“Dr. Montgomery.” The resident’s voice was tentative as he poked his head into the small room, like he was expecting Theo to take a swing at him. “The family’s asking—”
Theo held up a hand without looking his way. “I’ll handle it. Just give me a minute to get cleaned up.”
“Do you want me to call the chaplain?”
Theo went to the sink, scrubbing with scalding hot water. “Go ahead. But don’t let him go out there until I deliver the news. They’ll fall apart if they see him first.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
The resident slipped out of the room, and Theo turned off the water and braced himself on the sink. He could still hear the heart monitor going monotone in the trauma room—flatlining. We’ve lost her, Doctor. None of their resuscitation attempts had worked. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in the ER. This was his job. But the woman had had hair the color of his former wife’s. Gold tinged with auburn. No. Gold and auburn tinged with blood.
Sweat gathered on the back of his neck and that cold, sick feeling washed over him. He’d been calm and focused in surgery, had flipped that internal switch that let him shut everything out but the patient’s needs and the tasks at hand. But now memories were trying to take over. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, centering himself. There was no time for this. The husband and daughter of the woman were huddled in the waiting room, waiting for news of both her and the teenage son who’d been in the car when it’d been struck by a pickup truck. The boy would be okay. His mom would not. Was not.
Theo took a deep inhale, pulled his surgical cap off, and headed into the waiting room. Other doctors and staff quietly acknowledged him as he passed by. News had traveled quickly. Most days all these residents wished they were in his shoes—top trauma surgeon in the region, head of the department. But right now, the guy cleaning the bathrooms wouldn’t want to trade spots with him. The only thing worse than losing a patient was delivering the news to the people who loved that person.
He pushed through the swinging doors that led to the waiting area. The place was packed—crying children, people coughing, family members lined up at the desk to ask how much longer they’d have to wait. Faces turned his way, everyone hoping they’d be called in next. But he wasn’t going to be able to offer any of them relief right now. He took a turn down a separate hallway where they brought the waiting families of serious cases, offering them some privacy and quiet. There were a few separate families in the line of small alcoves, but he spotted the family he was looking for instantly. The daughter was curled up against her dad, looking younger than the preteen she was, her eyes red-rimmed. Her father had his hand on her hair, trying to soothe her, trying to be strong for her. God, this fucking sucked. Some idiot had decided to drink too much and not call a cab, and now Theo had to tell a little girl her mom wasn’t coming back.
Days like this, he wished he’d gone for that engineering degree instead of to med school.
The husband’s eyes locked with Theo’s—hopeful at first and then … not. Families always knew. No matter how stoic Theo kept his face, you couldn’t hide the aura of death on you. It stayed with you like a film that clung to your skin.
“Doc—” the man asked, standing up.
“Your son is in recovery and is going to be okay. His leg is broken, and we had to give him a transfusion, but you’ll be able to see him when he wakes up.”
The man’s breath whooshed out in relief. “Thank God.” Then he looked up. “And Brenda?”
Theo shook his head. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Allen. We did everything we could, but she’d lost too much blood by the time she got here. Her heart couldn’t take it.”
The man didn’t shout, didn’t scream. Instead he simply crumpled to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut and buried his face in his hands. “Oh, God.”
The little girl hurried to her father’s side, the word no falling off her lips over and over. She wrapped her arms around her dad and began to sob. Theo closed his eyes, wishing he could reach out and offer something, anything, to make it better, but what was there to do or say? When it’d happened to him, the doctor had put a hand on his shoulder and told him his wife was at peace now. Theo had wanted to attack the guy. The gesture had felt so useless, so trite. A pat on the shoulder was for when your team didn’t win the game, not when you lose the woman you love. He wouldn’t do that to someone else. Some of the residents and nurses thought he was cold, but this was his version of compassion.
He leaned out of the doorway and motioned for the chaplain, who’d been standing in the hallway. Father Bentley came out, his face full of his special brand of kindness. “Mr. Allen, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Mr. Allen stiffened and then got to his feet in an awkward rush. Theo saw the anger flare in his eyes before the words came out. He jabbed his finger to Theo’s chest and stepped close. “You let her die! They told me you were the best. What did you do?! Why didn’t you save her?”
The words reverberated off the walls and linoleum floors, echoing all around them and banging around in Theo’s head. Theo didn’t move. He could handle the collateral rage that sometimes got thrown his way in tragedies, knew it wasn’t personal. But for some reason the man’s words punched right through the doors Theo kept the bad shit behind. Flashes of that night so long ago flickered across his vision. Theo calling Lori’s name, all of his medical training going to hell as his wife lay trapped and broken in the car. Lori begging him to help her, not to let her die.
Theo swallowed hard and then when that didn’t work, cleared his throat. “Mr. Allen, this is Father Bentley. He’ll be here if you need anything.”
“I need my fucking wife!” the man shouted, his voice wrecked with grief.
The words sliced like daggers, and Theo simply nodded. “I know.”
And he did.
Theo stepped away, leaving the family with the chaplain, and strode back toward the swinging doors, calling for one of his residents to go assist Father Bentley. Theo couldn’t be that guy right now. The panic was trying to grab him, the memories rolling fresh even though seven years had passed. Son of a bitch. He didn’t do this anymore. He’d mastered the panic attacks in the first year after the accident. But tonight, the past refused to stay quiet. He made a swift journey to his office to change his clothes and grab his things. He needed to get out of here before anyone saw him rattled. That would be completely unacceptable.
But even though he was exhausted after the twelve-hour shift, the thought of going home held no appeal. The demons were snapping at his feet, and he only knew one surefire way to shut them up. Oblivion. The sun would be up soon. A new year. But the same old monsters.
He got in his car and headed onto the open road.
TWO
“You heading out, chica?”
Maggie looked over her shoulder as she tugged down the zipper of her leather boots, weariness settling into her bones. She’d thought switching to a