Desiring Dylan - Suzanne Jenkins Page 0,11
mortified. “It’s not easy. You can see by the way I acted at the hospital that I have a long way to go.”
“Why did you act that way?”
“I think I’m so worried about the patient that I lose my ability to be rational. I turn into a jerk.”
She nodded, understanding how that might come about. “I’ve never seen you at the bedside before. Thank you for taking care of Kenny.”
“You’re welcome. I wish I could have done more.”
“And by the way, he wasn’t my husband. He had asked me. But we weren’t married.”
“I’m truly sorry we lost him.”
“Thanks. It’s getting cold, so I’d better close the door.”
“I wish we could talk more.”
“Dylan, no. Don’t come here again. And don’t call me.”
She saw disappointment on his face. Well, too bad. He wasn’t coming inside, at least not today. She’d just buried her boyfriend.
She shut the door. The threshold conversation was all she had available for Dylan Cross.
Chapter 2
The level one trauma center was quiet Monday morning. Dylan Cross stood at the counter in triage, looking over an admission form, trying to focus on the patient. He’d go through the day like that, disciplining himself to concentrate. This was a first for him. In four years of medical school, all the years of residency and fellowship, he’d never allowed himself to be distracted. Landon Fontenot leaving him, as painful as that was, had never made a dent in his focus and determination.
That all changed Thursday night. Trying to save the life of the singer was status quo for Dylan. He did his best, gave his all for all the patients who came into the emergency room. But when he realized Landon was the man’s girlfriend, something snapped. He had failed to save the life of her boyfriend. It became personal.
“What do you think, Dylan?”
A nurse was waiting for him to write orders.
“Let’s keep an eye on him. All the standard stuff. No surgery at this time.”
After filling out the form, he handed the paperwork over to her and left the department. Arvin and another colleague were on duty, and if they needed him, they’d call. For now, he needed to be alone.
There was a courtyard that was supposed to be for smokers, but smoking wasn’t allowed anymore, so on this miserable, dark, cold and rainy Monday, Dylan went out there to get air and think. He had the hood up on his slicker, and he could feel the rain hitting it as it fell on his head. A small bird sat in the leafless tree, watching him, emotions building. Impossible to ignore, the compassion he felt for Landon came in waves, and at that moment it was overwhelming. He got his phone out and dialed her number after she’d told him not to, fully expecting voicemail to pick up, so when she answered, he was speechless for a second.
“I had a speech ready.”
“Dylan, why are you calling me?”
“I don’t know. I feel something that I have to acknowledge, I guess. Concern for you. Sympathy.”
“It’s guilt.”
That hurt, but he didn’t get defensive. “Maybe a little bit. I do feel terrible that we couldn’t save him. But it’s more than that. He was your person. I didn’t know him, but I know you. I wish I could have saved him for you.”
The speech took her breath away. There didn’t seem to be any response to that, so she accepted it at face value. He’d lost a patient. He was grieving, too. It made him human again. Not a machine. Tears rolled down her cheeks. It was something a friend would say. Kenny was her person, and Dylan had acknowledged that. Healing began to take place at that moment.
“Thank you, Dylan. I wish you could have saved him, too.”
“How are you doing today?”
“It’s worse today. I made the mistake of watching the news this morning, and they’re talking about the woman who shot him, Catherine Stowe, saying she had a crush on Ken, and when he pulled me up on stage and introduced me as his future wife, she lost it. They didn’t say anything about her being an obsessed crazy person. It was his fault.”
“Ugh, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll get over it. He won’t. I guess you have to go back to work?”
“I guess so. Hang in there today, Landon.”
“Thanks, Dylan. You too.”
He ended the call. There was nothing else to do. He went back inside. Arvin and their colleague Larry Babula were arm wrestling at the nurses’ station.
“I guess it’s a slow