I never found the mother. Never relayed that message. Instead, I finished out my shift, my thoughts turning to the loneliness of my bed. The life of a trauma surgeon left little time for forming relationships, dating, or finding love. Hell, I hadn’t been laid in years. The closest I came were the dreams of Keith struggling to save a life. I imagined him crouching over me, breathing life into my dead lungs, and kickstarting my frozen heart. I hadn’t felt the excitement of anything beyond the cold words of a medical textbook, or the adrenaline rush of a trauma code, in nearly a decade. I needed more than a fuck. I needed someone else to make the life and death decisions in my world. My life sucked.
CHAPTER 2
I sat in the report room, drinking coffee and wishing it was tequila, and one hell of a lot of it. My report was electronically filed, and I swear I could almost taste the tequila. But I was on duty through the night until 7:00 in the morning. It was always tough with kids. In fifteen years working a 911 truck, I’d seen more carnage and horror than any decent man should be forced to face.
That kid Caleb … shit like that was burning me out. And there was nobody to blame, for Pete’s sake. A careless kid and an oops, and now he was dead. From the medical standpoint, I was glad Dr. Peters was there. She’s the brightest star in one hell of a constellation of doctors here. Fair being fair, she’s also the coldest and bitchiest of them. I’m close with a few of the doctors here, and with many of the nurses, and we can unburden to one another. But whatever humanity the woman has was reserved for her patients and their families. To the staff, she was all business, and zero emotion. I think she’d have been happier if patient care was entirely done by fucking robots. Sometimes, I think I’d be happier that way as well, and should get a job as a bank teller or some shit like that.
My thoughts returned again to Dr. Laura Peters, MD. She had a string of other letters following her name, embroidered in blue against her starched bright-white lab coat, which to me looked like a steaming pot of alphabet soup. She’s an Ice Queen. She’s also drop-dead beautiful, if the truth be known, long and slender, really even elegant. If she showed a bit of humanity, I could even have a crush on her. But that wasn’t going to happen. I’d been through five girlfriends over the past two years. They were a good match in my dungeon and in my bed, but ultimately, four of them said I was simply too cold for them. The other simply couldn’t handle the hours I worked. Working 48-hours on-duty, and then 96-hours off-duty, had good and bad points, but meant I seldom had an entire weekend off work. Who knows, I considered. Maybe I’ve become a robot, but if so, why am I sitting here fighting crying about Caleb and his parents who looked destroyed?
I guess the reverie could’ve lasted all day and into the night, but my walkie-talkie toned, a man-down call at Marson Park. Tom and I trotted to the ambulance, then drove to Marson Park, where we found a wino passed out drunk, reeking of things I didn’t want to consider. Jimmy Fletcher, a frequent flyer who needed to dry out. Again. We ran him to the VA, my third time to transport him in the past year, and God alone knew who else ran him how many times.
I wasn’t hungry, but needed to eat, so we went out of service and found a burger joint near the VA hospital, where I ate a burger and fries, washing it down with a Coke, barely tasting any of it while brooding about poor Caleb. Tom was a good guy, I guess, but he was pretty much a basic EMT driver, eight months out of school, twenty-one or maybe twenty-two years old, green as a gourd … he simply didn’t understand yet. One way or another, I wasn’t fond of him and we certainly hadn’t bonded. But I was patient. What the hell, I had been much the same way when I’d been a greenhorn like him, a total trauma junkie with very little empathy. But I’m older now. Maybe I’m even wiser.
Fortunately, the rest of the night went quietly. There was one COPD patient who called around 10:00 that night and was a routine transport on oxygen and an IV of D5W. The lieutenant asked if I was willing to work to 11:00 AM for comp time, and I declined. Actually, I think my exact words were “fuck off and die,” if I’m going to be brutally honest here. I had four days off and meant to spend them blitzed on booze. I was home at 7:30 and drunk as fuck by 8:30 before I dropped onto my couch to find a movie on HBO. I woke up at noon, hung over and needing to piss. After, I built a ham sandwich, I noted I’d need to hit the grocery store before long.
