“Call the hospital,” one of them says. “Tell them to prep an OR.” Then he turns to us. “Nurse Winters, Nurse Kathri. I’m glad you were here. You just might have saved her life. Now, it’s in the surgeon’s hands.”
Then they’re riding off.
The paramedic’s words stay with me long after he’s gone. Not because I think I’ve made that much of a difference, but because they remind me of the reason I wanted to become a doctor in the first place.
Nurseshelppeople. They’re the backbone of any hospital. But handing off my patients to an OR after I patch up the worst of it—that’s not what I want.
I want tocurepeople. Want to stick with them in that OR, make them whole again with my own two hands, and keep tabs on them until the day they’re walking out on their own two legs. I want to be there for them, from start to finish.
I don’t want to hand them off to a doctor.
I want tobethat doctor.
It’s a very sudden thought. Going back to med school, finishing what I couldn’t—I haven’t let myself think about that in a long time. Right now, we’re in a crisis, but maybe, afterwards…
I shake my head. It’s pointless to think about it now. Yulian is in the middle of a Bratva war, I’m fighting Brad for custody of my son, and I still haven’t decided if I’m even going to stay. It’s no time to make plans for the future.
For now, the best I can do is keep us alive.
Kallie seems to notice my exhaustion. “Go get some air,” she whispers. “I’ll drive Kazimir to the hospital. You stay with Yulian.”
I give a tight nod. “Thanks, Kal.”
I step outside just in time to see Yulian in the gardens, arguing with Nikita. “—let him fucking go!”
“I didn’t let him go!” she yells back. “There were two of you, goddammit! I couldn’t tell which one was you in the dark! Next time, get me some night goggles!”
“Bullshit,” he snarls. “You froze. Admit it.”
“I didn’t fucking freeze.” Her voice drops to icy depths. “I want that motherfucker dead as much as you.”
“Then you’ve got a funny way of showing it.”
“If you’re done being an asshole about this?—”
“No, I’m not done!” Yulian thunders. “You’re benched. I don’t want you anywhere near Desya Bogdanov again.”
“You can’t?—”
“Yes, I can,” he snaps. “And I just did. So either get with the program or find someone else to botch jobs for.”
Her fists tighten. It’s too dark to see her face, but I could swear I caught a glimpse of tears in her eyes.
She strides off without seeing me.
“That was harsh,” I tell Yulian once she’s gone.
He turns, surprised to see me. But he’s still angry—I can tell. “I won’t take notes on how to discipline my people.”
“Then maybe you should take advice on how to talk to your friends,” I reply. “Because that wasn’t it, Yulian. She’s done everything for us. Whatever her mistake, she didn’t deserve that.”
He balls his fists. “Mistakes aren’t allowed in the Bratva. If she doesn’t know that by now, she’s not cut out for it.”
“Everyone makes mistakes.”
“Not here. Not on my watch.”
“How about your mistakes, then?” I press. “Because you can’t demand perfection unless you’re perfect. And I think we both know you’re not.”
