by Teresa Roman
Jude’s jaw twitched. “We’re not done talking.”
“Yes. We are.”
He stared at me for a moment. It looked like he was trying to decide if he should say anything else or just leave well enough alone.
“This is bullshit,” he muttered before walking out.
I slammed the door behind him and just stood there with my back pressed against it for a while. We’d had arguments before, but not like this. I was seething.
It was only later, after I finally managed to calm down, that I admitted two things to myself about my relationship with Jude. One was that I loved him—even though after a little over six months of dating I had yet to work up the courage to tell him—and didn’t want to lose him. But my heart sank as I also realized that if he couldn’t bring himself to trust me, it would never work between the two of us.
Chapter 24
I was much too stubborn to call Jude that night and wound up going to bed angry, but also sad and a little scared. What if we couldn’t work things out? The thought ate at me as I tried to fall asleep. I wanted to call my sister or my mom for some cheering up and advice, but it was late. By now, they were probably asleep, and I didn’t want to wake either of them up.
The next morning, I woke up tired and cranky and totally not ready to face the day. The only bright spot was that Tracey would also be working, so I’d have someone to talk to and give me some desperately needed advice.
I got out of bed and headed straight for my coffeemaker. After showering and dressing I drank two cups instead of my usual one and then headed out for the hospital.
“What’s wrong with you?” Tracey said as I ran into her while clocking in. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
I gave her a sarcastic smile. “Gee, thanks. You’re a real pick-me-up.”
“What happened?”
“Jude and I got into a huge argument last night.”
“About what?”
“I’ll tell you about it later.” There wasn’t enough time to rehash things right then since we both needed to get our butts over to the nurses’ station to get report on the patients being signed out to us by the night shift crew.
I was hoping Tracey and I would get overlapping breaks so we could talk, but that didn’t happen. Our lunches didn’t overlap, either. At just before noon, I headed down the hall toward the cafeteria, deciding to eat my lunch there instead of the break room, mostly for a change of scenery. I was almost through the double doors that led out of the ER when I heard my name being called. I looked over my shoulder to find Tracey running toward me with a frantic expression on her face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“There’s a call for you.”
“I just clocked out for lunch. Can you just take a message?”
She shook her head. “It’s important. You need to come on.” As she pulled me by my hand, panic took hold. No one ever called me at work.
“Who’s on the phone?” I asked. “Is it my mom, or my sister?”
Tracey shook her head. “No,” she said. We’d just reached the nurses’ station. She extended her arm over the counter to grab the phone. “It’s Frank.” Since the two of them had started dating, we’d stopped referring to him as Officer Gunn.
What could he possibly want? Puzzled, I pressed the phone to my ear. “Hello.”
“Is this Dawn?” He sounded somber.
“Yes,” I replied, hesitant and confused. “Is everything okay?”
“No. It’s not. I’m really sorry, Dawn, I know you’re at work and all, but I thought you would want to know that Jude’s been hurt. He got shot—”
“He got what?” I said, certain I hadn’t heard him right.
“He got shot in his leg. The paramedics already took him to County.”
Oh God. County was where all the worst trauma cases went. My heart felt like it stopped beating. “He’s going to be okay, right?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I’m not an expert at all this medical stuff. All I can tell you is there was a lot of blood.” His voice cracked.
I felt sick to my stomach. My knees buckled. I grabbed on to the counter to keep from falling. I knew Jude was a cop, and that being a police officer in Los Angeles was a dangerous job, but not for one moment had I believed that anything would happen to him. Stupidly, it had just never occurred to me.
“Where is he right now?” I asked. “Still in the ER?”
“They just took him to surgery.”
“Oh my God.” I felt faint again. If he needed surgery, it meant his injury was serious. Maybe even life-threatening. The thought of losing him hit me like a Mack truck. “Did his doctors tell you anything?”
“Just that they’d take good care of him.”
That’s the kind of thing doctors always said. “How did this happen?” I asked trying to keep the tears I felt welling in my eyes at bay.
I heard voices in the background, someone talking to Frank, but couldn’t make out what was being said. “Listen, Dawn, I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish I could tell you more, but I really gotta go.”
I hung up feeling like the whole world had faded away and there was nothing left but me and the fear that had wrapped itself around my heart. Most people didn’t know the damage a bullet could do. But I was an ER nurse. I’d seen firsthand what being shot meant.
Somewhere in my haze, I heard Tracey ask, “Are you okay?”
“Jude’s been . . . shot.” I lifted my head to meet her gaze. “They just took him to surgery.”
“Then you should go,” she said, putting her hand on my arm. “You should be there for him when he wakes up.”
“But I can’t. My shift’s not over yet.”
Tracey pressed the button on her Vocera and called the charge nurse. “I need to talk to you. Can you come to the nurses’ station?”
A nurse named Scott was in charge that day. As he walked toward Tracey and me, his expression revealed that he sensed something out of the ordinary. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“No, she’s not,” Tracey answered for me. “Her boyfriend is a cop, you know him, he comes here all the time.”
