by Amity Cross
“You have to see him at least,” Archer said with a shrug. “He’s a fighter. So are the parents. They’re waiting to see you.”
“What? You signed me up for this without even asking me first?” I wanted to throttle the asshole. “It’s a kid, Archer. A fucking kid. The chances of him coming out of a surgery like this alive—”
“Is slim. I know.” He shrugged again. “The parents are aware of the risks. I spelled it out to them in black and white just like every surgeon they’d been to see before me.”
“And they still want to go ahead with a surgical plan?”
“What would you do if it were your kid, Hol? Would you sit by and watch them die or exhaust every option there was trying to save them?”
I shook my head. I didn’t have kids, obviously, so I only knew how to fight in odds. There was a less than ten percent chance the kid would come out the other side alive and a less than five percent chance he’d ever walk again if a miracle happened.
“This is their last chance,” he went on. “I couldn’t turn them away.”
Dr. Desmond Archer had a fucking heart. I never thought I’d see the day.
“Isn’t this like malpractice or something?” I argued lamely.
“Stop thinking about your strike rate, and come and meet them.”
I tightened my arms around my chest. “Why? So you can get me emotionally involved so I can’t say no?”
He smiled and leaned in close. “I think it’s already too late for that.”
I sighed sharply. “Asshole.”
Archer began laughing and slid an arm around my waist, guiding me toward the door. “Let’s go, but mind your P’s and Q’s in front of the patient, Hol.”
6
Josh
The feeling started to return to my legs on the third day after I woke up in the hospital.
It began as a tingling sensation in my toes before feeling like a bad case of pins and needles. Sparks’s minion Harper told me it was normal and would go away before long, but it didn’t mean I’d get out of physical therapy. I’d be stuck in here for another couple of days until I got my full range of motion back before they’d let me go.
That’s how I found myself in a room a couple of floors down, giving the nurse who was helping me stand and shuffle around like an old man a hard time.
I stood, and instantly, the world would shift. The sensation in my legs was alien, almost like they weren’t mine at all, and a little painful the moment I tried to support my body weight. Being a fighter meant I had a lot of muscle density, and balancing that on shaky legs meant that I was one big dude with a huge-ass temper tantrum brewing.
“Fuck,” I cursed, sitting back on the edge of the wheelchair.
“Up,” the nurse commanded.
“You go up,” I retorted. “I feel like I’ve got a bad case of pins and needles. You know how it feels when you put pressure on that?”
“Stop complaining, Mr. Caplin. This is meant to be hard.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You look like you enjoy working out,” she said, thoroughly annoyed. “And now you want to sit on your ass?”
“Are you allowed to say ‘ass’ to patients like that?” I retorted.
The nurse glanced over my shoulder and straightened up. “Dr. Walsh,” she called out. “Maybe you can take this troublemaker off my hands? He is your patient.”
Turning my head, I found myself excited to see the illusive Sparks. It’d been a while since I’d seen her, and I kinda missed her smart mouth always cutting me down a size.
“Is he at it again?” she asked the nurse with a sigh.
“He’s got a temper the size of an elephant.”
“Is she allowed to talk to me like that?” I complained.
“It’s called tough love, Mr. Caplin,” Sparks declared. “And it’s an effective form of treatment.”
My skin began to prickle, and it wasn’t from the returning sensation in my legs. Tough love sounded like a hell of a lot of fun if you asked me. Especially if it was administered by Dr. Walsh.
She handed her tablet to the nurse and stood in front of me. Gesturing for me to stand, she said, “Up, Mr. Caplin. The sooner you’re on your feet, the sooner you’re back at the gym. I assume that gets you going?”
She had a point. Fighting was the thing that defined who I was, so the sooner I could get back there, the sooner I’d be back in the cage.
I peered at the ID tag pinned to her coat lapel and realized I didn’t know her first name. I’d gotten used to calling her Sparks so when I saw her name was Holly, it didn’t seem to fit. Dr. Holly Walsh.
“I’m not getting any younger, Mr. Caplin,” she scolded me, wiggling her fingers.
