Page 2 of That Last Secret
Because this is one of those unknowns that we both worry about.
I run to grab supplies we might need before wheeling the wound cart to my designated room. Next thing I know, two ambulance stretchers are being rushed in.
The first one through the doors heads in my direction. One paramedic has two hands over another man’s head to keep pressure on the wound and prevent it from bleeding profusely.
I assess how much blood is in the field and run as fast as possible to grab the extra gauze dressings from the supply room. When I return, I take over with fresh gauze and apply pressure to the man’s head, where it looks like shattered glass left a gaping wound.
The smell of alcohol engulfs my senses, telling me this had to be a drunk driving incident. I don’t like making assumptions, but the scent is so strong.
I have to fight back the bile rising in my throat with each second I hold pressure.
Another nurse starts an IV in his arm while the doctor assesses him from head to toe. He’s unconscious, and there’s barely a pulse.
In the quickest ten minutes of my life, we successfully stabilize him. The doctor irrigated the wound on his head before applying a dressing, while the other nurse administered a cocktail of medications to help get his heart rate up and control his pain.
I exhale a sigh of relief as I remove my gloves while exiting the room. Only to hear the steady ring of a flatline coming from room one, where they took the second victim of the accident.
The sound is jarring and heartbreaking.
I rush to the room to see if there’s anything I can do to help, or if they need an extra set of hands.
But the minute my eyes land on the patient, I realize there’s nothing I can do.
I can’t breathe or even see straight.
My senses are so dulled I don’t even hear Brooke calling my name or any noises filling the room. I faintly hear her say, “Get her the hell out of here,” before I’m pulled out of the room.
My stomach curls, and I think I might vomit right here on the floor.
Because I can’t fucking breathe.
The person lying in that bed without a pulse is the man I’m deeply and madly in love with.
He’s the man who knows me better than anyone else.
He’s the man who holds all of my secrets.
The Beach House – November
“Okay,do we all know how to play?” Peyton’s grandmother, Gigi, announces as she shuffles the cards for the gameCards Against Humanitybefore passing everyone their starting hand.
“Yes, Ma’am,” I answer, rubbing my hands together. I’m ready to dominate this game because if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s card games.
Work has been exceptionally hectic for everybody, probably because we’re heading into the holiday season soon. My best friend, Thomas, had the idea of taking a trip to the house he owns on the Jersey shore. He invited everyone to tag along since it’s also his birthday weekend. I didn’t think his nanny and her friends would join us, but they’ve proven to be fun as shit.
This trip with these people was exactly what we all needed.
“Relax, Logy,” Emiline says with an exaggerated eye roll. “It’s not that serious, and you’re going to lose anyway.”
I give my best friend’s baby sister a wink before I say, “I never lose, Emmy.”
That earns me another eye roll.
“Peyton,” Gigi says. “You’re up first to pick from the deck. Read it out loud, and then we’ll all look at our cards and put them in the center. Then you can pick your favorite and whoever played that card is the winner of that round.”
Peyton does as instructed. “A successful job interview begins with a firm handshake and ends withblank.”
“Oh, fuck.” Peyton’s friend Avery laughs as she picks through her hand of cards. “I have a good one.”