Sloth (Sinful Secrets 1)

“Alex Massey, lieutenant over at firehouse sixty-three. He was awake when we loaded him up, but he lost consciousness shortly after. He’s systolic. Blood pressure’s through the floor. We pushed dopamine en route.”

“Alright, we’d better move quickly then. We need to find out what’s going on inside.”

Oliver and Mikey are already rushing the gurney with the injured fire fighter into St. Peter’s. Oliver’s face is ashen, white as a sheet. “I’m gonna need you to scrub in on this one, Sloane,” he tells me.

“I can’t, I’m point on trauma tonight. I need to oversee the emergency—”

“Sloane, you’re fucking scrubbing in. I need you. I need you.”

“Olly—”

“It’s my brother, Sloane. It’s my fucking brother.”

***

I get Dr. Tarney to take over Trauma for me and I do scrub in. There’s no way Oliver should be operating on his own brother—it goes against every rule the hospital has—but there’s no stopping him. By the time the chief knows Alex Massey is in need of medical attention, he’s already receiving it.

We’re fighting to find the source of Alex’s extensive internal bleeding when the chief storms into the OR, a surgical mask covering her face. “Dr. Massey? Dr. Massey, you need to step away from that patient right now,” she says calmly.

Oliver’s working like a man possessed, though. There’s no way he’s going to do that. “I’m afraid things are a little critical in here right now, Chief. You’ll have to excuse me if I decline.”

“Dr. Massey, I’m already scrubbed. I can take over from you. You need to leave. Now.”

Oliver glances up at me, asking me a silent question—do I have his back? I nod. Some doctors would fall apart in situations like this, but not Olly. He’s galvanized, working methodically. He’s not showing any signs of being emotionally compromised. If he were, I’d be the first person to agree with the Chief. As it stands, I say, “He’s got this, Chie

f. Dr. Massey’s currently stemming an aortic bleed. If he lets go—”

“I can catch it. Oliver. I’m serious. This is not how we work.”

Oliver frowns, still entirely focused on his work. “Are you the best cardiothoracic surgeon in this hospital?” His voice is totally steady.

The chief doesn’t say anything.

“Because the last time I checked, you were the best pediatric surgeon in this hospital and I’d just been promoted to the head of my department. Which just so happens to be cardiothoracics.”

“Oliver.”

“I have this under control, Chief. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to concentrate on not letting my brother’s heart tear itself apart.”

The chief gives me a stern look—I’m still not forgiven for the crazy shit I was caught up in a couple of months ago, and aligning myself with a disobedient Oliver won’t have helped matters. “Fine,” she snaps. “But I’ll be watching every single move you make.” The chief huffs out an exasperated breath and backs out of the room, hitting the exit button with her elbow in order to keep the room sterile.

Oliver looks up at me once she’s gone. “Thank you.”

“Just save him, okay. I’m gonna be working extra shifts in the VD clinic to make up for this.” I must be out of my mind. Don’t rock the boat: that’s what I tell myself every time I step foot through the hospital doors, and what is it I end up doing? Rocking the goddamn boat. Nearly capsizing the goddamn boat.

“Is she up there?” Oliver asks, his eyes darting upward to the observation gallery.

I look up in time to see the chief fling open the door to the glass box above us. The surgical mask is gone, which allows me to see her whole facial expression—how truly furious she is. She glowers at me as she sits down next to…as she sits down next to Zeth.

“Fuck.” I whisper it under my breath. What the hell is he doing here?

“Ahhh shit. Sloane, something’s not right. I thought I’d stemmed the flow, but there’s more blood now. It’s not coming from the heart. We need to find it.”

Zeth is forgotten. The observation gallery may as well not exist as I fix every last ounce of concentration on the problem at hand. Oliver and I keep our heads down as we both work in unison, part of a well-oiled machine, as we try to find the source of Alex’s bleeding.

It turns out to be a perforation in his lower intestine. Not a usual cause for so much blood, especially seeping into the chest cavity, but the damage is severe.

We resect a good portion of Alex’s lower bowel, scrambling to save every millimeter we can. Alex is a firefighter. I don’t know him, but I can guarantee he won’t want a colostomy bag.