Heart Surgeon's Second Chance

by Allie Kincheloe

  “Until they can get him upstairs and into an OR.” He returned the favor and finished her sentence.

  A nurse held a clamp out to him and he took it. He nearly had to lay his head on Rhiann’s shoulder in order to get close enough to get visibility and a good angle on the artery. He clamped it just above her hand.

  “Clamp one is in.”

  He held his hand out for another clamp. Once the metal instrument was in his palm, he moved closer.

  “I’m going beneath your hand now, Rhiann. I’m have to get in real close to be able to see.” He bent down, his head wedged beneath her arm as he tried to see in the shadows.

  “Can I get some more light?”

  Someone angled one of the moveable overhead lamps.

  “Thanks,” he murmured.

  His face was close enough to Rhiann’s side that he could feel her breathing, her inhaled breaths bringing her uniform shirt into contact with his cheek. With the back of his wrist he nudged her arm, and she responded by moving it up slightly. It was just enough that he could get the clamp onto the artery, below where her fingers were pinched.

  “Okay, I think you can let go now.”

  Rhiann eased her hand away from the open wound, and when the artery didn’t spray blood the nurses in the room began to clap.

  “That was amazing. It’s like the two of you were sharing a brain,” Dixon commented.

  Patrick helped Rhiann off the gurney. As soon as she was clear the teenager was rolled out of the room, rushed straight for the OR, where surgeons would fix what Patrick and Rhiann had only temporarily patched.

  Rhiann was flexing and relaxing her stiff hand. She turned away, taking her gloves off and dropping them into the bin.

  He followed suit before spontaneously grabbing her hand. He massaged it to help loosen the stiffness. “How long were you holding that kid’s life in your hands?”

  “About five minutes?” She shrugged, sighing when his fingers touched a particularly sensitive spot in her sore hand. “I’m not sure of any details right now except that your fingers are magic.”

  He ignored her words and focused on getting the last bit of tension out of her hand. “You saved that boy’s life,” he told her.

  And she had. Her quick thinking in grabbing that artery with her hands had been the only thing standing between that kid and meeting his maker. Because of her this boy would leave the hospital—and not in a body bag.

  “You helped.” She grinned up at him, her eyes bright and full of accomplishment. “I thought my hand was about to fall off before you got that artery clamped.”

  Abbott slapped Patrick on the back. “Man, it was good to see the two of you working together again. As morbid as this sounds, I miss the days of you two being in my ER regularly, and seeing you work like a precisely calibrated machine to save a kid’s life.”

  As Abbott’s words sank in the fun of the save faded and Patrick remembered exactly why they didn’t work together anymore. The recollection of why everything had changed flooded his mind. His chest tightened at the onslaught of painful memories.

  He dropped Rhiann’s hand as if she’d burned him and stepped away He glared at Abbott, who flinched under the scrutiny. “Those days are long past and you’d do well to forget them.”

  He left the trauma bay, hands fisted at his side, anger with himself tightening his muscles. He’d let himself get caught up in the adrenaline rush that a trauma could bring. Let himself enjoy the camaraderie and familiarity of working side by side with Rhiann again and let himself trust her every move.

  But he couldn’t trust her.

  How could he have forgotten that?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Patrick

  PATRICK AND CLAY were following a nurse’s instructions to the staff lounge on the main floor at County. He hadn’t spent enough time at this hospital to know his way around, despite having had surgical privileges there for years.

  “Man, I hope there’s some coffee in this place.” Clay fidgeted with the strap of his bag and yawned loudly. “I’m getting too old for these early mornings.”

  Patrick raised a brow at his partner. “You aren’t old yet. And it’s not early—in fact, it’s almost noon.”

  Clay grinned at him. “I didn’t get home until after midnight, and when I was in bed I wasn’t asleep for some time. I need coffee, but I’m not turning into a pumpkin just yet.”

  Rolling his eyes, Patrick pushed open the door marked Employees Only. “You go from Cinderella to the Wicked Witch when you haven’t got enough sleep.”

  “My preferred comparison is Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, thank you very much.”

  Patrick walked into the small room and set his bag on a table along one side. “Oh, good—there’s coffee.”

  A feminine voice from the corner stopped him just as his hand closed on the handle. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  He released the pot and spun around, because he knew that voice.

  “Rhiann!” Clay had already stepped forward and was greeting Rhiann like an old friend. “I haven’t seen you in so long. How are you?”

  “Hi, Clay.” She accepted Clay’s outstretched hands and held them for a moment before looking in Patrick’s direction. “I’m doing okay.”

  “How’s Levi?” Patrick asked.

  “We had the EKG this morning. They said they’d send his results over to you as soon as they’re ready.”

  He nodded. “Okay...good.”

  “Who’s Levi?” Clay asked, looking between Patrick and Rhiann.

  “My son. He has something going on with his heart.”

  Her eyes met Patrick’s and the certainty he saw there was humbling.

  “But if anyone can fix him it’s Patrick.”

  Parents came to him because of his reputation. They brought their babies to him because his record spoke for him. He got results. He saved more children than he lost. They trusted his medical skills even though they’d never met him.

  This was different.

