His laugh was quiet. Rough. Entirely for me. “Try to behave,” he added.
I finally looked at him. “You should lead by example, Dr. Vaughn.”
Chapter 24
Desmond
The third trauma of the night arrived intubated and unstable. “Talk to me, Beck,” I barked as the paramedics rolled the gurney in. Ezra Becker, good guy, he’d been running one of the best EMT teams I’d seen in a long time.
Younger than me, not by much, but his hair didn’t hold half the greys that mine did. His glasses sat crooked on his nose, and his tousled brown hair made him a hit withallthe ladies he dragged in on EMT gurneys. To say he was a close friend was an understatement.
“Blunt force, high speed.” He shouted back, focused on the balloon delivering breaths. “Pelvic fracture suspected. Hypotension refractory to fluids.”
This was the case that demanded order immediately or swallowed a room whole. I took command without thinking.
“On my count,” and the team snapped into place, transferring the patient from the gurney to our trauma table. I felt a hand slap my back before Becker disappeared from the room.
“Let’s get a pressure line,” I barked as a tech rushed to help. “Massive transfusion protocol. Pelvic binder now.” The team moved.Good team. Competent. The monitors screamed their ugly numbers and then, slowly, began to listen.
I was chart-deep when Levin stepped in. “Where are we?” he asked.
I gave him the numbers. Concise. No fluff. My attention stayed on the patient, on the pattern forming beneath the noise. “She’s borderline,” I said. “We’re just buying time.”
“EFAST?” he asked.
“Pending.”
Then Anya spoke, her hands deftly guiding the ultrasound probe. “Free fluid in Morrison’s pouch,” she said, and while the machine was stable, I heard a flicker in her voice as her eyes flicked to Levin. “And around the spleen.”
My attention snapped to her so fast it was almost physical. She stood on the opposite side of the bed, probe steady, posture flawless. Calm. Focused. She’d already adjusted her angle, already compensated for artifact. She didn’t look at me when she spoke. She didn’t need to.
The room tightened around her voice.
“Call surgery,” I said.
Levin leaned closer to her, peering at the screen. “Why surgery, Doctor Volkov?”
Too close.
I told myself that was irrelevant. Proximity happened in trauma. Bodies overlapped. It meant nothing. Anya shifted her weight, just enough to make space — Levin didn’t take it.
She glanced up at me then. Brief. Intentional. Something in my chest went taut, like a cord pulled too far. “We can drain the blood, but she still needs surgical intervention.”
“BP’s dipping again,” a nurse called.
“Push another unit,” I said. “Get me the labs.”
Levin stayed where he was. “Are you comfortable taking the lead on this?” he asked Anya.
She smiled at him. Small. Professional. Controlled. “Yes, sir,” she said. “I am.”
I stepped in closer, my presence cutting the line of sight between them without touching either of them. “Doctor Volkov has already taken the lead, Levin,” I said evenly. “Keep up.”
Anya’s mouth twitched. She peeled off the probe and handed it to the nurse. “Someone call OR, there’s only so much we can do for her down here.”
“Agreed,” Levin said. “You’re impressive, Volkov.”
There it was.