But Aaron didn抰 want a truck. He wanted one of those low, loud, sporty street-racing cars like the ones in the Fast & Furious movies.
So we argued. And I gave in.
Because I wanted him to be happy. My work hours were so long for most of the boys?lives that when I had the chance to be with them, I didn抰 like to spend that time arguing.
Stacey was right. I was the fun parent, the lenient parent梩he one who let things go when I should抳e put my foot down.
Because of that梑ecause of me桰抦 on the way to the hospital with Garrett while my son is being cut out of the small, fast car he wanted. Because an SUV swerved into his lane, hit him head-on, and pushed the entire engine block of his car onto his lap.
I抳e treated patients that were in head-on collisions. I know exactly what sharp metal and blunt force trauma can do to a human body. . . and it抯 always bad. Always.
Timmy抯 firehouse responded to the scene. He抯 there with Aaron right now as they extract him梜eeping him talking. Tim called Ryan, who called Garrett, who came to get me. I wanted to go to the scene, but I couldn抰 take the chance of missing him and not being here when they bring him in.
Garrett pulls into the back parking lot of the hospital and I抦 stepping out of the car before it抯 completely stopped. I tell him to meet me in the front waiting room. And when I walk through the sliding glass doors of my emergency department, the emotion that抯 swamping me梖illing up my chest and drowning my lungs梚sn抰 fear or grief. It抯 anger. Furious fucking anger. At myself.
Because Aaron抯 just a kid. And I should抳e known better.
揅onnor.?
Stella抯 behind the nurse抯 station as I head to the phone, looking for the paramedic notes because they call traumas in when they抮e en route.
揑s he out of the car??my voice is ice-cold and detached.
Stella nods, her features soft with rare sympathy.
揟hey抮e five minutes out.?
I locate the chart and scan his vitals. It抯 stupid that I抦 shocked when I see how piss-poor they are, but I still am. And that makes me even angrier.
揥ho抯 on trauma tonight??I ask Stella.
揑 am.?
Makayla Davis is a trauma surgeon who抯 skilled and experienced梩he best in the hospital. That fact brings no comfort, no relief.
揑 can抰 imagine what you抮e feeling right now, Connor.?
揘o, you can抰。？
揥e抮e going to do everything we棓
揧eah, I know the pep talk. I need to see him when he comes in.?
Makayla shakes her head梒alm, steady, and in control.
揟hat抯 not a good idea.?
揗akayla棓
揧ou抮e not the doctor right now, Connor.?
揑 know that!?I snap.
揇o you? Because I don抰 think you do.?
I close my eyes and take a slow breath.
揑 just need to be with him. If I抦 with him, he抣l be okay.?
It抯 totally irrational; I know that. I sound unhinged . . . I sound like a patient. But I still can抰 help but believe it.
揓ust let me in the room, Makayla. Please.?
She tears her gaze away, shaking her head like she knows it抯 a mistake梑ut she抯 going to do it anyway.
揑f you second-guess my orders棓
揑 won抰。？
揑f you interfere棓
揑抦 not going to.?
揂aron is my patient; he is my priority. If you get in the way of me treating him, I will have you hauled out in a hot minute梖or both your sakes. Am I clear??
揅rystal. I just敆my voice cracks棑I just need to tell him it抯 going to be all right.?
Makayla nods and glances at the clock on the wall behind me.
揕et抯 go, then.?
*
One of the hardest, fastest rules in medicine梟ot just golden, but platinum梚s doctors don抰 treat their family members. There抯 lots of good reasons for it, the least of which is that emotions get in the way, even if you don抰 realize it. They slow your response time, cloud your memory, affect your decision making.
After Makayla gives the go-ahead, everything moves fast. The portable ultrasound and crash cart are wheeled into the exam room; gowns and gloves are donned. Everything moves in a blur around me.
And then the paramedics are pushing through the door, rolling the stretcher in, rattling off stats and injuries. He抯 just a form at first梡acked in ice and a thin white blanket, a neck brace obscuring his face. Makayla counts it down and they lift him onto the table, the bright, hot light illuminating everything.
After they rule out a neck fracture, they remove the brace. And I see my son抯 face. His skin is waxy gray from the shock, there抯 dried blood caked around both nostrils, his lips are pale and cracked.
But I don抰 just see Aaron with my eyes . . . I see him in my mind too. So many versions of him all at once. I see him the night he was born, the night he made me a dad, when I held him for the very first time梙is tiny lips and perfect fingers梙is face scrunched and his lungs strong and his little limbs flailing with indignity.
I see him when he was three梙is hair was blond梐nd he fell off the swing in the backyard. And he ran to me with his knee bleeding, crying these big, heartbreaking tears. And I scooped him up in my arms, and I hugged him and kissed his face and promised that I could make it better.
I see him when he learned to swim, when I taught him to throw a football, when he graduated eighth grade, the day he got his driver抯 license.
And I抦 so proud. So grateful that I get to be the dad of this amazing, beautiful boy. A boy who needs me right now . . . more than he抯 ever needed me before.
I crouch down low beside his head, keeping out of the way as they evaluate him. I lean my face right next to his, so he can see me, hear me. The activity and voices going on around us fade away, and it抯 just me and Aaron here together.
揇ad??
揧eah, buddy, it抯 me. I抦 right here.?
I stroke my thumb back and forth across his forehead梑ecause it抯 the only part of him I know I can touch without hurting him.
揑抦 sorry about the car,?he rasps.
My throat is hot, and my vision blurs and I have to blink to clear it.
揑 don抰 care about the car, Aaron.?
He struggles to drag in a breath梛agged and shallow. Somewhere in my brain a voice whispers, possible pneumothorax. A collapsed lung.
揑抦 sorry I抳e been a dick棓
I shake my head.
揘o, you haven抰 been. You抮e a good boy. A good son. I抦 so lucky.?
揟ell Brayden and Spencer I抦 sorry I ragged on them so much.?
I brush his hair back gently.
揑 will. You can tell them yourself. As soon as you抮e feeling better.?
Tears swell in his eyes and his voice hitches.
揟ell Mom I don抰 hate her, okay? Not even a little.?
And it抯 like my heart tears open, bleeding out. Because I抦 so fucking sorry. For every harsh word he had to hear, every second of confusion or heartache he felt.
It never should抳e been like that.
揝he knows that, Aaron. But I抣l tell her.?
He closes his eyes for a moment.
But then he looks up at me, his face crumpling.
揑 don抰 want to die.?
揘o梟o, Aaron, that抯 not gonna happen.?I rub at the tears trekking down my face. 揑抦 right here. I抦 with you. I will never let that happen.?
It抯 crazy sometimes . . . the lies we tell our kids . . . the lies we tell ourselves. Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy and I抦 going to keep you safe.
I think about Ms. Allen and the way her knees gave out, the sounds she made when she realized her little boy was gone. She would抳e done anything to bring him back. Ripped her own heart out, given up her lungs, she would抳e traded places with him in a second if it meant he would be okay again.