All of Me

by Emily Smith

  She hardly knew Galen, and here she was, in her apartment while Galen lay on the couch at her most vulnerable, in her pajamas, managing to look helpless yet incredibly sexy. The scene was incredibly intimate yet seemed absolutely normal. Rowan was disturbed beyond belief.

  “I managed to find a few things,” she finally said, setting the tray down on the table in front of Galen.

  “You’re a real lifesaver, you know that? I don’t know how I’d survive this without you.”

  Rowan took a seat next to her but purposely left a foot or two of space between them, “I didn’t realize you had such a flair for the dramatic.”

  “Oh, I do. I started a fire in hopes of enticing you to stay a while longer. There aren’t many working fireplaces in Boston, you know.”

  “We had four in my house growing up,” Rowan said, teasing her. “I’m unimpressed.”

  “You will be. Just wait.”

  * * *

  When Galen opened her eyes again, the television had kicked into sleep mode, and the last burning embers of the fire glowed a faint orange. She sat up, rubbing the bleariness from her eyes. Her fever had broken, and her stomach was no longer threatening to eject itself from her body. Rowan lay stretched out beside her, her head just a few inches from Galen’s lap. Waking up to find a woman had spent the night usually sent her into a fit of panic. But Rowan’s soft breathing cloaked her in a comfort she had rarely experienced in her life.

  It reminded her of when she’d had chicken pox as a child. Her mother had stayed up with her all night watching Winnie the Pooh while Galen scratched and squirmed through the illness. When she awoke, her mother was sleeping next to her on the couch. Galen’s father made her feel strong and capable and important. But he never made her feel safe. He never made her feel cared for. And her mother was usually so busy trying to please her father, she didn’t have many opportunities to either. So she allowed herself just a moment to revel in the security of the scene around her.

  Galen had seriously contemplated waking Rowan. But it was two forty-five am, and she couldn’t find much merit in that. After all, they both had to be back at the hospital in a few hours. Instead, she covered Rowan in one of the extra blankets and curled back up on the couch beside her, fighting the urge to run her fingers through Rowan’s stray hairs that splayed across the pillow.

  * * *

  It was still dark when Rowan opened her eyes, which wasn’t altogether unusual, except that she had absolutely no idea where she was. A hand was gently rocking her awake, which only added to her disorientation.

  “Hey, I’m sorry…but we should get to work…”

  Holy shit, she was at Galen’s house. Holy fucking shit, she’d slept there?

  “I…how?” The fog started to clear, and the evening came back to her. The last thing she remembered was watching this obnoxious couple on the television arguing about hardwood versus laminate.

  “You fell asleep. We both did, actually. I would have woken you up, but you looked so comfortable.”

  “I appreciate that.” And Rowan supposed she did, although she was utterly unnerved waking up next to Galen. She could only imagine what she looked like—her makeup smeared all over her face and her hair snarled. Oh, God. Did she snore? What if she snored? She shook her head, silently kicking herself for sounding like a teenage girl.

  “You can use the shower first if you want. I’ll get you some of my scrubs. They might be a little big, but they’ll work.”

  Rowan felt herself blush fiercely as she remembered ogling Galen’s arms earlier that evening. “Thanks.”

  Several minutes later, Rowan stepped out of the beautiful marble shower, her head finally clearing.

  “Here. Double espresso.” Galen was standing in the kitchen in a light blue, striped, button-down shirt that brought out the Caribbean-ocean hues of her eyes and a pair of dark slacks and boots. She handed Rowan a tiny, red coffee cup and smiled.

  “Thank you.”

  “I usually make one before I leave in the morning. They go down much quicker than coffee.”

  “You’ve really perfected the art of caffeinating. No scrubs today?” Rowan hoped she’d managed to make her voice sound casual enough. But Galen looked good. Damn good.

  “Today is the first of the month, which means I get to speak at grand rounds.” She groaned and rolled her eyes.

