7
BLAKE
I bolted down the hallway, my normally measured stride—the one I’d spent years perfecting to project calm confidence—replaced by frenzy. Every step felt like my heart might burst through my chest. The lights streaked overhead like shooting stars, each step echoing against sterile tiles with the sound of a countdown I couldn’t afford to lose. Time warped around me, stretching and compressing with each ragged breath.
Not Tessa. Please, not Tessa.
At the nurses’ station, my composure—the mask I wore like armor—crumbled further, my hip catching a computer screen, sending it crashing to the floor. Staff members called out, their voices a distant buzz beneath the roaring in my ears. I caught fragments of their concern—“Dr. Morrison?”—but couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. I took another corner at full speed, my hand gripping the doorframe, and burst into the room that had become my waking nightmare.
The sight stopped me cold. The room was already chaos, with a nurse performing chest compressions on Tessa’s too-still form while another squeezed the bag valve mask over her blue-tinged lips. The monitor’s accusatory flatline pierced the air like a blade.
A lifetime of moments flashed through my mind in the space of a heartbeat. Tessa’s infectious laugh around a bonfire, understanding my obscure jokes when no one else did. Her small hand covering mine after my first med school rejection, her unwavering faith in me stronger than my own.
“You’re meant to save lives, Blake,” she’d said then.
I never imagined I’d be trying to save hers.
“I’ll take over,” I said, my voice cracking. Something that hadn’t happened since residency. The nurse stepped back, and I positioned my hands on Tessa’s sternum.
One. Two. Three.
Don’t die, Tessa. Not you. I can handle almost anyone else, but not YOU.
Tessa’s delicate frame jerked with each compression.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
Come back to me.
Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.
First cycle complete. How had only thirty seconds passed when it felt like years?
One. Two. Three. Four.
Don’t make me tell Ryker his sister died under my watch.
Eight. Nine. Ten.
I should have checked on you more. Should have noticed something was wrong. Should have …
“You will not die, Tessa. Do you hear me?” My voice betrayed me, rough with emotion I never allowed myself to show.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the startled glances between nurses—Dr. Morrison, always in control, now fighting back tears as he fought for a life.
“Fight, Tessa! I need you to fight for me!”
Twenty-nine. Thirty.
Sixty seconds. Protocol said two minutes of continuous compressions before checking rhythm, but each secondstretched like an eternity. She should be back by now. Why wasn’t she back?
One. Two. Three.
Stay with me, Cupcake. Please stay with me.
“Doctor!” The nurse’s voice cut through my spiral just as the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard filled the room.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
