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“Why did he do this?” Anton’s mother asked. “Why?”
Again she had no answers. She glanced toward Quinn, whose face was drawn so tight he almost looked angry, but the agonized expression in his gaze reinforced his struggle to hide his own grief and helplessness.
“It’s not your fault,” Quinn finally said, taking a step forward to put a reassuring hand on the sobbing woman’s shoulder. “Please know, this isn’t your fault.”
“It has to be our fault!” The woman cried, nearly incoherent in her distress. “How could we not have known he was so unhappy? How could we have missed it?”
“It’s not your fault,” Quinn repeated.
“Teen suicide is very tragic,” Leila said in a soft tone, picking up a pamphlet from the rack of educational brochures on the wall. “It’s normal to feel responsible, but you need to know Dr. Torres is right. This isn’t your fault.” She slid the pamphlet toward Anton’s mother. “There’s a support group here for parents just like you. When things calm down after a few weeks, please consider giving them a call.”
Anton’s mother continued to cry and didn’t take the brochure. Anton’s father pulled himself together, the gut-wrenching sobs eventually quieting, and he reached for the information, folding the pamphlet before sliding it in his pocket. Leila sincerely hoped they’d get the help they needed.
After a few more minutes, she and Quinn left them alone. The ED nurses would keep an eye on the parents and for now their job was over.
“That was a rough one,” Leila murmured to Quinn. “He was so young.”
“Any suicide is rough, regardless of how young the patient is,” Quinn said in a harsh tone. “Suicide is a horrible thing to do to a family.”
Shocked by his outburst, she didn’t know what to say.
Instantly, his face changed, resuming the remote, cold mask he normally wore. “Excuse me, but I need to make rounds on the other patients in the arena.”
He left and Leila stared after him, the brief moment of camaraderie between them having vanished in a heartbeat.
Yet she wasn’t angry or upset. As she watched him move toward the arena and speak to the charge nurse, she found herself wondering about the enigmatic physician.
Because she was fairly certain Quinn Torres wasn’t nearly as arrogant and rude as she’d originally thought.
She was beginning to realize his outward aloofness might be a shield to hide the suffering he was feeling inside.
Chapter Two
QUINN tried not to dwell on Anton Mayer’s death as he finished the remainder of his work and prepared to head home. He’d split the night shift with Jadon Reichert who’d come in to relieve him at three in the morning to cover Simon Carter’s holiday. It was only fair, as Simon had worked the night shift on Christmas Eve.
Physically exhausted and emotionally drained, he crawled into bed, hoping to get at least four hours of sleep before he had to get up to face the day.
Yet as soon as he closed his eyes, the image of Anton’s bloody face bloomed in his mind. Squeezing his eyes tight and trying to push it away didn’t help because he could still hear the desperate sobs of Anton’s parents echoing through the room as Leila told them Anton was gone.
The young man’s death haunted him.
He didn’t need a psychiatrist to explain why. He knew full well the events of the night reminded him too much of his wife, Celeste. She hadn’t jumped off a two-story building onto concrete, but she’d died by her own hand just the same, abruptly ending her young life far too soon.
He’d resented reliving the grief and angst all over again while talking to Anton’s parents. Knowing you should have saved someone and hadn’t was an awful feeling. He’d known exactly what dark hopelessness they’d felt.
Thank heavens for Leila. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if she hadn’t come with him. She’d been the one who’d given them the bad news. And she’d also cried with them, while he’d stood and helplessly watched.
And then she’d tried to comfort him, and he’d snapped at her. He’d learned in the months since Celeste’s death that rudeness and arrogance kept people away.
So why did he regret the way he’d spoken to Leila?
Scrubbing his hands over his face, wishing he could erase the scars of the past as easily, he stared through the darkness up at the ceiling. He owed the beautiful, exotic surgeon a debt of gratitude. And an apology. She hadn’t deserved the harsh edge of his anger.
Thinking of Leila helped him to forget about Anton, at least temporarily. Those few moments when their fingers had tangled over the chart had sent his pulse skyrocketing into triple digits. The physical reaction, akin to being poked with a laser-tipped bovie, had startled him. He hadn’t felt anything remotely like it in the many months since Celeste’s death.
Leila was a good surgeon, he’d figured that out shortly after working with her the very first time. And she was the one who’d noticed Anton’s compartment syndrome in his legs. He didn’t blame her for not being able to save the young man. He’d known right from the first that Anton’s chances of surviving his severe injury had been slim.
