Dating Impossible (11 page)

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JJ entered PGH’s bustling emergency room with a new-found confidence.
Her morning meditation had done wonders to lift her sagging spirits. Expertly
applied makeup and eye drops hid her night’s cry-filled obsession. When she
returned home tonight, she’d submit her resume to the other hospitals she’d
considered before choosing PGH. The plan helped to alleviate some of the
torment she’d experienced since leaving Kazimier.

JJ scanned the bustling computer screens above the main
nurses’ station that had all the patients who were already checked in listed by
medical record number only. This protected patient confidentiality.
Alice
sat with her head
bent over her keyboard, efficiently pounding out orders on the chart before her.
Beside her stood Jake. JJ liked his sunny disposition. She was glad he was
working today as he was sure to lift her spirits and distract her from her
worrisome thoughts.

“Wow. We’re hopping already,” she said to Jake. She glanced
around, saw several others scurrying from one room or the next in their haste
to get tasks done for the patients. “Ah, who’s in charge today?”

“Rhonda,” he replied, handing her a fresh chart with a
charming smile that lit up his dark brown eyes. “She said when I saw you to
send you in to the trauma bay. They’re bringing in a GSW to the chest. I’ve set
the room up and the trauma team has been called. Most are already gathered,
waiting. ETA five minutes.” He chuckled. “Nothing like starting your twelve-hour
shift off with a bang.”

JJ rolled her eyes. “That’s a really bad pun, Jake.” If
Rhonda was in charge, that meant no Angie. Relief flooded her. It was usually
one or the other. Luck was on her side. JJ’s spirits rose even higher. “How old
is the victim?”

He lowered his head covered in short, rich dark brown curls
and scrutinized a yellow sticky note. “Twenty-two.”

“Young, but at least it’s not a child,” she said. Working
with injured children was emotionally exhausting, especially if they didn’t
survive. She wasn’t sure if she could manage that kind of rollercoaster today. JJ
set the clipboard on the counter and removed her white doctor’s coat, hanging
it on the row of pegs that lined one wall of the nurses’ station. Clip board in
hand once more, she turned to head toward the trauma bay then stopped abruptly.

“You coming?” she asked Jake.

“No. I’m handling triage today. Angie’s your nurse. She’s
already in there,” he replied.

Angie?
All of JJ’s
earlier cheeriness burst like a black rain cloud, drenching her morale. Acid
burned the back of her throat as her stomach roiled. She was stuck with that bat-shit
jealous RN?

Fuck me…

The distant sirens of the ambulance roused JJ from her gloominess.
She could do this. She was a fucking professional after all. Straightening her
shoulders and standing to her full height, she strode with purpose to the
trauma bay. Angie was just going to have to fucking get over her bitchy self.

Upon entering the room, JJ found the team was indeed
assembled. Employees from each department stood by all dressed in yellow
isolation gowns, latex-free gloves, and facemasks with clear visor shields to
protect from blood splatter. X-ray techs, phlebots, and nurses stood by
expectantly waiting for JJ’s orders. As the only doctor in the room, she would
lead.

She spotted Angie off to the side, clipboard in hand. Hatred
spewed from the woman’s blue eyes. JJ ignored her and gowned, gloved, and
masked. The paramedics slammed through the trauma doors with the victim on the
gurney. JJ’s adrenaline coursed through her veins. Angie forgotten, she
concentrated on what the
EMS
team’s field
report.

“Twenty-two-year-old male shot in the chest. No breath
sounds left upper lobe. BP 86/42. Heart rate 146. Resps 35 per minute…”

On the count of three, the patient was moved from stretcher
to hospital gurney. The motion was swift and expertly done, but the patient
moaned and shouted cuss words as the jostling caused more pain. “Take it easy! That
fucking hurts, man.”

JJ smoothly stepped to the head of the gurney. “Sorry about
that, my friend. But there’s no help for it. Everything we do is going to hurt
right now. We will give you pain meds as we can, but you’ve lost a lot of blood
and your blood pressure is dangerously low. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Nothing, man.” His voice was muffled and a bit tinny
through the oxygen face mask he wore. “I was just walking down the street minding
my own business,” he said. His tone was defensive mixed with just a bit of
smugness that was typical.

