Until Autumn - Sheridan Anne Page 0,80

his record even though it was done to save the lives of his patients.

With everything under control, Dr. Terrace decides that he doesn’t need an overly emotional student crying on the floor as he attempts to save a life and I’m sent away.

With nothing to do but cry and panic, I make my way down to the locker rooms and peel off my bloodied scrubs before dropping them onto the growing pile in the corner of the room. I make my way into the small bathroom, holding my towel tight to my chest.

After making my way into a shower stall, I reach in and turn on the taps. I wait a few seconds for the water to heat before throwing myself under the shower spray and letting it wash away all the fear, doubt, and blood from my body.

My heart aches as my mind takes me through every possibility. The man who holds my heart could die today and there wasn’t anything I could do to have helped him. I just stood back and worked on someone else while his life was slowly slipping away.

If he doesn’t make it, I’ll never be able to forgive myself. But he has to make it. I know he will. Thorne is going to be alright. There’s simply no other option. I won’t allow it. I won’t accept it. Thorne and I haven’t come this far for me to lose him now.

I turn off the taps and wrap the white towel tightly around me before making my way back out to my locker. I stare at my new scrubs, and instead of finding the strength to put them on and face this head-on, I sink to the ground and cry as sharp, painful sobs tear from my chest.

Please, Thorne. Please, be okay.

CHAPTER 24

AUTUMN

I pace in front of the nurses’ station.

What’s taking so long? It’s been four hours already. Four freaking long ass hours. What the hell is going on in there? All they had to do was go digging for the stupid bullet, pull it out, and stitch him up. He should be done by now. He should be in recovery with me waiting by his bedside, ready to help him with whatever he needs. Morphine? I’ve got it. A sponge bath? I’m the girl for the job. Someone to seek out the dickhead who did this to him and personally end his pathetic existence? Damn fucking straight, consider it done.

Four hours.

Four fucking hours.

Every passing second makes the anxiety rise within me. Why isn’t this over yet? Are there complications? Is he bleeding out?

No, I can’t go there.

I focus on my pacing because in this screwed up world, sometimes pacing is all we have. Thorne’s whole family has been waiting out in the waiting room, desperate for the information that I still don’t have. I know I should go out there and sit with them, but I can’t bring myself to move away from the phone. It’s my one lifeline, the one thing between good and bad news.

My feet slowly drag me up and down the hall in front of the nurses’ station as Patricia watches me with a frown. In most cases like this, the family member or loved one will be sent away to sit in the waiting room, but I’ll be damned if I allow her to shuffle me away. She’s already tried and it didn’t go well for her. I want to be right by the phone when it rings.

The second Thorne gets out of this, I’m going to be right by his side. That’s if he gets out of this.

Fuck, no. I can’t think like that.

Positive thoughts. That’s all that’s acceptable right now. Positive thoughts. I don’t believe in all that positive thoughts can heal bullshit. I believe in medicine and science, and what it can do, but just in case I’m wrong, I keep it up. Thought after thought, desperately trying to manifest a good outcome.

We got word an hour ago that Ashleigh’s husband somehow survived his ordeal, which is great news for Thorne. He won’t have the agony of knowing that he killed a man resting on his shoulders for the rest of his life, yet a part of me, a dark, haunted part of me, kind of wished for a different outcome. I would have died a happy woman knowing that Thorne ended the man who put a bullet through his leg and almost cost him his life.

The trauma we have all had to suffer at