Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jonas

Work was a blessing because it limited my ability to text with Declan while he was in Arizona. I'd pulled another slow NP shift on a rainy night, the usual early spring assortment of colds, flu, sinus infections, and pulled muscles from overzealous spring cleaners and seasonal exercisers.

Obsessing over what Declan might be doing wasn't going to help anything, and I needed to give him space to be with his team and have the discussions and appointments he'd gone for. But working another long shift was a curse when I finally had a break to check my phone, only to find Declan had finally messaged, and now it was too late to call and risk waking him up.

Hours earlier, he'd sent a pic of a desert sunset over craggy rocks and scrubby plants. Wish you were here. Doctor went okay. I'll be home the day after tomorrow. Will tell you everything then.

Texts sucked. Declan's expressions were cryptic enough in person. Reading his mood via text was darn near impossible. The picture was gorgeous, even in the shitty late-night cafeteria lighting on my phone. I could easily see why Declan enjoyed training in Arizona in the winter. The rugged desert with vivid colors reminded me of growing up in Utah near the various national parks. While I had no desire to return to the scraggly compound where I'd spent my first fifteen years, I could see sitting in the desert with Declan, watching the sunset, holding him, talking.

Hell, I'd hold him anywhere, and that was the entirety of our problem. Not wanting to alarm the bored cashier in the otherwise empty cafeteria, I suppressed a groan. Instead, I took another bite of a bitterly disappointing chicken croissant.

I'd be happy to openly claim Declan as mine, to have a real relationship. I'd risk losing his father as a friend, but I'd gain Declan, who was everything I'd spent my life searching for. Someone to take care of. Someone to take care of me. Someone who let me spoil them in and out of bed. Someone who valued time in bed for more than simply sex.

The last few nights I couldn't look at my bookshelf or my e-reader app. I'd never been happier than when I was cuddled up, reading with Declan. But as much as I cared about him and wanted a future, I wasn't prepared to spend years miserable and stuck in a closet of his own making.

That risk was made crystal clear as I scrolled through my messages to discover a series of texts from Rowan.

Rowan

OMG. Declan's riding?!?!? They wouldn't let him do that without the doctor clearing him, right? Cyrus posted this video on social.

Helpfully, he'd provided a link where Cyrus indeed had a video of him and Declan riding together.

Training with one of the GOATs. Bucket list moment and so f'ing happy to see Number Eleven riding again.

Fuck. Guess that answered that. Racing had won. I couldn't see Declan's face while he rode, not with the helmet and goggles and distance of the camera, but his body language was loose and fluid. I couldn't say I knew a ton about riding motorcycles, but Declan certainly looked the part of the natural everyone said he was, one with his machine, zooming down straightaways and taking curves smoothly. He'd said numerous times that he was born to ride.

Now, I believed him. No way could I take that from him.

He could come out, be a trailblazer for his sport. But would he? Likely not, no matter how much "time" he was granted. I'd always known he'd return to racing, much as I'd hoped otherwise. I couldn't hold him here and should have known better to dream of trying.

Stomach decidedly sour, I scrolled on. My other messages were a laundry emergency from Rowan, a request from Eric asking if I could handle getting the teens ready for school in the morning because he had an early shift, a message from Wren that Oz missed me, and oh, by the way, we were out of bacon and cereal again. Tony had forwarded word of another football fundraiser, and Maren had sent a line of cryptic emoji.

I was trying to decipher those when my hospital phone blared, summoning me back to the ER.

"We've got a multi-vehicle I-84 crash," the triage nurse reported. "Two cars tangoed with a motorcycle in the rain. One fatality on the scene and three critical patients inbound. Life flight is grounded by the weather. All hands on deck."

I didn't have to ask which was the fatality, and my esophagus twisted into a tense knot right behind my sternum. Was I ever going to be able to hear motorcycle and not immediately think of Declan? And lord, I hoped Sean wasn't on duty. He was a pro, a longtime firefighter, but he'd take this one hard.

I made it back to the nursing station at the ER, where the teams had assembled as we awaited the ambulances. One victim had burns, so the burn team would need to handle that case, bringing in the burn cam and other equipment to stabilize until they could airlift the burn patient into Portland.

Triage continued briefing us on the other victims.