JJ rolled her eyes. Pretty much the standard answer she’d
expected. The truth was he’d been shot by a store clerk while trying to steal
the money from the cash register. “What’s your name?” As she spoke, she
listened to his chest, observed the unequal fall with each short rapid breath
he struggled to inhale. His pale skin was slick with sweat, and the blood-stained
gauze dressing just under his left nipple was peeled up along the corners. She
removed it, examined the wound, and fired off rapid orders to the team. “Stat
chest, full trauma panel including type and cross for four units packed cells
and keep two units ahead. Set up for chest tube insertion and call the cardio-thoracic
surgeon on call.”

Everyone scrambled to do her bidding. All except Angie, who
stood leaning against the wall with the X-ray viewers, clipboard clasped to her
chest. As the head nurse, Angie was supposed to be recording and coordinating
JJ’s orders.

“What the fuck, Angie? Get your ass moving. I need that
chest tube tray now, not in the next millennium,” JJ said.

At the bite in JJ’s voice, all motion ceased for a fraction
of a second. Glances were shared, and the only sound came from the patient
himself as he writhed, moaned, and shouted expletives of his own. Angie’s gaze
threw fire-sheathed daggers at JJ, but she grudgingly pushed off the wall and
did as instructed. The monitor above the gurney screamed and flashed the
current vital signs. His blood pressure dropped to 60/29. Heart rate up to 180s.
Oxygen saturation now read 85 percent. All activity resumed with renewed vigor.

“Slam in two units of uncrossed matched O negative packed
cells,” JJ said reviewing the X-ray film Grant handed her. Hemo/pneumo thorax. Just
as she’d suspected. “Okay, people. Let’s drain the blood out of his chest and
get him prepped for surgery.”

“Well, Marty,” JJ said, addressing the patient using the
name he’d given her moments before. “Here’s the deal. I’ve got some good news
and some bad news.” She spoke in a soothing voice, trying to calm his anxiety. “Which
do you want first?”

He grimaced. “Just fucking say it, Doc.”

“The bad news first then,” JJ said brightly, giving Ambra the
go-ahead nod. “The bullet in your chest has lodged near a major artery. You’re
going to need to surgery to remove it and repair the damage. But first I need
to place a drain in your chest to evacuate the blood that has pooled in there
and that has collapsed your lung. Do you understand?”

“I’m fucked, right? I don’t want to die,” he said, his dark
brown eyes were wide with fear.

“Not necessarily,” JJ answered as she changed into a sterile
gown and prepared to place the chest tube. “We have a couple of great surgeons
that are experts at putting chests damaged like yours back together. Don’t you
want to know the good news?” she asked, her voice cheery as she picked up the
scalpel from the sterile field of instruments to her side.

Gaze glued to the sharp instrument in her gloved hand, he
gulped. “W-w-what?”

“The good news”—JJ pointed to Ambra—“is that my best friend
here is an expert respiratory therapist. And Matt there” —she motioned to Matt
standing opposite side of the gurney— “Matt is going to sedate your lying,
stealing ass, knocking you out while Ambra places a tube into your mouth where
the tip goes into your windpipe. So, essentially, we will be breathing for
you.”

Marty squirmed on the gurney in an attempt to escape. “You’re
fucking crazy! That’s not good news!” His slurred speech and half-hearted
effort told JJ the sedatives were beginning to work.

“Sure it is,” JJ replied. “That means, when I use this” —she
wiggled the sharp scalpel in her hand— “you won’t feel a thing. Some ER doctors
aren’t as generous as I.” She chuckled.

I live for
this shit!

“Now, Marty, lay back and relax. This won’t hurt a bit…”

Chapter
Thirteen

JJ removed her soiled gloves and tossed them into the waste
receptacle along with her blood-drenched gown and mask. At the sink she
scrubbed her hands and arms vigorously. Part of her felt sorry for the guy, but
the other part of her believed in Karma. Had he not done what he’d done… At
least he would survive, be tried, and probably go to jail.