  “I find it hard to believe you’re dreading entertaining a room full of people.”

  “Normally, you’re right. But grand rounds means my father will be there. Which means I can fully anticipate anything I say being torn to shreds for a solid hour afterward.”

  “Your dad seems like a real jerk.” Rowan instantly wanted to retract her words. She and Galen were not friends. She was in no position to make personal remarks about her family. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “You’re not wrong. Henry Burgess is a varsity-level asshole. I finally learned how to deal with him being my father, but I guess I still haven’t quite adjusted to him being my boss.”

  “Why did you decide to do your residency at Boston City anyway? You could have gone anywhere.” Rowan realized she was probing, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “That one’s easy. I’m a Burgess. It’s what we do.”

  Rowan figured she understood that concept all too well.

  * * *

  “When a high-energy projectile, like a bullet, travels through the relatively liquid human body, it forms a cavity in its wake.” Galen stood in front of the group of forty-plus surgeons, her white coat now covering her broad, stalky frame. She wasn’t tall, but she was strong. Rowan couldn’t help but notice just how perfectly Galen’s outward appearance coincided with who she was inside. “And, although we still primarily see blunt trauma, with gun violence spiraling out of control in this country, we need to make sure we are on the front lines of the treatment options for penetrating injuries like this.”

  When Galen spoke, the room was still. Every eye focused on her, and electricity sparked the air. Rowan supposed she was the living definition of charisma. It was probably why women seemed to line up for a chance to be near her. She moved with an untouchable confidence, and every word she spoke sounded like gospel, even if it wasn’t. It was a gift. And Rowan didn’t succumb to it any less than everyone else did. She smiled, proud she’d arrived with Galen at work that morning. But embarrassment quickly replaced the pride. Galen was not a celebrity. And Rowan was most certainly not a fan girl.

  * * *

  Rounds had gone well. Galen had done what she deemed to be a sufficient job discussing hemostasis techniques in penetrating trauma. People seemed engaged enough, although she was certain her father would beg to differ.

  “Galen.” As sure as the sun coming up, Henry Burgess was waiting for her outside the doors of the auditorium. Galen bit the inside of her cheek, a nervous tic she’d developed as a child whenever her father used her name.

  “Sir.”

  Her father’s face looked pale and worried. Something was very wrong. “It’s your mom…”

  Galen’s heart sank to her feet. “What happened?”

  “The ambulance brought her in about an hour ago. She’s not doing well.”

  She shook her head, trying to make sense of the words. “What? I don’t understand—”

  “They think it may be a leaking aortic aneurysm.” Even in the height of tragedy her father’s tone sounded callous and cold.

  “What? Is she okay? Why are you here? You should be with her! Why didn’t you come get me? Why didn’t she call us? Why—”

  “Dr. Burgess. Galen. Stop. Take a breath. She’s okay.” Her father touched Galen’s elbow in an awkward attempt at comfort, but the anxiety continued to bubble up inside her until she was either going to run or cry. And crying wasn’t really an option.

  “She’s not okay. She’s alone. You should have stayed with her. You should have told me right away. You should have—”

  “Come on. We’re going right n
ow.”

  * * *

  Margaret Burgess lay on the hospital gurney, two nurses, an emergency-medicine resident, and an attending physician at her bedside. She looked at least ten years older than the last time Galen had seen her, which was only two months earlier. It shouldn’t have been that long. Not when her mother lived only a few blocks away. Tears threatened their way to the surface, and she wished she’d decided to run instead.

  “Mom….”

  “Hi, baby.” Her mother smiled weakly. “You look thin. Are you eating enough?”

  Galen laughed as her eyes throbbed from holding back the tears. She couldn’t let her mom see her scared. She had to be the strong one again. “Typical. Always worrying about everyone else.” She sat on the corner of the bed and rubbed her mom’s frail leg.

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  “How long have you been having pain, Mom?”

