10.

Ava

The chill of the room seeps into my bones, but it’s nothing compared to how I feel. What did I do? Having sex with Roman was good, but it was a giant mistake. It was so easy and so great. But that doesn’t change our past. I still haven’t gotten over when he dumped me.

Memories flood back. The last time Roman walked away, he left my heart shattered. I vowed never to let him back in—but as always, my heart betrays my resolve.

Shadows dance on the wall, mirroring the turmoil within me. What has driven me to once again succumb to Roman’s charm? The weight of regret settles heavily upon my chest. Guilt consumes my thoughts, intertwining with desire and creating a tangled mess of emotions. What have I done? How could I have allowed myself to become entangled with him once more?

The truth is that Roman possesses an uncanny ability to draw me in. But deep down, I know the painful sting of his abandonment will come. I’m not sure I’ll survive again.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “That was—”

“I can’t talk about it,” I cut him off, sitting up and pulling the sheet up to cover myself. The air between us is thick with tension. His dark eyes hold a question, one I’m not ready to answer again.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to put a name to what we are.” There’s a plea in his tone, one that might have swayed me before, but not now—never again. I can still feel where he’s touched me, my body tingling.

I shut my eyes. I asked him to stay, and now I wish he would leave, go home to his own apartment. I won’t let him see the chaos he’s stirred within me.

“Look, I know I screwed up before, but—” He starts, but I don’t let him finish.

I shake my head, and the shrill ring of my phone punctuates the silence that follows—a call from the hospital. I snatch it up, grateful for the interruption. “Dr. Winters,” I answer crisply, all business now.

“Sorry to call you in early, Dr. Winters, but we need you in emergency. Dr. Newman is deep in an emergency bypass, and we have a woman who collapsed at home, cardiac arrest en route. Fifteen minutes out,” the voice on the other end says.

“Understood. Get her up to the OR and prepped for surgery. I’m on my way.” I hang up, sparing Roman only a fleeting glance as I leave him behind, my mind already shifting gears from the remnants of our passion to the precision of medicine. “I need to be at the hospital.”

By the time I step outside, my rideshare is waiting at the curb. The sun hasn’t broken the horizon, but it will shortly. Already the roads are crazy, but at least I live close. The car barely comes to a stop before I race out the door and into the emergency department, less than ten minutes after receiving the call. The patient hasn’t arrived yet, so I race to change into scrubs and get up to surgery.

The familiar scent of antiseptic welcomes me as I scrub in, pushing aside any lingering thoughts of Roman. My hands move methodically, ready to fight for the woman’s life. It is like an orchestra, and she arrives at my table just as I’m ready to go.

“Let’s get some tunes going,” I command, and suddenly INXS fills the OR, “Need You Tonight” giving rhythm to my movements as I begin the intricate dance of surgery. She has serious heart disease that hasn’t been treated.

“Never Tear Us Apart” comes on next, followed by Depeche Mode’s “Enjoy the Silence.” Each beat of U2’s “With or Without You” syncs with the heartbeat I’m fighting to sustain, a battle of flesh and blood under the bright lights. I push away the messages of the songs that mirror my personal life.

“Dr. Winters, you have a call on the speaker,” the nurse informs me, her voice cutting through Bono’s crooning.

“Go ahead,” I say, not taking my eyes off the open chest cavity before me.

“Hey, Ava. It’s Roman. Look, the contract for the Xenia is due today. We were supposed to deliver it together and meet with the party planner…” His voice trails off, uncertain.

“Roman, I’m elbow deep in someone’s chest cavity. Can it wait?”

“Right, yeah… Sorry. Just— I’ll handle it. Don’t worry about it.” There’s a pause. “Good luck with the surgery.”

“Thanks,” I reply. My world narrows to the body on the table and the music that drives me forward.

“All right, team, let’s bring her back,” I say, determination steeling my voice as I place the last suture.

We direct the bypass machine to push the blood back into her heart, but after a moment, it won’t beat on its own. I reach in and squeeze the organ, reminding it of its sole job.

“Come on,” I grind out. “Beat!”

I stand back, and the machine continues its steady flatline sound.

“Paddles!” The two heart paddles are suddenly in my hands. “Two hundred joules.”

“Charged,” a nurse says.

“Clear!” I send a shock into the heart.

Still a flatline.

“Charge again. Three hundred joules.”

“Charged,” the nurse repeats.

“Clear!” No change to the straight line. I pull off my surgical gloves, the snap echoing too loudly in the sudden silence of the OR. The flatline tone that echoes in the room is the sound I hear in my nightmares. She didn’t make it. The nurse turns the machine off.

“Time of death…” I murmur, looking up at the clock. The nurse logs it solemnly, and defeat presses down on me. It’s a heavy cloak I can’t shake off, even as I walk away from the operating table.

I have just enough time to catch my breath and grab something to eat before my afternoon surgery is ready for me. I reset my mind as I move on to him and install a pacemaker. Thankfully, that hour-long surgery is successful. Then emergency sends up another patient, and I step into my third operating theater of the day for a successful heart-valve-replacement procedure.

When my day is done, I strip off my scrubs in the locker room, the fabric clinging to me like a second skin. The hot water of the shower tries to cleanse the despair from my body, but there’s an ache from the lost patient, and from performing twelve hours of surgery, that won’t wash away. I’m devastated, hollowed out by the loss of life I couldn’t prevent.

“Damn it,” I whisper to the empty tiles, my voice cracking. I know this is part of the job, but knowing doesn’t make it any easier. I should be used to it by now, but I’m not. I doubt I ever will be.