Page 17 of Crash

“Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been sick for a year?”

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“Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been sick for a year?”

Tessa’s eyes widened, but not with guilt. With something worse. Fear. The kind that made my medical instincts scream that I’d missed something critical. And, God help me, I should have seen it sooner. The slight tremor in her hand as she adjusted the pulse oximeter, the way she subtly shifted to hide her discomfort, the shadows under her eyes. All classic signs I should have focused on more before her heart stopped.

My pager shrieked. Emergency room. Of course. But the residents were capable of first assessments.

I couldn’t remember the last time hot tears had pricked the backs of my eyes like this. The tightening in my throat, the heat flashing through my chest … these weren’t sensations I allowed myself to feel anymore. But watching Tessa lie there, knowing she’d been suffering while I remained oblivious … I deserved this pain.

Every symptom she must have experienced, every test she’d endured, every doctor who’d, according to Eli, dismissed her. These weren’t just medical facts anymore. They were my failures. Each one a time stamp of when I should have been there, when I should have noticed, when I should have helped.

Because I was the one who’d stopped answering texts, who started missing her family’s holidays. Who created this distance between us, all to protect her, though she’d never know the real reason why.

“When did the symptoms start?” I pressed, but a nurse entered with medications, the door whooshing open on pneumatic hinges.

“Dr. Morrison, pharmacy has questions about?—”

“Not now.” My voice carried an edge that made the nurse pause, the IV bags in her hands swaying slightly. Before she took the hint and left.

“What?” Tessa clutched her sheet to her chest like armor, as if cotton threads could shield her secrets from my medical scrutiny.

“You’ve had extensive blood work.” I moved closer, desperate for answers. “Why?—”

The sound of footsteps entering turned the question to dust in my mouth.

“Tessa!” His voice struck my spine like a reflex hammer as Eli—the alleged ex-boyfriend—bulldozed his way into her room. The sharp scent of his expensive cologne corrupted the sterile hospital air as he went right to her side like he belonged there. Like he had the right.

I watched his hand grip hers, saw his lips press against her forehead, noted the obvious intimacy in their shared gaze. Each gesture felt like acid in my veins.

A quick glance at the monitors showed her heart rate stabilizing at his touch, and that observation hit harder than any kick to the ribs could have.

“God, I was so worried when they called me,” Eli said, and the genuine concern in his voice made it worse somehow.

I assessed him with clinical detachment. Or tried to. How long had they dated? What did she see in him? Based on whatI could see, he was nothing special. Not even close to what she deserved.

“I’m fine.” Tessa offered him a weak smile and patted his hand. A gesture I’d seen her give me a hundred times before, back when I was the one she trusted.

I wanted to snap his fingers off.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked.

Another sound joined the chorus of music notes, this one warning of a low IV bag that needed changing. Just one more interruption in a day full of them.

“In case of emergency,” he replied.

The IV pump’s alarm grew more insistent, its digital display flashing red.

“Oh … right.” She gripped the sheet tighter with her left hand. “I forgot to change that. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Eli swept a fallen hair off her forehead with the casual intimacy of someone who’d done it a hundred times before.

My own hands twitched, remembering how she used to fall asleep during movie nights, her head on my shoulder, and I used to sweep her fallen hairs back into place.

“I told you, I’ll always be here for you. Always.”