Surrender My Love (2 page)

Suddenly Dr.
Wasko stepped forward, his hand snaking out to stop Dr. Markson’s unrelenting pounding.

“Brad,” he said gently. “Brad!” He raised his voice when he got no response. “Brad! Stop. He’s dead!
You have to pronounce him.”

Chloe
’s lungs fought to take a breath. She felt as if everyone in the room was afraid to breathe, as absolute quiet settled around them like heavy fog. It seemed even the machines felt the tautness of the moment and had paused their blinking and beeping.

Dr.
Wasko inhaled deeply and sighed. “Brad. It’s over. He was an old man. His heart gave out.”

Chloe watched Dr.
Markson’s head snap up. His jaw squared angrily and a fist flew through the air. A collective gasp whooshed around the room like liquid swirling in a glass. Chloe’s hand clapped over her mouth in disbelief. Dr. Wasko ducked, but could not avoid the impact of the glancing blow, and his head snapped to the side. Another doctor rushed over to hold Dr. Markson, but just as quickly as he’d ignited, Dr. Markson seemed to calm, and the other man steered clear.

“
Christ,
Brad!” Dr. Wasko shook his head, his eyes narrowing. He held his jaw and tested it. “I’ll let this go. I can see you’re hurting. But, don’t ever do that again. Best friend or not, I’ll kick your ass.” He took a deep breath and pointed to the body on the bed. “Now. Pronounce him!”

Dr.
Markson stared angrily, his silence derisive. Chloe could sense his barely leashed fury coupled with profound loss and grief. The emotions emanating from him were terrifying. She briefly wondered if there was more than a patient-doctor relationship.

Dr.
Wasko sighed in exasperation, looked at his watch, and then turned to Nurse Wall. “Mr. Barkley is pronounced dead. Time of death four twenty one a.m.” At that, he turned and left the room. It was as though a tight band had snapped. Suddenly gazes darted about, seeking confirmation on what had just been witnessed. No one dared to look in Dr. Markson’s direction. Feet hurried towards the door, making a hasty escape.

“What the fuck happened here?” The deep voice was controlled, but infused with rage. “Who found him?” Dr.
Markson addressed Nurse Wall, his tall frame hovering menacingly over her.

Chloe’s back hugged the
wall. She felt her stomach plummet to her feet when Nurse Wall’s head swiveled towards her. A pair of intensely blue eyes locked on hers, and Chloe thought she’d faint from the power of that angry gaze. A cold wave blew down her spine, but ironically she could feel sweat bead on her temple and upper lip. Afraid, she pulled her gaze away and jerked it around the room, not surprised by it’s now near emptiness. Everyone had fled, she guessed afraid of Dr. Markson’s wrath.

In two long-legged strides
, he was towering over her, his hard gaze zooming in on her face.

“What the fuck happened to my patient?” he growled.

“I…I…don’t know. He was just so confused and agitated tonight! One minute we were talking, and then…then…” Chloe swallowed nervously, but her weepy gaze kept returning to the bed where her dead patient lay.

“I demand an
explanation!
Now!
Let’s go outside.”

Chloe jumped as the
deep baritone shot through her like a blazing cannonball. She could clearly see pain in Dr. Markson’s eyes, but her priority was her patient.
God!
They had just left him there in a mess of tubes and wires and blood. Even his gown was now on the floor! He was naked.

She squared her shoulde
rs and looked into the penetrating gaze that stabbed her, trying to ignore the fissures it made in her composure.

“I’ll talk to you
after
I take care of Mr. Barkley,” she said shakily and took a step towards the bed.

His
large hand shot out to grab her and she jolted as his touch burned her skin. She looked at the long, tapered fingers circling her upper arm, then stared into the bottomless eyes that seemed to be a pathway to hell. Anger settled in, quickly sweeping away her fear. She would not allow him to bully and intimidate her.