I ate the sandwich, brooding while I watched TV and slowly sobered up. Already, I knew I’d be drinking myself to sleep. But I had to get the fuck out of my house for a while. It was too lonesome and too depressing. I was still brooding about that poor kid Caleb. And for reasons I couldn’t explain, my thoughts also kept circling to Laura Peters, M.D. and a whole pot of alphabet soup.
At 6:00, I fired up my pickup truck to drive into town. It was an ancient 1980 GMC K-15 that I kept in immaculate condition. It had belonged to my father, who’d died when I was 17. Mom bumped it down to me and I’d kept it ever since. It was a relic. It even had an 8-track stereo system. The original red paint had grown dull, and a hell of a lot of it had flaked away, but I spent a small fortune having it restored into an enviable glittering candy-apple red. I’d even won blue ribbons for it at three antique auto shows held hither and yon.
I drove to Louie’s, a steak place out on Highway 11, and went in, then ordered a huge porterhouse and a pitcher of Budweiser. Like a cop, I sat at a table with my back to the corner, facing the crowd and the door. Life had made me a bit paranoid, I guess. I was surprised to see Dr. Peters alone at a table thirty feet from me, with a bottle of wine before her, eating what looked to be a piece of baked chicken. I pondered saying hello to her, but decided against. I drank my beer and reflected on her beauty as opposed to my feelings about her. I kept circling the fact that I don’t like her and sure the hell didn’t want to socialize with her. My steak dinner arrived and I attacked the 24-ounce Porterhouse. But my eyes remained on Dr. Laura Peters, M.D. and a pot of alphabet soup.
CHAPTER 3
I hated eating alone, but even worse than sitting at a steakhouse with a half empty bottle of wine and gorging on chicken, was heading home to silence. Two choices greeted me there, frosted cereal or the last of the tuna fish I’d made. How many days ago had that been? Hm, I should probably toss it when I got home.
The chicken tasted divine, and I savored every bite. I’d traded out the garlic mashed potatoes for steamed broccoli with a side of ranch. A passerbyer would think I was on a diet, one of those paleo things, but I wasn’t. Grilled chicken and steamed broccoli were kind of my favorites. Comfort foods, they soothed me after coming off a hellacious shift. The steak looked better, and I’d almost ordered it, but I needed a little bit of self-soothing. I went with tried and true.
Finding time to eat during twenty-four hour shifts was a treat I rarely enjoyed. I spent my hours on my feet, saving lives, and running from one catastrophe to the next. My mother always said I had model thin looks, but it wasn’t because I didn’t love food. Maybe that passerby had it down. I was on the don’t-have-time-to-fucking-eat diet. My mother, God rest her soul, had graced me with her beauty, whereas my father had gifted me with a sharp intelligence. These two things both hurt and helped in my life, and I’d developed a reputation over the years. The names whispered behind my back bristled my nerves, but I embraced them. My favorite? Ice Queen. I’d earned that within my first month in the Emergency Department when I’d chewed out a junior nurse for hooking up an IV bag wrong. When she cried, I’d turned my back on her. In the emergency department, there wasn’t time to deal with the emotions of staff. I had more than enough dealing with traumatized patients and family members reeling with shock.
My neck bristled, and I got that feeling I was being watched. A quick glance around and my breath hitched upon seeing him. Master of hotness himself, Keith Evans, occupied a booth at the back of the room. His searing blue eyes drilled into me, and the bastard didn’t even flinch when I caught him staring. His cocky arrogance challenged me to look away, and damn if it didn’t work. Thank God he worked a rig. If
I had to spend my days beside him, I think I’d go insane. It wasn’t because of his ridiculously handsome looks. Although, honestly, no man deserved to look that ruggedly perfect, or smell that good. In our line of work, it wasn’t uncommon to work in very close proximity. I’d go insane because he filled my dreams with lascivious fantasies.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. He affected me on a gut level. Primal urges flared when he was near. I hated him for it, because he was one of the worst offenders when it came to calling me names. Ice Queen my ass! The bastard was still staring at me. Shifting in my seat, I turned away. I hadn’t even acknowledged him, and had probably given him more fodder to use in ridiculing me.
