Page 37 of Worthy or Knot (Serendipity Omegaverse #3)
Thirty-Seven
MEGAN
“ H ey, Megs, EMS called in an Omega trauma,” Riley says as he approaches the desk.
He waves the paramedic radio he keeps in his pocket as the responding nurse. My phone vibrates with a call, but I silence it without looking.
“An Omega trauma?” I verify, saving and closing out the patient chart I was working in. It takes me only a minute to grab everything off the desk. Scissors, alcohol wipes, and notepad in the left pocket, pens and tape in the right, stethoscope around the neck.
Riley nods. “Yep. Apparent blow to the temple, too.”
Well, that’s one hell of a way to start a morning. We haven’t managed to get through the typical rush from all the care homes bringing in their sick residents like most mornings. I glance at the clock above the nurse station. Not even nine yet. Damn.
“Hey, Luke.” I grab the arm of one of the other nurses as he walks past me at the main desk. He pauses with a frown. “We have an Omega trauma inbound.”
Understanding smoothes his features of their irritation.
“What do you have right now?”
“Finalizing discharge instructions on the foot laceration in room three. Peterson’s already signed off on everything.” He nods. “And then I think Erica was just processing someone from the waiting room, eighteen year old with lower left abdominal pain.”
His gaze sharpens. “Got it. I’ll take care of them.”
The radio goes off in Riley’s hand.
“This is Holden with ambulance fifteen,” a static-filled voice says.
Riley presses the side and offers a quick response.
“We are currently about five minutes away. We are upgrading from just an Omega trauma to an OBS crisis event with extraneous trauma.”
Shit .
“Good luck,” Luke offers, quickly dodging out of the way of Riley and me.
Riley responds and then begins the process of paging the proper teams. Even as he’s issuing instructions, we rush to the trauma bay designed for these types of emergencies, pulling the proper cart of supplies and staging it just inside the room.
The doctors working today walk through the sliding glass doors before we’re finished.
There are students here today, so they’re discussing treatments options and other variables we won’t even begin to know until we’ve seen the poor Omega. Bond sickness is no fucking joke.
“Crap. The respirators aren’t in here,” I say.
Riley nods and then disappears out the doors.
I lean against the cart, crossing my arms as I listen to the doctors run through potential scenarios.
More people crowd the room, grabbing the name tags that identify us by our role in the response team.
I tuck my standard badge inside the neckline of my scrubs to keep it out of the way and put on the “Trauma Nurse Two” name tag.
“Alphas that aren’t bonded or on a suppressor need these,” Riley says as he walks back in to the room.
He hands a respirator to one of the ER techs before he can ask for it.
“EMS says it’s a full crisis. We don’t need to be risking any kind of rutting response.
John, if you’ll start the negative pressure for the room, please. ”
Riley crosses to me. Without a word I take one of the respirators and adjust it. Riley helps tighten it down and then rearranges one of the prepped carts, pulling some of the medicines and putting on the name tag “Trauma Nurse One.”
“How’s everything with the match?” he asks as he works. “We’ve been so slammed all week. I feel like I haven’t seen you since he moved out here.”
I can’t help but think of Charlotte’s happiness this morning as she left for the gym while I was getting ready.
Cole’s apple scent clung to her the same way it does Marcus.
I mentally readjust my priorities list, moving asking him to bond with me to the top of it.
I want people to know I’m taken at such a primal level, too.
And not having to wear a respirator during these types of situations would be nice.
“Good,” I say, shoving the possessiveness away. “We finalized everything on Friday.”
It had been textbook, the perfect level of romantic and serious while still being whimsical, too. Marcus had been right about the private yacht despite my unease. Cole had loved it. He seems to love everything about being on the water.
“Already?”
I shrug. “The Council gives thirty days, so it’s not like it would be a drawn out thing anyway. We filed on day fifteen.”
He grunts. “That just… feels fast. I mean, it is fast.”
“It’s about average for the Council matches, actually.”
A single eyebrow rises in surprise before he clears his throat. “He’s settling in well, then? You were worried.”
“Better than any of us hoped, him included, I think,” I explain, helping him stage the most likely needed equipment, keeping my hands busy to keep the nerves at bay.
I’m not a stranger to handling OBS crises, but the anxious feel of having the bay prepped and all the teams on stand-by isn’t something that’s ever gone away.
The radio goes off.
