Shadows of Recovery (Everhart Family #3)

Chapter 5

Five

I n the two weeks before she started her time in the ER at Waverly County Hospital, Tristan introduced Sophie to the Blackwell Institute, a facility that would soon become familiar to her.

During this period, they shared several enjoyable dates, including dinners, museum visits, movie nights, and evenings spent watching TV, which often ended with her falling asleep against him. Despite her busy personal life, Sophie maintained a professional balance, working three shifts per week at Waverly Junction Community Hospital while also completing her orientation at Waverly County.

Three weeks later, the first shift for Sophie to operate without a preceptor in the emergency room at Waverly County Hospital was unlike anything she had experienced before. The weather outside was horrendous, with sleet and snow creating treacherous conditions. Inside, the ER was busy, filled with patients suffering from flu, chest pain, and a variety of other medical emergencies. On the trauma side, there were multiple car accidents and slip-and-falls, keeping everyone on their toes.

Sophie and her best friend, Jenna Cade, another ER physician, exchanged weary but determined smiles as they moved swiftly through the crowded ER. "We should be wearing roller skates to keep up with all this," Jenna joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Tell me about it," Sophie replied with a chuckle. "I think we should petition for skates in the next budget meeting."

Despite the overwhelming number of patients, the superior nursing staff helped them keep up with the influx. But their pace came to a screeching halt when the fire department brought in a sixteen-year-old victim of a car accident. He and four others had been driving back from lunch to high school when they slid on the icy road, crashed, and flipped the car. All of the teenagers were in critical condition, but the sixteen-year-old had snapped his neck and crushed his chest. He arrived in cardiac arrest.

Sophie worked on the young man with fierce determination, unwilling to give up even when the situation seemed hopeless. She performed CPR, intubated him, and administered drugs, all while a part of her knew it was too late. When she finally stopped, the loss pressed down on her. She knew she had to deliver the devastating news to his parents.

She found the parents in the waiting room, their faces pale and anxious. Taking a deep breath, she approached them. "Mr. and Mrs. Turner, I'm Dr. Everhart," she began gently. "I'm so sorry, but despite our best efforts, your son didn't survive the accident."

The father's face contorted with grief and disbelief. "No! No, that can't be! He was just going to lunch with his friends!" he cried out.

"I'm terribly sorry," Sophie said, her voice breaking. "We did everything we could."

The father's grief turned into rage. "You didn't do enough!" he shouted, his fist flying out before Sophie could react. The blow connected with her nose, blood erupting, and she stumbled backward, her head slamming into the wall. Pain exploded in her skull, and she felt a warm trickle of fluid as she collapsed to the floor.

Nurses screamed for help. Pandemonium erupted in the room. Security rushed in, restraining the distraught father. Jenna, witnessing the whole scene, immediately ran to Sophie, her face white with worry.

"Call in two more doctors and page Dr. Blackwell!" Jenna ordered the unit secretary. "Sophie, sweetie, stay with me. We're going to get you to the CT scanner."

Sophie nodded weakly, her vision blurred. She could hear the commotion around her, but all she could focus on was Jenna's voice.

* * *

Tristan was sitting in a budget meeting when his pager went off. He glanced at it and saw Jenna's message: "Sophie victim of violence. Concussion and bleeding. Sending her to CT. Additional physician staffing requested."

His heart skipped a beat as worry surged within him. "I need to go," he said abruptly to the room, not waiting for a response before rushing out.

By the time he reached the ER, Sophie was already inside the CT scanner. He intercepted Jenna in the hallway. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice tight with concern.

Jenna quickly explained the situation, her own worry evident. "A distraught father. It was a horrible accident, Tristan. The kid was dead on arrival, and Sophie had to tell the parents. The father lost it and hit her."

Tristan's jaw clenched. "Where is she now?"

"She's in the CT scanner. We're checking for any serious injury. She was bleeding pretty badly from her nose and the back of her head."

Tristan ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady his emotions. "Thank you, Jenna. I'll take it from here."

