Page 13 of Crash

I lifted my hands, every muscle in my body tense as I pushed my fingers to her artery, feeling a pulse, my eyes burning with the threat of tears.

I willed that rhythm to continue. If she crashed again?—

Tessa gasped, the sound like music. Her eyes fluttered open, disoriented but alive. So gloriously alive.

“Tessa …”

The nurse stepped back, giving us space as Tessa’s chest rose and fell on its own. Everyone and everything vanished into a black hole, and all that remained was this: her breathing, her pulse on the monitor, her eyes struggling to focus. Like watching a butterfly emerge, fragile and beautiful and miraculous.

My own heart thundered against my ribs, my breath coming in short gasps that had nothing to do with physical exertion and everything to do with the fear slowly unclenching from my chest.

When her eyes finally found mine, they were filled with confusion. But they were open. They were seeing me.

“Blake?” Her voice was barely a whisper, scratchy and uncertain. “What happened?”

I pressed my forehead to her bed for a moment before pulling it back up and fixing her with a stare.

“Your heart stopped.”

And mine nearly stopped with it.

8

BLAKE

“FUCK!”

The medical chart hit the wall of the on-call room, papers scattering like confetti. Not professional. Not doctor-like. But for one goddamn minute, I needed to not be Dr. Morrison. Not when my hands were still burning from the feeling of her lifeless body beneath them.

I slammed into the bathroom, bracing my hands against the sink, watching water spiral down the drain. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Years of medical training, countless hours in emergency rooms, and I’d never felt this unstable after a code.

The last time I’d felt this helpless, I was seven years old. My sister, Faith, was five, and we were at our grandmother’s house while our parents finished their holiday shopping. The kitchen had been warm, filled with the sweet scent of chocolate chip cookies and the sound of Faith’s giggling. I could still see her, perched on her step stool, chocolate smeared across her cheek, oblivious to how our world was about to shatter.

Then the doorbell rang.

Some memories blur with time while others carve themselves into your bones until every detail haunts you. I can still see the police officer removing his hat, that slight tremblein his fingers telling me something was wrong before he even opened his mouth, the way his Adam's apple bobbed before he spoke. Then came Grandma's hand flying to her chest and that animal howl she made before collapsing, her heart giving out right there on her foyer floor with the news that her daughter, my mother, would never come home again.

That was the last day my parents’ hearts had beat. The last day my grandmother’s heart had beat too.

And now, Tessa’s heart had stopped. On my watch.

My stomach began churning, like it hadn’t been trained to be unaffected by ER traumas.

The reason I cared this much was because she was Ryker’s family …

Right?

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the image of her lying there, lifeless on that gurney. The cardiac monitor’s shriek still echoed in my ears with that terrible, continuous tone that meant someone you cared about was slipping away.

I couldn’t think about how, for sixty hellish seconds, I’d been that helpless seven-year-old boy again, watching someone I cared about slip away.

But Tessa’s heart was beating now, and I would be damned if I let anything stop it again.

I couldn’t save my parents. Couldn’t save my grandmother. But I could save Tessa.

I had to.

Because the alternative was unthinkable.