Nobody took a pretty girl seriously, let alone when she was a surgeon. I wasn’t just any surgeon either. Trauma, with its fast pace and accompanying adrenaline rush, drew me from the very first months of residency. Briefly, I’d considered neurosurgery, but I tired of breaking into the old boys club. Not that the same wasn’t true in trauma surgery. It simply wasn’t as pronounced.
My days were spent kicking ass, busting balls, and proving myself over and over again to men exactly like Keith. There wasn’t time during my shifts to stop for idle chit chat. I didn’t hang out at the nurses station like Keith did, flirting with the girls every chance he got. And that man could flirt. He did so relentlessly with every female except me. Didn’t matter their age, from the newest graduates to the most senior nurses, his smile, and those electric eyes, had every heart swooning each time his rig pulled in.
Most of my days were spent with my hair tied up, covered with a surgical bouffant cap, and a mask which covered my face. My looks had no bearing on my skills. I said screw them to those who made fun of me. And screw Keith, too.
You’d think I had it all; beauty, brains, a successful career? I had all three, but what I lacked was the one thing which would soothe my soul. When I went home, there was nobody to talk to about my day. If I weren’t so damn busy, I’d probably have a herd of cats. Who was I kidding? I didn’t have time for pets, let alone a man.
A sip of wine washed down a bite. More wine flowed from the bottle, filling my glass to the rim. Wondering how pathetic I looked, sitting alone, I flicked my eyes toward the back of the room. To him. I hated for Keith to see me like this, to have a peek into how lonely my life was that I came to a restaurant by myself. I wasn’t the only one sitting alone, though. There was only one plate set at his table. One glass. A pitcher of beer. But it seemed different with him. I was alone because there was no one else. Keith had his pick of women. If he wanted company, all he’d have to do would be to snap his fingers. For whatever reason, he chose to be alone, whereas, I was simply alone.
My phone buzzed with a text. A picture followed the kind words. Josie Peterson shared a picture of little Kelly in her hospital bed. I’d made a point of visiting the kid during my last shift. She still had a long road toward healing, but little Kelly was no longer dying from kidney failure. Caleb’s accident had been nothing short of a tragedy, but something good had come out of his death.
I glanced at Keith. He’d been on that call. I wondered if anyone had told him the gift Caleb’s parents had made. In my line of work, I mostly saved lives. In Keith’s? First responders saw the best and worst life had to offer. From deliveries of babies in the field to transporting the dying to emergency departments, he saw it all, except what happened afterward.
I might be an Ice Queen, but that didn’t mean I lacked a heart. Taking another sip of wine, I rose from my seat and headed over to his booth. His hard gaze tracked my every move as I wove between the tables, then his left eyebrow arched in question with my approach.
“Hello,” I said, and stopped there. Small talk wasn’t my thing.
“Good evening,” he said. “Enjoying your meal?” He’d demolished his, some steak, generous in size by the look of the platter set before him.
“I did, thanks.”
Silence stretched between us.
“Can I do something for you?” The low rumble of his voice tunneled under my skin. He had one of those sexy panty-melting drawls.
“Um, y-yes,” I stammered. “I wanted to tell you something.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Do you remember that little boy? The one who fell from the playground equipment.”
His eyes clouded over with pain. “Yeah?”
“Well, I thought you’d like to hear some good news.”
“Ain’t no good news about that one, Doc. The kid died.”
I pulled out my phone and found Kelly’s picture. “See this little girl?”
“Yeah, so?”
God, he could be an ass. This is why I didn’t waste time with chit chat. I’d never learned that social dance. I pressed on, letting the words rush from my mouth, using my Dr. Peters’ voice. It was the only way I could focus around him.
“Caleb’s parents donated his organs. This is Kelly. She received one of his kidneys.”
His eyes widened. “You’re kidding?”
“No, and several other kids now have hope, too. Caleb is a hero.”
“You don’t say.”
Other than exchanging vital signs and medical information on patients, this was the longest conversation we’d ever had.
“Well,” I said, shoving the phone in my back pocket. “That’s it, just thought you might want to know.”