“Well, that was a mess,” she said to Ambra who bagged the dirty
instruments used for intubation. “So, why’d ya bail on me last night?” JJ
finally got to ask the one question she’d been dying to ask since she’d first seen
her friend. “Do you know I got stuck having a drink with Cruz and his parents?”

Guilt sparked Ambra’s deep emerald eyes and she flushed. “I
am so sorry about that.” She turned away and removed her own soiled garb. “Truth
is, I’ve been dealing with some family drama. It’s my dad.” She sighed and
faced JJ. Shame etched her delicate features. “He’s… ah, never mind. Suffice it
to say, he’s a pain in my ass.”

“Anything I can help with?” JJ asked, concerned.

Ambra shook her head, and the short sassy mahogany bob
swished strands of hair across her face. “No. He never sticks around for too
long. I will just have to wait him out. I appreciate it though.” A wicked grin
spread across her face. “So, how was it with Cruz? Any more hot, bone melting, legs-so-sore-I-can’t-walk
sex?”

“Shit, Ambra!” JJ glanced around nervously, assuring herself
the trauma bay was still empty. “Anyone could hear you, you know!”

“Newsflash to the life-saving ER doc. Cruz is the main topic
of conversation around here. The bedpan buzz has little else right now.” Ambra
shrugged and washed her hands. “No one really knows for sure if you two are an
item. It’s fun as hell to listen to all the speculation, though.” She grabbed
paper towels from the dispenser by the sink and faced JJ. Leaning a hip on the
sink, she dried her hands.

“First of all,” JJ said as she shoved an arm into her white
doctor’s coat, “we are not an
item
,
so get that out of your head right now.”

Ambra’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Fuck buddies, then,”
she said, tossing the wet papered towels into the receptacle. “There’s no shame
in that, JJ. He’s definitely lick-worthy in my book. I’ve been tempted a time
or two, but I like my men a bit more…” Her lips curved into an unrepentant
smile. “Untamed. Unpredictable. And, most importantly—emotionally unattached.”

“I bet.” JJ laughed, unable to help herself. Ambra always
had a way with words that seemed to minimize a situation. “Okay, semantics…but
just to be clear, it was a two-time stand. That’s it. We are not fuck buddies.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Ambra said. “The way he looks
at you, I doubt he’s done with you yet.”

JJ grasped her stethoscope and draped it around her neck. Her
interest piqued, she stuffed her hands in her pockets. “He doesn’t look at me
any differently than he looks at any other healthy single woman in or out of
this ER. You need glasses, my friend.”

Ambra’s penetrating gaze searched JJ’s face. JJ’s fists
clenched and she resisted the urge to fidget. Ambra was smart. Too smart for
her own good intentions. JJ knew she’d helped Jett Avery a time or two when
Roxanne had blown him off. It had been Ambra who’d given Jett Roxanne’s dating
itinerary. Suspicion burned in the pit of JJ’s stomach. “Ambra—”

“You’re the one who needs glasses,” Ambra interrupted. “Cruz
looks at you the way Jett looks at Roxanne.”

Ambra grabbed the handle of the now re-stocked intubation box,
hefted it off the counter, and headed out of the trauma bay before JJ had a
chance to reply. She wanted to shout denial at Ambra’s retreating back, but one
of the housekeepers entered the room with her cleaning cart.

“Is everyone done in here?” she asked.

“Yes,” JJ answered and followed in Ambra’s wake.

Ambra had the twins confused. What Jett and Roxanne had was real
love, a love that was reciprocated between them. The only love involving Cruz
was purely one sided—her side. Always had been and always would be. And their
brief sexual encounters were… just…raw animal lust—his side. Well, she admitted
the sexual attraction was both sides. Her heart wrenched and fresh pain washed
over her. JJ straightened her shoulders just as she’d done hundreds of times
before. Facts were facts. Cruz was in lust, not in love her.

“Dr. Jones?”

Yanked from her musings, JJ stopped midstride in the hall
and turned her attention to an elderly balding man with a white goatee and kind
dark eyes. Like herself, he wore a white doctor’s coat, but she didn’t
recognize him. “Yes?”