Doctor Love

Chapter 9

KATE’S POV

The screams hit me like a physical force as we rounded the corner. A young woman, maybe early twenties, was clutching the reception desk with white knuckles, mascara streaming down her face.

"Please! Somebody help my mother!" she wailed, pointing toward the entrance where two men were half-carrying, half-dragging a middle-aged woman whose blouse was soaked with blood.

My body moved before my brain could catch up, all thoughts of David and our confrontation evaporating instantly.

"What happened?" I called out, rushing toward the injured woman whose head lolled dangerously to one side.

"Car accident," one of the men grunted. "We were right behind her. Semi clipped her car and sent her into the guardrail."

The woman—conscious but barely—moaned as we approached. Her eyes were unfocused, face ashen beneath smears of blood from a gash on her forehead.

"I need a stretcher, now!" David's voice boomed beside me, startling in its authority. Gone was the arrogant bully from moments ago, replaced by a focused physician.

"Rita," he barked at the wide-eyed receptionist, "get Dr. Bennett. Tell him we have a trauma case, possible internal bleeding, definite head injury."

To my surprise, he didn't try to take over or push me aside. Instead, he moved in sync with me as we quickly assessed the woman's condition.

"Ma'am, can you hear me?" I asked, shining a penlight into her eyes. "Can you tell me your name?"

"W-Wilson," her daughter mumbled as she followed. "Janet Wilson."

"Good, Mrs. Wilson. You're at Riverside Medical Center. We're going to take care of you." I glanced briefly at the daughter who was still sobbing. "Is there anything we should know? Any medications, allergies?"

"She takes blood pressure medicine," the daughter choked out. "And she's allergic to penicillin."

The stretcher arrived, pushed by two nurses who looked as alarmed as I felt. Together, David and I transferred Mrs. Wilson as gently as possible.

"On three," David said, making eye contact with me. "One, two, three—"

We lifted in perfect coordination, placing her carefully onto the stretcher. I immediately began securing her to prevent further movement while David checked her vitals.

"Pulse thready, BP dropping," he announced, his fingers pressed against her wrist. "Let's move!"

We raced down the hallway, the daughter running alongside us, still in hysterics.

"Someone needs to stay with her," I said, nodding toward the young woman.

David actually caught my meaning without argument. "Nancy," he called to one of the nurses, "please take Miss Wilson to the waiting area and get her some water. We'll update her as soon as we can."

The emergency room doors swung open as we pushed through. I was already rattling off what we knew.

"Janet Wilson, early forties, MVA victim with possible internal hemorrhaging, head trauma, and multiple lacerations. Currently on hypertension medication, allergic to penicillin. BP 90/60 and dropping."

David jumped in seamlessly. "Pupils are responsive but sluggish. Abdominal guarding on the right side suggests possible liver laceration or fractured ribs. We need an ultrasound and CT scan, stat."

Dr. Bennett burst through the doors behind us, pulling on gloves as he approached. "Report," he demanded.

I repeated Mrs. Wilson's vitals while David flipped through the chart a nurse had somehow already produced.

"Previous history of mild hypertension," David added. "No other significant medical issues. Last physical was six months ago, all normal."

Dr. Bennett nodded, examining the gash on Mrs. Wilson's forehead. "Alright. Dr. Stanley, start an IV and push fluids. Dr. Villa, prep for possible chest tube insertion. I want to rule out pneumothorax."

For the next thirty minutes, we worked in flawless synchronization. David's hands were steady, his commands clear and precise. I found myself responding instinctively, anticipating his needs before he voiced them. Whatever personal animosity existed between us had vanished, replaced by the wordless understanding of two professionals with a single goal.

"Bleeding's controlled," Dr. Bennett finally announced, stepping back from the table. "Good catch on the splenic laceration, Dr. Stanley. And quick work with that chest tube, Dr. Villa."

Mrs. Wilson was stabilized, her color improving as the fluids and medications took effect. She'd need surgery, but she would survive.

"We'll transfer her to County General," Dr. Bennett said, peeling off his bloody gloves. "They've got the trauma team on standby." He looked between David and me, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Excellent teamwork, both of you. That's exactly what I wanted to see."

He patted each of us on the shoulder before heading out to speak with Mrs. Wilson's daughter, leaving David and me alone in the suddenly quiet room.

The adrenaline that had carried me through the emergency began to ebb, leaving me shaky and exhausted. I slumped against the wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the cool tile floor. To my surprise, David did the same, his shoulder barely an inch from mine.

For several minutes, neither of us spoke. The only sounds were our breathing and the distant beeping of monitors from the adjoining room where nurses were preparing Mrs. Wilson for transport.

"You handled that well," David finally said, his voice lacking its usual edge.

I looked at him, trying to determine if this was the prelude to another insult. "So did you."

He nodded, staring at his hands—hands that had moved with such confidence and precision minutes earlier. That's when I noticed my own were trembling.

"Adrenaline crash," I muttered, embarrassed by the visible evidence of my nerves.

Without warning, David reached over and took my hands in his. His palms were warm, enveloping my cold fingers completely. The gesture was so unexpected I didn't immediately pull away.

"It happens to everyone," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "My first trauma case in med school, I threw up right after. Couldn't stop shaking for an hour."

I looked at him skeptically. "You?"

"Hard to believe, I know." A small, almost genuine smile curved his lips. "This was my first emergency case since... well, since an incident at my last hospital. It gets to you, no matter how prepared you think you are."

For a moment, I saw a glimpse of someone else behind those blue eyes. Someone vulnerable, maybe even human.

His thumbs moved in small circles over the backs of my hands, the motion oddly soothing.

Feeling the tremors in my hands begin to subside, I figured maybe there was more to David Villa than arrogance and daddy issues.

Then his expression changed, the warmth in his eyes cooling to something calculated. He leaned closer, his breath tickling my ear.

"But I'm not such a coward as you," he whispered, his voice back to that silky, dangerous tone.

Before I could process the shift, I felt the sharp edge of teeth against my earlobe—a gentle bite that sent an electric shock down my spine.

I jerked away from him, scrambling to my feet. "What are you doing?" I gasped, hand flying to my ear as if I could wipe away the sensation.