The Nurse's Brooding Boss (7 page)

When she ran out of chatty things to say, she stared at her mother’s hand in hers. It was at times like this she missed her mother the most. When she needed a confidant.

She winced at her selfish thought. Her mother’s emotional health had been fragile for years; it wasn’t her mother’s fault she had difficulty coping with the added stress of her sister’s death.

“I met Brock Madison,” she finally said in a low voice, hoping and praying her mother wouldn’t react negatively to Brock’s name. “Do you remember him?”

She risked a glance at her mother’s face. Her mother’s gaze was clear, alert. She squeezed her fingers twice. Yes.

Elana was surprised her mother didn’t appear to be upset. Was this a good sign? Maybe that art therapy was working better than she’d imagined.

“He claims he wasn’t speeding that night,” Elana continued, needing to get some of this inner turmoil out of her system. “He said the last thing his dad would do is to cover up for him, and I think I’m starting to believe him. Did you know he’s a doctor now?”

One squeeze. No, her mother hadn’t known Brock was a doctor. Encouraged by the intensity of her mother’s
gaze, and feeling as if they were actually having a meaningful conversation, she continued.

“We work together in the emergency department. He’s a really good doctor. He gives everything he has to save his patients.”

Her mother’s gaze clung to hers, and Elana had the sense her mother wanted to say something. She waited a few minutes, but the words remained locked deep inside.

Nervously she licked her lips. “I don’t know what to think, Mom. I know everything is his fault, yet I can’t seem to hate him as much as I used to.”

“Life’s short,” her mother suddenly rasped. “Hate isn’t worth it.”

Elana sucked in a shocked breath, her eyes stinging with tears. She’d spoken! Her mother had actually spoken! She struggled not to make too much of a big deal of the event, even though she wanted to dance around the room, screaming with joy.

“I know life is too short, Mom. You’re right—wasting time on negative energy doesn’t help anyone.” She reached over to engulf her mother in a tight hug. “I love you, Mom. I love you so much.”

“Love you, Elana,” her mother whispered.

Elana’s eyes welled with tears again. Things were going to be fine. She just knew it.

And she couldn’t help wondering if her mother’s breakthrough had something to do with her confessions about Brock. This was the first time she’d ever really opened up about her thoughts and fears.

Maybe she should have confided in her mother sooner.

“I have to go to work, Mom,” she said regretfully when she’d stayed as long as she dared. “But I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

Her mother squeezed her hand twice, and Elana hoped and prayed that now that her mother had spoken, she’d only continue to improve.

She held her emotions in check long enough to update the nurses, who promised to let the doctor know. Yet she couldn’t help feeling guilty, as if she could have impacted her mother’s health sooner if she’d only opened up to her.

Her throat swelled with tears, and suddenly she couldn’t stay in the nursing home for another second. She flew towards the door, throwing it wide open in her haste to get outside.

And barreled straight into Brock’s arms.

“Elana?” Brock caught her close, preventing her from taking a header into the concrete sidewalk, his expression full of alarm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Leave me alone. I’m fine!” She twisted, trying to break away, but he was much stronger and only tightened his grip.

“You’re not fine. You’re crying. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Good tears,” she whispered, trying to swipe them away in an attempt to get a hold of herself, but the sobs in her chest struggled to break loose. “She spoke! After all these years, my mother finally spoke!”

Despite the fact that she considered Brock the enemy, she collapsed against him, burying her face against his chest and letting go, crying as if she might never stop.

B
ROCK
held Elana close, inwardly reeling at the news. Her mother had spoken? It sounded like good news, but the way she continued to cry worried him. He could feel dampness on his shirt from the force of her tears. He closed his eyes, the familiar snake of guilt uncoiling in his gut, twisting and turning.

Her mother might be improving, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that his actions had caused her mother to withdraw from the world in the first place.

Yet another reason for Elana to hate him.

He didn’t for one minute believe Elana had forgiven him just because she’d broken down crying in his arms. Especially when, all too soon, the maelstrom of her tears subsided, and she broke away, furiously swiping at her face.

“Sorry about the waterworks,” she muttered, sniffling loudly and digging in her purse for a tissue. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Don’t.” He realised his tone must have been sharper than he’d intended when her shocked gaze snapped up
to his. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said, trying to soften the edge of his tone. “Nothing.”

She stared at him for a long minute, then pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. Hard.

Hating the feeling of helplessness, he glanced back toward the Cottage Grove Nursing Home. “She’s really talking?”

Elana’s tremulous smile broke his heart. “Well, she said a few words. But I think it’s a sign she’s finally healing.”

He hoped so too, more than Elana could ever know. He was afraid to hope, but tried to remain positive. Elana was happy, which was all that mattered.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, glancing around as if surprised to realize they were still standing on the sidewalk outside the nursing home.

“I came to see you.”

“Me? Why?” Now her gaze was full of narrow suspicion. Their moment of brief closeness faded. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

Her frank annoyance bothered him. “Yes. That’s exactly why I came to find you. I wanted to ease your mind about Dr Liz’s offer. I have no intention of volunteering my time at the New Beginnings Clinic.”