  “A couple of days now.”

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  “It was nothing. Just a little backache. But today, when I passed out—”

  “Jesus, Mom! Why didn’t you call me? Or Dad?”

  “I didn’t want to bother you two. I know how busy you are. Especially your father.”

  Galen turned and scowled at the man standing uncomfortably in the doorway. Henry Burgess was, in all senses of the word, a stranger. Galen had never really known him. “That’s ridiculous. You have a leaking triple-A. You could die!”

  “That’s just fancy medical jargon. I told you, I’m okay.”

  She moved closer to her mother and placed both her hands around her face. “No. You aren’t okay. Listen to me. Your aorta is leaking. It’s like a fire hose filled with blood, sitting right in your belly, that’s slowly squirting all your blood volume into your gut. You need surgery. Right now.”

  “Galen Henrietta Burgess, don’t you patronize me. I may not have gone to medical school, but I’m no dummy.”

  “I’m sorry.” Galen bowed her head. She hated her middle name. She hated just how connected she had to be to that asshole who had contributed to half her genetics. “Mom. You need an operation. Will you agree to that? If you don’t, you’re going to die. And you can’t do that to me.” The dam in her eyes suddenly broke, and enormous, hot tears spilled onto the sheet covering her mother’s chest. “I need you.”

  “Don’t cry, baby.”

  Galen sat up straight, sniffed once with finality, and wiped her eyes. She would not give her father the satisfaction of seeing her break down—not when he looked so stoic and heartless. This was his wife. This was the woman he’d been married to the last thirty-eight years. This was why Galen didn’t get close to anyone. “Dad. When is she going to the OR?”

  “In just a few minutes. We’re almost ready for her.”

  “Did you just say ‘we’?” Galen’s fear and sadness turned to a rage so blinding the room flashed white.

  “Yes. I’ll be doing the operation.”

  “Like hell you will,” she shouted.

  “Excuse me? You better watch your tone right now, Doctor. Remember who you’re speaking to.”

  “Remember? Oh, I remember. A frigid, empty shell of a man who would rather be a surgeon than a husband, even when his wife is about to die!”

  No one in the room dared to take a breath. Never in her life had she spoken to her father that way. And she couldn’t bring herself to give a single fuck. All she cared about was her mother—the one person who’d ever shown her love and affection, even when she was busy catering to her husband. “Galen, honey. I’m going to be fine. Your dad is the best in town. You know that. I’m in very good hands.”

  “He should be holding your hand when you wake up, not checking your incision sites.”

  “Mrs. Burgess?” Two anesthesiologists showed up in the doorway, surgical masks hanging from their chins. “It’s time to go.”

  “I’m ready. Let’s just get this over with, huh?”

  The men unlocked the gurney and wheeled it away.

  “Mom. I love you.”

  Chapter Ten

  It had been over six hours since Rowan last saw Galen at grand rounds, and her absence was palpable. A day hadn’t gone by without Rowan running into her in the lounge, on a case, or seeking Galen out in her office. Had Galen gone home sick again? Somehow she doubted that. Maybe the reprimand from her father was too much for her and she’d gone into hiding? No. Rowan doubted that too. Maybe Galen was avoiding her? Maybe their night together was too much for her, and she was trying to get some distance. She groaned out loud, annoyed at herself for always thinking Galen’s emotions were somehow tied to her own.

  If she were being an adult, she would have just texted Galen. But what would she have said, anyway? “Hi, just wondering where you are?” Sure, that would work fine, if she wanted to sound like a stalker. Instead, she took to actual stalking and searched anywhere and everywhere she thought Galen might be in between her cases.

  She’d checked the OR schedule first, finding that Galen’s name had been taken off. That was odd. It would take a near tragedy to keep Galen out of the OR. The next logical place was her office. But she wasn’t there either. She’d checked—on five different occasions. And each time, the door was shut. On three occasions, she’d taken out her phone, ready to call her. But when she realized she had nothing to ask her, she’d hung up.

