Page 1 of Fighting For You

CHAPTER 1

Under the Stars

NORA

There's a saying that life is stranger than fiction because fiction has to make sense. I'm not sure who said it first, but whoever coined it, they were right. Because looking at my life, nothing about it makes sense. Some people turn to religion for answers. Others turn to philosophy. I look up at the stars.

The ER doors burst open. The medic was already talking.

"Thirty-eight-year-old male, construction site off Russell. Angle grinder kicked and a fragment caught him in the neck. Right side, long laceration, bleeding's been steady since we got to him. He's awake, talking, airway's clear. We've got pressure on it and two IVs running."

They had the gurney at a jog. Two firefighter-paramedics, one holding a bag of saline overhead and the other with a gloved hand pressed into the patient's throat. A third man in turnouts came in behind them carrying a hard hat that wasn't his.

"Trauma One, let's go." Dr. Harlan was at the head of the bed before the gurney stopped moving. "Gracelyn, you're running the floor. Kip, I need a Level 1 infuser and type-and-cross tubes. Nora, you're on the neck."

I was at the right side of the gurney before it locked. The paramedic had both hands pressed into a blood-soaked dressing on the man's throat. I slid my gloved hands over his, felt the warmth and the wet pressure underneath, and held.

"I've got it."

He lifted off. I pressed down.

The wound ran from below his ear almost to his collarbone. The blood that filled the gap between his hands leaving and mine arriving was dark. I pressed harder and leaned my weight into it.

"Sir," Harlan said. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Rueben." He sounded scared, but his voice was clear. "Is it bad?"

"We're going to take care of you. Keep talking to me. Tell me your full name."

"Rueben Antonio Salas."

Under my hands, the tissue that had been soft and giving was turning hard and tight. Swelling from the inside, pushing up against my palms. The bleeding wasn't just flowing out anymore. It was filling in, ballooning the tissue from within, and every second it grew, it pressed closer to his windpipe.

"His neck is swelling," I said. "It's pushing up against my hands."

Harlan moved fast. He checked the airway and looked at the monitor. His face changed as the monitor started chiming the alarm that meant his blood pressure was dropping.

"He's bleeding inward and it's closing his airway. He won't survive a scan. Call the OR. Tell Vascular we're coming in thirty seconds."

Everything moved at once. Kip hit the door buttons. Gracelyn grabbed the IV poles. I locked my elbows and braced my weight into the bed as we ran down the hall.

"Am I going to die?"

"No. Look at me. Don't try to talk. Keep your chin straight."

The surgical team was already scrubbed and waiting. They slid him from the gurney onto the table, while the anesthesiologist pushed something into his line. Rueben's eyes started to go heavy.

"I've got it. Step back." The surgeon stepped to my side.

I lifted my hands.

My gloves were soaked through. Underneath them my fingers were locked into the shape they'd been holding.

I peeled the gloves off, dropped them in the bin, and took my first full breath since the gurney had come through the ER doors.

My hands were shaking. They always do, after.

I went to the scrub sink and turned the water up. Soap to my elbows, blood from under every fingernail. I scrubbed until my hands were raw and the water ran clear.