Page 48 of If Cain Were Able

An officer stops me, and I explain the best I can who I am and why I’m here.

He permits me to move past the yellow police tape and talks into a radio on his chest before sending me along the sidewalk toward the main entrance.

Dan Rutledge greets me inside the sliding doors and reaches forward to shake my hand.

“Mr. Miller, I’m sorry to meet again under these circumstances.” I stay quiet, simply offering a nod. I’m choosing to believe Cain will pull through, and that means my interactions with this man matter because he’s still Cain’s boss. But he seems unable to let things go. “I didn’t realize you and Dr. Rosemont had gotten so close in your time here that he would name you his emergency contact,” he says in a curiously judgmental tone as he leads me through a crowded hallway. We carefully move around officers who are taking statements from patients with bewildered expressions, some still so shaken, they’re sobbing.

“What the hell happened? How did that man get a gun through the doors?” I ask, not offering an explanation to satisfy his curiosity about Cain and me.

“This is an emergency room, not an airport. There are no metal detectors,” Dan says, leading me to an elevator and stepping inside.

“So, people are allowed to just come in and walk wherever they please?”

“Of course not. But as the emergency room of a large trauma center, I’m sure you can understand how chaotic things can get down there.”

“You’re really going to blame the attempt on Cain’s life on your emergency room being understaffed and your employees being too exhausted to maintain order and notice who’s coming and going? You’re treating stab wounds from gangbangers and overdoses by addicts who will do anything for their next fix, for fuck’s sake! WHY IS THERE NO SECURITY?” I bellow.

The sound ricochets off the metal walls of the elevator, and Dan winces.

“I never claimed to be perfect,” he says.

“Clearly,” I snarl. “What happened to the man who shot him?”

“He shot himself right after.”

I grip the small railing to steady myself. So much fucking loss.

“Why did he come after Cain?”

“Dr. Rosemont couldn’t save the man’s wife.”

The defeat in Dan’s tone tells me there’s more to this story. He’s caving under some invisible pressure.

“Bullshit. Cain can save anyone. I’ve seen him work miracles that would impress Jesus Christ Himself. What really happened, Dan?”

The elevator continues to rise slowly, but not slowly enough for him to answer me, and when we arrive at the fourth floor, I hit the button to halt the elevator before the doors open.

“The man’s wife had an aortic aneurysm. Cain was set to do the surgery on Wednesday, but a couple of his cases ran long, and he needed to reschedule, except… because of the OR block restructuring we did with the merger, there was no open time for him to do the surgery until tomorrow. But the aortic wall didn’t hold, and she died yesterday morning.”

Blinded by my rage, I bunch Dan’s shirt in my left fist and crash my right fist into his jaw, sending him to his knees before smashing my palm against the emergency stop button, allowing the doors to open.

“That fucking bullet was meant for you, you piece of shit.” Dan plants one hand on the floor of the elevator to help himself stand, but I quickly step on his fingers. “You might as well stay down there and start praying that Cain makes it through this, because if he doesn’t, it’ll be your blood in these hallways next.”

I don’t care if there are cameras in this elevator, nor do I care if he presses charges for assault or threatening him.

I give my name to the woman behind the desk in the OR waiting room and tell her why I’m there. The room itself is empty, which I’m sure is odd for a hospital boasting twelve operating rooms, and she smiles at me sadly.

“Dr. Rosemont is kind of an ass, and honestly, I wasn’t sure he’d have anyone listed to call since we know nothing about his life outside these walls, but I’m really glad you’re here. This place wouldn’t be the same without him.”

“I get it,” I tell her. “Cain is…” I trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence, when she answers for me, convincing me she understands.

“He is,” she says with a smile. “Coffee’s against the far wall if you want any.”

I pour a cup and take a seat, hissing in pain when I rub my tired eyes. The knuckles of my right hand are bruised and swollen after the punch I landed on Dan. I study them for a few moments, reminded of the punch Damon landed on me when I walked through the door of Taylor’s hospital room.

And I get it.

Holy shit, do I get it.