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“I know this isn’t a case where you’d usually assign an intern, but, um, sir, I would like to assist.”
I stared at him. I knew he was friends with Stevie, but could it have been more? Was Lehaney another of her suitors?
“And why would you like to be on this case?” I queried, trying to keep my voice calm and professorial.
Lehaney sighed and I wondered what dramatic speech he had prepared in the moments since he’d heard of Stevie’s injuries.
“She’s my best friend,” he muttered, “and I need to know that she has someone in there that loves her, someone that would fight for her if it came down to it.”
“You think I wouldn’t do my best for any of my patients?” I snapped.
“No! Not at all, but Stevie is—special. She’s one of us, and I know she’d like to know that she’s loved, that someone working on her remembers her as a person and not just as a problem to be solved.”
He really did care about her. He cared about Stevie to the extent of which I thought no one aside from myself and her mother might. There was pure platonic love in his eyes, shining with worry.
“I’m sorry, Lehaney—Jack—right? But I can’t let you in on the case. It would be unprofessional for someone emotionally invested to work on her.”
I didn’t mention that my own attachment would typically be against hospital conduct. I would be damned if I was going to let anyone besides myself open her up.
“Sir—please.”
“I really can't let you into the surgery, Lehaney,” I murmured, turning away from him, “but I’ll open the gallery and you can watch, as long as you keep the microphoneoff.”
I couldn’t be distracted by the anxious ramblings of an intern. Lehaney nodded, his mouth tight, but his eyes set in resignation.
“Yes, thank you, sir,” he muttered.
I expected him to walk away, to leave the ER and finish some of his scut work before joining me, but instead, he stayed next to me. And two people that loved one impossible girl watched her be washed and covered, her eyes never opening, the screen showing her heart rate jumping into confusing patterns occasionally.
I had never been overly emotional in the OR. Emotions made for mistakes and, if there had ever been a case in which I couldn’t afford a mistake, this was it. My team was dedicated, to say the least, and had come in, grumbling the whole time, but they were still there. As I gowned up, I imagined a future where I was dressing for a different occasion, and they weren’t standing on ceremony to save Stevie’s life. An occasion where they’d be wearing formal clothes and smiles.
It would have been too easy to let the dream overwhelm me, especially with the reality of the girl on the table in the middle of the OR.
I didn’t though. I was impressed at my own ability to switch off, and I briefly wondered if I was as much an ass as everyone had accused me of being. I shook the thought from my head, glanced at my surgical assistant, and with everything riding on the next few hours, I took a deep breath and spoke.
“Scalpel, please.”
Chapter Seventeen
Adrian
She was still unconscious.
If we had been lucky, she would have woken up after a few days. Seventy-two hours was usually the magic number, if there was going to be one. I couldn’t figure it out though.Whywasn’t she waking up?
On paper, she was getting healthier by the day. Her organs, her bones, even the scrapes on her skin were healing all the time. Her heart was healthy and strong. She hadn’t crashed once, and I had hopes that, soon, she’d be able to be taken off the ventilator. There was no evidence of brain death; her pupils responded to light, and I was sure that if I could just breach whatever invisible barrier stood between us, I could make her wake up. I could tell her I was there.
And I was there. I didn’t leave the hospital, living on crappy cafeteria food and taking showers in the locker rooms. Jonah brought me clothes from home, and I slept on the sofa in the corner of the room. Almost everyone was patient with me, and I knew that the secret was out. It wasn’t a topic of gossip, though—I suppose it would be cruel to gossip about the man in love with the girl they all thought was going to die.
Lehaney was almost as glued to Stevie as I was. He still worked but every available moment, he was with Stevie, talking to her or reading to her or telling her about someone he was seeing named Jennifer. I was pretty sure he never went home either, and I couldn’t blame him.
* * *
I knew Stevie had a mother, one she loved very much, and I had wondered about the woman that had raised her. What I hadn’t expected was for Stevie’s spitting image to walk in the door, only seven hours after I finished the surgery. She was a powerful presence from the moment she arrived, and I couldn’t help but stare.
Jodie Haber was an inch or so shorter than her daughter, with black hair that had a few stray grays. It was in a ponytail but was still long enough that the strands fell to the middle of her back. Her skin was porcelain pale and completely unmarked. Her eyes were the same shape as her daughter’s, mouth the same cupid’s bow I had often admired. There was a hardness in her blue eyes, though, something that suggested she had spent years learning how hard the world could be. A couple of faint lines had started appearing around her mouth, and I wondered how often she had pursed her lips when frustrated to make those appear. I knew how she’d look when she did it as well, probably the exact same way Stevie did.
It was like she and Stevie were the same person, with only years and a color palette separating them from being identical.
