Page 31

Chapter 30

I t’s been three weeks since I told Eli everything, and we’ve slipped into an easy rhythm. We haven’t spent a single night apart. Some nights we stay at his house, where I help him paint and watch him tile his bathroom. Other nights, after a long shift in the emergency room, he has supper ready for me when I get home.

Admittedly, being held in his arms every night has kept my nightmares at bay. But I’m not sure I can change the person I’ve become.

I feel a little guilty that I haven’t spent as much time with Allie lately. The douchebag Dalton actually proposed to her after she told him about the baby, and as much as I want to be happy for her, it’s hard to hide my disapproval. She assures me he hasn’t laid a hand on her again. Maybe I should do a drop-in to be sure she isn’t lying to me, but I feel like she’s being honest. Allie sounds genuinely happy about the pregnancy and engagement. She literally squealed into the phone when I admitted Eli and I are a couple. I suppose I’ll do my best to suck it up—maybe invite her and the douche over for dinner .

And try not to call him a douchebag to his face. No promises there.

Since that night I killed Ronald, I haven’t been actively hunting, but they still find me sometimes.

I’m in the middle of a hectic shift. About thirty minutes ago, we got the call: Lake Falls Penitentiary is bringing in an inmate who sustained injuries after an altercation with another inmate. This man made the news a decade ago after being convicted for the rape of six students at the University of Alabama. It appears serial rapists are shunned, even by the most ruthless criminals. Who knew?

The shrill sound of the ambulance siren slices through the silence, and I head instinctively toward the ambulance bay.

“Fifty-one-year-old male, burns from a gas fire to seventy percent of his body. IV line is in, fluids running. Blood pressure ninety over sixty, heart rate one hundred and fifteen, oxygen sats ninety percent and dropping,” the paramedic fires off in rapid succession. We push him into trauma room two, and the nurses get to work stabilizing the inmate. I rattle off orders for labs as I intubate him while the respiratory therapist bags him. The protocol is to stabilize him and transfer him to a burn unit as soon as possible. Within minutes, he’s connected to the ventilator, a machine taking over the work of his lungs, allowing them to rest.

“Grab some gauze, soak it in normal saline, cover the burned areas, and give one milligram of morphine stat,” I call out.

Grabbing the chart, I document the orders I’ve just given and glance at the man. The major areas of the burn are his face, neck, trunk, and upper extremities. The skin is broken, peeling in several places. And yet, it’s hard to feel any empathy for him. The burns could take months to heal, and he’ll suffer excruciating pain, likely requiring multiple skin grafts and leaving horrific scarring. It’s nothing less than what he deserves. But what if he survives all of that? Or what if the prison lets him out because they don’t want to pay his extensive medical bills? I’ve seen it happen before. While unlikely, given the nature of his crimes, the possibility still exists.

I look up at the IV bag, fluids dripping rapidly into his right arm. Fluids keeping him alive. A man who doesn’t deserve to take another breath.

The nurses move in and out of the room, completing the orders I’ve given.

Pulling myself out of my thoughts, I head to the nurses’ station.

“Dr. Sparks, the patient in room seven has critical labs,” Lucy says and hands me the chart.

“Mr. Winston’s potassium levels are dangerously low. Start an IV drip of potassium to be administered slowly over four hours,” I instruct, then add, “Be sure the patient stays on cardiac monitoring during the infusion.”

Lucy nods, and a few minutes later, she draws up the potassium and adds it to the fluid bag. She places a label on it and sets it on her cart, beside a fluid bag of normal saline. Just as she’s about to head down the hall, alarms blare.

“Code Blue, room ten.” Lucy and John, a physician’s assistant, run down the hall with a few other staff members. Since there are only two of us manning the emergency department today, I need to stay available for any other crises.

Seizing the opportunity, I glance around cautiously, ensuring I’m alone before walking to the cart holding the IV fluids. Quickly, I remove the potassium label and place it on the saline bag .

The beauty of the emergency department is that the staff help each other during crises. Moments later, a tall blonde nurse—whose name I’ve forgotten—grabs the potassium bag and heads into room two. I follow, ostensibly monitoring the patient’s status, watching as she swaps the empty saline bag with the fresh one, the fluid running wide open. Because of the severity of his burns, he isn’t on cardiac monitoring, and the alarms that would normally blare in the event of a heart arrhythmia will stay silent. Struggling to keep my expression blank, I exit the room and head down the sterile hallway to check on the next patient. It shouldn’t be long now.

At the end of my shift, I head to the doctors’ lounge to grab my things, my day of saving and taking lives over. The euphoric feeling still lingers, even though it’s been nearly four hours since my patient’s demise. He was found without a pulse, and resuscitation attempts were fruitless. Severe burn victims sometimes die unexpectedly. It was a stark scene: no tears, no family—just a sheet covering his burned face.

John walks over, touches my shoulder, and asks gently, “Tess, are you okay? It’s hard when we can’t save someone.”

I roll my eyes, then face him with a forced, desolate expression.

In an effort to show emotion, I easily recall a memory of a former patient, a kind-hearted woman who frequently came to the ER due to cancer complications. A woman I tried desperately to save. Tears spring into my eyes as I look at him .

“I’m okay. It’s part of the job, but it never gets easier.” That isn’t exactly a lie. Villains are the only ones who make it easy. The loss of an innocent life is almost unbearable, especially when it could’ve been prevented.

I pull my bag onto my shoulder, say goodnight, and make my way home. A broad smile spreads across my face as I pull into my driveway and park next to Eli’s truck. This is something I could definitely get used to. How did someone like me get so lucky? I’ve spent so much of my life keeping everyone at a distance, not letting anyone near my heart or close enough to hurt me like my parents did.

Walking into the house, the aroma of cooking food fills the air. Eli turns, and his eyes light up. A light grin crosses his face. A wave of warmth and certainty washes over me, and I know, without a doubt, that I’m irrevocably in love with him. He pulls me close, his fingers tangling in my hair, and then his lips are on mine—soft and warm. My lips tingle as I deepen the kiss, and we’re both left breathless.

“Damn, baby, kiss me like that and we won’t be eating supper until later.”

I stiffen, caught off guard by his use of the nickname, the memory of that defining night fresh in my mind. Yet, his teasing, bright eyes—full of adoration and longing—electrify me. Complete devotion and hunger focused solely on me.

“As good as that sounds, I’m starved.” I croak out a laugh and swat him on the ass.

Working together as if we’ve been doing it for years, we set the table. He places the chicken Alfredo on a hot plate, and just as he’s pulling the garlic bread out of the oven, his phone rings .

He sets the pan on the stove, grabs his cell, and answers, “Hey, man. We’re about to—what? Wait, slow down. Tell me what happened?”

My eyes shoot up to him as he turns to face me. The color drains from his face.

“Eli…” I look at him, a sharp pang of panic twisting in my stomach.

“It’s Allie.”