Undeniably Enemies: Chapter 28

“You did a good job in there,” Daffy says to me as we exit the patient room and head toward a rolling cart that has a laptop on it so we can put in the necessary orders. “You were right about the strep, and you saw it instantly. Not a lot of students get that. I think you impressed Arnold too.”

Arnold is the third-year resident we presented the case to for him to sign off on our work. To me, strep is one of the more recognizable throat infections, but I’ll take her compliment anyway.

“Thank you,” I reply with a smile. Daffy is sweet and always big on positive praise. She’s great with patients and never short or dismissive when there’s a teaching point. In my four weeks here in the ER, I’ve learned so much from her. She’s also hopelessly and tragically in love with Jack, but as one of his former victims myself, I can hardly blame her for that. “I appreciate that so much. I’ve learned so much from you this rotation.”

It’s been a wild two weeks. My grandmother fell and broke her wrist, though thankfully she’s doing much better after surgery. Jack and I have been hanging out a few nights a week. I see him at the gym at least two days a week now after work. I’ve stopped competing with him because he’s in ridiculous shape and while I’m in good shape, he schools me every time while pretending to lose. Occasionally we go to dinner after or bring it to one of our places and hang out and watch something together.

Then we leave and that’s that. No touching. No kissing. Just a ton of lingering, heated looks neither of us can seem to stop. I keep having to remind myself why being with him is a bad idea and with each time we hang out, that gets harder and harder because I only want more and more.

Oh, and I officially sent in my request to match here. So yeah, that’s why Jack and I can’t be together.

“If the patient is allergic to penicillin, what else would you have prescribed?” Daffy asks.

“Cephalosporins or macrolide antibiotics.”

“And if their reaction to penicillin is hives or anaphylaxis? What then?”

“I’d likely avoid cephalosporins due to concern for cross-sensitivity and go straight to macrolides like azithromycin.”

“Good! Nice job.” She pats my shoulder like I’m a dog. “You’ve obviously been doing your studying. You’re going to be an all-star here.” She beams at that, but there’s something else behind it, and I’ve seen it a lot lately. Especially when we’re not doing pediatrics or fast-tracks.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. Of course.”

“Why are you in the ER? And I don’t mean that in a bad way, so I hope you don’t take it that way. I love the ER, and I hope to match here. But you’re just so good with kids and fast-tracks and seem not to like much else.”

She gives me a sad smile, and her eyes cloud over. “My dad is an ER doctor, and he wanted a son. When I came out a girl, I was a disappointment from the start. I wanted pediatrics, but he told me that was a weak specialty. I chose the ER to make him proud and hopefully earn some respect.”

Hell. “Do you regret it?”

She shrugs. “Sometimes. The doctors and nurses here are great, and everyone pretty much lets me do fast-tracks and pediatrics, so that’s been good. But yeah, sometimes I wish I had chosen for me and not for him. Why do you want the ER?”

“Because a little more than two years ago, I was wheeled in here on a gurney, and Callan, Layla, and Margot saved my life. I just want to return the favor.”

She blinks at me, stunned. “I had no idea.”

“No one does except for my immediate family, but it’s not something we talk about regularly. Still, for me it feels like a calling.”

She gets my meaning quickly. “You really think I’d be a great pediatrician?”

“Daffy, I think you’d be an incredible pediatrician. My best friend Tinsley’s mom is one, and let me tell you, she’s fucking badass. Nothing weak about her.”

She laughs. “I still can’t believe you’re best friends with Tinsley Monroe.”

“She’s the best, but she’d never make it in pediatrics.”

A soft smile hits her lips, but before she can respond, Jack rounds the corner and calls our attention.

“Daffodil, we’ve got two traumas coming in. Blunt force trauma for both,” Jack barks at us as he determinedly marches down the hall, all business. “Gown and glove up. We need extra hands.”

“Of course, Dr. Kincaid.” Daffy waves at him with a smile, her face flushing redder than I’ve ever seen it. She doesn’t even care that he calls her Daffodil when the rest of the world calls her Daffy. “Whatever you need from me, I’m here for.”

Poor girl. He doesn’t even hear her. He’s already getting himself ready and doesn’t spare her a second glance. She watches him for a moment longer before she clears her throat and turns to me.

