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“Dr. Chauncey. Thank god you’re here. We’re so slammed. Dr. Benton and Dr. Rajih are both in with traumas. No one else could come down. I really hated to call you on your day off, but I knew you’d come.” Nurse Jenny smiled sweetly at him.
Cayson looked down and gave her his most understanding smile, lightly patting her shoulder. She was completely flustered; her usually tight bun was hanging loosely at the nape of her neck as she used a threadbare washrag to wipe the perspiration off her forehead. Her other arm was weighted down with files, and Cayson hurried to relieve her of them. “Here. Give those to me. Send three nurses to do acute injuries in the south wing, and send two to triage.”
“That’ll only give us four RNs in the main wing,” she said tiredly.
“We’ll make do. The faster we clear out the non-emergencies, the better you’re going to feel.” This was medical school 101. He didn’t understand why he had to tell them that every time. He plucked the files from her and let her scurry off to do what he’d said. As he separated the files, a name caught his eye and he went back to take a closer look. King, Brian P.
Cayson let the name roll around in his head. It wasn’t clicking. He’d heard that name, very recently. Well, it was a common name. Cayson had almost tossed the thin file into Dr. Rajih’s pile, but his eyes caught the next of kin on his information page: King, Bradford, Sibling.
The King brothers from Quick’s office. The big ex-military guys. Yep, it was them, because the file indicated a sign language interpreter was required. What were they doing here? Cayson’s stomach dropped. Was that who the alarm was for? Is Roman here? Cayson took off in the direction of trauma room nine. He knew he should’ve finished his assignments first, but he had to know what was going on. Had to know Quick and Duke were okay, as well as Brian.
He tapped on the glass before he pulled back the curtain. As soon as he stepped inside, he was thankful for his years of experience, because he would’ve gasped in shock at the heavy bandages lying across the entire left side of Brian’s face. The man’s large frame wasn’t able to fit on the standard-sized hospital bed. There were no casts or splints on his limbs, nor was he confined to the bed, so Cayson was able to see his injuries were confined to his face. A morphine drip hung along with a bag of saline. Had Brian been to X-ray, yet? Did he have a CT of his head to be sure he didn’t have a concussion or brain injury while he lay there half-asleep from the pain meds? Damnit, Dr. Rajih irritated him with his lazy method of practicing medicine. You’d think the man paid for the tests he ordered out of his personal bank account. Someone always had to come behind him and order more workups.
Cayson was getting ready to address Brian when his big brother stood up, his face a contorted mask of anger and rage. “You,” he growled.
Cayson paused, looking over at the third man in the small room, who he recognized as one of Duke’s frequent visitors when he was in the hospital under Cayson’s care. He think the guy’s name was Dan… no, Dana.
“You do this and Quick will never forgive you,” Dana said sternly against Ford’s ear, standing just as fast and holding onto his forearm so tightly that Cayson could see the blood draining from Dana’s nails.
“I don’t care,” Ford snarled, his large hands were on his hips while he gave Cayson a death glare like he’d never seen before.
“Duke won’t either. This man is a friend and very important to all of them. None of this was his fault.” Dana kept talking. Cayson wore a bewildered expression.
He had no clue what was happening. Why was Ford so mad at him? They’d just met. Literally, yesterday. The man had been talking about protecting him, now he wanted to kill him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I saw the name and recognized it. It’s fine if you don’t want me to treat your brother. But if you let me. I promise I’ll treat him like he’s the President of the United States.” Cayson moved to peel back the bandage on Brian’s face, but the way Ford tried to break free from Dana’s hold was all the message he needed. Stay away.
“You touch him and you die!” Ford roared.
Cayson jumped back, terrified at the deep octave of the man’s voice and the rage he heard in it. He slowly put the chart down on the counter and stepped away from Brian’s bedside. “I only wanted to help. He needs more tests done than that.” Cayson pointed at the chart. “He hasn’t been checked properly for a concussion, he needs more neuroimaging. I know he doesn’t talk, but has anyone interviewed him for signs of a heady injury using you as a translator?”
