Page 5 of Love Overdose: St. Louis

“Good work, everyone.”

The room came alive with voices and movement. Instruments were counted. Anesthesia began bringing Lorraine out. The circulating nurse updated recovery. I stripped off my gloves and dropped them into the bin before removing my gown. Sweat cooled along my spine beneath my scrubs.

Dr. Coleman came around the drape. “Nice save.”

“That was your save. I stood there and tried not to make things worse.”

“You’d be surprised how many surgeons struggle with that part.”

“I wouldn’t.”

His laugh followed me toward the sink.

Behind us, Lorraine’s eyelids fluttered.

“Mrs. McMillan?” Dr. Coleman leaned over her. “Lorraine, surgery is finished. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Her brow tightened before her eyes opened a sliver. I returned to the bedside.

“Lorraine, this is Dr. Valentine.” I touched the back of her hand. “Everything went well. Can you squeeze my fingers?”

Her right hand closed weakly around mine.

“Good. Now the left.”

The other hand responded. Relief loosened beneath my ribs.

“Can you tell me your name?”

Her lips moved around the breathing tube before frustration wrinkled her face.

“That’s all right. Don’t try to speak yet.” I squeezed her hand once. “Your husband is waiting for you. I’m going to tell him you did beautifully.”

Her fingers tightened around mine.

That was the part no award, article, or hospital title could touch. A body on an operating table could become a problem to solve if I allowed it. But Lorraine McMillan was somebody’s wife. I had promised to bring her back.

And I had.

I closed my office door and dropped into the leather chair behind my desk. The silence brought relief as exhaustion weighed me down. I leaned my head against the chair, closed my eyes, and let the exhaustion settle over me.

My shoulders ached. My stomach was empty. The cup of coffee I’d left on my desk before surgery had gone cold hours ago. I reached for it anyway. The bitter mouthful had barely made it down my throat when my phone vibrated beside my keyboard. Xander’s name flashed across the screen. I considered ignoring him long enough to find food. The phone stopped ringing. Then immediately started again.

I swiped to answer. “Somebody better be dying.”

“Damn. Is that how you answer the phone at the hospital?”

“At the hospital, people have enough sense not to call me twice unless it’s an emergency.”

“This is an emergency.”

I sat forward. “What happened?”

“Aunt Bernice has decided Friday’s dinner needs a head count by Wednesday.”

I stared at the phone.

“That’s your emergency?”