Leila’s ability to be compassionate with her patients and their families, while maintaining her professionalism, was a trait he admired.
Yet admiring the woman was one thing, being interested in her on a personal level was completely out of the question. Certainly she was beautiful, her ethnicity portraying a hint of the Orient, with her slightly almondshaped eyes and straight black hair. But he’d been surrounded by beautiful women before and hadn’t once felt even a flicker of interest.
Testosterone, he thought as exhaustion weighted his eyelids. He was a man who’d been celibate for too long and she was a beautiful woman. His response to her had been nothing more than chemistry, plain and simple.
Nothing more.
A gentle, yet insistent patting on his chest caused Quinn to rouse from sleep. He swallowed a groan and groggily opened his eyes, realizing he was not alone.
His six-year old son, Danny, was patting his chest, silently asking him to wake up. He swiped the grit from his eyes and smiled at him. “Good morning, Danny,” he said, hoping but not expecting a response.
Danny grinned, showing a small gap between his two front baby teeth. His son signed the word breakfast and Quinn nodded.
“Yes, I’m hungry for breakfast, too.” He automatically signed the words, even though he knew perfectly well there was nothing wrong with Danny’s ability to hear. Still, if he didn’t practice his signing, he tended to get rusty. “Where’s Auntie D.?”
In the kitchen, making oatmeal, Danny signed in response. She wants to know if you want some, too.
“Sure.” He might have preferred eggs and bacon, but Celeste’s aunt, Delores Newkirk, had been on a major health food regimen lately, so he suspected fried eggs and bacon were not an option. He was so grateful that she’d stepped up to help him with Danny, agreeing not only to taking care of his son during whatever chaotic hours he had to work but also relocating with them from Boston to the tiny town of Cedar Bluff, that he’d decided long ago not to complain. He couldn’t imagine raising his son without the help of the plump, middle-aged godsend, the one member of his wife’s family who didn’t blame him for Celeste’s death, although he certainly understood their feelings. “Just give me a few minutes to shower and I’ll be ready.”
Danny grinned again. Okay, but you’d better hurry ’cause oatmeal tastes bad when it’s cold.
“Right.” He nodded in agreement, swinging his legs out of bed and wishing there was an easy way to mainline caffeine. He needed to blow the cobwebs from his brain. The scent of coffee teased him mercilessly as he made his way to the shower.
Fifteen minutes later, he padded into the kitchen, where Delores was seated at the kitchen table across from Danny. “Good morning, Quinn. Did you have a rough night?”
“Not too bad,” he said with a shrug, making a beeline for the coffeemaker. “Thanks for making breakfast.”
“You came home pretty late,” she commented. Her tone was casual, but the glint in her eye betrayed her interest. “Did you go out after your shift?”
Quinn hid a sigh. Lately, Delores was becoming obsessed with his social life or lack thereof. He was growing weary of her not-so-subtle hints. “No, the night shift physician worked Christmas Eve night, so I split the shift with the day shift doctor to cover the night shift for Christmas night. I stayed until three in the morning and Jadon came in at three.”
“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose in disappointment. Then her expression brightened. “But you’re off the rest of the day, right?”
“Yes, and so are you.” He took a seat next to her at the table and helped himself to the large bowl of oatmeal she’d set out for him. “You’re going down to Chicago for a holiday visit with your sister today, and don’t pretend you’ve forgotten.”
“But I don’t have to go if you need me to stay here,” she said, rising to her feet to refill her coffee mug. “Cynthia would surely understand if Danny needs me to stay.”
“Hardly,” he muttered, unable to imagine his wife’s mother caring one way or the other about the grandson she hadn’t seen in well over a year. Her anger toward Quinn at causing her daughter’s death had unfortunately carried over to his and Celeste’s son. He felt bad for Danny, not himself. “In fact, if you don’t go, she’ll blame me for that, too.”
Delores sighed and nodded. “I guess you’re right. But what about next weekend? Surely you can make some plans to go out next weekend?”
“I’ll think about it,” Quinn said evasively. Next weekend was New Year so it was unlikely he’d make special plans for then, either. He turned toward his son, who was listening intently to their conversation. “So, Danny, what would you like to do today? Are you ready for another video game challenge?”
You didn’t forget about sledding, did you? Danny signed, his eyes widening in alarm.
“Sledding?” Quinn repeated in confusion. He glanced questioningly at Delores.
