“Preston…” I forced the broken syllables through clenched teeth, my lungs feeling as though they were packed with wet sand. “He can’t fit. My uterine wall… too thin.”
“Elena, for the love of God, stop throwing your weight around as ER Chief,” Preston snapped, slamming a pair of metal forceps onto the Mayo stand. The harsh clatter made the nurses jump. His gaze bypassed my sweat-drenched face entirely, landing softly on the figure beside me.
Standing there was a young woman in nursing scrubs: Khloe Summers. She was his star intern, the adoring shadow who had clung to his side for the past six months. Khloe’s eyes were rimmed in a watery, manufactured red. She gnawed on her lower lip, shoulders quivering like a fragile leaf, holding a medication tray.
“Dr. Pierce…” Khloe whispered, her voice a delicate, breathy breeze. “Dr. Vance is just in so much pain. Please, don’t be angry with her.”