“You mean Officer Morales?”
Tracey nodded. “Yeah, that’s him. Dawn just got a call from his partner. He’s been shot.”
Scott’s eyes widened. “Oh no. Is he okay?”
“I don’t know,” I managed to say. “All I know is that he’s at County and was just taken to surgery.”
“Then what are you still doing here?” Scott said.
“But, I’ve got patients—”
“I’ll find someone to cover the rest of your shift. Go. Now.”
I didn’t need any more convincing. I practically ran to my locker to get my purse and then out of the hospital and over to the parking lot. With shaky hands I started my car. I broke all sorts of speed limits getting over to County, but figured if I got pulled over all I’d need to do was explain why I was driving like a maniac and the officer would understand my situation.
Despite how fast I drove, it felt like it took forever to make it to County hospital. Even though it was the middle of the day, Los Angles traffic was a nightmare from hell. I hadn’t been to County since I’d been a nursing student, but I managed to find my way around fairly quickly. By the time I got to the room where friends and family waited for loved ones who were in surgery, Jude’s parents and two of his sisters were already there. I couldn’t help but notice the worry on their faces as they rushed over to me. Jude’s mother pulled me into a hug.
“How is he doing?” I asked.
“We don’t know anything,” his mother replied. “Jude’s still in surgery.”
We sat down together. Jude’s mom held my hand on one side, one of his sisters on the other.
“Let’s pray,” his mother said. I nodded and she closed her eyes and lowered her head.
The prayer was in Spanish. Not that it mattered. Situations like this were universal. When she finished, I uttered, “Amen.”
Jude’s mother squeezed my hand and whispered to me, “He’ll be fine. I just know it, mija.”
I continued to pray in my heart that she was right. While we waited for someone to come out and update us on Jude’s condition, I tried not to think about everything that could go wrong when someone was shot in the leg. An injury to the femoral artery could cause enough blood loss to be fatal; a shattered femur, debilitating and excruciatingly painful. I prayed that Jude would make it, that he wouldn’t bleed out on the operating table. Most people thought—because of movies and TV shows—that only gunshot wounds to the brain or trunk were fatal, but that wasn’t true. And even people who did survive were often left with permanent injuries like the loss of a limb or chronic pain. I couldn’t stand to think of Jude suffering like that.
“Do you know how this happened?” I asked.
Jude’s father shook his head. “We don’t know anything more than you do.”
“Where’s Officer Gunn?”
“He’s back at the station,” Jude’s sister Monica replied. “Answering questions.”
I sat there in a daze. It felt like hours—maybe it had been, I hadn’t bothered checking the time—before a nurse came out to tell us Jude was out of surgery and in the recovery room.
“Only one visitor at a time,” she said.
“It should be you,” Jude’s mother said.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Nothing will help him recover faster than seeing your face when he wakes up.” She kissed my forehead. “My son loves you so much.”
Her words made my insides twist. I knew Jude loved me. I loved him, too, desperately, and regretted the stupid argument and horrible words we’d said to each other only the day before. As I followed the nurse back to the cubicle where Jude lay, I prayed for a chance to get to tell him those things.
He was still asleep. An IV slowly dripped blood into his vein. My heart clenched in fear and worry. If he needed a transfusion, that meant he’d lost a lot of blood.
“You’re a nurse, too, aren’t you?” the woman who’d brought me back asked.
I looked down at my scrubs, realizing that’s how she knew. “Yes, I am.”
“Is he your husband?” she asked.
“My boyfriend,” I said as I took a seat in the chair beside Jude’s gurney. I reached for his hand and glanced at the nurse. “Do you know how long it’ll be before he wakes up?”
“Everyone’s different when it comes to anesthesia, but it should be pretty soon.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “He’s going to be okay,” she said before walking away to give me and Jude some privacy.
His face looked calm, serene. As if the rest of his body had no idea what had happened to his leg. For a moment, I was tempted to pull back his covers and take a look at his leg but then I realized I wasn’t up for that yet. I took in a deep breath. One thing at a time. First I needed Jude to wake up so I could tell him how much I loved him and needed him, and then I could get into nurse mode and help him with his recovery.
My mind flashed back to our argument the day before. Had it contributed to this happening? Was Jude so distracted that he hadn’t been as careful as he normally was? A feeling of intense guilt came over me.
A few tears made their way down my face. I wiped them away with the back of my hand. “I’m sorry for what I said to you yesterday, and I’m sorry I haven’t done enough to show you how I feel, to show you that I don’t want to be with anyone else besides you,” I said, lowering my head and staring at our intertwined hands. “You have to believe me. You’re the only one I want, so you better wake up and give me a chance to tell you.”
He didn’t respond.
I sat silently for a few more minutes before leaning over him and softly kissing his lips. I ran one of my hands through his thick, dark hair, then sat back down. Tears started streaming down my face again, this time harder and faster. I clenched his hand, holding it tightly in mine. I had so much to tell him, but first he needed to wake up. “I love you, Jude Morales. Do you hear me? I love you.”