  Rhiann trusted him. Not the world-renowned doctor with awards and plaques hanging on the walls of his state-of-the-art office. She didn’t know or care about the number of articles he’d published in prestigious medical journals or his presentations at top conferences.

  No. She trusted Patrick the man.

  Despite barely speaking to him for three years, she still trusted him. And that realization brought a lump to his throat that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

  “What are you doing here?” Clay asked, pulling Patrick away from his introspection as Rhiann broke eye contact.

  “We’re on the clock. Waiting on a transfer. The floor doesn’t have her ready for us yet, so we thought we’d grab a coffee while we waited.”

  She waved a hand down at herself. The dark uniform suited her. Her hair was up in a professional-looking twist that left her neck bare...perfect for kissing.

  He inhaled sharply. Where had that thought come from?

  The older man in the corner cleared his throat. “You might have to grab a gurney and push me down to the ED after this.” He held up a plastic cup filled with dark liquid. “That coffee’s done put hair on my chest. I’m not sure how it hasn’t eaten through this cup yet, but I’m pretty darn sure it’s made its way through my esophagus.”

  The man wore a uniform that matched Rhiann’s. He reclined back, legs outstretched, and faked a moan. “It’s killed me, I tell you.”

  Rhiann rolled her eyes and snorted. “And that’s my partner, Charlie. If there’s drama to be found, Charlie’s in it up to his ankles.”

  “Hey!” Charlie protested.

  “Fine—up to his knees.” She smiled indulgently at Charlie, her affection for the older man shining brightly in her eyes.

  “Better,” Charlie agreed, nodding his head in her direction before throwing the rest o
f the coffee back like it was a shot. “Gah! Who needs whiskey when you have County coffee? It burns all the same going down.”

  “Don’t worry, old man, I have your antacids out in the rig.” Rhiann laughed at her partner’s antics. Then she turned to Patrick with a smile on her face. “See why I warned you off that stuff?”

  “Is there anywhere close where we can get some decent coffee?” Patrick jerked his head toward Clay. “That guy might implode if I don’t get some caffeine in him soon.”

  Rhiann shook her head sadly. “Not in this hospital.”

  “Close by?”

  She pursed her lips in disgust. “Not for miles. They like it strong enough that the spoon bends around here. Charlie still tries to drink it, but I’ve learned my lesson. I think it’s probably too strong for your tastes too. But you might try the nurses’ station up by the trauma ICU. They’ve been known to make a fresh pot for Charlie when he flirts a little. They might even wash the pot for you two.”

  Clay winked at her. “Thanks, doll. I always did like you. I’m gonna go see if I can sweet-talk a nurse into a coffee.” He slapped Patrick on the shoulder. “I’ve got my cell—call me when they’re ready for us.”

  “What are you guys doing all the way out here at County, anyway?” Rhiann asked. “Metro Memorial is your stomping ground.”

  Patrick shrugged. He leaned a hip against the counter. “Usually. But they don’t have a pediatric cardiologist who has done a heart transplant on staff here at the moment, and I still have privileges, so when they needed a procurement team they gave me a call.”

  Her eyes teared up. “Someone’s losing their kid today?”

  “Several more are having their kids saved today.”

  He always tried to focus on the positives, because that was the only way he could get through the day when he had to do a transplant surgery. He focused on how many people each donor had saved, because otherwise he had to remember the pain that came with being a donor’s family. Knowing that Mallory’s last act on earth had been to give life to others had been the only thing that had got him through when he’d lost her.

  “How many?” She grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.

  He’d always loved her eyes, the bright green of new spring grass, and the tears in them now made the color even more vivid.

  “I’m not sure.” He thought back to all that he’d been told in the phone call. “I don’t remember. I know the heart is going to a seven-year-old in Ohio. And the lungs to a nine-year-old in Pennsylvania.”

  “Small comfort, I suppose.”

  She smiled at him, but the sadness radiating from her eyes penetrated deep into his soul. She looked as if the world had just collapsed on her and she couldn’t hold it up any longer.

  Rhiann had always been so strong, but there was an air of fragility to her now.

  He pushed away from the counter and laid a hand on her shoulder, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the frailness in her frame. “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  Charlie’s radio crackled behind them, alerting them that their patient was now ready for transport.

  “We need to go, Rhiann.”

  Patrick wanted to say more, but he didn’t know where to begin or how to condense it down into a moment or two. His mouth opened and closed with no sound while Rhiann gazed up at him. Those big green eyes had been rendering him stupid for years, and it seemed they hadn’t lost their power over him.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  She gave him a quick hug and was gone again before he could return the gesture. Her arms around him had stunned him, and he couldn’t process the feel of her softness pressed against him before she’d moved away and the entire moment was gone.

  Clay came back in as Rhiann and Charlie rushed out.

  “I come bearing gifts.” He held out a cup of steaming coffee. “Rhiann was right—the nurses up there are incredibly friendly. I walked away with coffee for us both and three phone numbers.”

  Patrick took the coffee and sank down into a chair with a sigh.

  “Wanna talk about that hug I just saw?” asked Clay.

