The nurses come racing to the door with a gurney for Thorne and another quickly unlatches the second door to make space for the bed to fit through. Two male nurses help us to transfer Thorne onto the bed as someone stands behind me yelling into a phone, hopefully stealing an OR that’s already prepped and ready to go.
Thorne disappears from the OR within mere seconds and I struggle to keep up with everything that’s happening, wishing I could do something more to help but getting floundered under the raw, heartbreaking emotions that overwhelm me.
I crumble to the ground, unable to look away from the blood covering the linoleum like a shallow pool. The husband’s, Thorne’s, and Ashleigh’s all pooling together like a scene from a horrible movie.
Someone declares the husband alive and I gape in surprise. I could have sworn he was long gone. Dr. Terrace yells something over the chaos and before I know it, Ashleigh’s heartbeat is slowly beginning to rise while her husband is rushed away. One part of me wants him to suffer through the worst kind of death, while the other part of me is begging for him to live, knowing that if he was to die, it would sit heavily on Thorne’s chest for the rest of his life. Not to mention, it will always be on his record even though it was done to save the lives of his patients.
With everything under control, Dr. Terrace decides that he doesn’t need an overly emotional student crying on the floor as he attempts to save a life and I’m sent away.
With nothing to do but cry and panic, I make my way down to the locker rooms and peel off my bloodied scrubs before dropping them onto the growing pile in the corner of the room. I make my way into the small bathroom, holding my towel tight to my chest.
After making my way into a shower stall, I reach in and turn on the taps. I wait a few seconds for the water to heat before throwing myself under the shower spray and letting it wash away all the fear, doubt, and blood from my body.
My heart aches as my mind takes me through every possibility. The man who holds my heart could die today and there wasn’t anything I could do to have helped him. I just stood back and worked on someone else while his life was slowly slipping away.
If he doesn’t make it, I’ll never be able to forgive myself. But he has to make it. I know he will. Thorne is going to be alright. There’s simply no other option. I won’t allow it. I won’t accept it. Thorne and I haven’t come this far for me to lose him now.
I turn off the taps and wrap the white towel tightly around me before making my way back out to my locker. I stare at my new scrubs, and instead of finding the strength to put them on and face this head-on, I sink to the ground and cry as sharp, painful sobs tear from my chest.
Please, Thorne. Please, be okay.
CHAPTER 24
AUTUMN
I pace in front of the nurses’ station.
What’s taking so long? It’s been four hours already. Four freaking long ass hours. What the hell is going on in there? All they had to do was go digging for the stupid bullet, pull it out, and stitch him up. He should be done by now. He should be in recovery with me waiting by his bedside, ready to help him with whatever he needs. Morphine? I’ve got it. A sponge bath? I’m the girl for the job. Someone to seek out the dickhead who did this to him and personally end his pathetic existence? Damn fucking straight, consider it done.
Four hours.
Four fucking hours.
Every passing second makes the anxiety rise within me. Why isn’t this over yet? Are there complications? Is he bleeding out?
No, I can’t go there.
I focus on my pacing because in this screwed up world, sometimes pacing is all we have. Thorne’s whole family has been waiting out in the waiting room, desperate for the information that I still don’t have. I know I should go out there and sit with them, but I can’t bring myself to move away from the phone. It’s my one lifeline, the one thing between good and bad news.
My feet slowly drag me up and down the hall in front of the nurses’ station as Patricia watches me with a frown. In most cases like this, the family member or loved one will be sent away to sit in the waiting room, but I’ll be damned if I allow her to shuffle me away. She’s already tried and it didn’t go well for her. I want to be right by the phone when it rings.
The second Thorne gets out of this, I’m going to be right by his side. That’s if he gets out of this.
Fuck, no. I can’t think like that.
Positive thoughts. That’s all that’s acceptable right now. Positive thoughts. I don’t believe in all that positive thoughts can heal bullshit. I believe in medicine and science, and what it can do, but just in case I’m wrong, I keep it up. Thought after thought, desperately trying to manifest a good outcome.
We got word an hour ago that Ashleigh’s husband somehow survived his ordeal, which is great news for Thorne. He won’t have the agony of knowing that he killed a man resting on his shoulders for the rest of his life, yet a part of me, a dark, haunted part of me, kind of wished for a different outcome. I would have died a happy woman knowing that Thorne ended the man who put a bullet through his leg and almost cost him his life.
The trauma we have all had to suffer at his hands is horrendous, and I honestly don’t know when I’ll be willing to get back into the OR to assist on a cesarean again. I know I want to, I wish I could be strong enough to move straight past it, but I fear that the second I step in beside the doctor, all the memories are going to come flooding back with a vengeance.
The phone rings and my head whips around. Patricia is on it like a leech, scooping up the receiver, her eyes flicking to mine as the phone is slammed against her ear. “Maternity,” she rushes out.
Her eyes remain locked on mine, tight and haunted as the person on the other end explains what’s going on. Then finally, her whole demeanor changes as she sags with relief. “Oh, thank god,” she sighs. “He’s out and he’s doing alright. He should be waking in the next hour or so.”
I crumble onto the desk as the relief surges through me. “What room?”
“Recovery. Room 1410,” she says.
I take off like a bat out of hell, racing through the hospital to reach the recovery ward. I haven’t had to be down here often, only when it’s crazy busy and they need a few extra hands, but for the most part, the maternity ward has its own little recovery section that does us just fine.
My gaze sweeps over the doors, scanning for his room number but I don’t really need to as a group of nurses and doctors stand hovered outside one particular room, gaping through the window as though he’s some kind of sideshow, put there for their entertainment and gossip.
I reach his door and fly straight through it before turning on the crowd and pulling the curtain closed to give Thorne the privacy he needs. I hear them all grumbling, some demanding to know why I get to be in here when I don’t even work on this ward.
I ignore every single one of them and turn to take in Thorne fast asleep in his bed. My heart aches for him. I hate seeing him like this. There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do to take his pain away. I wish it was me. I would have jumped in front of that bullet a million times over if I could.