“Sure, make me be the bad guy with Dr Liz.” Elana’s gaze filled with disgust. “She needs doctors like you more than nurses like me.”

He let out a frustrated breath. “So what are you saying? You want me to take her up on the offer?”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” She gave an unconvincing careless shrug. “We won’t be working together much
longer. I’m transferring to a position in the ICU as soon as it’s available.”

“No!” The vehement protest slipped out before he could stop it. “Don’t leave trauma nursing.”
Not because of me
.

She glanced away as if she could barely stand the idea of leaving the ED herself. “I have to go. I’m working second shift tonight, and I’m already running late.”

So was he. Knowing he’d see her in less than an hour gave him the strength to step back. Hadn’t he promised to stay away? “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe I should drive you home.”

“I’m fine. My mother is on the road to recovery, so I’m happy.” She did look better; there was a rosy flush to her cheeks that had been missing earlier. “Goodbye, Brock.”

“Take care of yourself, Elana.”

He watched her as she walked away, heading back across the street and into the parking lot where she’d left her car. He knew giving Elana the distance she craved was the right thing to do. She seemed thrilled about her mother’s progress, yet she was still angry with him.

He was beginning to realize Elana would never heal from her emotional scars. Not until she put the past behind her once and for all.

Elana worked very hard, without much success, to shake off the rippling effect of that momentary madness in Brock’s arms.

What was wrong with her? Why did she seem to be unequivocally drawn to the one man who was abso
lutely wrong for her? Why couldn’t she figure out a way to pry him out of her life once and for all?

Despite her shower, the unique scent of him, musky male intermixed with soap, clouded her senses. When he’d cradled her in his arms, it had been all too easy to forget who he really was.

She didn’t want to admit she was hopelessly infatuated with the enemy.

When she walked into the arena, he was standing in front of the census board, talking to a nurse named Eric. He didn’t glance at her as she went past.

Assuming Brock was assigned to the arena, she was relieved to learn she’d been assigned to the trauma bay again. Telling Brock her plans of moving to the ICU had backfired. His plea for her not to go still echoed in her mind. He was right: she did love trauma nursing. Yet she was just as certain she’d learn to love critical care too.

Raine had the day off, leaving Eric Towne as her partner in trauma for the shift.

There was still a patient in the trauma bay waiting to be transferred to the ICU. An elderly woman, who was intubated and on a ventilator as a result of contracting tetanus.

“I don’t understand,” her husband said, obviously stressed out over the seriousness of his wife’s illness. “I thought tetanus wasn’t a problem any more. That people didn’t get lockjaw like they used to.”

“They don’t if you continue to get your tetanus booster shots every ten years,” Dr Laurel Carmen said gently. “Your wife loves to garden, but you said yourself
she sustained a severe cut on her finger a few weeks ago. She didn’t come in for a tetanus shot and hasn’t had one in almost twenty years.”

The elderly man’s shoulders slumped. “I should have made her come in,” he murmured. “But it was just a small cut.”

Elana approached Dani, the day shift nurse who was caring for Mrs James, their tetanus patient. “Is there something I can do to help you get her transferred upstairs?” she asked.

“I have everything caught up; we’re just waiting for a bed.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Elana went to the nearest phone, calling up to the medical ICU to find out how much longer before they’d get a bed.

“Housekeeping is in there right now cleaning it,” the ICU nurse informed her. “Why don’t you give me report? By the time we’re done, she should be finished with the room.”

“Okay, hang on a minute.” Elana called Dani over and handed her the phone. “They’re asking for report. You can leave when you’re finished; I’ll get Mrs James packed up and transported upstairs.”

“Thanks,” Dani said gratefully.

The trauma bay remained busy with a steady stream of patients, not too surprising for a Saturday night. She was upset to discover Brock was moved into the trauma bay to help with the strong influx of patients. Being so close to him in the confined space was difficult. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was following her on purpose.

Yet she couldn’t deny he’d come out to her mother’s nursing home just to let her know he wouldn’t volunteer at the New Beginnings Clinic. Because she’d betrayed her true feelings by dropping that tray of instruments on the floor when Dr Liz had tried recruiting him.

He was tormenting her with his kindness and understanding. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

The awkwardness between her and Brock grew more noticeable the harder they tried to stay out of each other’s way.

She reached for the patient’s clipboard at the same time he did. A tingly awareness shot up her arm as their fingers touched.

She snatched hers back quickly, avoiding his gaze.

“Get me a chest X-ray stat,” Brock said tersely. “I have a bad feeling about this guy’s abdominal pain.”

Elana hurried to carry out his orders, wondering what diagnosis he was considering but not brave enough to ask.

“What are you thinking?” Eric asked, as if reading her mind. “Hot gall bladder? Or appendicitis?”

“Neither. Possible abdominal aortic aneurysm. We need to get him to surgery asap before it dissects.”

Why he couldn’t have told them that from the beginning, she wasn’t sure, but Elana wasted no time in getting the requested X-rays. And after the films were done, and the diagnosis confirmed, Brock continued to give orders.

“Keep his blood pressure under control with the labetalol. I don’t want to see anything higher than 120 systolic, understand?”