“That was right kind of you, Doc.” He wiped his chin and leaned back in his booth. Half a pitcher of beer remained on the table. “Now, what do you say to bringing over the rest of your wine, and tell me more about it?”
Oh hell, no. No. No. No! There was no way I would do that. But my mouth opened and words spilled out. “That would be nice.”
What the hell had I done?
CHAPTER 4
I wondered if I’d lost my pea-pickin’ mind. I didn’t like her. Frankly, I thought she was the coldest person I’d ever met, to put a point on it. But something … maybe a glimpse into how lonesome she seemed … drew me. I don’t pity her, mind you. Beautiful and successful people are on no account objects of pity. But I think I felt a bit sorry for her, and recognized the unexpected kindness, telling me about Caleb’s organs saving that other little girl, Kelly the cutie, who would now have a life that Caleb’s death had afforded her. I knew enough about myself to know I was maudlin about Caleb, and that, for now, the beer was far less than a good idea. As Dr. Peters went to retrieve her things, I hailed the waitress and asked for iced tea and limes.
Just then, three tables away, a woman yelled as her companion stood, grasping at her throat. On paramedic-autopilot, I dashed over and did the Heimlich on the lady, who coughed out a wad of hamburger and gasped for breath. I got her squared away, then returned to my table when Dr. Peters arrived.
“Thank God you saved her,” she said. “I didn’t want to use this crappy steak knife to do a trach. It wouldn’t have been sterile.” She held up the knife, stained with grease and Heinz 57 sauce, which I had with my steak. The steaks at Louie’s aren’t bad, but can sometimes be a bit dry. “Jesus, it wouldn’t even have been sanitary.”
I gaped at her, for a moment not believing my ears. The Ice Queen cracked a joke! I opened my mouth to say something, then bellowed laughter from deep inside, surprised anew when she tipped me a wink and a sidelong grin.
“Jesus,” I finally gasped.
“I have my moments,” she said, seeming suddenly far more at ease, even approachable.
A wild part of my mind envisioned shaking her and demanding to know what the pod people had done with her. Yeah, ordering the tea was wise. The waitress arrived with the tea, and I drank it down, then asked her to pour out the beer and refill the pitcher with iced tea.
“You don’t like the beer?” Laura asked.
“Actually, I do, and it’s heartbreaking to have her pour it out, even tragic, but I know when it’s a bad time to be drinking beer, and a run like that one yesterday … well, one pitcher is too many and two pitchers are
n’t nearly enough,” I returned. “You want the truth, this job … I’ve been at it too long to save my soul, and too long to turn back from it. Fifteen years in, civil service, I get to pull the pin and retire in five more years. That’s not as good as it sounds. The pension is a nice supplement, but maybe I can drive a taxi or dig ditches, something with far less stress. Part of me loves this job, but the part that hates it grows bigger with every shift.” I grimaced at a flare of pain in my back, one that happened after a fright or excitement.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, things like that out-of-the-blue Heimlich surprises … they result a bit later in back pain,” I said.
“It’s your adrenal glands going nuts, or the aftermath of it,” Dr. Peters said. “That happened a lot to me when I was an intern working ER.”
“It’s only happened to me on the streets maybe three or four times, once when some clown started spraying bullets at a dead-on-scene call,” I remarked. “His momma was terminal and at room temperature when we got there, but he was in a fury of denial. Fired six shots and didn’t hit either of us. He was trying to reload when my partner rearranged his teeth with a flashlight. Sucked that we had to treat him. He got off charges on a psych.”
“I used to believe in that sort of thing, not guilty by reason of insanity, but not so much anymore,” Dr. Peters said. “I mean, I get the idea and yeah, the crazy made them do it, but one way or another, they did it. I guess it’s like a dog that bites someone, even only once. You can never trust that dog again, not really.”
“Yeah, you were on that day and damn near got to plug my wounds,” I said. “That would’ve been a horrible date, right? You rooting around in my chest to dig out a bullet?”
“I’d have done it, but no, none of that really howls out wine and roses, I guess,” Dr. Peters said.
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