He hurried to the CT scanner, where Sophie was just being wheeled out. Her eyes were closed, and her face was pale, but she opened them when she heard his voice. "Tristan," she murmured, her voice weak.

"I'm here, Sophie.” He took her hand. "We're going to get you taken care of. Just hang in there."

As soon as things settled down for a little bit, Tristan retreated to his office and dropped his head into his hands. His mind was racing, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t shake the image of Sophie lying on the stretcher in and out of consciousness after being punched by a patient. The chaos was overwhelming, but now that the immediate danger had passed, all he could feel was fear and helplessness.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Get it together," he muttered under his breath. Sophie needed him to be strong, to be her doctor, not just the man who cared for her. He had to stitch up the gash on her head, but his hands were trembling.

After a moment, he reached for his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found the name he was looking for. Chris Skylar, the chief psychiatrist for the Blackwell Institute. They’d known each other since their Army days, had seen each other through some of the toughest moments of their lives. Chris had been there when Tristan’s wife died, and now Tristan needed him again.

He hit the call button, holding the phone to his ear as it rang. On the third ring, Chris picked up.

"Tristan?" Chris’s voice was steady, grounding. "What’s going on, man?"

"Chris..." Tristan hesitated, his voice tight. "I... I need you to talk me down."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Chris’s tone softened. "What happened?"

Tristan rubbed his face, trying to find the words. "It’s Sophie. She... she got punched by a patient today.”

"Is she okay?" Chris asked immediately, concern lacing his words.

"She will be.” The words felt like a hollow reassurance. "But I’m rattled, Chris. I have to stitch her head, and I can’t even keep my hands steady."

"Tristan, listen to me," Chris said, his voice firm but compassionate. "You’ve been through worse. Remember the field hospital in Kandahar? You were under fire, and you still managed to save lives. You can do this."

"This is different," Tristan whispered, the vulnerability in his voice surprising even himself. "It’s Sophie. She’s... she’s gotten under my skin, man. Into my heart."

Chris was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his tone was gentler. "You care about her."

"Yeah," Tristan admitted. "More than I expected. More than I probably should."

"You’re not going to lose her," Chris assured him. "Not like you lost Mimi. Sophie’s tough, and she’s got you looking out for her. Focus on that. Be the doctor she needs right now. You can fall apart later."

Tristan closed his eyes, letting Chris’s words sink in. "You’re right," he said finally. "I can do this. I have to do this."

"That’s the Tristan I know," Chris said, a note of pride in his voice. "Now, go take care of her. And call me if you need to talk more, okay?"

"Thanks, Chris." Tristan felt a bit of the tension in his chest ease. "I’ll see you at Friday’s meeting.”

They hung up, and Tristan sat there for a moment, gathering his strength. Then, with a deep breath, he stood up, his hands steady. Sophie needed him, and he wasn’t going to let her down. Not now, not ever.

The next few hours were a blur of tests and treatments. Sophie had a concussion and a deep cut to the back of the head that needed stitches, but, thankfully, no fractures or serious brain injuries. Tristan oversaw her care.

As he carefully stitched the gash on Sophie’s head, his fingers moving with a precision that masked the anxiety he felt, he couldn’t help but steal glances at her face, searching for any sign of discomfort. Sophie winced slightly, but when their eyes met, she offered him a small, reassuring smile.

“You’re doing great, Tristan,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady despite the situation.

He paused briefly, his elbow gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her forehead. “I should be saying that to you.” His voice was filled with a mix of affection and worry. “I’m so sorry this happened, Sophie.”

Sophie reached up, her fingers lightly squeezing his upper arm, her touch warm and comforting. “I’m okay,” she murmured, her eyes holding his with unwavering trust. “Especially with you here.”

Her words, so simple yet filled with a deep sense of reassurance, helped ease the tightness in his chest. He continued stitching, a wave of protective tenderness washing over him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, the promise clear in his voice as he finished the last stitch, knowing his care for her was something that would only grow stronger.

He admitted her to the surgical floor for observation while also treating other ER patients.

