“Listen, let me see if I can find someone and figure out what’s going on.” I patted his arm. “I’ll be right back.”
Before I could move away from the bed, though, Noah reached out and caught my hand.
“Promise you’ll be back?”
His expression of vulnerability, of stark-naked fear, struck me deep. Noah Spencer was a larger-than-life football player, a guy who seemed to be on top of the world most of the time. But right now, he was just a man, afraid and in agony.
“Of course. I promise.” I laid my hand over his, squeezed it, and then lifted it from my arm as I slipped through the curtain again.
I followed the narrow hallway out into the main portion of the emergency, and once I got there, I had a pretty good idea about why Noah had been stuck into a far-removed bay and left alone. It was bedlam in the ER.
“Hey.” I snagged a nurse who was moving slower than the others. “What’s going on?”
She frowned at me as though she didn’t understand what I was saying. “What do you mean? Are you here to work?” She glanced at my security badge. “If you’re not, we can use you.”
I shook my head. “No, I’m just—listen, that doesn’t matter. You’ve got a patient in bay twelve who needs some pain management and attention.”
The nurse blew out a breath, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, well, we’ve got an eighteen-vehicle MVA that’s pouring in right now. We’re catching most if not all of it. Unless someone’s actively bleeding to death, they’re not priority one.”
“Yeah, okay.” I understood. In trauma centers, patients had to be prioritized, and glancing around, I could tell that most of the patients here were in much worse shape than the football player whose side I’d just left. “Can you just tell me who’s heading up Noah Spencer’s care? He’s a friend of mine, and he’s really suffering.”
“Ahhh . . .” She moved her fingers quickly over the small computer tablet in her hand. “That would be Marti. Dr. Reagan. She’s over there.” The nurse pointed toward a woman standing next to one of the nearby beds.
“Okay, thanks. Good luck today.”
I ventured closer to Dr. Reagan, waiting as she barked out orders to a resident and a nurse. When she paused for breath and turned away from the bed, I seized my opportunity.
“Dr. Reagan? I’m Dr. Wakely. I’m a friend of Noah Spencer’s, and I understand you’re in charge of his case.”
“In charge?” She laughed without much humor. “Yeah, I guess, if that’s what you want to call it. This whole day. . .” She tossed up her hands. “What can I do for you, Dr . . .?”
“Wakely,” I supplied. “Alison, actually. I just wanted to see what’s going on with Noah. I was back with him, and his pain level is pretty high, even with the meds on board.”
“Christ.” She grabbed her high ponytail and tightened it. “Listen, I’m sorry about this, but right now, Spencer is stable and not in active danger of bleeding out. We did the initial X-rays and MRI, and we called in our top ortho doc—that’s standard protocol when we get in a football player with injuries consistent with what we’re seeing in Noah Spencer.” She swept her hand over the frenetic ER. “Unfortunately, that doctor was coming from the other side of the county, and last I heard from him, he was sitting in the massive traffic nightmare caused by this MVA. I don’t know how long it’s going to be until he gets here, and meanwhile, all we can do is keep Spencer as comfortable as possible.” She glanced around. “This is what I can do. I’ll write the order for increased pain meds and send in a nurse as soon as I can.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I hesitated. “Is it okay with you if I hang out with him until the ortho arrives?”
Dr. Reagan shrugged. “Fine by me. I think we asked if there was anyone he wanted us to call, and he said no. I expect the team reps to be here any time, though. The game was still going on when he arrived. Could be they all got caught in that traffic, too.”
“Probably.” I nodded. “Thanks again. Good luck today. I don’t envy you this job.”
She made a face. “Today, I don’t envy me my job, either. But it’s what I signed up for.”
Across the room, someone shouted for her, and with a last apologetic glance, she was gone, sprinting to where she was needed. I smothered a sigh, realizing that it might be a long wait for Noah to get the relief he needed.
When I opened the curtain next to his bed, Noah’s eyes were closed and his breath was coming fast. Sweat dotted his forehead. It was so incredibly frustrating that I couldn’t do anything to help him—nothing but sit here and hold his hand.
“Hey.” I spoke softly so as not to startle him. “I’m back.”
“Yeah.” His voice was gravelly, and he coughed a little. “What’s the news?”
“Well . . .” I decided to lead with the positive. “I talked to the doctor in charge of your care for now, and she’s sending an order for more pain meds. The nurse should be here soon with that.”
“Okay. That’s good.” His eyes met mine, and I wanted to cry when I saw the helpless fear there. “What about my leg? What are they saying about it? Are they going to set it or something? Surgery?”
I took a deep fortifying breath. “They sent for the orthopedic doctor who usually deals with this kind of injury. Apparently, he’s the top of the field. The best of the best.” I was babbling and making up some of this shit, but anything I could say that might reassure Noah was good for now.
“Great. But where the hell is he? What, was he on the beach? Having brunch and didn’t want to leave early?” The anger in his tone was borne of pain and terror more than any real resentment, I knew.