Grasping the armrests on the wheelchair, I pushed myself up with little effort and instantly felt that weird sensation in my legs again.
“Take a couple of steps for me,” she commanded.
“It feels weird as fuck,” I cursed.
“It’s meant to. Now stop being such a baby and walk.”
Taking a deep breath, I did as she commanded. It was such a simple thing, walking, but it isn’t until it is taken away from you that you understand just how much you rely on your mobility. And after being flat on my back for a week or so, I realized just how much I loved fighting. So, I had to walk.
I took a couple of shaky steps, using the bar that had been mounted against the wall to steady myself. It was awkward using my left hand, but my right was clad in what felt like a ton of plaster.
“He walks for the pretty doctor,” the nurse muttered, clearly pissed off.
“I’ll finish up this session,” Sparks told her, trying to hide her laughter.
The nurse sighed in relief and placed the tablet next to the wheelchair.
When she was out of earshot, I said, “Thank God you came along.”
“You should be nicer to the nurses,” Sparks scolded me. “They can make your life hell, you know. Charm a nurse and you get the good dessert and the better pillows.”
I raised an eyebrow, my left hand tightening around the beam.
“I can’t always be here to oversee your therapy,” she went on. “I do have other patients.”
“But I like you, Sparks. You get the best outta me.”
Her cheeks heated as she shook her head. “Why do you call me that?”
Lifting up my right arm, I picked up a strand of her wild, red hair that had come loose from her messy ponytail. “Sparks.”
“Oh,” she murmured, moving away just enough to make me drop my hand.
“I’m sorry I was such a jerk to you,” I said, feeling the dent in my pride. “When I first woke up.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Frowning, I took another step, my joints beginning to warm up.
“That’s it?” I asked. “You’re so chill about it.”
“It’s the job,” she replied. “Patients get angry. It’s understandable when something isn’t right with them or their family members. Especially when it’s unexpected.”
Thinking about my temper, I said, “Then you have more patience than me.”
She smiled. I could tell it was forced, but I didn’t press her—at least, not until we’d gone through the walking and the exercises that I’d been given to get my legs moving again. Nothing too strenuous until full sensation had returned.
“You’re worried about something,” I said when I couldn’t leave it any longer.
“That’s a daily occurrence around here,” she replied, raising her eyebrows.
Her reply didn’t fly, so I prodded a little harder. “No, it’s something more.”
“You really want to know?” she asked. “With all the problems you have to deal with?”
I shrugged, returning to the wheelchair as my legs started to ache. I guess I was still a little bruised from the beating I’d taken. “I’m sick of my problems. I’d rather hear about yours.”
“I’m your doctor, Josh.”
I co
cked my head to the side, the fact that she’d called me Mr. Caplin in front of the nurse not going over my head. Now that we were alone, it had returned to Josh.
I let my gaze run over her features, taking everything in. Her freckled nose, her honey coloured eyes that had flecks of dark brown through them, the way her hair escaped from her attempts at tying it back, and especially how her cheeks turned red when I stared at her. She thought I was hot.
“So what?” I argued. “I’m not telling anyone.” I didn’t have anyone to tell.
Leaning against the wall, she took a deep breath, her chest rising and looking really nice and full under those blue scrubs she wore. Like the typical bloke I was, I began to think about her naked, and my cock began to respond.
“I’ve got a difficult case, is all,” she said after a moment.
“It’s not looking good?”
“An eight-year-old boy,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “He’s got a nasty tumor fused to his vertebrae. The core is probably eating away at his bones to the point of no return, but it’s twisted around his spinal cord…”
“So it’s dangerous to operate?” I asked. “You might nick the nerves or something?”
She stared at me with a curious expression and nodded. “One slip and he could be permanently paralyzed if he regains feeling at all, but that’s if we can find a way to operate. There may not be a way to remove it…and he might not even be able to handle the surgery.”
“I know the feeling,” I retorted, pushing myself to my feet to do another lap of the bar.
She gasped slightly, her lips parting, and my cock twitched for the second time. Thank fuck it was still working.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to talk so…candidly about a patient like that,” she said, her cheeks flushing.