“The sledding party is later this afternoon,” Delores clarified, doing as Quinn did, signing and talking. She sent Quinn an apologetic glance. “Ah, do you have a sled for him to use?”
“No, but we can run to the store later,” Quinn said. He smiled at his son. “How about we play video games for a while first, then we’ll go buy a sled?”
Danny nodded vigorously. Okay. But you know I always beat you when we play.
Quinn laughed. “Not this time. I’ve been practicing when you’ve been asleep.”
Danny flashed him a pitying look that clearly indicated he didn’t believe him as he slid down from his seat and carried his empty oatmeal bowl over to the sink. Hurry up, he signed before darting into the living room.
“Do you think it’s a good idea to encourage those video games?” Delores asked once Danny had left. “After all, those games aren’t going to encourage him to talk.”
“He’ll talk when he’s ready,” he said, repeating what Dr. Nancy Adams had told him. Nancy was a semiretired speech pathologist who’d graciously agreed to take Danny’s case when Quinn had explained the circumstances around his son’s traumatic muteness. He’d relocated to Cedar Bluff just for the chance to have Danny work with her. Of course, the small-town feel of Cedar Bluff was pretty nice, too. At least so far the kids in Danny’s first-grade class hadn’t begun to ridicule him.
“I hope you’re right,” Delores said, before getting up from the table. “I guess I’ll get ready to go visit my sister, unless you’ve changed your mind?”
“Go on, you deserve some time away from here,” he urged.
Delores left him to finish his oatmeal in peace. As he enjoyed the maple and brown sugar flavor he thought about Danny. He trusted Nancy’s knowledge and skill, yet at the same time he’d begun to despair that his son would ever speak again. The kids his age welcomed him into their group now, but what would happen in a few years? Kids could be incredibly cruel, and generally those who were “different” took the brunt of the teasing.
He couldn’t bear the thought of Danny becoming ostracized by the other kids because of his self-imposed silence.
With a weary sigh, he shoved the troubling thoughts aside, finished his breakfast and stood, cleaning up the mess from their meal before going to join his son in the video game challenge.
All he could do for now was to wait and see. Hopefully, Dr. Adams would find the key to unlock Danny’s voice.
That afternoon was bright and sunny, perfect weather for sledding, and Quinn found himself standing awkwardly next to several other parents at the Cedar Bluff sledding hill. Since he was still relatively new to the area, and worked odd hours, he didn’t know most of them, not even by sight, especially because Delores was the one who picked up Danny from school. The only familiar face belonged to Seth Taylor, one of the emergency department attending physicians.
Quinn tended to avoid small talk, hating having to answer all the questions that invariably followed the moment people realized Danny was mute. He generally used his bluntness to keep people away, not wanting his personal life to become the source of small-town gossip.
Instead, he kept his eye on his son. Danny was having a great time, sledding down the hill in his new plastic bright blue sled. Quinn noticed that two of the boys, Ben Germaine, who was Seth’s fiancée’s son, and Charlie Atkins, another boy in their class, acted very friendly toward Danny, as if they didn’t care about his lack of speech.
“Come on, Danny. Let’s ride together!” Charlie said excitedly.
Danny eagerly nodded and climbed onto his blue sled, moving up to the front and indicating with gestures for Charlie to climb on the back. The sound of Charlie’s young, carefree laughter rang through the air as they started down the hill.
A slight smile tugged at the corners of Quinn’s mouth as he gazed after the boys. It was times like this that he was glad he’d made the move to Cedar Bluff. He was grateful that Danny had already found some friends. Maybe Cedar Bluff didn’t have the same lure for adults as Boston, but as far as he was concerned Danny’s wellbeing was all that mattered.
He frowned, though, when Danny’s blue sled veered off course, turning sharply to the right, heading directly toward a line of trees.
“Danny!” he shouted, through cupped hands, taking several steps forward. “Watch where you’re going!”
He couldn’t tell what happened. It seemed as if the boys were somehow tangled up on the sled and not steering at all because the lightweight plastic sled gathered speed as it shot down the slippery slope toward a large oak tree.
“Danny!” Quinn shouted again, running down the hill toward his son, feeling helpless when he realized he wasn’t going to make it in time. “Danny!”
Too late. The sled hit the tree with enough force to knock both boys sprawling into the snow.