“Get your hand off me. Now. And I refuse to talk to you while Mr.
Barkley is laying here, dead. I will not disrespect him like this.” Her words sieved through clenched teeth.

She watched air charge t
hrough his flared nostrils as his forehead pinched in a flagrant show of disbelief.

Chloe heard her nursing supervis
or shuffle up next to them. Peripherally she could see her wringing her hands, her fingers white with anxiety.

“I’m so sorry
, Dr. Markson. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s always been a bit of a problem. Chloe, why don’t you step outside with Dr. Markson. I’ll take care of Mr. Barkley’s preparation.”

Chloe’s gaze darted
to her supervisor. She could feel the wheels roll over her as she lay sprawled under the bus.

“No. He’s my patient.
I
want to take care of him. We were…close,” she beseeched the other woman, but could see Nurse Wall’s lips tighten angrily. “There’s no reason why Dr. Markson can’t wait.”

H
er supervisor’s face colored angrily. “Listen, Nurse Bennett, when Dr. Markson asks you to do something, you do it! I cannot believe your insubordination!”

Ins
tantly warning bells started ringing in her head, echoing a warning. He could have her fired in the blink of an eye with just one word to her nursing director, and she desperately needed this job, but now anger and grief overruled common sense. She pursed her lips and turned back to him, noticing he was staring at her. His head swiveled and his gaze roved Mr. Barkley’s body. She saw shadowy grief fill his eyes, and abruptly he dropped his hand from her arm. She inhaled deeply, finally able to breathe again.

“
I’ll be out after I’m done,” Chloe informed him firmly.

Nurse
Wall’s eyes rounded. “Your behavior is completely outrageous! Who do you think you are? I want you to know we’ll be recommending your discharge!”

H
er stomach plummeted, but she pushed back the billowing fear. She did notice that Dr. Markson turned abruptly to Nurse Wall, his eyebrows raised in question. He took a step back and speared his long fingers through his hair, a look of exhaustion blanketing his face.

“
I will be waiting in the nurse’s station. And please do not test my patience.”

He turned and stalked from the room, leaving her with her
glaring supervisor. Chloe tried to ignore the vehemence leaking from Nurse Wall as she steeled her emotions and focused on the task ahead.

Dr. Brad Markson paced the small room at the back of the nursing station, his long legs taking him from one side of the confining square to the next in just three determined strides. His fingers forked through his hair for about the tenth time since he’d walked into the room. His back ached and his temples throbbed from the unrelenting pressure bearing down on him. Usually he could shoulder the responsibilities of his position and tackle any obstacle that came at him with an innate skill that others openly admired and awed. But today had been a brutal day, a true test of a man wound so tight he threatened to collapse, and this last devastating blow was crushing his shoulders with its mighty weight.

He’d been in surgery for the past six hours repairing a major coronary anomaly that other doctors had deemed inoperable. Not a candidate for a heart transplant, the patient’s prognosis had been grave. The young man would have been lucky to last another week without Brad’s intervention. The surgery had been grueling, requiring every measure of his skill and concentration. The cardiac team had all but fallen at his feet as the stuttering heart had jumped to life and the muscle started to pump vigorously as he’d finished the surgery. Brad had come out of the OR on an adrenaline high, full of hope and testosterone, only to hear the news about Mr. Barkley.

Mr.
Barkley had been one of the first patients he’d treated with Robotic Coronary Bypass Surgery. That surgery had been a stunning success and had catapulted his career. Other doctors had thought Mr. Barkley’s cardiac muscle too damaged to tolerate the surgery, but Brad had been successful. Mr. Barkley’s supportive family had been greatly appreciative and extensively generous to the hospital in Brad’s honor. He’d quickly developed a close relationship with the family, frequently attending family functions, and he even had several as patients. It had only been in the last year or so that Mr. Barkley’s mental status had started to deteriorate, but he still had a productive life.