"Munson's on call and on the way." Munson was the trauma surgeon, and he'd be required if we had to send anyone back to the OR. Doctor Griffin would take point on the most critical case until Munson arrived while I would assess the third patient, a female with a possible head injury among some probable broken bones but stable vital signs.

I'd worked in emergency departments for twenty years, and the concerted team effort as critical cases rolled in never ceased to amaze me. We might be short-staffed, but we knew our roles.

The ambulances arrived in a flurry of activity as the patients were transferred to our care amid reports from the paramedics and EMTs. I had the briefest interaction with Tate, an EMT friend, in the hall while awaiting the second ambulance.

"Motorcyclist was the fatality?" I asked in a low voice.

"No, that one's yours." Tate's eyes narrowed. "Everyone is in rough shape, but miraculously, the rider was thrown clear of the worst of it."

I had almost no time to digest that news before the second ambulance arrived. Eric was the lead paramedic on the call, and he relayed the vital information as the patient was wheeled in. As a dad, Eric was an inspiration both for the struggles he'd overcome and for his caring, involved style, but as a paramedic, Eric was a force of nature, impressive in a whole different way. I trusted that he and his crew had done everything they could to give this woman a fighting chance.

"Marissa Darcy, female, thirty-eight, license says The Dalles, no known prior conditions. Was wearing riding gloves, jacket, helmet. Helmet was removed at the scene prior to transport. Law enforcement is going to want toxicology, but she self-reports no substances or alcohol."

"It was the truck." The patient was indeed alert enough to look righteously pissed off from her position on a gurney, strapped to a backboard. "Stupid fucking speeding teenagers."

"Stay calm, Marissa." Eric patted her shoulder as we wheeled her into one of the trauma rooms, which was larger than a typical ER cubical. "We're here to help."

"The police will do the investigation fairly, I promise," I added as I moved beside her gurney.

"They better." She had wild, curly dark hair, banged-up pale skin with a pasty tinge I wasn't crazy about, and piercing blue eyes that reminded me far too much of Declan's. "You a doctor?"

And here we went. I was all Marissa had at the moment, and if she had a problem, she would have to deal, but I continued my gentle tone.

"I'm Jonas." I crouched so she could see my face before I resumed assessing her condition. "I'm a nurse practitioner, and I'm going to help evaluate you."

"Thank fuck. Midwife here." Forehead creasing, she briefly shut her eyes. "Coming back from a birth, not a wild bar bender."

Eric chuckled at that as he backed out of the room. His job was done, and mine was just beginning. We exchanged nods as he left. He'd gotten her this far, and it was up to me to keep her stable. While she was conscious, she was still a critical case, and I'd already noted a concerning lump on her temple, a possible broken leg, and more.

"Oh? How'd the birth go?" I needed to keep her talking. Her breathing was labored, undoubtedly from pain, but I had one eye on her vitals all the same.

"You planning a report?" Marissa narrowed her blue eyes.

"I was a homebirth myself, as were my siblings." I didn't go into detail beyond that, but I'd always respected the midwife profession. "Just curious."

"Ah. In that case, it was a wonderful birth. Third baby, quick labor. Big sisters watching his arrival. Left the family with both grandmothers making midnight pancakes." She paused to wince, a deep shudder. She was undoubtedly in a lot of pain. Eric had started an IV, but we were limited in what I could give her until more severe head or spine injuries had been ruled out. "I'm supposed to go back to the family in the morning. Stupid fluffing drivers."

"Who can we call to cover for you?" I asked as we cut her ripped jeans off. At least the leg wasn't a compound or open fracture, but I had no doubt the X-rays would show a break.

"My mother." Marissa's expression shifted to one of pride. "Already asked someone to call Mom. She's on her way."

"You're a second-generation midwife?" I guessed. All this talking was a decent sign as far as head injuries went, and she was moving her hands and toes with good neurological signs. Her pupils were dilated from pain but otherwise fine.

"Third generation." Marissa's tone was proud, even as her speech was labored.

"Did the other two ride motorcycles too?" I asked as one of the nurses and I cut off her motorcycle jacket. Sucked to ruin something I knew was pricey, but I needed to examine her torso.

"Just me…" Marissa trailed off with a pained gasp as we revealed her torso. "Fuck. It hurts to breathe. Why does it hurt to breathe?"

I didn't like the panic in her tone or how her skin had paled further. "Where is the pain?"