His eyes fluttered open, then shut.
“Jude?”
Slowly he turned his head toward me. “Dawn?” his speech was sluggish, slurred. “Is it really you?”
“Yes, it’s me.” I wiped my tears. “Where else would I be after you go and get yourself shot?” I said, blubbering. I was so relieved to hear his voice that my tears came harder and faster. During the whole drive to the hospital, I kept telling myself that Jude would be okay, that he’d make it, but truthfully I was so scared to death that I’d never get to see him again that just hearing his voice filled me with emotions I didn’t know how to handle.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“In the recovery room at County General,” I replied. “You got shot, don’t you remember?”
He grunted. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Jude still seemed a bit out of it. His eyes were open but fluttered shut every few seconds. He was obviously still groggy from the anesthesia.
“Frank and I were trying to defuse a domestic violence situation.” He spoke slowly. “I . . . I thought we had. The guy lowered his gun . . . but when I took a step closer to him he lifted it . . . and fired. I’ve never felt pain like that in my life.”
“Jesus Christ, Jude. Don’t ever do this to me again. Do you hear me? I was so scared when Frank called.”
He attempted a smile. “Believe me. It’s not like I wanted to get shot.”
“I know, I know. But . . .” I shook my head. Sometimes I had the hardest time finding the right words to say. “You just don’t get it.”
“What don’t I get?”
“How much I need you,” I said, my voice cracking. “And how much I love you.”
“You love me?” He sounded surprised.
“How do you not already know that?”
“You’ve never said it before.” Jude managed a weak smile. “Maybe I should go and get myself shot more often.”
I had to restrain myself from punching him in his shoulder. “That is so not funny.”
His grin widened. “C’mon. It was at least a little bit funny. Wasn’t it?”
“No. It wasn’t. Nothing about the thought of losing you is the least bit funny. Got it?”
He looked up at me, staring at my tear-filled face before saying, “Kiss me, Dawn.”
I stood up and leaned over him resting my hand on his cheek before gently pressing my lips down on his. When I pulled away, he looked into my eyes.
“I love you, too, Dawn. You have no idea how much.”
Chapter 25
I didn’t want to leave Jude’s side, but his parents and sisters were anxious for their turn to see him. While they visited, I went home to shower and change. By the time I returned to the hospital, Jude had been moved into a regular room. He was sleeping when I arrived, and a nurse was in the room with him. I took a seat beside him.
“He’s had lots of visitors,” the nurse, whose name tag read Vicki, said. “I think he’s pretty beat.”
I knew what she was hinting at. That it was better I give Jude a chance to rest. As a nurse myself, I knew she was right, so I got up, reached for Jude’s hand, and bent down to kiss his forehead. As I stood up to leave, Jude squeezed my hand.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“You need to rest.”
“I need you more.”
I hesitated for a moment before sitting back down. “Are you in any pain?”
“Not now. I just got some pain meds a little while ago.”
That explained why he’d been sleeping. “Did your doctor tell you how long you’ll have to stay in the hospital?”
“He didn’t really say, only mentioned something about getting some wound specialist and the physical therapist to see me, but I wasn’t exactly with it when he came by.”
“Well, when you do get discharged, you’re staying with me. No arguments
.”
Jude stared at me for a moment, speechless. “You want me to stay with you?”
It seemed strange to me that he was so surprised by that. “Of course I do. You’re going to need help, and I want to be the one to give it to you.”
He looked down. “Even after all those stupid things I said to you the other day?”
While I knew we’d have to have a conversation about our argument eventually, now wasn’t the time. Jude needed to recover first. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to his doctors or nurses so I still didn’t know the extent of his injuries, but I did know he’d lost a lot of blood, which meant he’d be weak and tired. The bullet would have also done lots of damage to his muscle tissue and healing from that took time.
“Let’s not talk about that right now.”
Before Jude had a chance to reply, his nurse returned, this time with a small bag of IV antibiotics that she hung on the pole beside his bed.
“I should go,” I said to Jude. He looked at me pleadingly. “Rest. I’ll be back first thing in the morning. I swear.”
“I love you,” he whispered.
I smiled at him. “I love you, too.”
On the drive back home, it finally hit me that Jude was going to be okay and I could finally stop panicking. I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d been so worried that all I could think about ever since Frank had called earlier was that I might wind up losing the man I loved, and what an idiot I’d been for not saying those three little words sooner.
A few minutes after I got back to my apartment Tracey called. “How’s Jude doing?” she asked.
“He’s okay. No major damage, they didn’t have to amputate or anything, and he wasn’t in a cast which means the bullet missed his femur.”
She let out a deep breath. “You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that.”
“So am I. I was so scared, Tracey.” Tears filled my eyes again at the thought. I wiped them away. There was no need for them, I reminded myself. Jude was alive and he’d be okay.
“Tell him I’m praying for him, okay.”
“I will.”
