by Katie Ashley
The Pairing (The Proposition #3)
Copyright © 2014 by Katie Ashley
Formatting by Cris Soriaga | BookMarked! Designs
Edited by Marrion Archer | Making Manuscripts
Marilyn Medina | Eagle Eye Reads
Cover Designed by Letitia Hasser | RBA Designs
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Vicious Cycle Synopsis
Deleted Baby Shower Scene with Aidan & Emma
Easter with the Fitzgeralds
Halloween with The Fitzgeralds
About the Author
With a shrill decibel ringing in his left ear, Alpesh, or Pesh Nadeen, as he was more commonly called, groped blindly along the nightstand before hitting the snooze button on the alarm. When the sound continued, his dark brown eyes popped open. Cutting his gaze to the nightstand, he realized it was not his alarm, but his hospital pager going off. Scrubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sat up in bed. After picking up the pager and peering at the screen, he groaned before pressing the OFF button. He knew the code all too well. One of the ER docs was unable to come in for his or her shift. As supervisor, he had to either find a replacement or take their place. Considering there wasn’t much else exciting going on in his life, he grabbed his phone. He alerted the charge nurse that he would be filling in, and he would be there as soon as he could.
As he trudged into the bathroom, he didn’t bother lamenting that one of his few days off was being taken. Most of the other doctors he worked with had wives or husbands along with children. They never called in unless it was a grave necessity. So why shouldn’t he, as the only single and childless one among them, take up the slack? It was the honorable thing to do, and if there was one thing Pesh prided himself on, it was having an honorable character.
After a record breaking shower and shave, he hurried into the closet. He threw on one of his signature long-sleeved blue shirts and trademark khaki pants. Besides his white lab coat, it was his uniform. He never wore plain white shirts. Blue was a comforting color, and he always wanted to put his patients at ease and make them feel comfortable. Once he tightened his tie, he hurried out of the closet and over to the dresser.
When he grabbed his wallet and hospital authorization card, his gaze fell on the picture in the antique silver frame. His late wife’s smile radiated from behind the glass. Jade was gazing up at him with her twinkling blue eyes—both of them wore brilliant smiles while being outfitted in the traditional Indian wedding attire. Her long blonde hair fell in waves and was adorned with various ribbons, charms, and beads, as were the custom.
His chest tightened as he thought of the day his American-as-apple-pie-wife embraced his heritage by partaking in the full Indian wedding ceremony. Although there were many happy days and good times in the course of their six-year marriage, he couldn’t remember a happier day than his wedding day. It was the day they had finally come together as one—a uniting of two different people and cultures. The day had held such promise of a happy and long future together.
Turning away from the dresser, he also tried to turn away from the overwhelming grief that gripped him. Two years had passed since the horrible day when his thirty-five year old wife had been snatched away from him. Not a day went by when he didn’t miss her, when he didn’t dread coming home to an empty house not filled with her laughter or her sweet presence. No one could quite fathom the true agonizing turmoil he had been through—only a select few, who had also had their heart torn from their chest, fully understood the gaping hole of emptiness left behind.
With a heavy heart, he headed out the door. On the short drive in to work, Pesh didn’t bother turning on the radio to drown out the voices of sorrow echoing through his head. He knew it was no use. No matter how hard he tried, he could not rid himself of his pain. Family and friends had afforded him one year of grieving before they had been on him to move on. Desperately, they tried to get him to realize that the last thing his Jade would want was for him to continue carrying a torch for her—to spend his life sad and alone. He’d tried to prove to them he had moved on, but that only resulted in projecting what he thought was love onto a woman who was just as confused about her life as he was. He’d vowed after that mistake that he wasn’t going to let anyone dictate when it was time for him to move on from Jade’s memory. If he was to love or marry again, he would be the one to take the steps.
He made the same rote pilgrimage from the staff parking lot into the hospital. Every day was just the same, one right after the other. He’d barely had time to ease on his white medical coat when he heard his name being paged over the intercom. Rushing over to the sink, he scrubbed up as quickly as he could before whirling around. Using his back to open the door to the doctor’s lounge, he did his best speed walking down the hallway to the trauma area. The moment he swept through the glass doors, the staff pounced on him.
Two nurses were at the man’s head. One held down the face mask as the other pumped air through the bag into his airways. Another was stationed at the man’s side doing CPR compressions intervals on the chest.
After donning a pair of rubber gloves, Pesh glanced to the charge nurse as he hurried to the man’s side. “Male, forty-five, collapsed at the jogging park during a run. No known medical history. Coded once on the trip over,” she quickly informed him.
“BP is dropping,” another nurse called behind him.
Machines began beeping on and off, a symphony of noise heralding impending doom. “Okay, we need to shock him again.” The crash cart was rolled up to the gurney. Pesh grabbed the paddles. “Charging. Shocking at 260 joules.”