"Mountain. No." Frowning, she licked her lip and then tried again. "Left. Left side."

Confusion. That was a bad, bad sign, as was the pain being localized to her left side. I touched her rib cage, and she groaned. Spleen. I'd seen it enough times, and it was never good. Had to hope it was bruised, not rupturing, but I moved with more purpose, as did the rest of the room.

"Blood pressure's dropping." The nurse who had helped me cut Marissa's clothes off pointed to the monitor.

Fuck. A rupture was a definite possibility, or other internal bleeding.

"Stay with us, Marissa," I urged as she shut her eyes. "Tell me about the baby?"

"There's a baby?" She frowned, voice going high and thready. "Where?"

More confusion. Her blood pressure continued to dip as her heart rate increased. Yeah, we had a bleeder somewhere.

"She's crashing," I called out. "Where's Munson? We need an OR stat."

"Working on it," a nurse called back. "Munson's evaluating the other patient, and we're waiting on anesthesia."

"We need an E-FAST." There was no time for an ultrasound or CT scan to check for rupture, but the rapid portable sonograph to look for free fluid was standard in cases where we suspected internal bleeding. "Prepare for transfusion as well."

Transfusion would only get us so far, but it might buy us enough time until a surgeon could get in here.

"Blood pressure still dropping."

"Heart rate unstable."

The room descended into a controlled storm of activity as we worked to stabilize Marissa as a team.

"Come on, Marissa." My voice was more strident now. "Stay with us."

Time was running out, and lord, where was that surgeon? My own heart rate was sky-high and sweat ran down my back.

"Elroy's here." One of the other nurses announced the arrival of an anesthesiologist I thought had retired with Munson fast behind him.

"We need to intubate." Munson nodded at me with razor-sharp brown eyes as he took an immediate assessment of the situation. "Assist?"

"Ready." I didn't do a lot of intubations, but as an emergency nurse practitioner, I was trained and able to help Munson and Elroy get the patient prepped for surgery in record time.

"Let's roll." Munson didn't waste a second in directing the team toward the OR, gurney racing through the hall, and I'd never been more relieved to leave a patient in surgery as the OR team took over. It would likely be a few hours before we knew more, but at least Marissa had a chance if Munson could stop the bleeding in time.

I needed a minute or twenty. Breathing hard, I headed toward the locker room, only to almost collide with Eric.

"She gonna make it?" he asked. From the concern in his eyes, he'd evidently heard some of what had happened with Marissa.

"God, I hope she makes it." I let out a whistle, talking in a low voice. "Destabilized in a hurry. Internal bleeding, likely ruptured spleen."

Eric took a long breath. "She seems like a fighter. Scrappy."

"I know." Some patients wiggled under our skin more than others, and Marissa was definitely in that memorable category. "What are you still doing here?"

"Paperwork." Eric made a sour face. "Electronic reporting system is down because of the storm."

"Ugh." I made a sympathetic noise. "Was Sean on the call too?"

"No, thank God. He handled dinner at the house. I'm sure he's already worried enough about Declan back in Arizona."

"Yeah." I tried for a neutral expression but apparently failed as Eric gave me a pointed look.

"As are you."

I held up my hands. "We're friends."

"And you miss your friend." Eric's sympathetic but curious tone said he'd be open to hearing a confession, but I couldn't. Which sucked because I could have really used an ear right then, but I couldn't risk others finding out.

"I do." I offered a little sliver of the truth. "No one else at the house gets my corny jokes or likes my mystery books."

"Nice someone does." Eric smiled broadly and jostled my shoulder. It was nice to see him smiling more these days, traces of his old humor back.

"Speaking of the house, don't worry. I should be out of here in time to help with school in the morning."

"Lifesaver. John and Rowan can usually handle mornings on their own, but I appreciate knowing Wren had something other than milk and microwaved bacon for breakfast." Eric shook his head fondly. "Don't know what our family would do without you."

Our family. Eric's words lingered even after we said goodbye and my shift continued. Eric appreciated me, no doubt. And the kids loved me. I was an honorary uncle, but I'd always be adjacent to the nuclear family. And hopefully someday, Eric would find a new partner, and I'd be the old bachelor uncle, pining for the boyfriend no one could know about.

