Cara
I finished my rounds and, surprisingly, had a few free moments. Even in a small town like Fernwood, the ER could be a busy place. Granted, it wasn't usually like the big city ERs – we didn't have quite that volume of patients, but it got hectic from time to time.
But for the moment, I was going to revel in the downtime.
Grabbing a soda from the vending machine, I strolled over to the admittance desk where my friend Julia was working. I leaned against the counter and watched her punching some information into the computer. I saw her cheeks color and knew that she was intentionally avoiding my gaze.
“So,” I said. “How was your date with Dr. Morganson?”
The color in her cheeks deepened, and she cleared her throat – and still hadn't met my eyes. Which, of course, told me all I needed to know.
“Dinner turned into breakfast, I see.” I laughed. “You're such a whore.”
She looked at me quickly, trying to suppress a smile and a laugh. Julia looked around as if to make sure nobody could hear us. There wasn't anybody within a hundred yards of us. As I looked around the waiting rooms and hallways, it struck me just how odd it was – it was like a ghost town in the ER.
“I don't know how it happened,” Julia said in a hushed tone.
“Oh, I do. I know exactly how it happened. You looked into those dreamy blue eyes of his and your panties just magically disappeared. Tell me this though – did he at least take you home? Or was it all fumbling and grabbing in the back seat of his car?”
She threw a pencil at me and laughed. “It wasn't like that. But he does have a very nice car.”
“Oh, I'll just bet he does.”
Dr. Eric Morganson was our newest surgeon. And probably the youngest. He was a good-looking man, I had to admit. He and Julia seemed to hit it off right after he'd come to the hospital. It was obvious from the start that he had a thing for Jules and that it was reciprocated. They both fumbled with their words and seemed entirely fuzzy brained and flustered whenever they were around each other. It was actually kind of cute. Thankfully, though, after several months of intense flirting, he'd worked up the nerve to ask her out.
And my best friend, despite her insistence that she wouldn't, gave it up on the first date.
Julia laughed again. “We had a nice evening. He took me into San Francisco for dinner at this amazing little sushi place and then to see a play. It was just… perfect. The whole night was perfect.”
“I'm happy for you, Jules,” I said. “You deserve a little happiness – and a whole lot of nookie.”
She giggled and shook her head. She was one of the strongest, most assertive women I knew. And yet, when it came to matters of the heart, she was as bashful as a schoolgirl. It was utterly adorable. That she’d found somebody who seemed like her match made me genuinely happy for her. It also highlighted the void in my life.
But, as I told myself a million times over, I had a little boy and a career to focus on. Both brought me tremendous amounts of happiness, satisfaction, and joy. I wouldn't trade either for anything in the world. My mantra was: I didn't need or want a relationship. I didn't have time for it, and I didn't need the drama. I told myself that again and again. I just hoped that one day, I would believe it.
The truth of the matter was, the loneliness could be overwhelming at times. Sure, Austin filled up my heart. He made me happy and brought me so much enjoyment in my life. But there were times when I craved the companionship of another adult. Somebody to talk to. Somebody to share with and confide in. I sometimes longed to be held, hugged, and kissed. There were times I craved something – more. Yeah, I learned how to satisfy myself, of course. But it was never a replacement for the real thing. It was like an itch that I couldn't quite reach to scratch – and sometimes, it drove me crazy.
“You know,” Jules said, “he's got plenty of eligible friends. I'm sure he could—”
I held up my hand and shook my head. “I'm okay, hon,” I said. “Promise. I'm not really in the market for a boyfriend right now anyway.”
“I just hate seeing you alone, Cara.”
I shrugged. “I prefer it that way,” I lied. “Besides, I've got Austin, and he's more than enough for me.”
She looked at me and gave me a soft, sad smile. Julia was always looking out for me – always looking out for my happiness. And I had no doubt her new beau had plenty of friends he could set me up with. But if I were being honest with myself, it was mostly fear keeping me from taking her up on the offer. Fear of getting hurt. Fear of Austin getting hurt. I wasn't exactly the best judge of character when it came to picking a boyfriend, and while I could eventually get over and heal from a broken heart, I feared what effect my choices would have on Austin. And I didn't want to put him through that. Not until I was sure. Absolutely, positively sure.
“Well, you just let me know if you change your mind, okay?” Jules pressed.
I smiled. “Scout's honor.”
The phone on Julia's desk rang, and she grabbed it. “Emergency room.”
She listened for a moment, nodding along and then hung up. She turned to me and shrugged.
“Guess break time is over,” she said. “We've got a bus coming in. Male vic, early to mid-thirties, multiple GSW's.”
“Sounds like a party,” I said.
