Reunited With His Runaway Bride. Robin Gianna
want a guy who cares about you that way?”
“You, for one.” Bree stared in disbelief before turning back to the road. “You’ve bitterly complained about Sean wanting to take care of you, badgering you instead of letting you live your life the way you want to.”
“He’s my brother, not my boyfriend. So maybe he did a little too much trying to take Dad’s place, but, even when it made me mad, I always knew it was because he loves me. There’s such a thing as being independent to a fault, you know.” Her hand waved around dismissively. “And part of the breakup being because you wanted to run off and elope when he wanted a big wedding with all our extended family here, and all the cousins and kids dancing and everyone having fun? Plain stupid. Don’t tell me you two couldn’t have figured out a way around that.”
“You’re forgetting even bigger things,” Bree said. Why were they hashing over all this again? Probably because she and Emma hadn’t talked about it since she and Sean had first broken up, and one more round of torture was inevitable. “I wanted a no-care condo so we could be free to go to surf competitions and all the other traveling I need to do, and he wanted a bigger house with a yard, a cat and a dog tying us down.”
And kids. The biggest thing of all. The one thing there was no way to compromise about.
“I know being independent is important to you. I get that having pets and children would make that harder. But maybe as time went on, you’d feel differently. Haven’t I had to do things differently than I thought? Move back home for a while, when I never thought I’d do that?” Her hands cupped her belly in a gesture filled with tenderness. “My baby wasn’t planned,” she said softly. “But I can tell you I’d do anything for him, and he’s not even here yet. So tell me why you’re so sure you don’t want kids.”
“Let’s just say my family dynamics and relationships with my parents convinced me.” It was past time to change the subject, but before she could say anything more, a monstrous delivery truck moved into her peripheral vision, running through the red light into the intersection, straight toward Emma’s side of the car.
“Hang on!” she yelled, her heart doing triple time as she swerved into what little space seemed free. Inches between her lane and the one filled with oncoming traffic. Got half a car length between them and the truck. Saw it bearing down on them, behind Emma now. But not far enough. In what seemed like bizarrely slow motion, she watched it slam into the back-seat door with a bone-jarring impact. Shoved them into the next lane of cars with another deafening screech of metal.
Emma’s screams tore through Bree’s very soul. Then it was dark.
* * *
“Which room? Is it ready?” Bree ran through the ambulance entry of the ER, hanging on to the gurney carrying Emma that was being steered by two of the EMTs who’d responded to the accident. Clutching the bar like a lifeline, as though if she just held on tight enough, Emma would be okay.
“Which room?” she repeated hoarsely. Bree’s throat felt so dry and tight she was surprised she’d managed to get a single word out, but even one second of time lost might be too much.
“Trauma Two!” a nurse shouted back.
Bree pivoted that direction along with the gurney, using her free hand to swipe at the blood dripping into her eye. She scrubbed her hand down the side of what had been a new blue dress, but her clothes and her own injuries were last on her list of things to care about. There was no doubt Emma had suffered some serious injuries, and being conscious and lucid now didn’t mean that couldn’t change in a single heartbeat.
As the gurney swung into Trauma Two, she could see Dr. Kurz was already there, gowned and waiting for his patient, and she was beyond thankful for that. “Okay, Emma,” she said, letting go of the railing to reach for her friend’s hand. “We’re here now and everybody’s ready to help you.”
“Bree?” Emma’s dark eyes, filled with fear, stared up at her from the gurney, her voice a muffled whisper through her oxygen mask. “It hurts. It...it hurts so much.”
“I know, sweetie. Hang in there,” she said, shoving down the fear that had filled her throat the second she’d awakened from the knock on her head to see Emma trapped and unconscious. She swallowed hard. Was there something, anything, Bree could have done to prevent the accident?
She lifted a shaking hand to wipe away the blood trickling into her eye again. Please, please let them be okay.
The medics, as breathless as Bree, started in with their rapid-fire report to everyone in the room. “Twenty-nine-year-old, thirty-seven weeks pregnant. Vehicle struck by a truck, passenger side, pushing vehicle into oncoming traffic. Extensive damage to multiple vehicles. Forty-five-minute extraction, GCS fifteen, last heart rate one thirty-five, BP eighty over fifty.”
Bree blinked fiercely as she listened. Remembered. The impact had nearly flipped Bree’s car as it skidded into a sedan coming the opposite direction. The horrific shriek of tearing, crumpling metal. Her own door caving in, knocking her head against the window as the air bag exploded into her face, briefly blinding her as she heard Emma’s screams just before Bree blacked out for a moment. Awakening to turn, stunned and disoriented. Seeing Emma’s body terrifyingly still and bleeding.
“Were you the driver of the car, Dr. Donovan?” Kurz asked, looking at her more closely than she wished he would.
“Yes.” She should have known he’d figure that out, but her own minor injuries weren’t an issue at the moment, and she was more than capable of helping the team. “But I’m fine.”
Kurz gave her a nod. “Let’s get the patient moved over.”
Hearing the senior critical care doc’s calm, commanding voice helped her focus as she watched four pairs of hands lift the board Emma was strapped to, sliding her onto the trauma bed. Bree took her place at Emma’s right as the team cut away her clothes.
“That’s about the only top that fits me now,” Emma gasped through her oxygen mask.
“I’m sorry, but we have to,” she soothed, swallowing hard. As though her blouse mattered one iota under the circumstances. She stroked Emma’s hair then reached to squeeze her hand. Could she hope it was a good sign Emma had even thought about it? “I’ll get you another just as pretty, I promise.”
In mere seconds, the team had Emma set up with blood-pressure cuff, IV, and cardiac leads to the monitor as the surgical resident examined every inch of her, and Bree was so thankful again that they weren’t in that smashed car anymore, or the ambulance, as good as the EMTs had been, but finally here, getting Emma the help she needed.
“Tell us where you’re hurting,” Kurz said as the X-ray tech got ready to shoot films.
“My chest, my stomach.” Emma moaned. “My arm and leg. My baby—oh, please make sure my baby—”
“I promise everyone’s going to take good care of the baby, Emma,” Bree managed to say. Question was, would it be too late? “Let’s get a monitor on him, check how he’s doing.”
A nurse got the monitor on Emma’s belly. The infant’s heartbeat showed up strong and steady, and relief made Bree’s knees so wobbly, she gripped the side of the bed to hold herself up. Whether he was ready or not, baby had to come into the world soon, in case he or Emma took a turn for the worse.
It took every ounce of restraint Bree could muster to just stand there and watch the team work instead of assisting in some way. But right now, she had to remember her training as an ER physician who was used to trauma just like this and let the team do their job. Pretend the woman on this bed wasn’t her close friend. Wasn’t the sister of the man she’d been in love with not so long ago, no matter how unsuited they’d proved to be for one another.
Thinking of him and how devastated he’d be by this accident ratcheted her adrenaline even higher. Had her chest tightening at the thought that he might blame Bree, and maybe she deserved it. “Anyone know if Dr. Sean Latham is in the hospital?