Page 9 of Unforgettable
“Flow is returning,” Millie said, disbelief threading her voice.
A beat.
Then -
The color of her skin began to pink It was faint but obvious.
Life was happening before their eyes.
No one spoke for a moment. Because they all knew what they were witnessing.
But Brew didn’t stop. Not yet. Not until every vessel was secured. Every structure stabilized. Every possible chance was given.
Hours later, he stepped back.
Silence filled the room. The kind that followed something hard-won.
“My God. It’s viable,” someone whispered.
Brew removed his gloves slowly, his gaze never leaving her hand. Not yet. Not even now.Because something about this case…didn’t feel finished.
He turned away at last, stripping off his mask as he stepped out into the corridor.
The world rushed back in.
Noise. Movement. Life continued as if nothing had shifted.
But something had.
“Dr. Clay,” a nurse called after him. “Family contact?”
He paused. Just briefly.
“No family listed,” she added quietly.
His expression didn’t change. But something behind his eyes did.
Alone.
He nodded once.
“Keep me updated on her status.”
He started down the corridor. Then stopped. He didn’t know why. He didn’t have a reason, nor allow himself one. But for the first time in a long time…Brew Clay looked back. And at that moment, he just knew.
This wasn’t just another case.
She wasn’t just another patient.
And whatever this was… it wasn’t going to let him walk away unchanged.
CHAPTER3
The wee hours of the morning had a different rhythm inside the hospital.
Quieter. Slower. But never was it still in the ICU. There were twenty stalls fully equipped and prepared to handle most serious traumas, especially if the fifteen Ors weren’t available. Five trauma teams were readily on staff twenty-four seven. At that very moment, all were painfully occupied If those patients stabilized after their life-saving surgery, they would be able to graduate to a private/semi-private room when available.
Machines breathed in soft, steady intervals. Monitors cast muted glows across softly-dimmed rooms. Footsteps echoed, voices lowered as if instinctivelyrespecting the fragile line between rest and survival.
