Page 97 of Asystole

After all the shit we’ve been through in the last week, month, five months, I’m not the ‘we’ll talk later’ friend. I’m the ‘I’m driving to the hospital to hunt your ass down and find out what’s wrong’ friend.

And that’s exactly what I do.

Wouldn’t you know it? It’s fucking raining again, and I watch as a car hydroplanes across two lanes of traffic while I’m stuck at a red light, dreading tonight’s shift because it’s going to be busy. Thankfully, rain is a non-factor for the chopper.

I badge into the employee lot, race inside, and text Chase.

Logan

Old physician’s lounge. STAT.

I swipe my employee ID and pace the vacant room. Boston Memorial is so big there are actually three physicians’ lounges. This one is the oldest and has the fewest amenities, but that also makes it the quietest and most peaceful.

Twelve minutes later, I hear the electronic beep and the door swings open.

Chase looks terrible. His eyes are heavily lidded, almost as if he’s high, but that can’t be right. I race over to him and place my hands on the side of his neck.

“Chase, what happened? What’s wrong?”

He looks through me instead of at me.

Shit.

“Are you regretting your breakup with Kendra?” I ask, knowing I’ll call her right now and make her turn around if it’ll put a smile back on Chase’s face.

“No,” he says weakly.

“But you’re not sure?” I ask, seeking clarification, information, hell, anything at this point.

“I DON’T KNOW!” he booms, bringing his hands to his face and falling into the chair next to us.

I’m on my knees in front of him a second later, weaving my arms around his torso. I half expect him to push me off him, but he doesn’t. He hugs my neck and places his cheek on the top of my head as he breathes heavily.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to know,” I tell him, realizing Chase is totally done. He’s hit his limits for exhaustion, expectations, stress, and demands. This is what it looks like when a man’s got nothing left to give and has had zero time to process the changes happening in his life. “Where are you supposed to be right now?” I ask.

Pulling back, Chase quickly wipes his eyes, and I don’t comment.

“I have three patients left to round on before lunch,” he says.

“Okay. Why don’t I come to the floor with you, then we can grab lunch together?” I suggest.

“Because you need to sleep. You work tonight.”

I look out the window as a loud clap of thunder follows a bolt of lightning I didn’t witness.

“It’s just rain. I’ll be fine.”

I’ll be more distracted from worrying about him being home alone than I will be from whatever calls come in tonight, but I don’t tell him that.

I stand and pull him into me, his forehead hitting the bottom of my sternum from our positions. Rubbing his back, I verbalize the plan once more, giving him something concrete to focus on.

“Let’s go take care of those patients and get some calories in you, and you can tell me what happened.”

Thankfully, two of the three patients are asleep when Chase enters their rooms, and he makes quick work of whatever it is he has to do in there. The third takes a little longer, but is a nice older lady who is smitten with Chase, and I appreciate her for putting a smile on Chase’s face—even if it was because of a totally inappropriate comment about his ass in scrubs. I guess a perk of being eighty-six is that you can say shit without getting in trouble for it.

By the time we’re making our lunch selections, I’m dying to know what caused Chase to think he has to miss his best friend’s wedding, cancel our trip, and have him breaking down like he did.

“Start talking,” I say around a bite of food.