Connor must have heard the assent in both his and the doc’s silence, because he said, “We have to wait for Declan’s labs to come back to know exactly what we’re dealing with in this moment, right?”
“We do,” Tess said slowly.
“And he’s stable right now, so that’s another good thing. If it’s okay with you”—this, he aimed at Tess, and Declan could tell it wasn’t because he was trying to ease the situation. There was clearly trust there. Not to mention respect—“I can monitor him while we wait for the labs and Dr. Rosenthal’s consult. It’ll give Declan a chance to rest while his blood sugar continues to stabilize, and then we can go into this armed with more knowledge as we decide the next steps. Sound good?”
Tess’s look said Connor had pulled exactly nothing over on her, and yet, to Declan’s surprise, she lifted her hands. “Rest never hurts anything. I’ll have Young page Rosenthal for the consult and keep her eyes wide for the labs. But if anything changes, and I do mean anything, and the first thing you do isn’t to page me…”
“Understood,” Connor said. “If anything changes, you’ll be the first to know.”
“I’d better be.” Returning her gaze back to Declan’s, she lifted a brow and gave up a smile that was all promise.
“We’ll talk more later, Irish.”
Damn it, he was going to feel that smile for a month. “I’ve no doubt.”
He waited until Tess had exited the room and pulled the exam room door shut behind her before sliding a glance at Connor. “Is she always like this?”
“Nope,” he replied brightly, the big, goofy-ass grin that Declan knew so well and had missed just as hard flashing over his face. “She’s usually much worse.”
Why, why, why was that fierceness such a turn-on? “Good to know.”
“It’s also not really the point.” Connor’s grin disappeared as if it had never existed, emotion sticking between Declan’s ribs by way of his friend’s stare. “I know we don’t talk as much as we used to when we were active duty, but still. Two years, Dec? I can’t believe you didn’t say anything about this.”
Declan let a breath escape on a slow huff. He’d known the time would come for this conversation. That it was, in truth, overdue. He just hadn’t thought he’d be tethered to a fecking hospital bed when he and Connor got down to it.
“I know, and I didn’t mean to keep it from you on purpose, like a secret. But you were here across the country, livin’ yer own life. And for the first year and a half, things were manageable, y’know? Not really so bad. Not once I got a routine down, anyway.”
“Still serious enough that you were discharged from active duty early.”
Hell. Connor always did get right to the point. “A chronic medical condition makes you a weak link,” Declan said, the words somehow grinding past the knot in his throat. They were true, of course, and as desperate as he’d been to stay with the only family he’d known since his Ma had passed, he’d never, ever endanger his unit.
“It’s not your fault that you’re diabetic.” Connor straightened against his chair. “And it doesn’t make you weak.”
“Got me booted from the Air Force,” Declan returned, more bitterly than he’d intended. But really, what did it matter? The past was over. Done. He’d moved on, because he’d had to. “Anyway, I was okay for a while. Went back to LA, got in good with the VA there. My doc and my trainer got me into a good routine to stay as healthy as I could.”
“Wait.” Connor’s brows V’ed inward with thought. “The same trainer who hooked you up with the photographer who offered you your first modeling gig?”
Finally, a smile Declan didn’t have to work for. “Yeah.” Nic was a pit bull parading as a pussycat, but she’d been a good friend. At least, as much as he’d let her be. “The photographer’s another client of hers. Turns out, modeling’s great work once you build a knack for it. The shooting schedule’s pretty flexible, and I had to keep fit anyway. Might as well put it to good use.”
He was glossing over how hard it had been to get in front of the camera those first few times. How patient the photographer, Chris, had been, showing him how to pose and taking a billion shots just to get a precious few that worked. Most importantly, how he’d had to learn to make it all an act, so the camera never, ever exposed anything real.