“Clear,” Pesh commanded. The nurses administering compressions to his chest and the intubation bag stepped back, holding their hands off the man. Pesh brought the gelled paddles to the man’s chest. As the electrical charge raged through the man’s body, his arms and legs flailed.
Pesh glanced at the heart monitor. “Still asystole. Again.”
“Charging at 360 joules,” a nurse replied.
“Clear.” As he brought the paddles once again to the man’s chest, Pesh muttered, “Come on, come on, beat, dammit,” under his breath. It didn’t matter how young or how old, he hated to lose a patient. Although the body shuddered and jerked in reaction to the electricity, the heart remained frozen. Although it was a losing battle, he called, “Clear!” onc
e again.
When the man’s vital signs didn’t change, Pesh shook his head. “We need to open him up to massage the heart. Get me the rib spreader and the chest saw and page one of the residents,” he ordered. He took a face mask from another nurse and slid it on.
After making a quick incision in the man’s chest, Pesh took the saw from one of the nurses. Once he had sawed through the sternum, he shifted to the side to allow a nurse to move closer to work the crank on the rib spreader. Pushing aside the hard bone of the sternum, he gently took the man’s still heart in his hands. No matter how many times he’d had to do it before, there was still something so humbling as holding the most important muscle in the human body in the palm of your hand. Squeezing it over and over, Pesh mimed the usual pumping the organ did.
Seconds ticked agonizingly by as they waited to see if the damaged heart would restart. When it remained still, Pesh sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He eased back from the man. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, he said with regret, “Calling time of death: nine forty-seven a.m.”
“Want me to handle the family?” the resident asked.
Pesh shook his head. “No. You get him closed back up. I’m sure they’ll want to see him.” He took off his bloody gloves and tossed them dejectedly into the hazardous materials trash can and then removed his mask. He walked over to the glass doors of the trauma area where a paramedic stood surveying the scene. “Do we have a name on him?”
The paramedic flashed the guy’s driver’s license. “Aaron Chapman.”
“Thank you.”
He walked down the long hallway before pushing open the button on the mechanical door that led out of the emergency area. In a room to the side of the waiting room, the man’s wife and two teenage sons sat in hushed silence. As he opened the door, he said a silent prayer for strength. This was the most difficult aspect of his job. While he relished in the long hours of saving lives and diagnosing illnesses, this part drained him both emotionally and physically.
“Mrs. Chapman?”
The woman, who appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties, rose from the chair she was sitting in. “Yes?”
He held out his hand for her to shake. “I’m Dr. Nadeen. I was assigned your husband’s case.”
She bobbed her head and took a step forward. “How is he?”
“Your husband experienced a severe myocardial infarction.” At her blank look, he replied, “A heart attack.”
“Oh my God, I can’t believe it. He’s had some high cholesterol, but he’s been running every day. I was only ten minutes from here dropping the boys off at school, and I told them I bet their dad had fallen and broken his ankle or something. Of course, I wondered why he wouldn’t call instead of the hospital…” Realizing she was rambling, her voice cut off. Her hand hovered over her throat. “But he’s okay now?”
Pesh shook his head. “I’m very sorry, but the heart attack caused too much damage to the heart. We were never able to revive him after he was brought in.”
The woman’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “No, no, NO! Surely there is something you can do!”
“I’m so very sorry. We did everything we could to save him, including multiple attempts of resuscitation past what the paramedics originally did, but he did not respond to our attempts.”
The woman’s wail pierced through to Pesh’s soul. She collapsed back against her sons, who now had tears in their eyes. Stoic on the outside, Pesh stood by her side as she sobbed uncontrollably. Most doctors when playing the Grim Reaper would deliver the bad news and then retreat. Pesh believed that part of a patient’s care also meant the care of their family. That’s why he ignored his pager going off in his pocket. It was only when his name was paged over the intercom that he took a step forward. He placed a hand on the widow’s shoulder. “If you would like to be with him until the funeral home arrives, you can follow me.”
“Y-Yes, please,” she murmured.
With her sons flanking her, she followed Pesh out of the room and behind the mechanized doors. When they got to the exam room where her husband’s body was, Pesh turned and once again touched her shoulder. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” her son mumbled when his mother was unable to speak. Instead, she rushed forward to bury her head against her husband’s chest. Her body shook with her sobs.
Pesh nodded and then finally turned away. With determined steps, he answered his page—some sort of consult on a diagnosis. After his input, this patient would pull through. It was the true embodiment of the dichotomy of his job.
