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Except that Grace needs me. She needs someone who cares. Someone to fight for her, damn it.
As they do the CAT scan, I watch the monitors. Shit. Liver and spleen look like they’re damaged. There’s a lot of subdermal hemorrhaging, and it’s filling her abdominal cavity. I grab the phone.
“Yeah, Dr. Thompson here. Page the trauma surgeon and have an OR prepped for surgery, stat.”
“Yes, sir.” The nurse on the other end of the line doesn’t question me when I give her the details.
I hang up the phone.
The tech sitting behind the console glances at me. “Should I finish the scan?”
“Yes. Finish it.”
I analyze the results before stepping into action. Mandibular fracture. Hairline fracture of the cervical spine. Subdermal hemorrhaging. Fuck. Did he hit her with a baseball bat?
Grace is in critical condition. It’s a blessing she’s unconscious. The pain would be excruciating. I help the trio of nurses wheel her back to the ER while we wait for the surgical team to prepare. We have to get the bleeding under control before we can address the other issues.
Summer joins me when we return to the ER. “What do we have?”
I fill her in. My composure slips when I see Grace on the table. So fragile. So alone. I’ve worked in the ER for years, seen similar cases a million times, but nothing prepares me for the slap in the face I feel when I see the damage this poor, sweet girl has endured. I could have stopped it.
No. I can’t think that way. I need to focus. With a deep breath, I clear my head. Summer comes beside me, a silent but steadfast support.
I’m mentally drained, but I can’t give up on Grace. I won’t. She deserves better.
Grace’s vitals drop. Her oxygen plummets and she seizes. Her battered body relinquishes the fight.
“Code blue!” I shout before Summer and I spring into action, screaming orders, directing the chaos that descends on the claustrophobic room.
When her heart stops, I choke back a sob. No, damn it. Don’t die on me.
Summer grabs the crash cart and we attempt to resuscitate her, but nothing helps.
The horrific flatline tone echoes through the room.
She’s gone.
Exhausted, we step away from the table as a nurse calls the time of death. A horrifying numbness settles around me.
I cradle her cheek in my hand. “I’m sorry, Grace.”
Summer nudges me with her elbow. I take a deep breath and leave her.
She’s at peace now. He can’t hurt her anymore. She’s safe.
“Hey, you did the best you could.” Summer claps me on the shoulder after we clean up.
“Yeah.” She’s right. I did. But knowing that doesn’t stop me from dropping into my own pit of self-deprecation. I could have done more. I could have stopped him the first time she came into my ER, broken and scared. I toss my scrubs into the bin and head for the shower.
No matter how hard I scrub, I can’t wash away the shame of my failure. Tears mingle with the water running over my face.
What if it had been Marcy on that gurney?
I can’t dwell on that. Grace isn’t Marcy. Marcy escaped that fate. But it doesn’t stop me from wondering what would have happened had Arthur and I not been there to help her cut ties with her ex.
Somehow, I manage to scrape myself together. Summer tells me she’ll put the file on my desk for Monday morning. Everything blurs together as I make my way home.
What started as a joyful day, full of hope and new beginnings, evolved into an epic disaster. I feel like I’m on a flaming rollercoaster and it’s just gone off the rails, hurtling toward certain doom. Maybe a good night’s sleep will help...but I doubt it.