Brad
ground to an abrupt halt, staring blindly at the wall.
What the fuck?
Mr. Barkley was supposed to go home tomorrow. What could have happened? How was he going to explain this to his family? He needed answers and that damn nurse told him he had to
wait
? He never had to wait for anyone! Yet, here he was, pacing a small disheveled room,
waiting
. He grumbled with annoyance, stemming the urge to march back to the room and drag her out. He could feel his stress simmering hotly below his skin, blistering his composure.

Brad
looked down at his long fingers, frowning deeply when he saw the fine tremors start.
Damn!
He fished a pill bottle from the pocket of his scrub top, adeptly twisted the top and popped a tiny white oval under his tongue. Feeling the sharp edge of his anger dull slightly, he closed his eyes and sighed wearily. His heart lurched painfully as he thought of his patient’s family, especially Mary. Poor Mary. She was going to be devastated.

.
Unable to contain his impatience a moment longer, he took a step towards the door just as it swung open.

“What the
hell took you—” Brad’s roaring words crashed abruptly as his gaze landed on the nurse’s face.

Her countenance was glazed with a sickly pallor and the large hazel eyes that had previously glared defiance at him now studied the floor with a dull dispassion. He pulled his lips thin and turned his gaze from her,
surprised by how much her doleful expression moved him. He couldn’t imagine what she’d just had to do. She’d said that she and Mr. Barkley were close. He supposed he should be sympathetic, but he had a difficult time considering anything except the task that lay ahead of him tonight. He’d have to call the family to inform them, then meet with them later in the morning. Just the thought sent crushing pressure sliding down his back-bone. He braced his arms across his chest.

“What happened in there?”
His voice came out rougher than he’d intended.

Large
, sad eyes hesitantly met his and he ignored the sudden jolt of emotion. “It—it’s as I said. We were talking and then he just coded. He seemed to just stop breathing.”

“Had
he complained of anything? Chest pain? Trouble breathing?”

She swung her head back and forth, returning her nervous gaze to her feet. “Nothing. He was just confused.” He
watched her forehead crease in a frown. “More tonight than usual. It’s so strange.”

“His mental status tend
s to fluctuate,” Brad explained. “Did he get all of his medication?”

The nurse nodded.

“On time?” he pressed.

At that
, her head shot up and her dull eyes narrowed, filling with a glassy shine. She was obviously offended by his question. He almost smiled as he saw a hint of the defiance he’d witnessed back in his patient’s room.

“Of course on time,” s
he snapped.

He resumed his pacing,
hands clasped behind his back. He shot a quick glance at her. She was still a statue by the door, her glare tracking his progress. “He was supposed to have his beta-blocker increased to fifty milligrams. Did he get the increase in medication?”

H
er shoulders squared and her narrow jaw tightened. “That increase was not supposed to occur until tomorrow morning,
after
he was done with the IV taper. Those were the orders,” she stated archly.

Brad ga
ve a perfunctory nod. She was right. He didn’t know why he felt the need to test her. She’d just been through hell and didn’t deserve his wrath. He sighed and delved his fingers into his hair, absorbing the anger and hatred that radiated like dark fumes from the nurse standing in front of him. Her lips were a slash of indignation and her eyes glazed with loathing. He knew if she had the liberty, she’d toss a few choice words in his direction.

He continued
to pace silently while she waited in anticipation of his next question. Truthfully, he had no more questions. She’d told him all he needed to know. He thought back to Larry Wasko’s words. Mr. Barkley was an old man. And although he’d seemed to be doing well, his heart must have failed. Brad just didn’t deal well with losing patients. He had a tremendous respect for life. His job was to preserve it and keep people healthy. It pained him to lose a patient, especially someone he was close to. It wasn’t something that happened often. The tough week and this grueling day were beating at him like heavy fists, leaving dents in his usually solid nerves of steel. He stopped and pivoted towards the nurse, feeling like a jerk for having been so hard on her.