“She won’t die.” Eddie’s jaw clenched and released. “She can’t leave us.”
“I’ll do my best.” Mick couldn’t promise anything more. He’d seen patients come into his operating room in far worse shape than Whitney and walk out of the hospital two weeks later. At the same time, he’d seen patients come into the ER talking and laughing and leave the hospital in a body bag a few hours later. Nothing was certain inside the walls of this place.
Eddie nodded and stepped aside. Mick continued on with the gurney but cast one final glance at the man he’d loved so long, before stepping through the double doors leading to the staff elevator. Their gazes held a moment before Eddie shoved off the wall and headed out of Mick’s line of sight. He said a silent prayer for Eddie’s well- being and then added another for Whitney.
God, guide my hands, he thought as he stepped into the elevator.
Chapter Twelve
Eddie shifted slowly in the uncomfortable chair so as not to wake Mick. He’d drifted off an hour earlier, finally succumbing to exhaustion, and snored softly. The rhythmic beep of a heart monitor and the hiss, click, and suck of a ventilator filled the room. Whitney lay motionless in the ICU bed. There were tubes and wires everywhere. IV bags, some close to empty and others full, hung from poles. Automated machines controlled the speed at which the fluids dripped into Whitney.
Eddie just stared at her. Mick had said the first twenty-four hours were the most critical. So far, all had gone well. Eddie had to believe she would remain stable. To consider anything else was too painful.
Mick twitched and made a strange noise. Eddie put his hand on Mick’s forearm and patted him as one might settle a sleeping child. His gaze flicked to Mick’s haggard face. He’d worked so hard to save Whitney’s life and then turned right around to save the life of one of the bastards who had taken her hostage.
Renewed rage burned through Eddie. He’d nearly puked as Danny and Craig recounted the witness statements. One of those pigs had tried to rape Whitney. His fists curled in his lap at the disturbing image of Whitney, scared and screaming, being dragged across the bank. Thank god for Elmer Sanderson!
Eddie had tracked the older man down in the emergency room to shake his hand and thank him for standing up for Whitney. The old codger came from a different era, a time when men took chivalry seriously. Eddie could only hope he’d be full of piss and vinegar when he reached his eighties.
A shooting pain lanced through his hand. He unclenched his fingers and stared at the bruised knuckles of his right hand. O’Halloran’s jaw had been harder than he’d expected. The pain of purple, swollen knuckles was worth it, though.
When Mick had shown him the bullets pulled from Whitney’s body, he’d seen red. All his life, he’d heard that description, but until that moment he’d never experienced such blinding fury. Instead of matching the rounds used by the gunmen, the bullets taken from Whitney’s body matched those issued by the department. She’d been hit by friendly fire.
Once the chief had taken the jar of bullets from Eddie’s hand, it had all been over for O’Halloran. The dick was toast. Unfortunately, he’d probably take his team with him. For now, the guys were suspended with pay pending investigation. Sad, too, because there were some good men on that team.
“I should get you something for the swelling,” Mick said, his voice a bit a gravelly. He rubbed his face and sat up in the chair.
“No.” Eddie reached over and squeezed his arm. “It’s fine. You need to rest.”
“And you need to have that X-rayed, but you won’t.” Mick smiled and shook his head. “Let me grab an ice pack and some meds.”
Eddie knew better than to argue with Mick when he was in doctor mode. He stood up and checked Whitney’s IVs and the monitors before leaving the room. A few minutes later Mick returned, slapped a couple of pills into Eddie’s hand, and dropped an ice pack in his lap. “Break that, and give it a shake.”
Mick walked over to the sink and filled the pink plastic cup from the pitcher set. He grabbed a washcloth from a cabinet and brought both over to him. “Here.”
Eddie accepted the cup of water and tossed the pills into his mouth. He swallowed the cool liquid and set aside the cup. Following Mick’s orders, he broke the plastic ice pack and shook up the contents. It felt instantly cold.
“Give me your hand.” Mick prodded the swollen knuckles and made a noise. “Probably not broken, but if that swelling doesn’t go down, you will go for an X-ray.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Eddie watched Mick drape the washcloth over his knuckles to protect the skin and then placed the ice pack on top of it. “Thanks.”
Mick cupped Eddie’s jaw and brushed his thumb over his cheek. He slid back down into his chair and gazed at Whitney. “She’s doing okay. I mean, I realize how this must look to someone who doesn’t see people in dire straits every day. But, really, Eddie.” He turned his head and gave an encouraging smile. “She’s doing well.”
“If you say so,” he said, a tad unconvinced. “She looks like hell to me. Do you think she’ll wake soon?”
Mick shook his head. “We’ll keep her sedated for the night, probably most of tomorrow. Allison did a lot of work on that right lung. Keeping her out and on the ventilator is the best thing for her heart and lungs. Let them rest, you know?”
Eddie nodded. “Makes sense.”
“In the morning, we should take turns going home and taking showers and changing. Tomorrow is my day off anyway, so I’ll be here.”
“I’m off shift for three days,” Eddie said, his mind recalling his schedule. “We’re going to have to take time off, though, aren’t we?”
Mick nodded. “While she’s in the hospital, I can pop in and out during the day to check in on her and you can come in after work and spend the evenings with her. Once she’s out of here, she’s going to need help, especially with all this going on,” he added, his fingers drawing a line down the center of his chest.
Eddie’s stomach had rolled when he’d seen the incision between her breasts. The reality had hit him hard. Mick and Allison had had their hands in Whitney’s chest. They’d patched up her lung and a whole host of other organs.
“How are we going to tell her about the ovary?” Eddie cringed at the thought of telling Whitney she’d lost such an important piece of herself. Her spleen had been removed, too, but honestly, who missed their spleen? But an ovary? A woman would definitely miss her ovary.
“The same way we tell her about everything else,” Mick said matter-of-factly. “We don’t make a big deal out of it or freak her out. Yes, her fertility will be diminished by the loss, but she still has one good ovary, and the repair to her uterine artery was good.”
“Will it be dangerous for her to get pregnant?” Eddie worried about her future. She’d made it abundantly clear she wanted to be a mother.
“Not once she’s healed.” Mick scratched his chin. “Daniela”-he looked over-“Dr. Cardenas, did a consult while we were in the OR. She’s a damned fine OB/GYN. She tells me that in a year or so, Whitney’s risk would be very low. She’ll be monitored a bit more than other women, but there’s no reason to anticipate problems.”
“I’m glad,” Eddie said with a breath of relief. “I want her to have everything she wants.”
Mick smiled and reached over to take his hand. “I know you do.”
Eddie got quiet as guilt gnawed at him. “I feel like a lot of this is my fault.”
Mick frowned. “You’re fault? How the hell do you figure that?”
“I should have spoken up about O’Halloran. I should have asked the chief to make him wait before rushing into that damn bank.” Eddie swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t have blown up the other night. Maybe she wouldn’t have gone to the bank. Maybe she’d have been out having lunch with you or me.”
“Or maybe she’d have stepped onto a crosswalk and caught a bus in the face.” Mick scowled and shook his head. “Eddie, shit happens. This isn’t your fault. It’s not my fault. It was a bunch of dumb-ass robbers and a jackass SWAT guy. Let them shoulder the blame.”
Eddie smiled at Mick. He always knew exactly what to say. All those worries and regrets from earlier in the day hit him right in the solar plexus. Today he’d faced the stark possibility of Whitney never knowing how much he loved her. Never again, he decided, and leaned over with his good hand to interlace his fingers with Mick’s.
