Page 22 of Asystole

Good times.

I wolf down a quick lunch and manage to make it through the rest of the workday relatively unscathed. No tempting flirtations with Sarah, I didn’t totally zone out while my attending was talking to me, and I didn’t fuck anything up in the OR. I even had a chance to run up to the sixth floor for a quick visit with Marcy before grabbing a shower in the locker room and attending my mandatory dinner.

After stuffing myself full of chicken cordon bleu, mashed potatoes, and red wine, I make my way to Logan’s apartment complex.

It’s a little farther from the hospital than my own place, but back roads make it accessible without having to go through any of the popular, traffic-heavy intersections. The building is plain, and although it’s dark out, I don’t see any signs for a pool or fitness room. It’s definitely utilitarian and an older property. Despite all that, I’m sure the rent is still astronomical.

I have to park a block over because it’s late, so everyone is home and occupying the curb-side spaces. Climbing out of my Jeep, I hear the beep of the lock and make my way to Logan’s door, knocking twice.

After spending the last two and a half hours with a bunch of salespeople and other residents I didn’t know, the sight of his familiar face makes me smile.

Until I catch the look on his face.

Anxiety pinches his brow and has his mouth turned down into a frown.

“Hey, you okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. Come on in,” Logan says, stepping aside so I can enter his place.

The first thing I notice is that the walls are bare. There’s not a single photo or personal item anywhere. His furniture is the minimum required to consider this space habitable, and none of it matches. His eyes are bloodshot, but I don’t smell any alcohol on his breath.

“Logan, what’s going on?” I ask, concern lacing my voice.

“This is really fucking embarrassing, but can you help me with CPR?” he asks.

“What?” I ask, totally confused. “Don’t you have to be certified to fly?”

“Yeah, but at Ricochet,” he clears his throat, “Stone always took care of it if there was a need. I just had to fly.”

“What about passing the test for the recert?” I ask, following him slowly into his living room, where I stand corrected.

There is a TV mounted on the wall, so he has something on his walls, I guess. A low server sits underneath the TV, housing his router and some other technological device.

Logan plops down on the small couch. Due to a lack of other options, I sit down directly beside him. The room, although small and barely furnished, is clean, smells nice, and is free of the normal clutter I’d expect from a bachelor.

“I know enough to pass the test,” Logan says. “It’s easy when you do the online module and then immediately do the hands-on portion, and no one is actually counting on you. Plus, everyone knows those instructors barely care if you get it right. They just have to say you showed up.”

“So, what’s different now?” I ask, wondering if he’s been on edge like this all day.

Logan swallows hard, but stays quiet, waiting for me to connect the dots.

“Does this have something to do with the flight you took today?” I ask.

Logan rubs the back of his neck, exposing the tattoo of a mountain range on the inside of his right biceps. My eyes snag on the way it dances as he moves his arm. The night we went climbing, his T-shirt hid this one from me.

“Yeah,” he finally admits. “My flight nurse needed my help, and I fucking froze,” he says, the shame washing over him in waves. “Recent budget cuts mean I fly with one flight nurse instead of two these days, which is insane for critical cases, and when she asked for my help stabilizing a patient before takeoff, I didn’t know what to do.”

I place my hand on his knee.

“Hey man, it’s normal to choke like that. Especially if you’re not expecting to have to jump in and contribute.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “But it was embarrassing as fuck and dangerous for the patient. Thankfully, the flight nurse was able to multitask, but she shouldn’t have had to.”

“You’re going to lose patients now and then, even if you bring your A-game. It’s just part of the job,” I say gently, hearing my parents’ words as clear as day. I can’t even believe I’m repeating them because they sound so crass to me.

“I know that,” Logan says, pulling my attention back to him. “But I don’t want to lose them because of my ineptitude. And for the record, last I checked, that lady was still alive.”

“I know she is,” I tell him honestly. “I rounded on her before my dinner tonight.” I give him a reassuring smile before continuing. “Okay, so the only way to get comfortable performing CPR in an actual emergency is to be so familiar with the steps that you could do them in your sleep,” I tell him.