“Text me, though,” she added. “We can go to that new hookah lounge Honcho opened.”
“Bitch, I’m not going to no damn hookah lounge,” I scowled.
“Miller!” someone yelled impatiently from the hallway.
“I said I’m coming! Damn!” I shouted back.
Monica chuckled, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Sis, go help them. If they yell one more time, I’m liable to burn this motherfucker down.”
I gave her a quick hug and rushed out.
My jaw dropped when I got back to the floor. In the five minutes I’d been gone, the ER had become a complete shit show. Doctors shouted over one another while nurses scrambled behind them like worker bees. Gurneys lined the hallways, and patients spilled into every corner—it was packed like sardines in a can. For a moment, I froze, my brain struggling to process the scene in front of me.
“We’ve got a trample victim here!” a paramedic’s shout snapped me back to reality. They pushed past with an older man on the gurney, his face twisted in pain, and his right arm was bent at an angle that made my stomach drop. I shoved down the nausea, yanked a pair of gloves on, and scanned the floor for where I was needed most.
“I need a doctor right now!”
A man’s panicked voice cut through the frenzy. I turned to see a tall Black man, covered in blood, looking around wildly. He stormed toward me the moment our eyes locked.
“Are you a doctor?” he demanded, grabbing my wrist with a death grip.
“N-nurse.” I stammered, trying to pull free. “If you let go, I can find one.”
“No!” he shook his head, voice breaking. “My brother’s been shot! He’s losing too much blood—he’s dying! I need a fucking doctor!”
“Sir, is he in one of the ambulances?” I asked, doing my best to stay calm even though my heart was racing.
He dropped my wrist and started pacing in frantic circles. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” he yelled, slamming his hand against the wall. I couldn’t let this man lose his shit and make things worse.
I opened my mouth to tell him to breathe, and I’d help him find a doctor, but froze when I saw him reach for the gun in his waistband. My hand darted out before I realized it. “No.” I shook my head, keeping my voice even. “Take me to him. I’ll help you find a doctor.”
My eyes darted around until I spotted an abandoned gurney. I sprinted over and grabbed it before anyone else could. “Come on,” I said, pushing it toward the doors.
He grabbed the other end without hesitation and started moving like a man possessed.
“Slow down!” I hollered, nearly tripping as I tried to keep up. This guy had to be at least 6’3—my short legs weren’t built for this.
“My bad, ma!” he yelled back, but he didn’t slow down.
We burst through the lobby doors, where a blacked-out Range Rover was idling at the curb. As soon as we got close, the passenger door flew open. He abandoned the gurney and rushed to help another man pull out the body of his brother from the car.
“Grab his feet, Slim!” he barked. Together, they pulled a limp, blood-soaked body from the back seat.
My breath caught at the sight of how bad it was—his brother was shirtless, barely conscious, and wrapped in half-assed bandages that were already soaked through. I rushed to secure the straps as they laid him on the gurney.
“We don’t have time for that shit!” the man snapped, grabbing the gurney like it weighed nothing and charging back inside. I pushed through as my feet screamed in protest, and hustled to keep up.
“I got a gunshot victim!” I shouted as we made it back to the ER floor. I shoved him aside to do a more thorough assessment. His brother was fading fast—his breathing was labored, and his lips were turning blue.
“Shit,” Dr. Crawford muttered, stepping up beside me. “Call upstairs and have them prep an OR, stat!” she ordered the nearest resident. “Miller, you’re with me.”
She grabbed the gurney and wheeled it toward the elevator. The man tried to follow behind us.
“I’m sorry, you have to wait down here,” I told him, blocking his path.
“The fuck I will! That’s my brother!” he growled, as he tried to push past me.
“Lani, chill! Chill!” his friend grabbed his arm and yanked him back.