When the storm outside and in the ER finally subsided, and Sophie was resting in a quiet room, Tristan made his way to sit by her bed, holding her hand. "I'm so sorry this happened to you.” His voice was filled with guilt and concern. "I should have been there. With the bad weather, I should have called in more staff."

“It's not your fault, Tristan," Sophie replied gently despite her headache and fatigue. "You couldn't have known."

He looked into her eyes, his own filled with a mix of emotions. "I care about you, Sophie. More than I can say. Seeing you hurt like this... it’s tearing me apart."

Sophie squeezed his hand weakly, a small smile on her lips. "I care about you too.”

Tristan leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. I promise I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud. The last woman he said them to was dead.

* * *

Tristan sat in the small hospital room, his hand gently wrapped around Sophie's as she slept. The door burst open, and Sophie's family flooded in, their faces a mix of concern and relief. He’d been so focused on Sophie, he hadn’t even registered that her family would be allowed immediate access, but given the circumstances, it made sense. Escorted in by varied badge holders, each introduced themselves to the doctor in the room.

“Liv,” Sophie breathed out as her sister, a detective, stepped forward, her badge visible as she moved swiftly to Sophie’s side. Molly, her other sister, was right behind her, with Olivia’s fiancé, Jackson, a firefighter still in uniform, close behind. Ethan, Molly’s fiancé, flashed his FBI ID at the door before stepping inside, concern evident in his eyes.

Isobel and Ruth entered next, their expressions a mix of relief and worry, followed by Charlotte, Sophie’s mother, who still carried the presence of a retired deputy chief. Her mother’s boyfriend, who introduced himself as Alex Marcel, was at her side, his protective gaze sweeping the room.

Tristan stepped back slightly, giving them space but staying close enough to monitor Sophie. He could see how deeply they all cared for her, the bonds of family and love evident in the way they surrounded her. Sophie looked at each of them, her face lighting up with a mixture of relief and gratitude as she murmured, “You all came...”

“Of course we did,” Liv said firmly, squeezing her sister’s hand. “We’re not going anywhere.”

A warmth spread through him knowing Sophie was surrounded by people who loved her so deeply. It reassured him, too, that she had such a strong support system. When he caught Sophie’s eye, she gave him a small smile, the trust between them unspoken but clear. He knew now, more than ever, that he wasn’t just a doctor to her—he was someone she counted on, just as much as her family.

Ethan, whom he remembered was a special agent in charge with the FBI, glanced at Tristan, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Doctor, are we interrupting you?” There was a note of suspicion in his voice.

“This is Dr. Tristan Blackwell,” Sophie said, her voice steady. “He’s the Chief of Emergency Services here.”

Tristan nodded politely, but he could feel the scrutiny from the room. It was clear they all wanted answers.

Alex, whom Tristan remembered was an investigator with South Dakota’s US Attorney’s office, asked, “Dr. Blackwell, have the police been notified?”

Sophie took a deep breath. “It was a distraught father. I’d just told him his son died. I won’t press charges.”

Tristan frowned. It was clear by his expression he disagreed with her. Sophie reached for his hand, and the rest of the room followed the action.

Isobel smiled. “Jackson, Ethan, and Alex, there’s something Sophie needs to tell you all. Tristan and Soph… they’ve been seeing each other.”

When her other sisters smiled too, Tristan felt their collective gaze. He had maintained a professional demeanor throughout Sophie's ordeal, but his concern for her was evident to anyone paying attention.

Charlotte stepped forward, her eyes softening as she looked at Tristan. “We know,” she said. “We’ve maintained Sophie’s confidence. But now…”

Tristan nodded. “Sophie and I have been seeing each other for a short time. We’ve kept it professional at work, but I care deeply for her.”

Ethan crossed his arms, still skeptical. “And how does this affect your work relationship? Isn’t there a conflict of interest?”

“We’re handling it,” Sophie said firmly. “We’ve already spoken with HR, and after this, we’ll be having a meeting to discuss the next necessary steps.”

Charlotte reached out and patted Tristan’s hand. “Thank you for being there for my daughter,” she said. “I can see you care about her.”

“I do.” Tristan gave Sophie’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I care about her very much.”