  By six thirty pm, Rowan had finished her last case in the OR and could no longer deny the monologue coming from her stomach. She tore down the stairs toward the cafeteria, nearly kicking the person sitting on one of the steps of the second floor directly in the back as she went.

  “I’m sorry, I…” But something made her slow her pace. The person sitting on the stairs was crying. She knew that head of hair, and those strong hands that held that head that looked to be carrying ten tons of sadness.

  “You have a real habit of finding me in these shitty-ass situations, Duncan.” Galen looked up at her and smiled, but Rowan had never expected the melancholy behind her expression. It made her heart ache. She sat down beside Galen, instinctively putting her arm around her waist.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Really.”

  Clearly, Galen was not interested in talking about whatever it was. And that should have been enough for Rowan. But, as she often found herself doing when it came to Galen, she pushed harder. “I have a feeling it takes more than ‘nothing’ to make Dr. Galen Burgess cry.”

  Galen scoffed and dabbed her eyes. “Cry? I’m not crying.”

  “Mhm. We can go with that, then. God forbid anyone should know that the big, bad James Dean of surgeons has feelings.”

  “Did you just call me James Dean?” Galen’s sadness faded a little, and her smile grew.

  “I should have known you’d take that as a compliment.”

  She was quiet for a long time, and Rowan just sat with her, clenching Galen’s side as if to hold her up.

  “My mom’s sick.”

  “What? Oh my God, Galen. Sick, like sick how?”

  The color slowly faded from Galen’s face again, and her red eyes sparkled wet. “It’s a triple-A. It’s leaking. She’s been in surgery now for almost five hours.”

  “Is she going to be okay?” Rowan held her a little tighter.

  “I don’t know. I really don’t know…”

  “I’m so sorry…I’m so, so sorry…”

  Galen let her head collapse onto Rowan’s shoulder, and Rowan closed her arms around her, encircling her, trying to take away the hurt. This was far worse than seeing her sick. Galen was the strongest person Rowan had ever met. She always thought it would take an army to break her. Apparently, she had met that army.

  * * *

  It was another three and a half hours before Galen got the call that her mother had made it out of surgery. And Rowan had waited with her in the stairwell the entire time.

  “I have to go. She’s waking up.” Galen stood quickly, the blood that had pooled in her fe
et leaving her feeling woozy. She couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten.

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No. Thank you. You should go home. Thank you for everything you did for me tonight, Ro. And last night. Jesus Christ, you really have to stop saving me all the time.”

  “Hey. Someone has to save the hero, right?”

  Galen sat down beside her again and took Rowan’s face in her hands. She’d spent her life feeling disconnected from the rest of the world. Her work was largely based on taking care of people while they slept. Her father had been treating her like his resident for her entire life. And her mother had never had the strength to speak up for herself, living in the overpowering shadow of her husband and daughter. She’d spent her life ensuring a safe amount of space between herself and anyone around her. It was why she kept her relationships to nothing more than a quick one-night stand. It was why her best friend was a sweet but goofy man-child named Teddy, whose primary topics of conversation were fantasy football and Call of Duty. She didn’t know how to let anyone get close. But all she wanted to do in that moment was to be close to Rowan.

  For a long time, Galen held her there, looking into the eyes that were all at once kind but strong and safe. She wanted to kiss her. She wanted to kiss her again so badly that every cell in her body hurt. Rowan was reprieve in the midst of chaos. And for a minute, Galen didn’t give a shit about rules, or titles, or Texan boyfriends. All she wanted was Rowan.

  But the harsh trill of Rowan’s cell phone shattered the moment. A look flashed across her face that Galen couldn’t quite make out—something that straddled the line between disappointment and relief. She didn’t answer the call, but that didn’t stop Galen from seeing Brian’s name flashing across the screen. The moment was gone. And so was Galen’s desire to let anyone in.