Declan bit down on the thought and continued. “I started feeling off about six months ago. Thought maybe I was trainin’ too hard, but Nic shoveled my arse to Dr. Trufant’s. My endocrinologist at the VA,” he added. “She ran all the tests, and my right kidney functions were way lower than they’d been six months prior. She put me on different meds, those ACE inhibitors? Said they might help manage things for now, but…”
“Your left kidney can only carry you for so long,” Connor added on a curse. “Have you been on the transplant list since then?”
“Five months,” Declan said in agreement. “But Trufant told me that between trying to find a match and the fact that I’m young and healthier than most patients on the list—for now, anyway—I should expect to wait years.”
Years he wouldn’t have without dialysis. He might not be at risk of dying any time soon—at least, not from this, if the meds did what they could, for as long as they could—but the kidney disease was going to make him worse, day by day. By the time a kidney appeared, who knew if he’d even be healthy enough for a transplant.
If a kidney ever appeared at all.
All things Connor knew and was thinking, if the hard press of his mouth was anything to go by. “It’s not an ideal situation.”
“It’s a shite situation.” Declan’s laugh brooked zero joy, but it was better than the alternative.
Hope. Ha. What a fucking joke.
One his friend was apparently in on. “Yes, but it’s not an impossible situation. We just need a better solution, that’s all.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, my options are pretty limited,” Declan pointed out. Dr. Trufant was as good as they came, but even she’d had to admit that the meds and an eventual transplant were the best (read: only) shot he really had at living a normal life.
“Not necessarily.” Connor leaned forward, propping his forearms over his thighs as he speared Declan with an all-too-knowing look. “I think you should consider Dr. Michaelson’s suggestion to look into a trial. There are tons of new drugs and therapies being tested every year, and—”
“No.” The machine next to his gurney flashed with all sorts of numbers and upward lines, and damn it, Declan hated every ounce of this. “I just…it feels like an experiment,” he lied lamely.
“Okay, well, it sort of is,” Connor admitted. “But trials are controlled experiments with treatments that have already been tested in other ways and approved by governing bodies. So it’s not like you’re going to turn green or grow a second thumb or anything.”
Declan deadpanned, “Well, that’s a relief.”
Not that Connor was deterred. “In a way, it actually is. Your health is monitored really closely when you participate in a trial, so you get a lot of care. Everything is run by medical professionals and documented to the gills, so there’s little room for error, and in a lot of cases, the treatments really do improve the participants’ health and quality of life.”
Fucking Connor, had to go and make it sound all sensible. At least Declan had a work-around. “Dr. Trufant never mentioned trying for one.”
“That’s true,” Connor said. “But Dr. Michaelson is right. There could be really valid reasons for that. Look, I know better than to try and tell you what to do. You’re a grown-ass adult.” He paused for a smile that softened the rest. “But if you want my medical advice—and I’m thinking you might, since you hauled your sorry ass all the way across the country to see me—I’ll tell you that I think a trial is worth looking into.”
Declan let his gaze travel to the door, his thoughts going along for the ride. “And you trust her?”
“Who, Tess?” Connor let go of a soft laugh. “With
my life.”
A thought occurred to Declan then, chased by the bitter aftertaste of the glucose gel. “You and the doc. You two never…?”
“What, dated?” His laughter increased in both volume and intensity. “No. God, no. I mean, I love her like a sister. A really smart, really sarcastic sister who sort of scares me, but still. That’s all.”
“But you trust her with your life,” Declan pointed out. He’d known Connor for a long time, and they’d seen a lot of things together that most people couldn’t even nightmare up.
“I do. Look, I know she’s a hardass, and you’re a hardass, too. But I trust Tess like I trust you. She’s had my back when a lot of other people wouldn’t have.” A look crossed Connor’s face, then, one that Declan would’ve called wistful if it hadn’t disappeared too fast for him to give it a closer inspection. “I’m not saying you have to like Dr. Michaelson. All I’m asking is that you give her medical advice a shot.”
If the seriousness in Connor’s words hadn’t done it, the pure truth on his face would have, and ah, hell.
Problem is, y’do like her a bit, now don’t you?
