting at the bar, Chauncey let out a huff of aggravation. Just as the caller had promised, Brody wore a devastated expression as he nursed a drink. Which confused and annoyed Chauncey all the more since Brody shouldn’t legally be drinking for another year.

  Chauncey made his way to Brody. Along the way, Chauncey had to elbow past a few guys who were eyeing up the medic like he was a chum-sicle and they were Great Whites.

  As he studied Brody, Chauncey noted the man wasn’t dressed up for a night on the town. True, they were in a dive, but he’d never known Brody to step out unless he was dressed to the nines and his hair was styled perfectly. Now, however, he wore a pair of baggy jeans and a loose fitting, bright red, FDNY tee shirt. The front of his hair drooped over his eyes and he seemed oblivious to all the attention he was receiving.

  “Hey,” Chauncey said as he sank down on the stool next to Brody.

  Brody glanced up. While he had a few empty glasses in front of him, his eyes seemed bright and alert enough. “What are you doing here? I would think that somebody like you wouldn’t be caught dead in a dump like this.”

  “Tanner called me.”

  A smirk crossed over Brody’s lips. “Is he still pissed because I told him to fuck off when he tried to get me to leave here an hour ago?”

  “No, he’s worried about you.”

  Brody spun his glass in a tiny, neat circle. “There’s nothing to be concerned about.”

  Chauncey pointedly looked at the empties. “Are you sure about that?”

  A spark of anger went through Brody’s eyes. “Yes, I just had a shitty day at work and wanted to unwind. It was just a few drinks, nothing more. I’m not one of those weak types who drown their troubles in booze.”

  The venom in Brody’s voice took Chauncey aback. Though they snipped at each other all the time, Brody never spoke with such disgust in his tone. Chauncey held up a hand. “Okay, got it. Sorry if I insulted you, Skippy.”

  Brody tipped his head to the side as he gave Chauncey a speculative glance. “Since when were you ever sorry about that? You live to cut me down.”

  Chauncey almost snapped that the insults went both ways, but clamped his lips shut. Brody wasn’t likely to listen to reason on most days so he sure as hell wouldn’t be amicable when he was down.

  Brody took another sip of his drink, a slight shiver going through his small body. “So what was Tanner doing here anyway? He’s almost as uptight as you are so this bar really isn’t his scene either.”

  Chauncey tilted his head
into the direction of the bartender. “Colton is his brother.”

  A flicker of surprise passed Brody’s face as he blinked at the worker. “Really? Who would have thought that somebody as dull as Tanner could be related to a sex god like that?”

  A flare of jealousy slammed into Chauncey. It was so unexpected and strong that it took him a few seconds to realize that the one he was feeling possessive over was Brody. Which was crazy. They hated each other so why in hell should it hurt so much to think of the man being with somebody else.

  Brody gave a wicked chuckle. “Did you know that Colton has a ten-inch dick?”

  Okay, now there was no denying it—Chauncey was jealous as hell. He curled his hands into tight fists as he fought to keep his expression impassive. “Is that so?”

  After giving a small shrug, Brody replied, “At least that’s what I heard. You know how rumors can be though.”

  “So you’ve never seen it for yourself?”

  “No.” Brody gave the top of the bar a small scowl. “Just because I get around a bit, doesn’t mean I’ve slept with everybody.”

  “Just ninety-nine percent of them.” As soon as he saw the hurt in Brody’s eyes, Chauncey wanted to take the comment back.

  Brody said something in return, but it got lost in the dull roar of the bar.

  Chauncey leaned in closer. “What was that?”

  “I’m not a slut. At least, not so much anymore. In fact, I haven’t slept with anybody in almost a year.”

  Chauncey couldn’t have been more surprised had Paris Hilton announced that she was joining a convent. “Are you bullshitting me?”

  Brody shook his head, a blush coming over his cheeks. “I’ll admit that I used to play around a lot, but I’ve been trying to be better.”

  “Why?”

  For a second, it looked as if Brody were going to answer that. He even opened his mouth to speak, but in the end, just shook his head again and kept silent. Chauncey almost pushed the issue, but decided to let it go. If Brody wanted to keep it a secret, why begrudge him that right?