“O-okay, yes, but I should tell you that I called—”
I hang up before she can finish.
My fingers grip the phone so tight it might snap. The room narrows, everything around me fading.
Marigold.
I move before I even think, striding toward the nurses' station.
“Page Dr. Patel to take over my cases,” I order one of the nurses, already ripping off my gloves. “I need to be in Emergency.”
She blinks. “Is everything—?”
“Just do it.”
I don’t wait for a response. I snatch my coat off the back of a chair and shove my arms into the sleeves. My pulse is hammering, breath short.
I know injuries. I know head trauma. I’ve seen the worst case scenarios a hundred times. Intercranial swelling. Hemorrhage. Stroke. Death.
What if—
No.
I push the thought away and move faster.
***
The next fifteen minutes are unbearable.
I pace the entrance, jaw clenched, heart pounding. Every time the sliding doors open, my breath catches—only to release in frustration when it’s not them.
“She’ll be alright, Calloway,” Dr. Savoie, the ER attending says.
“She better be,” I snap.
She tosses a knowing glance to one of her nurses, still working on a chart with an ease that unsettles me.
Then, finally, Roselyn rushes inside, holding Marigold’s hand.
She looks small. Too small. Her cheeks are pale, her lower lip wobbles. There’s a bandage just above her eyebrow, stark against her skin.
I’m moving before I can think. “Marigold.”
Her eyes find me, glassy and wide. “Dad.”
I crouch instantly, scanning her face, her pupils, her expression. “Where does it hurt?”
She swallows. “My head.”
I rest a hand against her cheek. She’s cold. Not dangerously, but enough to send another spike of fear through me. Savoie and a nurse close ranks around me, Savoie gutsy enough to remind me that I cannot be my own daughter’s doctor right now.
I ignore her.
“Did you black out?” I ask Marigold.
She shakes her head. “No. But everything kinda spun for a minute.”
My throat is tight. “I’m sorry,” Roselyn rushes. “She was running to get the remote, and—”