CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
ETHAN

Did I wait until Lena had left before stepping out of the shower like a total coward? Quite possibly.

But honestly, I’d rather take the coward label than suffer through a painfully awkward morning-after goodbye.

The whole point of this arrangement was to avoid awkwardness by laying down clear lines and expectations—and then the weather decided to screw us over on night one.

If heaven was real, I had a bone to pick with God about his timing.

I was still annoyed with myself for letting Lena crash at my place when I walked into the hospital, but the minute I hit the ER floor, my personal drama got shoved to the back of my mind.

Strokes. Knife injuries. Fractures of every variety. It was an endless stampede of trauma cases—no breathing room, no breaks.

The madness rolled in like a tidal wave and didn’t stop, and the week that followed our night at Hyacinth was so packed with chaos, I barely had a second to dwell on the whole "sex pact with my sister’s best friend" situation.

Lena and I managed to squeeze in a few quick hookups—no sleepovers, no cuddling, thank God. Mostly, though, it was nonstop work.

Most people would hate grinding through such long hours, but I thrived on the pressure—at least until I hit one of Those Days.

I had good days, bad days, and then I had Those Days—capital T, capital D—in the ER. The good days left me walking out knowing I'd made the right calls, done the right things, and maybe saved a life.

The bad ones?

Those could be anything from belligerent patients throwing punches to dealing with a disaster scene short-staffed.

But Those Days? They were rare. And they wrecked you.

The never-ending flatline from the heart monitor pounded in my head, mixing with the static in my ears as I stared down at the still body in front of me.

Tanya. Seventeen years old. On her way home when a drunk driver smashed into her side.

I’d tried everything. Thrown everything I had at her case. It hadn’t been enough.

She was gone.

Alive one minute. Just... gone the next.

My breaths came in short, jagged bursts. After what felt like forever—but was maybe sixty seconds—I lifted my head.

Clara and the techs were watching me, their faces heavy with the same grief weighing on my chest. Clara’s eyes glistened, and one of the techs swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

No one said a word.

"Time of death: 3:16 p.m." The words came from my mouth, but they sounded foreign, like they belonged to someone else.

After a heavy moment of silence, I turned and left. Down the hallway, around the corner, toward the family waiting room where Tanya's parents were.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Everything around me faded except for the hollow sound of my footsteps echoing off the linoleum floors.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

I'd lost patients before. During my first year of residency, I treated a man shot in the chest during a random drive-by.

He died within minutes of arriving—there had been nothing I could do. Still, it hadn’t stopped me from stumbling into the nearest bathroom afterward and throwing up.

Every doctor eventually loses someone. Every time hurts. But this... this was different. Tanya’s death gutted me.

Maybe it was because I'd truly believed she would make it. Maybe it was because she was only seventeen—her life barely started before it was ripped away.

Whatever the reason, the what-ifs flooded my mind like a plague.

What if I'd made a different call? What if I'd gotten to her faster? What if I were just... better?

What if, what if, what if.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

I slowed outside the relatives' room, my hand hovering for a second before I grabbed the doorknob and twisted. It felt surreal, like I was watching someone else move in my body.

Tanya’s parents jumped to their feet the moment they saw me, fear etched deep into their faces. A minute later, that fear shattered into pure devastation.

"I'm so sorry...we did everything we could..."

I said the words, trying to keep my voice steady and professional, but they barely registered over the mother’s raw, gut-wrenching sobs and the father's shattered cries.

Each sound was like a blade slicing deeper into my chest.

"My baby. Not my baby," Tanya’s mother wept. "She's still here. I know she is."

"I'm so sorry," I whispered again, helpless.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Not footsteps this time—but the pounding of heartbreak filling the room.

I kept my face blank until I ran out of hollow condolences and quietly slipped away, leaving them to grieve.

I had other patients to see. But I needed a moment. Just one damn moment.

I walked faster until I found the nearest bathroom. My limbs felt like lead, every step heavy and numb.

The second I locked the door behind me, a broken sob tore out of my chest before I even knew it was coming.

It took me a few moments to register the sound had come from me.

Then the floodgates opened. I bent over the sink, dry heaving until my throat felt like it had been scraped raw and my skull throbbed.

Images flashed like a horror reel—Tanya’s lifeless body on the gurney. Ava, limp and pale after nearly drowning. My mom’s vacant, glassy stare in the aftermath of her overdose.

The memories tangled together in a gruesome blur. I gagged again, but there was nothing left to bring up. I hadn't eaten in over eight hours, not since the start of my shift.

By the time the retching stopped, I was drenched in sweat and shaking, my head pounding like a drum.

I turned the faucet on and splashed cold water on my face. Then I grabbed a coarse brown paper towel and scrubbed at my skin. When I glanced in the mirror, a faint red mark glowed on my cheek where I’d rubbed too hard.

Dark shadows smeared beneath my eyes, my skin looked drained of color, and tense white lines bracketed my mouth. I looked like someone who'd crawled out of a disaster zone.

God, I needed a drink. Or better yet, a beach chair and a cocktail far from here.

Jaw tight, I tossed the used towel in the trash and forced my composure back into place before I stepped back onto the ER floor.

There was no time for grief. No space for self-pity. My job demanded more.

"Hi there." I gave my next patient a reassuring smile and extended a hand. "I'm Dr. Hale..."

The rest of my shift went by with no more major crises, but my skin stayed clammy and my heart wouldn’t settle its erratic rhythm.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Clara asked when I finally clocked out.

"Yep." I avoided her eyes, the concern in them too much. "See you tomorrow."

I didn’t wait for a response. I made a beeline for the locker room. Normally, I saved my showers for home, but I couldn’t take it—not with the phantom feeling of blood clinging to my skin like a second layer.

I stood under the spray until the water turned ice cold and the chill sank into my bones. Most days, I couldn’t wait to escape the hospital. Today, the idea of going home alone made my chest cave in.

All my friends were on shift, and it was too early to hit a bar. That left only one person.

I dried off, got dressed, and pulled out my phone to message Lena—only to see a new text already waiting. She’d sent it twenty minutes ago.

Lena: You off work yet?

Me: Just got out.

Me: Where are you?

It was Tuesday, so she wasn't working at the clinic today.

Lena: SciLi, in the back.

Relief rattled my lungs. That was within walking distance.

Me: Don't move. Be there in fifteen.