A knock at the door had them both looking up, and Declan heaved a silent breath of relief. Saved by the blonde.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt,” the woman said. She was knockout beautiful, from her tastefully twisted-up hair and ice-blue eyes to the expertly tailored blouse and skirt on her nearly six-foot frame. “Tess called and said you might need me?”
Even a blind man half out of his mind would be able to see that this was Connor’s woman. His smile was practically its own living thing. “Hey. Yeah. Come on in.” The tension in the big guy’s shoulders eased visibly as the woman neared. “Harlow, this is my buddy, Declan, from the Air Force. Dec, this is my girlfriend, Harlow Davenport.”
Her eyes widened behind the dark red frames of her glasses. “Oh. Oh. I’ve heard so much about you,” she said, her gaze growing concerned in less than a beat as she took in the whole hospital-bed/IV-tubes scenario. “Is everything okay?”
There were few things Declan hated more than sympathy, even though Harlow’s was clearly well-meaning. “It’s a long story, and boring, to boot. I’ll be fine.”
“Declan,” Connor warned, but he waved him off.
“I’m not goin’ anywhere. So, for now, can’t you humor me? After all, it’s not every day I get to meet the woman who brought a big oaf like you to yer knees.”
Connor exhaled. “You know you can’t put this off for long,” he murmured, just quietly enough to keep the words from Harlow’s ears.
Oh, Declan did. Because he’d seen the fire in Tess’s eyes as she’d promised she’d be back, and he knew that it meant he was far, far from done with her.
5
“I am an absolute fucking genius!”
Tess spoke the words to no one in particular, since the tiny corner of the medical library where she’d been hiding-slash-doing research was dead empty. But the electronic tablet in front of her didn’t lie.
There was a trial—no, the perfect trial—for Declan, and it was right here in Remington, with one of Dr. Rosenthal’s colleagues at the helm. Granted, there were a lot of meds that had to be administered at very specific intervals, and a lot more observation and tests that needed to be done by a licensed medical professional, so getting Declan in might take some convincing. But while, to her mother’s dismay, she’d never learned which fork to use for salad or how to make perfect polite small talk (fine. Any small talk. Or anything polite), Tess did have one skillset at which she excelled.
When it came to patient care, she was one hundred percent determined to do whatever it took.
This trial could save Declan’s life by keeping him healthy and off dialysis while he waited for a new kidney. And that meant Tess was getting him in.
No matter what she had to do to make it happen.
“There you are!” came the familiar voice of her best friend and fellow doctor, Charleston Becker, from behind her, and only then did Tess realize that her legs had auto-piloted her not just out of the library, but halfway down the hall, too.
“Oh, hey,” Tess said, slowing only marginally as they headed for the elevators. With any luck, Rosenthal would be in his office. If not, she’d have to page him. Or figure out where he was and wait, toe tapping and arms crossed, outside of the room. Whatever.
Charlie grinned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Word on the street is you’re treating Connor’s friend. The cover model.”
Her tone tacked on no less than nine pounds of curiosity, and shit, Tess had to tread with extreme caution. Charlie knew her better than anyone, and while Tess hadn’t disclosed exactly how filthy or how numerous her fantasies of Declan had been over the past few months—she liked to read, so sue her—Charlie would see right through her if she wasn’t careful.
“Who told you that?”
“Um, everyone,” Charlie volleyed, arching a copper-colored brow. “You don’t really think that the guy who’s on the cover of pretty much every single romance novel that all the nurses and half the doctors in this place trade like stockbrokers on Wall Street could literally fall into your arms outside of your ED and it would stay quiet, do you? He’s as hot as a freaking supernova, Tess!”
Tess frowned and pressed the button to summon the elevator, then pressed it again for good measure. “I’m firing everyone, I swear to God.”
Charlie laughed, undeterred. “Oh, come on. You know you can’t do that, and Connor introduced me to him and gave me the scoop, anyway. I take it you got Declan’s labs back?”
Now this, Tess could do. This was business, and she and Charlie consulted on patients all the time.
