Unrivaled, p.2
Unrivaled, page 2
Distracted, Dec didn’t reply and the nurse didn’t wait for an answer. Just as well. Sometimes Dec wasn’t sure she knew the answer to that question.
✥ ✥ ✥
“Holy crap,” Zoey Cohen said as she scanned trauma admitting. The three trauma bays were full, and two of the regular cubicles they usually used for less acute patients also held injured. PAs, techs, nurses, and residents hurried back and forth, edging around instrument carts and skirting a portable X-ray machine that appeared to somehow have stalled in the middle of the floor. She turned to Emmett McCabe—ex-friend-with-benefits, still best friend, and soon-to-be chief resident—reigning monarch of the surgical residents. “What are we doing? I’m supposed to be going to transplant.”
“Not for two more hours.” Emmett shoved an unruly lock of dark hair off her forehead and turned to Dani and Syd. “Dani, you’ll be senior on the trauma service starting today, so you run it.” She pointed to a stack of yellow cover gowns. “You might want to put a little more on, first.”
Grinning, Dani shrugged into the gown to cover her boxers and tank top and pulled booties over her flip-flops, saying at the same time, “Syd, you’re now a senior neuro resident, so go do neuro. Emmett and I will handle the gen surg stuff.”
“Got it,” Syd said, casting her new girlfriend Emmett a sideways smile that looked sweet and hot at the same time before hurrying away.
Dani rolled her eyes and Emmett smirked.
“Where do you want me?” Zoey slipped into a cover gown and looked from Emmett to Dani for direction. July was always weird as everyone shuffled into their new roles, one year closer to finishing, but still the same people they’d been the day before. Sort of. She might not know a lot more than she had twenty-four hours before, but she had a whole new set of responsibilities and a whole new crop of junior residents who expected her to know all and keep them out of trouble. So, yeah, more things than her on again-off again, no strings-no demand sex life had changed.
Dani said, “You’re still general surgery, so go grab a patient and get to work.”
“I’m headed outside,” Zoey said quickly. “Everybody in here is covered.”
She spun around and headed for the door before anyone could object or grab her to assist somewhere. She didn’t want to assist. She wanted to be in charge. She wanted Emmett’s job when the year ended. And that meant lots of cases. Big cases.
“Trolling for the best cases?” Emmett called as Zoey sprinted away.
“They all need docs, right?” Zoey replied over her shoulder. Sure, she was looking for the most interesting cases, but those patients were also going to be the ones who needed attention the most. That was the good thing about surgery. The sickest people were always the most challenging.
She bolted outside and jerked to a stop. The parking lot was chaos. A clutch of ambulances that had just delivered the injured stood off to the side with engines idling, waiting for their EMT crews to return, and several more perched in front of the entrance, light bars flashing, sirens blaring, radios blasting call signs and emergency dispatches. Medics guided stretchers onto the ground, pausing in their headlong rush only long enough to shout a status report to the closest ER staffer. Zoey’s gaze traveled to a slim brunette in a pale blue shirt and skinny, tailored black trousers, who stood in the center of the wailing vehicles, surrounded by a surreal aura of calm. The rising sun glinted on the blue-black of her collar-length hair and reflected in shooting sparks of silver off the buckle of her narrow black belt. Whoever she was, she seemed to know what she was doing—at least, the two ER residents orbiting in her wake as she assessed and directed focused on her as if she was the sun to their moons. Zoey understood why. Something in the woman’s confident stance and the preternaturally quiet expression, despite the pandemonium, imposed order on the insanity.
Zoey recognized authority when she saw it and sprinted in that direction.
“We’re getting full inside,” Zoey said as she edged into the woman’s orbit, “so we might need to set up a field unit out here.”
Zoey caught her breath as the woman spun to face her. She was striking and might have been called handsome—hell, she was handsome—despite the faintly raised pink scar that crossed her forehead from her hairline to her left eyebrow, where it thinned down to a pale white line that interrupted the sweeping curve of her dark brow. The scar did nothing to detract from the arch of her cheekbones and the long line of her jaw or the faint hollow above the strong bones. A shock of dark hair dipped down onto her forehead, and she probably could’ve covered most of the scar with it had she chosen to, but apparently, she hadn’t.