“Time to party,” he mutters before grabbing one of the techs and leaving the room for the ambulance bay.
My phone vibrates again, and I pull it from my pocket. There’s four missed calls from Charlotte.
What the hell?
I start to text her, but there’s commotion in the hall signaling they’ve gotten the Omega inside.
Everyone flies into action. I shove my own phone back into my pocket, forcing away the worry over Charlotte trying to get ahold of me so early in my shift.
The paramedics guide the stretcher into the room.
One man straddles the Omega, doing compressions already.
Shit .
Holden zeroes in on me and crosses the room, his gloves bloodied.
“Hey, Megan,” he says. “Hopping morning.”
The paramedic straddling the Omega moves, allowing Riley to take over compressions, the movement the smooth transition we train to be able to achieve.
My gaze catches on black-brown hair as Riley adjusts and then streaks of halfway dried blood on the man’s neck.
One of the techs presses her fingers just under the Omega’s chin, watching the clock on the wall for half a minute and then relaying the still lack of pulse to the doctors in the room.
“Yeah, no joke,” I offer dryly. Holden nudges me with an elbow as he chuckles. Then, in a louder voice, he addresses the room.
“Good morning, everyone. This is Cole. He’s 21. His partner found him thirty minutes ago unresponsive in their kitchen. He has an open wound on the head from a fall. He’s positive for OBS.”
All the air leaves the room, stolen between one heartbeat and the next.
“His markers were over 90 when we arrived on scene. The partner was unaware of illness and hadn’t given him any medications. We gave him two rounds of…”
Holden’s words fade under the rushing beat of my own heart as it drowns out everything else in the room. It’s as if time has slowed down as Riley pulls away, and I see the Omega’s face clearly for the first time.
Cole’s face.
Something primal and unknown rises in me.
My hands aren’t my own as I put them on Cole’s chest, restarting the compressions Riley had been doing.
My coworkers swarm around me, grabbing the board and moving Cole from the EMS gurney to the trauma bay’s bed without interrupting my movements.
Holden’s still talking, answering the questions I’m supposed to be asking.
One of the students dabs at the two inch gash in Cole’s right temple that’s still bleeding freely.
Head wounds bleed , I tell myself. It’ll be fine.
My entire world narrows to the man under me in a way that is so reminiscent of just a few days ago that it’s laughable in a macabre sort of way.
Instead of the glowing, weightless feel of pleasure, though, my body thrums with an awful electric energy that has my hands shaking and my muscles tightening.
And despite the respirator that hides his apple scent, the horrid bitterness that must have laced with it to signify his distress, a red haze coats my vision as the minutes tick by.
Another nurse checks for a pulse before shaking her head.
Orders are being said all around me, but I can’t make sense of them over the rushing in my ears as the semi-familiar burn of the rut settles in my bones.
People race around the bed, falling into the rhythm of an OBS code.
My compressions falter as the phrase rips through my mind.
And then suddenly that red haze is so strong, I can’t see around it, can’t think around it.
I need to get Cole alone, need to lock him and bond him to stop this horrid disease from getting any worse.
My logical brain is gone, only the instinct of an Alpha’s protective rut driving me now.
“Megan!”
Riley’s voice rips from the strange space. It’s only then I realize the people nearest me are staring with wide eyes, fear written on their faces. And then I hear the violent, lethal growl. My growl.
“Get her out of here!” One of the doctors. “The last thing we need is a nurse rutting right now. Tech three, take over compressions. Someone get the standby nurse in here, please!”
Someone pulls me from Cole, and I screech, fighting against the hold.
How dare they take me from him? He’s mine and they’re forcing me away exactly when he needs me most. People condense around him, blocking him from my sight.
I can’t hold back another feral growl. One woman looks up as she flinches, and her face blanches of all color.
“Megan, come on, girl,” a deep voice rumbles beside my ear. It’s Loren, one of the security guards. “You know you can’t be in here if you’re rutting. Don’t make me sedate you.”
“How long until the specialist is down here?” Peterson asks, watching one of the monitors now ringing with an alarm.
“About ten minutes,” Riley says. “He was at the clinic in Brooklyn.”
Someone curses viciously, and then there’s another round of orders, medications and doses and a charged, waiting silence. I thrash against Loren’s hold, needing to get back to Cole, but he doesn’t relent, walking us backward and out of the room entirely.