“Oh, I’m sure he’ll love that answer,” I joked, watching Hoyt take a long pull from the beer he had in front of him. This girl was a hoot all right. If she could get her riding half as sharp as her tongue she’d really be making headway in the sport. “Isn’t he trying to sell you as America’s Sweetheart?”

“America’s Sweetheart, I ain’t,” she said proudly. “As soon as everyone stops trying to make me something I’m not,” she said, pointedly looking at Hoyt. “The better off we’ll all be.”

Hoyt shook his head as the two of them locked eyes. I knew how to take a cue. It seemed I was always giving the two of them a moment. I didn’t mind. I wanted to call in and check on Georgia. I knew she was off at eight and it was quarter past.

“I’ll be right back,” I told them, doubting that they’d even notice. “Gotta call my girl,” I added before walking to the back of the bar. The last thing I wanted to be a part of was a lover’s quarrel.

The universe I’d been asking to be kind to me, decided that today was the day it was going to see if I was actually strong enough to handle the decisions I’d made in my life. Not only was it testing my abilities at my job, it apparently wanted to make sure I remembered exactly how losing someone affected me. I’d be lying if I said the day before hadn’t gotten the wheels turning. Rummaging through all of Jamie’s old things had stirred up some memories—some feelings—that I thought I was strong enough to revisit. I woke up in a pool of sweat, unable to recall the dreams—or nightmares—that had brought it on.

There were two uniformed men trying to tell me something, apologizing profusely, and then I was at a funeral. I thought it was Jamie’s but Brett’s picture was by the casket. I hadn’t slept a wink since waking up from that doozy of a nightmare.

My chest was heavy with dread as I climbed out of bed and got ready for work. Fresh off a night of restless sleep, I showed up for my clinical shift at the hospital. I’d planned on being on the Cardio floor, as I’d been the day before, but a shortage of nurses in the Emergency Room meant that I, being the low woman on the totem pole, was assigned to the unit.

I usually didn’t mind working the ER. Over the past few years, I’d become numb to the trauma and uncertainty, but today different. The quiet calm of the unit was eerie that morning. Only a few rooms were occupied and it was mostly stitches and stomach aches. I felt a weight pressing down on my shoulders as I checked in at the nurses’ station.

“Glad you’re here,” one of the doctor’s on staff said. I recognized him from my last shift on the floor. Dr. Clark. He was more of a drill sergeant than a doctor, which is exactly why he was perfect for the Emergency Room. He could handle the stress. He knew what had to be done and didn’t have a problem delegating. “There was a wreck on Route 44. Multiple injuries,” the look on his face told me how bad it was going to be. I tried to brace myself for the worst, but the second the first ambulance showed up, I knew that the day was going to be hard.

“Paul Freeman. Forty-four,” a paramedic informed us as we wheeled the first patient in from the bay. “Multiple contusions and lacerations,” she continued. “Shortness of breath. Pretty sure he punctured a lung.”

“How many more are coming in?” Dr. Clark asked.

“Just one more,” the paramedic said. “It was a head on. Pretty bad. You better run a tox screen on this one,” she added. “Police found liquor bottles in the vehicle. Well, what was left of it.”

“Take him to trauma two,” the doctor said, handing off the chart to another physician. “We’ll wait for the next one,” he said to me. As I watched them wheel the first victim away, I’d started preparing myself for the worst. The stress of an ER rotation was always heavy, but with my mind already a mess, my stomach was in knots. My hands were slick with sweat. I rubbed them down the front of my scrubs as we waited in the bay for the next ambulance to arrive.

When it arrived, the back door opened and I could see a man on the stretcher. His blond hair was caked with blood and his eyes were closed. As they lowered him onto our gurney, I was immediately reminded of Brett. They had the same build. The same features. They were close to the same age. My feet were stuck in place as I reminded myself that it wasn’t him. I was quickly jolted back to reality as the gurney I was holding onto started to move.

“What do we have?” Dr. Clark asked the paramedics as we transferred the unconscious man from stretcher to stretcher. A gash along his left cheek had been closed up in route, but the tape and gauze were surely going to need to be replaced with stitches.

“Daniel Mitchell, age twenty-six.” Dr. Clark and I stood on each side of the stretcher. “Hasn’t regained consciousness since he was extracted from the vehicle.” I checked for a pulse and let out a sigh of relief when I heard it weakly beating through my stethoscope. He was still alive.

As we wheeled him into an exam room, Dr. Clark immediately started checking him for internal bleeding. I waited for my orders and tried to keep from imagining that it was Brett lying on that bed. It had been a shock to see him in the hospital when were just friends. When he’d hurt his knee, at least I knew that he was going to be okay. Imagining him in a situation like this was too much to bear.

An actual ER nurse joined us and she was far more qualified than I was—at least mentally. My hands were clammy and it felt like the air was thickening in the room, as I watched Dr. Clark’s face grow more and more unsure of Daniel’s condition.

“Doctor,” the nurse said when she opened his cut shirt and pulled back the bandage the medics had applied. “There’s bleeding.”

“We need to get him in to an OR now,” Clark called out. “Bennett,” he yelled as they were heading out the door. I snapped to attention and followed him as he kept pressure on the laceration that had started bleeding profusely. “Page Neuro and have them meet us there,” he said. “I’ve got a bad feeling that there’s damage to his brain. Pupils are dilated and unresponsive.”

“Yes sir,” I said.

“And try to find his next of kin,” he ordered. The nurse handed me the bag of personal items the first responders had sent along—a wallet and a cell phone. As I watched them wheel through the operating room doors, my chest was heavy. I now had the responsibility of finding this man’s family. I had to call and tell them that their son or husband was in an accident. Even worse, I had to tell them that his injuries were severe and that he’d been rushed into surgery.

The memories of learning what had happened to Jamie were mingling with my focus of tracking down this man’s family. I’d been at school the day the officers showed up at the Shaws’ house. I’d been blissfully unaware that he was dead for almost two hours after they’d left. Being the courteous student I was, I’d flipped my phone to silent and missed the call from Jamie’s father, but the second I saw his name on my screen I knew that something was wrong. It was ten in the morning, he should have been teaching Intro to Government to bored sophomores, not calling me and leaving a voicemail asking me to come to their house as soon as possible.

Now wasn’t the time for me to be thinking of my own loss. I had to find this man’s family and get them to the hospital. I turned on the cell phone and started to slide the button across to get to his contacts. My eyes focused on his screen saver. A photograph of him and his beautiful family. His wife, a lovely woman, and two small children, a girl and a boy. My heart was both full and broken at the same time. Their smiling faces and the obvious love they had for one another was right there in front of me in their genuine smiles and embraces. I choked back my dread and put the phone back in the bag. I should have just pulled his wallet first and saved myself the heartache of seeing his happy family’s photograph. I pulled up his file on the computer and searched for an emergency contact.