Page 14 of Crash

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“She needs to be admitted to the ICU!” The words came out harsher than I intended, echoing across the busy nurses’ station, where phones rang and monitors beeped in their endless symphony of emergency medicine. I wasn’t normally this disrespectful to the ICU attending physician, but the image of Tessa’s lifeless form was still too fresh, too raw.

Dr. Calloway adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. “Dr. Morrison, I don’t need to remind you that this hospital has strict criteria for ICU-level care, and this patient does not meet it.”

“She was in cardiac arrest.”

He planted his hands on his hips, regarding me with the kind of impatience reserved for difficult residents. As if coming down to examine Tessa had been a waste of his precious time. The second he finished his cursory exam, he’d shipped her off to a regular floor while I stood here, fighting for what she needed.

“Briefly,” he emphasized. “Her pulse and breathing immediately returned to normal ranges. Her heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen saturation are all fine. As was her 12-lead EKG. Her arterial blood gases and cardiac enzymes all showed signs of stability. Her pregnancy test was negative, ruling out any pregnancy-related complications.”

“Doctor—”

“Your patient is stable now. ICU beds are for patients requiring active life support. She’ll receive careful monitoring in a normal room.”

“Her heart stopped. I will not take the chance it will stop again.”I will not lose her.

Calloway’s eyes narrowed, his head tilting slightly in irritation. “You’ve never challenged my judgment on an ICU admission with such persistence before.”

“She needs to be monitored. This is a healthy woman with no obvious explanation why her heart stopped.” This wasn’t just another case file or set of vital signs. This was Tessa. Flesh, blood, and years of memories.

“We’ve ruled out seizures and stroke. To be safe, we’ll investigate cardiac arrhythmias, like atrial fibrillation, ventricular fibrillation and bradycardia, but it’s also possible that dehydration, electrolyte imbalances, or hypoglycemia caused her issues.”

“The statistics of this being a simple electrolyte imbalance are slim. She’s a thirty-three-year-old otherwise healthy woman.”

“Is she?” Calloway’s tone shifted. “It sounds like this patient’s had extensive blood testing recently. That’s not typical for a young woman. Has she told you why she had that blood work?”

My jaw clenched so hard it ached. He had me there, and we both knew it.

“Right. Well, get your patient’s full medical history. If she deteriorates, page me.”

The dismissal in his tone as he walked away ignited something primal in my chest. My palm slammed against the counter, the crack splitting through the ambience of the ER. Nearby nurses jumped, their wide-eyed looks barely registering. Nothing could make this moment of helplessness worse?—

“Tessa Kincaid?”

Every muscle tensed at the sound of an unknown male voice saying her name. My focus snapped to the other end of the counter, where a man stood. Mid-thirties, athletic build, expensive watch. Something territorial coiled in my gut.

“They told me she was in room seven, but it’s empty?”

“She’s been admitted,” the nurse began. “She’s in room?—”

“I’m Dr. Morrison.” I cut across the space between us before she could finish. “And you are?”

The nurse’s eyebrows shot up at my tone. The stranger turned, all casual confidence and concerned expression.

“I’m Eli. Is Tessa okay?”

Eli. In all my years of knowing the Kincaids, I’d never heard of an Eli. Sounded like a name for a goddamned snake, if you asked me.

“You family?” I challenged, knowing damn well he wasn’t. I knew every Kincaid, every shared holiday, every inside joke.

“No, I’m, uh … her boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend.”

My tongue swept harshly along the inside of my teeth.

“Did she call you?”