She nodded, noticing how he avoided speaking her name. She missed the camaraderie they had the other day.

Before she’d collapsed like a weeping willow in his arms.

The surgeons came down to evaluate Roger Ames, their abdominal aortic aneurysm patient, and soon they were getting him ready for the operating room. His aneurysm hadn’t dissected yet, but time was of the essence. Ruptured aneurysms had a very poor survival rate.

When their patient was safely in the OR, she helped Eric clean up the mess, putting things away and restocking the supplies. Brock left to briefly talk to Roger’s family, letting the wife know her husband was heading to surgery.

“Eric, how are your twin boys doing?” she asked, hoping to use her colleague to break the stilted silence that hovered when Brock returned to the trauma bay.

“The terrors of Towne?” he joked. “They’re great. Although Mandy is ready to pull her hair out now that they’re three and have discovered the word NO. It’s their favorite word, by the way. Between the two of them I bet they say no a hundred times a day.”

She had to laugh. She noticed that Brock was listening to their light conversation, a slight grin on his face, although he remained silent, not joining in. “The terrible threes are something, aren’t they?”

“You’re not kidding. Mandy’s been threatening to go back to work, leaving me to stay home with them until they’re in school.” Eric’s wife was a respiratory thera
pist, but she’d only worked one day a week since the twins were born.

She was about to say something about Tucker, to bring Brock into the conversation, but he interrupted before she could say a word.

“I’m going to the arena. Call if you need me.” Brock headed towards the door.

She watched him, telling herself this was what she’d wanted, to be left alone. So why did she want very badly to follow him? Because she was a glutton for punishment?

“What is up with you and Doc Madison?” Eric asked.

She scowled, swinging around to face him. “Have you been talking to Raine?”

“No!” Eric raised his hands up in surrender. “But seriously, Elana, the tension radiates between you guys like we’re standing in the middle of a nuclear power plant. So what gives?”

“Nothing.” Okay, so maybe that was a lie, but she wasn’t about to blab about her personal life to her colleague.

“Fine.” Eric seemed annoyed. “If you want to pretend nothing is wrong then, hey, go ahead. Don’t let me be the one to burst your bubble.”

With a sigh, she lifted a hand to massage the tight muscles in the back of her neck, knowing Eric was right. Things had been tense with Brock, and pretending everything was fine wasn’t helping.

She needed to get away. She needed that transfer to the ICU. Maybe she could ask her boss to help get the wheels moving on that paperwork so the process would
go a little faster. Surely it would be easier to forget about Brock when she wasn’t seeing him every day.

At that moment their pagers went off, announcing a new arrival, effectively bringing their personal conversation to an end.

The message on their pagers read:

Didn’t sound promising. Brock must have gotten the page too, since he joined them in the trauma bay a few minutes later, his expression grim.

When the ambulance doors burst open, she noticed their patient was covered in blood from head to toe, bleeding from various sites. In the battle between pedestrians and vehicles, the pedestrians were often the losers. From the very beginning, Elana knew this patient’s outcome wasn’t going to be much different.

But Brock was just as determined to do everything possible to prolong the inevitable outcome.

“Eric, get more plasma and blood running now,” he snapped. “Elana, I need a chest tube tray: he’s bleeding into his lungs.”

She nodded, setting the chest tube tray on the over-bed table, opening the tray while keeping the contents inside sterile. Brock expertly inserted the chest tube, and almost instantly blood poured through the clear tubing, filling the plastic receptacle at an alarming pace.

“His pressure is dropping, only fifty-four systolic,” Elana said.

“Get more blood. I want four units on the rapid infuser at all times,” Brock ordered. “Get me the thoracic surgery team stat. This kid needs the OR.”

She briefly met Eric’s gaze, both silently acknowledging there was no way this kid was going to make it to the OR. But pushing her instinctive beliefs aside, she made the phone call and then hurried over to help Eric hang more blood, working in tandem on the rapid infuser.

Their patient’s blood pressure continued to fall. And then, when the thoracic surgeon walked in, the young man lost his heart rhythm altogether.

“Start CPR,” Brock demanded.

Elana jumped up on a stool so she could reach the patient and began doing chest compressions. The image of Brock doing this for Felicity, with a broken collarbone sticking out of his chest, flashed in her mind. Eric took over with the breathing, using the ambu bag to provide deep breaths. She kept up a steady stream of compressions, checking the heart monitor overhead to make sure she was getting good circulation from her efforts.

“He’s gone, Brock,” the thoracic surgeon said. “I wouldn’t take him to surgery in this condition anyway. He’s bleeding from everywhere, likely into his head and his abdomen as well as into his chest. There’s nothing we can do.”

Elana continued to do CPR, after Eric gave epinephrine through the IV, until Brock said, “All right, stop CPR.”

She paused, glancing up at the monitor. Flat-line
pulse. Completely absent blood pressure. She let out a heavy sigh.

“Time of death, ten forty-five p.m.” Brock’s voice was hard, tense, as he stripped off his bloody gloves and grabbed the death notice out of the chart. He scribbled his name on the bottom and then stalked away.