Once he finished, Pesh went over to the office area of the emergency room. He eased down onto a stool, placing his head in his hands. As he rubbed his eyes, he swore they were moist from overuse, not from the potential tears welling behind them. If there was one thing he was, it was a professional. Doctors had to be emotionally detached when they were doing their job, or they would lose their minds. But it wasn’t staying detached in the moment that was the issue—it was the aftermath. The agonizing moments when the adrenaline stores depleted, and his sagging body seemed to shoulder the hysteria, the panic, the grief, and the heartbreak of the family.
He didn’t know how long he remained like that, head in his hands, tuning out the noises humming around him. When he felt a tap on his shoulder, he jerked around.
It was Kristi, a charge nurse and one of his most trusted coworkers. She smiled warmly at him as if she knew the inner turmoil he was in. “Dr. Nadeen, I hate to interrupt, but you have a visitor.”
“Oh?”
Kristi nodded. “Exam room D.”
“Thank you.”
When Pesh pushed open the door, he couldn’t help the surprise that filled him. With her auburn hair pulled into a loose knot and her emerald eyes glittering with happiness, Emma Harrison Fitzgerald, stood before him with her six-month-old son balanced on her hip. “Hi. I hope I’m not interrupting you.”
A rush of pure love entered his chest at the sight of her. Nine months ago he would have confused the feeling with amorous love, but now he knew the difference. He loved her only as a friend. “Hello to you, too. It’s so good to see you.” His brows furrowed as his mind wondered why she was here in the ER. “You’re okay, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I’m perfectly well. It’s just—”
Pesh’s gaze dropped to the strawberry-blond haired boy sucking voraciously on a pacifier. “Noah’s fine, isn’t he?”
Emma smiled. “He’s perfect.”
Pesh exhaled the anxious breath he’d been holding. “I’m glad to hear that. You both look well.”
“Thank you.” Emma surveyed him and frowned. “I wish I could say the same for you. What’s wrong?”
“Just a tough day.” Even with Emma’s expectant expression, he didn’t want to elaborate. Gazing down at his hands, he finally responded, “I held a man’s heart in my hands this morning .”
Emma’s eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath. “Oh my God…”
He shook his head with regret. “But no matter how hard I tried, I still couldn’t save him.”
She reached out to rub his arm. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Thank you,” he murmured. Since he was ready to change the subject before his emotions overcame him again, he motioned for her to have a seat. “So, what brings you here?”
“I have a favor to ask of you.”
His brows rose in surprise. “You do? Another flight for Aidan perhaps?”
Emma laughed. “No. I think it’ll be a long, long time before he ever gets in a small plane again.” As Noah began to squirm, she shifted him from her lap to her shoulder. He spit out his pacifier and started to fuss.
“Here. Let me,” Pesh suggested, bending over to take Noah into his arms. Noah’s surprised blue eyes met his, and then he smiled at Pesh. “Hello, little one. My, how you’ve grown since I saw you last.”
Noah cooed and reached for Pesh’s stethoscope. “You were saying?” he questi
oned Emma.
“I know it’s a lot to ask, considering you’re not Catholic, but I was wondering if you would be Noah’s godfather?”
Pesh couldn’t hold back his surprise, and his mouth dropped open in shock. “You’re serious?”
Emma nodded. “Since I’m not Catholic, I’m basically humoring Aidan’s father by having a baptism for Noah. You remember him?”
Pesh laughed. “How could I ever forget Mr. Fitzgerald, the matchmaker?”
Emma smiled. “That’s right. Well, you can understand how persistent he is.”
“Oh yes, I do.”
“We’re allowed one Catholic and one non-Catholic godparent. We’ve chosen Aidan’s niece as godmother, and then I wanted you.”
“But what about your good friend?”
“Connor?”
“Yes, him.”
Emma waved a dismissive hand. “Besides the fact that Connor is a non-practicing Baptist, he’s refused on the grounds he doesn’t want to have any moral or religious responsibility for Noah.” She grinned and shook her head. “While he and Casey were obvious choices, let’s just say they’re looking forward to corrupting Noah, rather than guiding him on a spiritual path.”
Pesh smiled. “I see.”
Emma’s auburn brows knitted together in worry. “I hope you’re not offended that I told you that. I don’t want you to think you were a second best choice. When I thought of someone to protect and guide Noah, you were one of the first people to pop into my mind.”
Pesh worked to free his stethoscope from Noah’s mouth. “And what does Aidan say about this?” He knew that although he and Aidan had come to some sort of friendship on the night of Noah’s birth, he couldn’t imagine, as possessive as Aidan was, that he would want a potential ex-flame of Emma’s having a major part in his son’s life.
“He’s fine with it,” Emma replied, as she toyed with the strap on her purse.
“Emma,” Pesh pressed.
She threw up her hands as she met his gaze. “Okay, so he wasn’t thrilled with the idea at first. It took some convincing on my part, but he’s totally onboard now.”
“As honored as I am, I would not cause contention between you two for anything in the world.”