  He shook his head. There was no way he could talk about what he himself was struggling to understand. Having Rhiann’s arms around him had him so mixed up it was like he had been thrown in a blender. How could he want to hug someone he had sworn to hate?

  “No? How do you feel about Rhiann reappearing in your life?”

  Patrick lowered his eyes to the coffee in his hand. “I don’t want to talk about that either,” he growled out.

  “You haven’t seen her in a long time. You have to be feeling something about her showing up after so long. She was your best friend for half your life.” He paused. “Still don’t wanna talk? Okay, I’ll talk. You listen.”

  Clay moved a chair until he was sitting directly in front of Patrick.

  “Your best friend there still wants to be a part of your life. You need to pull your head out of your nether regions long enough so that you can see that.”

  He took a sip of his coffee and stared at Patrick until the urge to squirm was almost more than he could bear. Clay had a gift for making anyone feel like a child with a simple raised brow.

  “I can’t trust her. She let—”

  “I know what you think she did, and I still maintain that you’re wrong—because Rhiann is a walking heart. She cares too much about everyone she meets. I know she would have done everything possible, even if you are too stubborn to see that.” Clay plowed over Patrick’s objections like an unsubtle bulldozer. “What if Rhiann has come back into your life for a reason?”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m saying outright that you need to forgive her. And you need to forgive yourself for not being there when Mallory and Everly died. You couldn’t have saved them, and you need to accept that Rhiann couldn’t either.”

  “I didn’t ask for your advice.” Patrick stood up, intending to put some space between himself and his annoying partner.

  Clay rose to his feet and blocked the only exit. “And yet I’m still offering it—and it’s because you need to hear it. These last three years you’ve been grieving, and I gave you space to do that. But all this negativity is eating you alive, man. You have to stop just existing and move forward with your life. Do you think Mallory would be happy about how you’ve been living? About you being alone and shutting everyone out?”

  “Clay—”

  “Mallory would be heartbroken at the thought of you freezing out your best friend over her. She knew how much Rhiann meant to you.” Clay got one more stab in. “I’m surprised that you’ve forgotten.”

  “Shut up, Clay.”

  But Clay continued, “I think that woman holds the key to your future happiness in the palm of her tiny little hand, and I think you are too smart to lose her twice.”

  Patrick’s phone buzzed with the notification that their patient was ready for them. He glared at his partner and changed the subject. “We need to go scrub.”

  Clay tossed his cup into the trash and gave Patrick a somber look. “Once again, saved by the bell. One day you won’t be so lucky. You’ll have to face your past and learn to forgive.”

  Rhiann

  Rhiann could tell by the number of glances that her partner kept sneaking in her direction that he had something to say. The older man was not known for subtlety, but he’d wait until they had a modicum of privacy before he unleashed his opinion on her.

  Thankfully they had a patient who was not only awake, but chatty, so that should buy her a little time while she tried to figure out just what had happened in that break room with Patrick.

  They were transporting an elderly woman back to her assisted living facility after a short hospital stay.

  “Tell me something good,” the lady said, reaching out to pat Rhiann’s
arm with her age-spotted hand. “I’ve got to go back to the home with all those old biddies who have nothing better to do than compare whose health is worse.”

  “I don’t know much that’s good right now. I’m not the one to ask.” Rhiann laughed a wry, humorless laugh. “I can switch spots with Charlie and you can do a little flirting, though?”

  “You’ll do no such thing. I remember Charlie when he was hiding behind his mama’s skirts. I can no sooner flirt with that child than I can run a marathon.” She clucked her disapproval. “What kind of woman do you take me for? I’m no cradle-robber.”

  Rhiann met Charlie’s gaze in the mirror, smiling at the hint of red she saw tingeing his cheeks. “Oh, really? Maybe you’re the one who needs to tell me something good, then. You have any dirt on my partner that I might use to my advantage?”

  “You could tell her about that pair of doctors you were getting friendly with while we waited on her to get ready,” Charlie said loudly. “I’m sure she would rather hear about two handsome single doctors who got a little handsy with you in the break room than tell a story about me when I was a snot-nosed brat.”

  “Oh, yes? Are you being courted by two doctors?” Their patient’s furrowed face lit with excitement. “Do tell me. I love a good romance.”

  Rhiann sighed, not wanting to disappoint the old woman. “There is no romance.”

  “You only say that because you didn’t see the look in that man’s eyes when he thought you weren’t watching.” Charlie snorted. “If I could show you what I saw...”

  A wrinkly hand waved, urging Rhiann to spill her story. “If you don’t tell me I’ll get Charlie to—and, while I know his version will be quite entertaining, it will only contain a hint of the truth.”

  Rhiann pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. But there is no romance.”

  “Let me be the judge.”

  “The abbreviated version is that the two doctors are old friends of mine—Patrick and Clay. I met Patrick in high school, where we became best friends from day one. He went off to med school while I stayed here locally, and when he came back it was with a wife and Clay. We were all friends for some time, and then something tragic happened. Patrick’s wife and daughter...” She trailed off, unable to finish that part of the story. She wrapped up her tale in a no-nonsense, definitive tone. “Now we aren’t friends anymore. See, I told you—no romance.”