Marissa's injuries stayed at the forefront of my mind. I wasn't Declan's family. No one would call me if he were injured. Sean would pass on the news, but I wasn't part of the Murphy clan either. Declan talked about how he'd never quite fit in with his big, boisterous family, but they'd claim him, no matter what. Unlike my own birth family. I was tired of always being on the outside looking in, wanting what I couldn't have.

With Declan, for the first time, I'd had a glimpse of a happy ending for myself. We could be a little family, us and Oz. Maybe toss in a few more pets for good measure. The two of us simply fit together. But could I settle for remaining a secret?

I was still mulling over that question when I saw Doctor Munson coming down the corridor from the ER. He had his surgical cap still on, a mask around his neck, and heavy lines around his deep-set eyes.

"Doctor." I stopped him, my pulse pounding. I almost didn't want to ask, but I had to know. "How's Darcy? The midwife motorcycle rider?"

"Jonas." Munson managed a weary greeting. "She made it through. Not out of the woods yet, but we cleaned up the ruptured spleen, tracked down a few other bleeders. I was about to go talk to the family. Come with me?"

"Me?" I'd talked to plenty of families on my own and had delivered my share of good and bad news, but once we handed off a case, the surgeons or attendings usually handled family contact.

"You helped save her." Munson nodded solemnly. Sharing credit was even rarer, and I nodded back before following him down the corridor. "Besides, you're better with people, and I hear there's a crowd for her."

He was right. The waiting area was full of curly-haired folks with bright-blue eyes, many of whom looked to have been crying. An older woman sat in the center of the bank of chairs, women on either side of her, holding her hands. A few chairs down, a slightly younger Marissa clone was breastfeeding a tiny baby in a sling. A tall woman swayed in the corner, a toddler asleep in a back carrier. Two twenty-something young men dozed in chairs while another one watched something on his phone. This was family. This was love, right here in the open.

"Doctor?" The older woman's face went ghostly white as she noticed Munson and me approaching. "Is she…?"

"There was a complete spleen rupture from blunt impact trauma and associated internal bleeding for us to contend with." Munson hadn't been joking about his people skills. He was stiff and overly formal and likely scaring this family further.

"She made it through surgery," I interrupted to add before Marissa's mother could pass out from worry. "She's still critical, but Doctor Munson stopped the bleeding."

"As best we could." Munson's mouth twisted. He was even worse at accepting praise than me. "The next twenty-four hours are going to be key."

"She's alive. You hear that, Mom?" One of the women holding the mother's hands squeezed her.

"She's a fighter," another added, echoing Eric from earlier. "Thank you for giving her a chance."

"She's lucky to be surrounded by so much love." I gestured at the whole room. "Keep the good energy coming for her, but make sure you all get food and sleep too."

"When can I see her?" the mother asked.

"Mom. You just want to lecture her about the motorcycle." The guy on his phone looked up long enough to gently joke. "Let Marissa rest."

"She's in recovery now. But once she's transferred to ICU, we can see about some limited visitation." Munson was still stiffer than a packing box, but his offer drew smiles from all around the room. He'd brought hope, and that was the important thing.

Walking back to finish my shift and clock out, I was flagged down by another supervisor, Dottie, one of my least favorite coworkers, who managed a lot of our scheduling.

"Jonas!" Dottie called out in a high trill. "Just the nurse practitioner I was hoping to see."

"You need another shift covered?" I didn't even try to hide my yawn. "I'm about to clock out, and I've already agreed?—"

"Not today, luckily," she chirped. "You go home and sleep. But we had a callout for tomorrow. You'll cover, right?"

Tomorrow. It was long past midnight, which meant tomorrow was the day Declan returned. Sean had already said he'd do the airport run, so I could accept the shift, see Declan a little later, have the talk we most definitely needed.

But I was tired. So very, very tired. I covered for everyone else to the point I seldom took my own advice to rest. Self-care? I had no clue what that would even look like for me. I turned to stretch, buying a few seconds to think, and caught a glimpse of Marissa Darcy's family. They were all gathered together around Marissa's mother, heads bowed in some sort of prayer or moment of thanksgiving. Family.

Longing hit me square in the chest.

Life was too short and precious to keep burying my deepest wants. It hurt to unearth those wants and acknowledge them in the daylight, but something had to change. Something had to give, and that something was me.

"Not this time."