“Come on. Let’s go get ready. Blunt force trauma can mean a lot of things, but often they require a lot of fast-moving parts. Last day in the ER, you should end it with a trauma.”

“Damn right,” I exclaim and follow her down the hall. We grab yellow paper gowns that we tie in the back and don our blue gloves, waiting for the traumas to roll in. A thrum of excitement and nerves rockets through my veins as I enter the trauma room. The nurses are getting things set up, and I find a spot in the back.

One of the nurses spots me. “Just remember to breathe through your nose and bend your knees. Blunt force traumas can be rough.”

“Thank you,” I say to her, following her instructions.

“Hey!” Callan greets me as he walks in. “Last day.”

“Last day.”

“But hopefully not for long.” He tosses me a wink just as Jack walks in, surveying the room to make sure it’s all set.

He spots me and frowns. “Where’s Daffy?”

“Nex door I think.”

“Okay. Stay back then.”

Before I can so much as move, the doors burst open, and a gurney is wheeled in with an unconscious woman on it.

“Give me the bullet,” Callan demands as a nurse covers his face with a plastic shield and moves in to assess the patient.

The paramedic immediately starts. “Twenty-two-year-old female was jogging by the river when she was attacked from behind.”

My breath catches in my lungs, and my body automatically seizes up. The paramedic continues to talk, telling us about the status of the patient while all the doctors and nurses spring into action, working to save her life. Callan throws me a look, one I feel, but he doesn’t say anything. What can he say?

He’s too busy trying to save her life.

She’s intubated, and a central line is placed to give her fluids and medicine.

“Where’s ultrasound?” Jack barks. “Why isn’t it in here?”

“Two minutes out,” a nurse tells him.

I feel like I’m going to pass out. Blood thrums through my ears, and my vision sways. No. Not now. I focus on my breathing. Four, three, two, one, four, three, two, one.

“She got him good,” one of the nurses muses. “I hope she’s okay. She’s a fighter.”

My stomach roils.

“They’re wheeling him in next door now,” another states, but all chatter cuts off as the patient’s heart rate suddenly shifts from sinus tachycardia to flirting with ventricular fibrillation. I watch in horror, my gloved hands locked behind my back.

“Dammit,” Callan curses. “She’s bleeding somewhere. We need ultrasound two minutes ago, not in another two minutes.”

“Lung sounds are absent on the right,” Jack states. “She needs a chest tube. Get me set up. I want X-ray in here now for placement.”

“It’s more than that. Her abdomen is tense and rigid,” Callan declares. “Is trauma on the way down?”

“Yes, Doctor,” a nurse says. “They’ve been paged.”

It’s as if I’m watching from outside my body. Words echo around me, and I hear them, but they’re just words. Because I can’t take my eyes off her face. Her swollen and bludgeoned face. Four is the highest degree general polynomial equation for which there is a solution in radicals. There are four elementary arithmetic operations: addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division.

“Miss Fritz!” Callan practically yells, snapping me out of my panic as if he’d been trying to get my attention more than once. “You should go check on your other patients.”

I meet his eyes. I know what he’s trying to do. I bite into my lip and shake my head. I can’t leave. I have to see this. I have to know.

“Go next door and see how it’s going with the other trauma,” Jack orders, and I practically bark out a laugh. Right. The attacker.

“No, we can send someone else to do that,” Callan offers.

I shake my head again and on wobbly legs push through the swinging door to trauma two where they’re working on him, though not nearly as hard or fast as they are the victim.

“This is the attacker?” I question, and heads swivel in my direction.

“Yes,” Layla declares, her gaze nervous on mine. I didn’t even know she was on right now, but I’m so grateful she is.

“How’s the girl?” Margot asks.

“Jack’s inserting a chest tube. Right now, it doesn’t look great, but she’s a fighter.”

“She is,” Layla agrees. “Come here. Get closer. You can see better.”

“Layla.”

“Come see, Wren.”

“She kicked his ass,” Margot tells me.

I start to shake my head only to force myself to stop. “They wanted an update.”

“Tell them he’ll live to see his day in court. He has some bruises on his chest and two broken fingers. She broke his nose and jaw and cracked two ribs with it. He’s sedated and in line for a CT, but his C-spine and cranial X-rays are clear.”