Leila finished her lunch in the ED staff break room and leaned back against the sofa cushions, momentarily closing her eyes. Only another twenty-four hours and her long weekend call rotation would be over. At least today should be relatively quiet—it wasn’t exactly a party night of the week, compared to Friday and Saturday. The holiday weekend couldn’t end soon enough. She was exhausted, the steady stream of patients had been unusual considering it was Christmas.
She sighed, thinking she would just rest for a few more minutes. What seemed like a nanosecond later, a hand on her shoulder caused her to jerk upright, and she realized Jadon Reichert, the ED attending physician on duty, was trying to wake her up.
“What?” she asked groggily, trying to shake off her lethargy. Disoriented, she blinked away her blurred vision to focus on the large wall clock, noting with shock that she’d slept for more than an hour and a half.
“Leila? Sorry to bother you but we have two peds traumas on the way in,” Jadon said, his expression apologetic for needing to rouse her.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she muttered, pushing herself upright.
“Hey, no problem,” Jadon said with a wry grin. “I’d cover the rest of your shift for you, but I think hospital administration might frown on me for performing surgery without the proper credentials.”
She had to chuckle as she rose to her feet. “Yes, they probably would. Okay, I’m really awake now. What’s coming in? Did I hear you say we have two peds traumas?”
Jadon’s smile faded, his gaze turning serious. “Two young boys hit a tree while sledding at Cedar Bluff Park.”
Leila frowned, her stomach clenching in warning. This was one of the reasons she was glad she’d decided not to have kids. “Please tell me one of them isn’t Ben Germaine.”
“No, not this time,” Jadon assured her. “Although it sounds as if Seth Taylor was on the scene, along with Quinn.”
Quinn? How odd. But she didn’t give the coincidence more than a passing thought.
“Thank heavens Ben wasn’t involved.” Ben was Kylie and Seth’s son and the boy tended to be a bit accident prone. Earlier that month, he’d slipped on the rocks and tumbled into the icy water of Lake Michigan. Jadon’s new fiancée, Alyssa, had fallen in herself, when trying to save him. She’d been pregnant at the time, seven and a half months along with twins. Leila had been there when they’d been brought in and it was touch and go for a while. Thankfully, everyone was fine now, including Jadon and Alyssa’s twin girls, Grace and Gretchen, born several weeks early. The entire incident had been very scary, touching many of the Cedar Bluff staff members who’d been concerned when one of their own had been injured.
Technically, Ben was Kylie’s son, but it was clear from Seth’s actions that he already considered the boy to be his own. Seth and Kylie were getting married next weekend, on New Year’s Eve.
She envied their happiness, although reminded herself that she’d been lucky to have loved a wonderful man like George. George had understood and respected her hesitancy to have children, considering she didn’t know anything about her heritage. Heaven knew what genes she’d be passing on. She missed him, and tried to be grateful for the few months they’d shared together.
Pushing the sorrows of the past aside, Leila was going to ask more details about their young patients, but in that moment both their pagers went off.
“They’re here,” he said, leaving the staff break room in a rush to get out to the trauma room. Leila followed close on his heels, her previous exhaustion quickly submerged beneath a fresh wave of adrenaline.
“Danny is the more seriously injured of the two,” Kylie Germaine was saying, as the gurneys were wheeled in. Leila was surprised to see Quinn Torres walking on the opposite side of the gurney from Kylie, hanging on to the boy’s hand. What on earth had he been doing on the sledding hill? “Danny is six years old, weighs an estimated thirty pounds and has sustained a head injury and possible fractured left tibia.”
“And what about the second victim?” Leila asked, not willing to take only the paramedic’s word about which patient was worse, no matter how much she liked and trusted Kylie. She needed to make her own judgment.
Quinn opened his mouth, but Kylie put a hand on his arm and continued, not giving him the chance to interrupt.
“Charlie Atkins is also six years old, also estimated to be about thirty pounds and he doesn’t seem to have any obvious signs of injury,” Kylie informed them. “Charlie’s vitals are stable. Danny Torres was in the front of the sled and took the brunt of the force when they hit the tree.”
Danny Torres? Leila suppressed a spurt of surprise in discovering Quinn had a son. She never would have guessed him to be a father. Did Quinn have a wife, too?
And why did she care?
Her gaze centered on the boy. Danny was crying, but not making much noise, his sobs choked as if he was afraid to make any sound. Her heart melted in empathy. She crossed over to him, trying to ignore Quinn’s sharp, penetrating gaze.