The scarred brow rose in question. Her eyes were very dark. Could eyes actually be black? Zoey didn’t think so, but she couldn’t see any hint of brown either. No flecks of gold or green or anything except deep, mesmerizing midnight on a starless night.
“Declan Black,” the woman said when Zoey remained tongue-tied. “ER attending. You are…?”
Her voice was low and full, not friendly as much as assured. Dark honey with a hint of liquid smoke.
“Zoey. Zoey Cohen. Senior surgery resident…fourth year.”
“Good. I’d rather not try treating anyone out here, so let’s get them assessed ASAP. Take the next one over there, see what we’ve got. Anyone who needs immediate intervention, get them inside. Otherwise, hold them back for now.”
“I’m on it,” Zoey said, finally getting her legs to move. As she turned away, Declan Black’s face remained imprinted in her mind, the way a dream sometimes did behind closed lids.
In the next instant, the only thing on her mind was the woman on the gurney being pulled from the rear of the nearest rescue van. An ET tube protruded from the corner of her mouth, and the medic clambering down beside the stretcher methodically squeezed an Ambu bag attached to it, breathing for her. A cervical collar obscured most of her lower face, but the MAST trousers encasing her lower body suggested she was hemodynamically unstable.
“Run it for me,” Zoey said, leaning over to check the woman’s pupillary responses. A long scalp laceration running just behind her hairline oozed blood. The MAST trousers provided compression in the lower extremities to force blood back into the circulatory system. Good in cases of shock, but not recommended for head injury. Her pupils were sluggish, but equal and reactive. No sign of unilateral bleed at least.
The medic reported her vitals and added, “Unrestrained back seat passenger, ejected from the vehicle, unconscious at the scene. Hypotensive, multiple extremity fractures, unable to assess the C-spine. Breath sounds diminished on the right. She’s had three liters of Ringer’s already, and we’re just keeping her pressure above sixty.”
“Hold up a second.” As their pace slowed, Zoey quickly listened to the woman’s lungs. “She’s got no breath sounds on the right now.” She slid her fingers over the few inches of throat exposed below the cervical collar, searching for the trachea. She finally was able to palpate it. Deviated far to the left.
“She’s got a tension hemothorax. She’s going to need a chest tube right away. Let’s go.”
She grabbed the side rail and shoved the gurney toward the entrance, the first EMT with the Ambu bag running opposite her and the second behind them steering. When they hit the main trauma unit, she couldn’t see an empty bay and pointed to a space along the wall. “Over there.”
“What have you got,” the smoky-smooth voice asked from behind her. Zoey’d only heard it once, but once was enough never to forget it. Declan Black had followed her in.
“Hemopneumo, most likely,” Zoey said, looking around for a PA or resident to assist. A harried-looking second year resident in the signature ER baby-blues raced by. “Hey, Alan, can you get me a chest tube tray stat.”
He looked over his shoulder without slowing down and yelled, “In a minute. Dr. Blake needs the ultrasound machine right now.”
“Don’t have a minute,” Zoey muttered, rapidly running through the trauma assessment protocol, one eye on the BP monitor. “Damn it—her pressure’s bottoming out. We have to get a tube in. I’ll go find a chest tube set.”
“Have you got a cutdown tray?” Declan said.
“Yeah, right up here.” Zoey reached up to the shelf along the wall and pulled down an intravenous cutdown tray. It didn’t have much in it, a few hemostats and basic instruments for inserting IV catheters in deep veins. She started to hand it to Declan, who shook her head.
“That’ll do. Let’s get a hole in her.”
“What about a needle thoracostomy?” Zoey said. “It’ll be quicker.”
“Not if there’s blood in there. It’ll clot off in a second.” Declan’s tone was cool and calm, almost conversational. Not like they were in the midst of a critical situation. “We’re going to lose her pulse in about twenty-five seconds. Your call.”