“It’s not fair,” I whisper.

“No,” Margot agrees. “It’s not.”

I look at his unconscious form, and memories explode through my head like a series of grenades, one after the other in gruesome detail.

“Wren?”

My gaze snaps up. “Yes?”

“You okay?”

I swallow and nod at Layla, wishing I were wearing a mask to hide most of my face the way everyone else in here is.

“You can let them know.”

“Right.”

“If you wait for me, we can go to the gym after my shift,” Margot offers though I’m not sure I can do that tonight. My vision begins to crackle at the edges. It feels like I’m floating as I return to the other trauma room where they’re… defibrillating her.

“He’s unconscious, has some cracked ribs, some facial fractures, and two broken fingers,” I declare. “That’s it.”

Only no one hears me. They’re too busy shocking this poor woman’s body, and I can’t handle that. I can’t when all I see is that night. Trauma sucks. It just does. It comes in waves and starts and stops, and just when you think you’re fine and you’ve got your shit together, an asshole comes along and says hold my beer.

I had that jackass at a frat party who thought it was cute and fun to slip me a lot of Benadryl along with my drink, though thankfully he was stopped, and a couple of years later, I was out for a run, like this girl was, and was attacked from behind by my ex. I’m a Fritz and had been taught advanced self-defense and also had an alarm on my keys.

Both of those things saved my life, but I still had to fight, and I still have to live with the aftermath. Which right now is brutal. To the point where I can feel bile climbing up the back of my throat, and no amount of praying or Jesus is going to push it back down where it belongs. It’s either puke here or puke in private, and I choose private.

Without another word, I flee the trauma room and race down the hall straight into the locker room, where I go for the toilet and throw up everything I had to eat today. Once that’s done, I sag against the wall of the stall and breathe. My eyes close and I focus on what I have control over. What I know.

I’m standing here. I’m alive, and he’s not.

I haven’t had a full-blown panic attack like that in a long time. Well over a year. And it happened during a trauma where I’m being judged and graded. Awesome. With any luck, no one saw or noticed. I’m only a student. And most of the doctors and nurses in there know about me, so hopefully they’ll cut me some slack on my last day.

Baked goods are definitely in my future.

Exiting the stall, I turn on the faucet and pool cool water in my hands that I splash over my face and swish with some of the mouthwash they have here. I’m already feeling better, and now I just want to go home. I dry my face and head back to where the lockers are, muttering my variations of four.

“There are four great elements: earth, wind, water, and fire. The four Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.” I stumble to a stop. “Speaking of.”

I guess some people do pay attention to medical students. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s always watching me. Even when he treats me as nothing more than a med student here, I feel him looking at me whenever we’re in the same space.

“There are four Symbols of Ching.”

I blink at him and blink again. “Come again?”

That’s what she said. I inwardly snicker, glad I’m able to make a lame joke, and by the way Jack’s lips barely twitch, I’m going to assume he was having the same inward thought.

“I took Chinese culture and history as an elective in college.”

“Uh, cool for you?”

I’m not sure how else to respond.

“Not everyone is cut out for those kinds of traumas. It can be tough to see that for the first time.”

A caustic laugh flees my lungs. “Thanks for that pep talk, teach. Truly, it was inspirational and motivating.”

He ignores my shitty attitude and blatant sarcasm. “Do you want to talk about it with me?”

“Nope.”

“What happened in there?”

I hate how calm his voice is. How he’s trying to soothe me when I’m this out of control.

I go over to my locker and pull out my clothes. I don’t care. Right now, I just need a break. A break from the ER. A break from the attacker. A break from my attending physician, who never seems to be able to give me one even when he’s just my friend because we both know that’s how it has to be for us.

With my back to him, I rip off my scrub top followed by my long-sleeved shirt. This is the second time he’s followed me into the women’s locker room, and if he has zero fucks to give with that, then so do I.

I hear him suck in a breath, but I don’t turn over my shoulder to gauge his reaction. Instead, I throw on my clean shirt and flatly utter, “I take it Owen never told you.”

“Told me what?”

“That I was attacked at knifepoint by my ex-boyfriend while I was jogging.”