“Yep.” She tapped through the tablet she’d tucked under her arm when she’d left the library, offering it up as she pressed the button for the elevator again.
“Ugh,” Charlie said, scanning the results, then the updated vitals that had been recorded in his electronic chart. “Well, his glucose levels are much more stable, but…”
“They won’t stay that way for long on his current course of treatment. I know.”
“So, what are you going to do?” Charlie asked, and finally, finally, the dammed elevator doors opened.
“I’m going to find him a new course of treatment.”
“Does Rosenthal know that?” Charlie asked wryly, passing the tablet back to Tess.
Tess couldn’t help it. She let her triumphant smile sneak out. “He’s about to.”
“Good luck!” Charlie waved as Tess jumped onto the elevator and hit the button for the fourth floor. Thankfully, Rosenthal was in his office, and he ushered her over the threshold with a polite smile.
“Dr. Michaelson. I take it you’re here to talk about Declan Riley.”
For a brief second, she was tempted to let her sarcasm flag fly and tell him no, she was there to ask whether or not he thought the Remington Rogues had a shot at winning The Cup again this year, but she clamped down on the nervous urge. Pissing him off wouldn’t work in her favor, and he could probably make a great case with his colleague, Dr. Gupta, for Declan’s eligibility for this trial.
“I am. Have you had a chance to review the medical records he brought with him from the VA?” Please, please, please, please…
Dr. Rosenthal nodded. “I have.” Yes! “They’re very thorough, and his last set of scans is fairly recent. Five months ago, I believe. I’ve ordered another MRI, just to be sure,” he added, likely because he’d caught the way Tess had opened her mouth to argue. “But unfortunately, after examining him and reviewing his health history, I’ve come to the same conclusion as his endocrinologist at the VA. Those ACE inhibitors, along with a continued health care routine and regular glucose monitoring, is really all he can do until a kidney becomes available.”
Tess’s brows flew up. “I’m sorry?”
“Come on, Tess,” Rosenthal tried. But she wasn’t having it.
“Come on, what? He’s the perfect ca
ndidate for a trial.”
It was Rosenthal’s turn to lift his salt and pepper brows at the stretch, but Tess was in for a penny. No sense in not taking aim at the whole damn pound. “The treatment he’d get as a trial participant could make a huge difference in his quality of life, not to mention in preserving his health so that when a kidney does become available, the surgery has a greater chance of success.”
“It could,” Rosenthal allowed. “But there’s a lot more to Mr. Riley’s situation than that.”
An exasperated huff crossed Tess’s lips, unbidden. “You know as well as I do that meds are only going to hold his health together for so long. He’s going to be waiting years for a kidney! And in that time, dialysis will become a real probability.”
“Probabilities aren’t guarantees. It depends on the timing,” Rosenthal allowed at the high-level frown Tess had let escape. “Look, I want to help Mr. Riley, Tess. I really do. But you’re talking about getting a lot of stars to align, just right. Finding a trial where he’d be a good fit—”
“I already did.”
Well, that got him. Tess pulled out the tablet, willing her hands to steadiness she sure as shit didn’t feel as she opened the page for the trial and handed it over. “Dr. Gupta is about to start a trial right here in Remington, isn’t she? For a new medication that could slow kidney damage in nephropathy patients?”
“Yes, but…” Rosenthal took the tablet, shaking his head a few seconds later. “The VA won’t cover this. At least, not at this stage in the game, with him still being relatively stable. In fact, I’m willing to bet it’s why his doctor there never mentioned a trial as an option in the first place.”
Tess blinked, certain she’d misheard. “Are you serious? Why the hell not?”
“Because there’s already a viable treatment plan in place.”
Oh, for the love of… “It’s not viable long-term!”
“Maybe not,” Rosenthal agreed. “But it’s viable right now, and as far as they’re concerned, right now is what counts.”
Beyond Just Us (Remington Medical Book 4): A Single Parent Marriage of Convenience Romance Page 4
