Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Time is everything when it comes to strokes. We have to get her stabilized quickly or we risk losing her. I grab the nearest blood pressure cuff, securing it around the woman’s frail arm while Mia adjusts the oxygen mask over her face. The woman’s skin is ashen, her breathing shallow, and even though she’s blinking up at us, her gaze is glassy, unfocused.
“Ma’am, can you tell me your name?” I ask gently, pressing my fingers to her wrist to check her pulse. It’s weak.
Her lips part, but all that comes out is a slurred, unintelligible noise.
I exchange a look with Mia, who is already prepping an IV as the doctor walks into the room.
“Order a CT,” the attending physician tells Mia. She nods, handing me the IV and pulling out her tablet to code it in.
We haven’t gone far when a frantic voice rings out: “Where is she? Where the hell is my mother?”
Reflexively, I turn toward the man speaking, trusting the much larger EMTs will step in if he’s unhinged. But when I look up, I stop breathing. It’s Sergei. For a split second, I wonder if maybe I’m hallucinating again, as if all the stress and sleepless nights have caught up to me and it’s just another Sergei lookalike. Before I can stop myself, I’m calling out his name.
“Sergei?”
His head snaps up, ice-blue eyes locking on mine. His expression flickers between confusion, recognition, and perhaps a little embarrassment, but it’s quickly replaced by panic.
Mia glances between us, recognizing my sudden paralysis. She takes over, finishing the IV.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, stunned.
His gaze darts past me, toward the woman they’ve just wheeled away.
“Where are they taking her?” His voice trembles, equal parts anger and fear. “Where are they taking my mother?”
7
SERGEI
I’ve never felt more afraid or helpless than I did when I found my mother on the floor. For one soul-crushing second, I thought she was gone. I panicked in a way I never have before. Not even when Papa died. For a moment, I felt like a child with no idea what to do next.
I’m not a man who panics or freezes. When things need to be taken care of, I don’t hesitate. But seeing my mother like that—pale and unmoving, her face slack in an unnatural droop—I didn’t know what to do. Thankfully, my fingers moved faster than my brain; somehow, I dialed 9-1-1 before I even registered what I was doing.
The minutes before the ambulance arrived felt like hours.
Even though I know she’s stable now, that the doctors are confident she’ll recover, my hands still won’t stop shaking. I lean forward in the waiting room, elbows braced on my knees, dragging my hands down my face.
I exhale, trying to ground myself, but my mind won’t shut the fuck up. I keep replaying the horrible scenes over and over again. Mom crumpled on the floor, the ambulance’s blinding lights, the antiseptic sting that hit me the moment I stepped into the ER.
Then came the biggest shock to my system. The nurse working on my mother the moment she came in was Nicole. Mind-fucking good in bed Nicole.
She probably told me she was a nurse, but I barely remember anything we discussed at that dinner. If I’d ever imagined running into her again, this scenario would be dead last on the list. Ideally, if I saw her again she’d be wearing some sexy piece of lingerie.
No. I shake my head. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about that. It doesn’t matter how incredible our night together was. There’s only one thing I should be focusing on right now, and it’s finding out what’s going to happen with my mother.
A nurse runs by and I can’t help but check to see if it’s Nicole. I wonder if she’s still with Mom or if she’s moved on to another patient. I shouldn’t expect any special treatment, of course. Still, part of me wishes that she would stay with Mom until I’m sure she’s fine. They won’t let me back there until they finish running tests, and it would be nice to know someone is standing by her.
I clench my jaw and run a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. My feet tap against the linoleum floor and I can’t keep my knees from bouncing. I haven’t felt this anxious and rattled in years, and I don’t know what to do with myself. My body feels foreign to me. I don’t know what to do with my hands, or where to look. I am utterly useless.
My gaze drifts to the nurses’ station, where a woman with a clipboard speaks to a colleague. Her back is to me, but a jolt of electricity runs through me and I know it’s Nicole.
From this vantage point, she seems calm and collected. She’s used to this, I imagine. She jumps into action when there’s a crisis; that’s her job. My world is falling apart, but this is just another night for her. For some reason, that gets under my skin more than it should.