Gunshot wounds weren't exceedingly common, but we got them from time to time. The majority of them were from hunting accidents. Given that Fernwood backed onto wide open forest around Yosemite, we got a lot of hunters who had a few too many and mistook their hunting buddy for a ten-point buck. It happened. Multiple gunshot wounds were less common, though.
“Guess I better get ready for the guest of honor,” I said.
“See you in a little while.”
I trotted off down the hall to the triage area where the EMTs would be bringing the victim in. I prepped a table with everything I was going to need to clean wounds and hopefully stabilize the patient. It wasn't long before I heard the doors slam open and the EMTs wheeling the gurney down the hall, their voices echoing off the nearly empty walls of the ER.
They rolled him into the bay I directed them to.
“Pulse is weak, and he's lost a lot of blood,” Guillermo said, an EMT I was familiar with.
“Where did you find this guy?” I asked as I snapped on a pair of gloves.
“Parking lot of an old warehouse. Anonymous call,” he replied. “He's one of the Kings. Not real surprised he ended up here.”
I turned around and stopped in my tracks. I knew the man on the gurney in front of me. His hair was a bit longer than I remembered and he was bigger, more muscular, but there was no question that it was Damian Hawke.
I didn't know him well – we were acquaintances back in high school. I remember that I didn't think much of him back then – I knew he was into me, but his interest went about as far as what was under my skirt. He had been a good-looking boy back then and had grown into a very handsome man.
But I looked at the kutte he wore and lost all interest. The Kings of Chaos were the local motorcycle club that plagued Fernwood. They were drug runners and extortionists. And if rumors could be believed, they were murderers as well. Bad guys all around. Just the sort of guy I didn't want or need in my life.
“Cara, you with us here?”
I looked into the face of Guillermo who was looking back at me with curiosity.
“Sorry, blanked for a minute,” I said. “I know this guy, and it was a bit of a shock.”
Guillermo looked at me. “You know one of the Kings? Seriously? How did that happen?”
“Nothing big. High school acquaintances. That's all.”
The other ER nurses and Dr. Hightower had filtered into the ER bay and were milling about. It was getting crowded and hectic. After he and his partner had transferred Damian from the gurney to a table, Guillermo nodded and moved out of the way.
“He's all yours,” he said. “Good luck.”
I nodded back to him and tried to get my mind back in order. I needed to focus on the patient, whether I knew him or not. There was a ton of blood. His shirt was soaked in it. His kutte and his shirt were cut away, exposing his blood-soaked body. He had a wound on his shoulder, one high on his chest, and one on his upper arm. The most serious one was on his stomach – and that was the one Dr. Hightower was attending to first.
Damian's eyes fluttered and opened for a second – and I could have sworn that he zeroed in on me – and it sent a cold chill down my spine. But then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he was out again.
“Make sure he stays out,” Dr. Hightower called.
The anesthesiologist nodded and placed the mask over Damian's nose and mouth, double checking the gas levels. Damian was out, and truth be told, I wasn't sure he was going to wake up. His wounds looked pretty severe, and he'd lost a lot of blood. I was actually surprised he was still alive at that point.
“Cara, I need you to hang a bag of O-Positive,” he said. “And give him a shot of fentanyl citrate.”
“Right away.”
I moved quickly, glad to be doing something to snap me out of my stupor. The ER bay was a blur of activity, and I fell into common routines and practices. It allowed me to detach a bit and focus on doing the job at hand – rather than tripping out about who the patient was. Given that Fernwood was a relatively small town, I'd seen plenty of people I know come through the ER – but never one for something as violent as four gunshot wounds. Honestly, it shook me up a bit.
It took about an hour of intense activity, but Dr. Hightower had finally cleared out all of the bullet fragments and had sutured his wounds. Damian still lay unconscious on the blood-soaked table.
“Good work everybody,” Dr. Hightower said. “We've done everything we can do. We'll see how he does. Let's get him up to recovery.”
A pair of orderlies transferred Damian to another gurney and wheeled him toward the recovery room. As I watched them go, a strange sensation washed over me. It was difficult to put into words, honestly. I didn't know Damian and had brushed him off repeatedly back in the day. I knew I'd been a bit of a bitch to him and now that he was in there, fighting for his life, for some odd, stupid reason, I felt a stab of guilt.
He wasn't somebody I wanted to associate with. Not in a million years. Bikers and I did not mix. Especially bikers with reputations as checkered as the Kings. But there was some small part of me that felt compelled to at least offer up an apology for my past behavior. Maybe it was because I thought he was going to die. I didn't have the first clue.
I checked my watch – I had about an hour before I'd need to go in to change his dressing and check on his med levels. Maybe this feeling would pass by then.