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“I know you’re not married to Owen, but were you married to that guy? I heard him mention something about you trying for children.”
“No. Not married. But…” I trail off, laughing lightly and uncomfortably. This is too personal of a conversation to have with your new boss, but that seems to be what we’re doing this morning. “Well, I have some reasons, let’s go with that, but I want to try to have a child or children in the near future if I can. It’s something he and I had talked about and wanted to try for back when we were together. Until I found him with those two women, of course.”
Bennett’s eyes round, and his jaw goes slack. For a long, awkward moment, he stares at me like this, as if he’s too dumbstruck to respond.
“But don’t worry,” I quickly tack on, surprised by his reaction. “If I were to get pregnant, it’s nothing that would interfere with my residency or fellowship. I promise. I’d never let that happen. If that’s your concern.”
He swallows audibly, licks his lips, and shakes his head as if my words aren’t making sense to him. “You’re trying to get pregnant? Still? Even though you're celibate?”
I look away, feeling my face heat. I can’t answer him. I shouldn’t have even said what I said. But after my appointment yesterday morning with Dr. Feelgood—yes, that’s his actual name—things are starting to move in the right direction, and my excitement got the better of my mouth as it always seems to. Plus, Wes knew what my plans were, and as my boss, if I do get pregnant, Bennett will eventually find out, and if I keep it a secret from him, he could hold it against me when it’s time to pick a trauma fellow.
He grasps my jaw and forces it back to him, his eyes fierce, and I notice his hand on my face is shaking. His extreme reaction startles me, and I’m not sure what to say or how to respond.
“Answer me, Katy. You want a child and are trying to have one on your own?”
“I haven’t started trying yet,” I manage to utter.
He shakes his head, blinking at me in rapid-fire, and then without a word, he walks off, storming down the hall and leaving the floor. All I can do is stare after him, at a total loss as to what just happened.
I’ve spent most of my shift today avoiding Bennett. After our wild encounter this morning that I still can’t make heads or tails of, I’m not sure what to say or even how to be around him. But it seems life doesn’t give a shit about my discomfort or nerves when it comes to my boss.
“What is it?” I call to the floor nurse as I sprint toward the elevator after getting a 911 page to the ER.
“GSW. They’re rolling in with it in two minutes. It sounds pretty bad.”
I throw her a wave and slam my fist into the elevator button, twisting my back to crack the tension out of it. It was a slow day, but it’s been a fast-paced night. A hit-and-run had me and the ortho team—thankfully not Zane—in the OR for the better part of four hours and now a gunshot wound.
The elevator doors open, and I step on, but just as the doors start to close, Bennett comes flying on. He startles when he sees me, but quickly recovers. “They paged you too?”
“Yes.”
He nods, and we both fall into an awkward silence as we descend, and I try very hard not to think about the last two times I was alone with this man on an elevator.
“You doing okay? With being on the elevator, I mean,” he asks as if reading my thoughts.
“Yes. I’m trying not to think about it. How’s your mom?”
He turns to me, his eyebrows raised, not having expected me to ask. “Good. She’s good. She’s back home and mouthing off as she likes to do with me. I had a nurse come in and check on her, so she’s mad at me about that.”
I smile softly. “I’m glad to hear that. Not that she’s mad at you, but that she’s doing better and raising hell.”
“Me too. Thank you for asking.”
I nod, and then we fall back into silence until the doors open. We both take off at a sprint, following the gurney that’s surrounded by ER doctors and nurses.
“What do we have?” Bennett asks as we enter the trauma room after quickly throwing on trauma gowns and gloves.
“GSW times three, two to the abdomen and one through and through to the shoulder.” The ER doctor starts talking as he works on intubating the patient. “Lost a lot of blood in the field. Vitals are a mess, with a thready pulse in the one-sixties and blood pressure dropping to eighty over palp. Pulse ox sucks at eight-two, and I’m not sure why he wasn’t intubated already, but he is now. Breath sounds are equal.”
“Okay, good. Hang a unit of O-negative blood and open the fluids wide,” Bennett orders one of the nurses. “Someone throw in a central line. I don’t want to give him pressers unless we have to. Let’s see if we can stabilize him a bit before we bring him upstairs. I need trauma labs sent stat. Dr. Barrows, how are those wounds looking?”
“No exit wounds for either of the abdominal entry points, and he’s bleeding at a good clip despite applying pressure. We need to move him upstairs and open him up now. My guess is one of the bullets hit an artery and we’re losing time.”
“Alright, let’s move. You heard her. Someone call up to the OR and let them know we’re on our way. Dr. Barrows, are you with me? I’m going to need all the hands I can get.”
“I’m with you,” I tell him, and then we’re locking the side rails of the gurney and racing for the elevators. The ride up is slow, and the patient is far from stable. My hands are holding pressure on one of the abdominal wounds, and the ER nurse has her hand on the shoulder wound. The elevator stops, and an intern and two more nurses immediately take the patient from us and wheel him toward the OR.
Bennett and I run over to the sinks, donning our scrub caps and masks, and then immediately start scrubbing in.