“All right, all right.” Zoey slammed the cutdown tray onto a silver Mayo stand that she dragged over with one arm. She knew how to do this. Chest tubes were usually an intern’s job. Only not when the patient was seconds from arresting. Beside her, Declan Black unhurriedly opened the cutdown tray, and just those few calm seconds steadied Zoey’s racing pulse. “I need gloves.”
“Here.” Declan peeled back the outside wrapper paper and held out a sterile pair. “Seven and a half, right?”
Zoey looked at her. “Yeah.”
She’d find time later to wonder just how Declan Black knew that. While she yanked on the gloves, Declan cut open the patient’s clothes with a scalpel and swabbed the right side of her chest along the outer aspect of her breast with Betadine. “All set.”
“Anterior axillary line, fifth intercostal space?” Zoey said, gripping a new blade. She knew that too, but she wouldn’t have a second chance. And she wasn’t too proud to check.
“Sounds good to me. Don’t be dainty.”
Zoey made the incision two inches long in the midspace between the two ribs. The patient was unresponsive and thankfully wouldn’t feel much, if anything at all, of what she was doing. “Can you hand me a—”
“Here’s a Kelly.” Declan slapped an oversized hemostat into her palm.
“Thanks,” Zoey muttered and poked the clamp through the thin layer of muscle between the ribs and into the patient’s chest. A gush of maroon fluid liberally sprinkled with clots flooded out. She jumped back, not in time to avoid getting soaked, and swore under her breath. “I really liked these pants.”
Declan laughed. The dark ripple of sound caressed Zoey’s overheated senses. “Nice work. Pressure’s coming up.”
Zoey turned to her, flushed with success, and caught the briefest flare of heat in Declan’s eyes before the flames were abruptly extinguished.
“Hand her off to someone to finish the workup, and head back outside,” Declan said.
“Right. Than—” Zoey halted midword. Declan Black was gone, as quickly as a shooting star winking out midflight, leaving a mix of wonder and disappointment behind.
Chapter Two
“Who was that?” Dani asked as she edged up behind Zoey at the counter where she was quickly entering notes into the patient’s chart.
“Who?” Zoey said distractedly. She’d handed off the woman with the chest trauma—unidentified as of yet—to the admitting ICU resident and needed to document the chest tube procedure before she could get back outside to find her next new patient.
Dani snorted. “Tall, dark, and sexy—the one working with you just a few minutes ago.”
“She’s not that tall,” Zoey said. Declan was a few inches taller than her, and that put her at maybe five ten, which wasn’t that tall. Tall enough for her to need to look up just a little to see Declan’s eyes, those eyes that still fascinated her. She’d have to look up to kiss her too. Zoey blinked at the image that came out of nowhere. Her kissing Declan Black? Now there was a totally out-there idea. Kissing women she hardly knew—okay, knew not at all—wasn’t usually her first thought. Although now that she did think of it, maybe it was. Her housemates were her best friends, and she never pictured them as bed partners—except for Emmett McCabe, of course, who was now and forever off-limits. The other women in her life, not that there were many, were usually super casual, time-limited acquaintances. The kind of almost-strangers who she knew by sight and, when she bumped into them at the bar after a shift or in the OR or the ER, prompted her to imagine a quick and simple fling. Who had time for anything more? Who wanted anything more, with all the complications being a resident brought with it? Broken dates and zombie bedmates took a toll on even the most solid relationships, let alone ones just trying to get off the ground. Who wanted that hassle? So if a little twinge in the back of her mind said you do every now and then, she’d learned to ignore it.
Nothing about Declan Black said casual, just the opposite—intense, complicated, captivating. So Dr. Not-Right-for-Me.
Nope, no kissing Declan Black.
“She’s tall enough,” Dani said, “and I notice you didn’t say she wasn’t sexy.”
“I hardly had time to notice that,” Zoey said, knowing she sounded irritated and not really knowing why. “I was in the middle of a trauma alert, remember?”
“So? She’s hot,” Dani said. “I’d do her, or let her do me, anytime.”