He’s quiet for a very long, very tense beat. “Wh—” His voice catches, and he clears his throat. “When?”

“About a year and a half after I moved back here.”

“I didn’t.” He clears his throat again. “I didn’t know. Jesus, Wren. What happened?”

I can hear the anguish and anger in his voice, but I can’t turn to see it.

“He loved me. Or made it seem that way. He made me feel special, like I was the only girl in the world, and after you rejected me and broke my heart and all the boys who only seemed to want me because I was a Fritz, I clung fast and hard. So I didn’t notice the signs. And I forgave things I never should have. I discovered a very troubling past with his family, and when I confronted him about it, he got physical. I left, and he didn’t take that well. Finally, he backed off, and a few months later, I was out running, and there he was. He jumped me from behind and grabbed my wrists, holding them above my head as he pinned me down.”

He gasps, and I know it’s because he remembers my reaction to him doing that.

“Did he…” He can’t even finish that.

“No. He tried. He tried like hell. I told him no and to stop, and it set him off. I fought him with everything I had, and I managed to hit the alarm I have on my keychain. Someone heard, and the next thing I knew, I was in an ambulance. Callan, Layla, and Margot saved me.”

“Callan, Layla, and Margot,” he repeats, his voice eerily soft. “Where is he now?”

“Dead. I wasn’t his only plan for the knife that day.”

He’s silent for a long, tense moment, but he hasn’t left, and because I don’t care and I’m angry and I want to punish him a bit for the situation we find ourselves in, I undo the string of my scrub pants and let them drop to the floor.

He chokes. “What are you doing?”

“Changing. This is the women’s locker room.”

I’m wearing a thong, so he’s getting a hot glance at my ass right now. I’m hoping he’ll get the fucking hint and leave me the hell alone. I didn’t want to tell him. I never wanted to tell him. People look at you and treat you differently after they know. They just do. And I liked how Jack never treated me with kid gloves. He gave it back to me just as good as I gave it to him, and though nothing will ever happen between us again, I don’t want that look of pity from him.

I couldn’t take that.

“Just leave, Jack.” Why won’t he go? Does he enjoy my humiliation that much?

“No.”

“I don’t want you here.” I button and zip up my jeans. “I’m fine. It caught me off guard. That’s all. I apologize for running out of there. It was unprof⁠—”

“Shut up.”

“What?”

“Don’t you fucking dare apologize.” He huffs out a breath, his voice low and tortured. “But next time communicate with me, so I won’t have to follow you in here and hear you puke your guts out and discover the meaning behind the number four.”

I laugh mirthlessly. “Again, I didn’t invite you in here. This isn’t for your voyeuristic pleasure. But I’ll be sure to remember to give you the heads-up next time I’m mid-panic attack and about to hurl my guts out.”

“Tell me about the fours.”

I spin around, giving him a withering stare. “Fuck off, Jack. I owe you no explanations, and you’ve already gotten more truths from me than I like to share.”

He crosses the room and stands directly before me, his hand going straight to my hip, and his expression fiercer than I’ve ever seen it. And just like every time he’s touched me, I feel my skin hum as if it’s waking up after a long slumber. His eyes skim mine, and he takes another step, his body so close I can hardly stand it.

“Are you ever not a pain in the ass?”

“With you? No. Lucky for us it’s my last day here so you won’t have to deal with me being a pain in your ass for several months since interns don’t start until July.”

His hand cups my jaw. “Lucky for me.” His mouth comes down on mine, stealing my breath in a kiss that’s the sweetest, softest, most tender kiss I’ve ever experienced.

“Don’t.” I practically sob the word and push him off. I can’t take him being like this with me. My heart won’t survive it. Not after that. And speaking of. “Did she survive?” I already know the answer. If he’s in here that fast after I ran, I hatefully know the answer.

“No.”

I swallow thickly, refusing to let my eyes burn with the tears they want to start producing.

“Let me go.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, Cinderella, I think we both know that’s impossible.” He presses against me and kisses me again. “I’ve tried to let you go so many times, but I can’t. I’m done with this bullshit. I’m done pretending I don’t want you every second of every minute of every hour of every day. I can’t let you go. Now let me take you home. Let me take care of you.”