vitals on her initial assessment as the man’s mother and wife arrived. Both women were sniffling and dabbing at red-rimmed eyes. Having been through this scene frequently, Grace Ann asked and confirmed that this was the first time they’d seen their soldier in months. She offered upbeat reassurances and reviewed what they should expect in the next few hours. Recognizing the situation had the potential to get sticky, she smiled confidently and explained where they could find the family lounge before making a swift exit.
Never in her life had she felt like more of a coward, but getting snared in all that raw grief and angst would make the rest of her shift unbearable. She could go 24/7 for a patient, but her tolerance for family drama had changed. Today, she had to put Kevin’s situation first.
She was making another pass by the monitor to check his surgical status when a code alert sounded for a patient at the opposite end of the hallway. In a well-orchestrated flurry, every visible member of the staff leaped into motion. Grace Ann was a half step behind the crash cart as the emergency response team poured into the room, and she began carrying out orders as fast as they were given.
Together they moved through each life-saving protocol with competent precision, the only goal to save the patient. And they lost both battle and war as the soldier’s body gave out in fits and starts. When the doctor pronounced time of death, there was a tangible sense of defeat choking the air as Grace Ann and the others cleared the room.
In a field hospital on the other side of the world, there might have been hugs or even a fair bit of cursing over the circumstances and failure. None of the people she worked with knew how to give up gracefully in the fight for life. Here, in this beautiful, state-of-the-art facility, with families present and watching, they were expected to maintain a standard of professionalism that bordered on superhuman.
Grace Ann lifted her chin, rolled her shoulders back and strode down the hallway away from the shadow of defeat and frustration. The patient hadn’t been under her care, but that didn’t lessen the sense of loss. They were a team, the concept drilled into them from day one of their basic training, all the way through nursing school and beyond. Although the human body was astounding and resilient and mysterious, sometimes the wounds were too severe or the will to survive too fragile. And yet they had to keep going, keep pressing on to save those they could.
Smothering reactions and distress were part of the job. This was merely the first time in the current hour she’d had to hide the emotions roiling inside. At home she could break down and have a glass—or a bottle—of wine with a frozen pizza and let the tears flow. She couldn’t wait.
In the process of locking down her grief, she smiled absently at the man who turned into the corridor without really seeing him.
“Grace Ann?” He shifted toward her, not quite blocking her path. He reached out before he caught himself and tucked his hand into his pocket. “I’m glad to see you.”
The voice cut through her haze of grief first. Derek. She looked up into his gentle blue eyes and saw a friend. The urge to lean on him grew like a giant bubble at a children’s party. He’d understand. He might even take comfort as he offered it.
Feeling weak and sad, she felt this was the worst time to bump into him. She held herself back, shoulders straight, hands shoved into her pockets. “Hello, Derek.” She squeezed out the greeting through the vise grip of emotions clamped on her throat. “How are you holding up?”
The tension churning deep inside her belly eased just being near him. The man was so easy on the eyes with his sandy-brown hair and vivid blue eyes. He hadn’t shaved and the burnished gold stubble emphasized his strong, square jawline.
She found him as attractive now, rumpled and exhausted, as she had when they’d first met at a family picnic for the unit. Today, his suit jacket was folded over his arm and his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his tie nowhere in sight. She imagined he’d driven straight to the hospital from the office when he’d gotten the call about Kevin’s injury and impending surgery. Under the sun-kissed skin of a man who loved the outdoors, his face was a little gray and his lips bracketed with worry lines.
When had he last eaten?
And just like that the day’s trouble and her lingering guilt faded to the background. Her mind soared well away from the hospital, back to the tent they’d shared on a kayaking trip six weeks ago. She opened her arms and pulled him into a hug. Clearly startled by her demonstration—no one knew they saw each other regularly—he hesitated before reciprocating the embrace. She couldn’t say which of them held on to the other as people and activity flowed around them.
Giving was simply the way Derek was built, as intrinsic as his lean muscles and bone structure. She knew they both benefited from the nurturing contact, though she tried not to take too much.
Reluctantly she stepped back. “Is Kevin out of surgery?” she queried as her guilt surged to the fore again. She hoped he was too distracted to notice.
“Yes,” Derek replied. “I just got word.” He pushed a hand through his hair, wrecking it more. “The surgeon told me he came through the procedure in great shape.”
The urge to pull him into another hug, to celebrate and let herself ride a wave of happiness for him and his brother, nearly overwhelmed her. She clutched her stethoscope with both hands until the feeling passed. Remorse and culpability were strange emotional burdens.
“That’s fantastic.” How long had they been working on the patient they’d lost? “Everyone in the unit will be so happy. Have you seen him yet?”
He nodded. “For maybe all of a minute in recovery.”
“That’s good. I know it doesn’t seem like much.” She wanted to reach up and soothe as the lingering distress rippled across his shoulders. “Have you eaten lately?”
“I’m fine.” He shifted his feet. “Just not a big fan of hospitals.”
“Who is?” she asked brightly. “We’re used to that completely natural bias around here.” She was fully aware he wasn’t a big fan of the army, either. To be in a place that combined both must be excruciating. As family went, Kevin and Derek only had each other. For a fleeting moment, she wanted to confess that it should’ve been her in that helicopter. But what good would it do to give him more what-ifs to think about right now?
“Do you know Kevin’s room number?” she asked.
“Not yet...” His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted over her face. “Are you okay?”
“Absolutely,” she lied. “Would you like me to look up the room number or show you around the floor?”
“Lieutenant Colonel Bingham just gave me the full tour. I know they have Kevin assigned to that wing.” Derek tilted his head toward the opposite end of the hallway.
She glanced in that direction. “He’ll have an excellent team.”
“Not you?”
Was that disappointment in his voice or only her wishful thinking? “Not me.” Medical crises could instigate all sorts of reactions, but she didn’t want this situation to alter the foundation of their friendship. At the core of it, they were good together because they didn’t have any expectations or pressures from external sources. “Don’t worry, everyone from the unit will make time to pop in and pester him until he’s on his feet again.”
One corner of Derek’s mouth curled into a hint of the smile she missed more and more between each of their meetups. “Kevin will appreciate that.”
“Probably not for long,” she teased. “I’ll check in on you both in a bit, okay?” She had to get back to her patients. Even with the lingering guilt, she’d have an easier time maintaining her positive, calm professionalism after these few minutes with Derek.
“Grace, one more second.” Derek smoothed the fabric of the suit coat draped over his forearm. “Can I buy you a coffee? After your shift, of course.”
An answer evaded her. Was the invitation