Zoey finally gave Dani her full attention. Dani Chan, half a head shorter than her, small boned and tight bodied, was super attractive with her perfectly proportioned features and her jet-black hair and that little bit of tiger tattoo peeking out from underneath the V of her scrub shirt. Anybody would look twice at Dani if she wasn’t their housemate—well, technically their duplex-mate, since Dani shared the other half of the Victorian twin with Syd and Jerry. Dani was also one of the few friends Zoey couldn’t afford to lose, and friendship and sex were tricky to juggle.
Declan might look twice at Dani. Dani certainly sounded like she’d be looking at Declan.
Zoey’s shoulders tightened with a completely irrational flare of jealously. “Can you leave off? I’m trying to get my notes done here.”
“So who is she?” Dani said, completely unperturbed in her Dani-like way. Nothing really ever diverted her attention or slowed her down when she had some goal in sight—conquest or surgery case. Once in a while Zoey wondered about that, how driven Dani was beneath her wiseass exterior and why she hid it. They lived together and spent long nights on call together talking, too pent-up to sleep, just waiting for the next page to the ER or some other emergency, but she didn’t really know what made Dani tick. She’d prefer, though, that it not be Declan.
“She’s a new ER attending. That’s all I know,” Zoey said briskly, hoping to signal a change in subject.
“Well, she certainly didn’t need any breaking in,” Dani mused. “That’s weird, don’t you think? That she just showed up and went to work?”
“She did show up in the middle of a mass trauma alert. What was she supposed to do, sit on her hands?”
“I guess not. But she doesn’t act like a newbie, does she? And she’s older than most new attendings. So that’s kind of mysterious, don’t you think?”
Zoey sighed, signed off on the chart, and put it back in the slot with the other tablets where the ward clerks could organize all the info into the electronic records system.
“I dunno, Dani. But aren’t you supposed to be running the show?”
Dani grinned and, without blinking an eye, systematically and rapidly summarized the status of every single patient presently in the trauma unit.
“You know,” Zoey said, “I sort of hate you.”
Dani shrugged. “Can’t help it. I was just born that way. By the way, that was a slick pickup on your patient with the pneumo out in the field today. Great job in here too.”
And there it was—the reason Dani was one of her best friends. She was competitive, like every other surgery resident in the known universe, but she was also generous and staunchly loyal.
“Thanks,” Zoey said. “I love you too.”
Dani rolled her eyes. “Go find another one to save.”
And then Dani was off to check on the next resident, leaving Zoey pleased and exasperated, which was how Dani often left her feeling.
The chaos in the parking area had settled when Zoey rejoined the other residents and staff who were evaluating the last of the patients. She automatically looked for Declan. When she didn’t see her, a strange and unexpected surge of disappointment washed through her. No time to think about that now as a new resident waved to her and said, “Can you check this guy with me?”
Remembering that she was the one the juniors would be looking to for guidance and support, she squared her shoulders and hurried over. She would think about Declan Black later.
✥ ✥ ✥
“Dec,” Honor Blake exclaimed, grabbing Dec by the shoulders and pulling her into a quick hug. “Sorry I didn’t catch you when you arrived.”
“I don’t mind. I figured you were a bit busy.” Declan eased out of Honor’s hold, the awareness of a woman’s body next to hers so foreign she needed a second to register all the odd sensations. Seeing Honor again after so long filled her with the same jumble of conflicting emotions almost everything in her life did these days. Sadness and pleasure had become so entwined that the feeling she was left with resembled melancholy more than anything else. Like the longing she had when she remembered summer days growing up and how easy life seemed then, how simple. Didn’t everyone yearn for those endless summer afternoons, where nothing was urgent and everything was possible? She recognized the wish as a trick of memory, accepted the impossibility of going back, and resigned herself to the loss. At least, she was trying to.
“It felt good to be working. In some ways, it just seemed like just another day, almost like I’d never left.” Dec smiled because she was very glad to see Honor. They hadn’t seen each other since she’d left for Dallas, but the years they’d spent together as students and residents forged a friendship that even time and distance couldn’t erase. She hadn’t expected a job offer when she’d contacted Honor for advice about what to do next with her life, but she hadn’t hesitated when Honor had simply said, Come home. “I was happy out there.”
