and put his hand on his shoulder. “Greg, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”
Greg looked around the room and frowned. “What happened? Did one of the guys get hurt? Who?”
“No. It’s Sherri.”
“Sherri? What about her?”
“She was in a multicar accident this morning. They airlifted her to the hospital…alive when they got her to the hospital, but I heard she was in critical condition.”
Greg was thankful there was a chair nearby. His knees shook so hard he sank into the chair before his reaction became apparent to everyone. He clenched his jaw.
“I figured that since the two of you had some history together that you’d want to know,” Pete went on, sounding sympathetic.
Greg shook his head, feeling dazed. He pushed his hand through his hair and forced himself to look at Pete. “They’re sure it was her?”
“Yeah. A semi jackknifed when he tried to stop on the freeway and he plowed into her. She was in the last car of a string of them that were stopped due to an earlier accident. Six vehicles were in the smash-up and there were serious injuries in several of the cars, but she caught the brunt of it.”
Greg closed his eyes. Sherri? Near death? Couldn’t be.
“What hospital?” he finally asked.
Pete told him.
“Thanks for letting me know,” Greg said, and left.
He drove to the hospital on autopilot. He parked near the emergency entrance and strode across the parking lot. Inside, the place teemed with people; doctors and nurses moved among patients with various injuries. It looked like a war zone, with some of the injured on stretchers and others in chairs. The Emergency Medical Technicians from the various ambulances outside were working on those victims not as severely injured as the ones they’d brought in.
He quickly checked each stretcher and when he didn’t see her, went over to the nurses’ station.
“I’m looking for one of the accident victims who were airlifted to this hospital. Sherri Masterson Hogan.”
The harried nurse said, “Sir, you can see that we’re overwhelmed with all the injuries here and—”
“Just tell me where they took her and I’ll be out of here.”
She hurried past him, shaking her head.
He turned around and faced the noise and confusion around him. He knew he wouldn’t get any answers here.
Greg continued down the hallway, ignoring signs that read Do Not Enter and shoving doors open, looking into each cubicle for signs of her. A member of the hospital staff stopped him. Greg checked his name tag, which read Dr. Luke Davis, and figured he was one of the doctors on duty.
“Sir, I must ask you to return to the waiting area. Someone will help you as soon as possible.”
Greg said as clearly as he could with his jaws clenched, “Dr. Davis. I’m looking for Sherri Masterson Hogan, who was in that six-car smash-up. I’m told she was airlifted here and I intend to find her.”
The doctor nodded. “I see. Are you a family member?”
“I’m her husband.”
What difference did it make, anyway? He was determined to see her, regardless of their relationship.
“Hold on. I’ll see what I can find out for you,” Dr. Davis said, striding down the hallway, the tails of his medical coat flapping around him.
Greg paced back and forth, dodging carts, beds and medical personnel until the doctor returned.
“She’s in surgery.”
“What are her injuries?”
Dr. Davis shook his head. “You’ll need to speak to the surgeon about that.”
“Where can I find him when he gets out of surgery?”
“You can wait for him upstairs, in Intensive Care. He’ll look for family members when he finishes.”
Greg swallowed. “I want to see her as soon as possible.”
“The surgeon will discuss that with you.”
Greg nodded, turned on his heel and headed toward the bank of elevators.
“Good luck,” Dr. Davis said behind him.
Greg rode the elevator to the next floor where the ICU was located. It was quiet on the ICU floor, which was a relief from the pandemonium downstairs. He pushed through double swinging doors and found the nurses’ station.
“Sir,” one of the nurses said, “you can’t come in here.”
“I’m waiting for Sherri Masterson Hogan to come out of surgery.”
She looked down at the desk and riffled through some files. She read some of the files before saying, “We have a Sherri Masterson who has been recently admitted.”
So she’d taken back her maiden name. Why wasn’t he surprised?
“Are you family?”
He’d already lied once. “Her husband.”
She nodded. “Good. We need to get more information on her.”
He took a deep breath. “Okay.”
She went down a list, asking questions. He knew her age, birthdate, even her blood type, but he had no idea where she lived these days, so he rattled off his own address.
After answering the rest of the questions, Greg wandered down the hallway to the ICU waiting room with the nurse’s promise that the doctor would be out to speak with him as soon as he was out of surgery.
Greg hated sitting around, but he had no intention of leaving the hospital until he knew more about Sherri’s injuries.
He wondered why he cared. He hadn’t seen or spoken to her in almost two years. Eighteen months, six days, to be precise.
She’d asked him not to contact her once everything had ended, and he’d determinedly followed her instructions. He’d almost convinced himself she was part of his past. He was so over her. Then what was he doing here? Why had he panicked at the thought that she could die?
For one thing, she was much too young, six years younger than his thirty-two years.
Just because she wanted no part of me didn’t mean she deserved to die.
The last six months they were together had been filled with so much tension that it had become a third party in their marriage. She’d withdrawn into herself. When he asked what was wrong, she told him that he was too secretive about his past and his background. She said she didn’t really know him at all.
Okay,