“I’m not telling anyone,” I replied and took a step forward, clutching the bar. “I used to watch Grey’s Anatomy with my Mum growing up. Everyone always seemed to have a hematoma or some random piece of metal sticking out of them. Then there was all the sex in the on-call room.”
Sparks flushed scarlet, and I began to laugh, the mood lightening.
“Stop it,” she hissed. “You say those things on purpose.”
I smiled slyly and took another step. It had gotten her to loosen up, hadn’t it? The tightly wound Dr. Holly Walsh had let her guard down and shown me a little bit of the woman underneath the surgeon.
The nurse from before was giving me a dirty look, so I kept the next thing out of my mouth G rated. “I think you’re pretty great, Dr. Walsh.”
Instead of flushing, her cheeks began to pale, and I paused, wondering if I’d overstepped some line I hadn’t known existed. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d said the wrong thing to a woman and got a slap for it, but telling a chick you thought they were great was always what they wanted to hear. Until right now, that was.
“I think we’ve done enough for today,” she said, smoothing down her white coat. “Tomorrow, we’ll assess your injuries again and increase the amount of walking. You’re bouncing back really great, Mr. Caplin.”
And we were back to Mr. Caplin again.
Sighing, I shuffled back to the chair and sat my ass in it.
“Judy,” she called out to the grumpy nurse. “Could you please take Mr. Caplin back to his room?”
She smiled thinly like she was about to be tortured to hell and back and began wheeling me away from Sparks. Glancing back at the doc as we left the room, I was surprised to see her swipe the back of her hand over her eyes.
Was what I said that bad?
* * *
I’d been sleeping pretty well since I’d been in the hospital. They gave me meds to help me rest, but tonight, I didn’t much feel like sleeping.
My mind kept going over what I’d said to Sparks and her weird reaction. I thought over what I knew about her, and it wasn’t much at all. Definitely not enough to form the attachment to her that I had.
She was a beautiful woman, striking and unique, highly intelligent—she’d have to be to be a surgeon—with a confident exterior. Knowing she’d have to deal with a lot of life and death situations in her position made her even more intimidating.
Yeah, I said it. I found Sparks intimidating as fuck. She seemed to have her life all worked out and knew where it was going. She had a career and money, and from the American twang in among her Aussie accent, I assumed she’d taken it global, as well. She had all the things that had always been out of my reach. She had a purpose.
Why would a woman like that ever look at a guy like me and think he was long-term material? She wouldn’t.
I closed my eyes, my thoughts lingering on the hopelessness that waited for me outside the hospital, and it wasn’t long before I drifted off into a fitful sleep.
The house was quiet. It was usually full of yelling and screaming, the sounds of smashing glass and crockery, and the smack of flesh hitting flesh.
It was the quiet before the chaos. Lightning flashed outside as a summer storm pulsed in the distance, the light illuminating the darkness. Then the screaming began, getting worse and worse as the thunder grew louder overhead. Metal pressed against my head, and I cowered on the floor, too terrified to move.
Don’t you move, boy.
My eyes snapped open, and I was back in the hospital. Fuck.
I thumped my finger on the call button by the bed and got the nurse to pump me full of meds.
I couldn’t deal with this shit anymore.
7
Holly
When my morning rounds took me past Josh Caplin’s room, I was surprised to find my skin was tingling.
Tingling as in the way it zinged from head to toe when a girl had a crush on a guy.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the room and got on with it. I was a full-grown woman—a surgeon—and not some prepubescent teenager.
He glanced up as I entered, and I was surprised to find he was just watching the world go by out the window. He didn’t have the television on, and he didn’t have a phone or newspaper. He was just sitting there amusing himself. I wondered what he thought about all day.
“Hey,” he drawled. “It’s Sparks.”
Stepping forward, I drew the curtain closed behind me and tried not to think about the fact that we were pretty much alone…and hidden from the goings on just outside.
“I need to check those ribs,” I said before swallowing hard.
His lips quirked, and he said, “Sure thing, Sparks.” He didn’t miss a trick.
Not hesitating, he rolled up his hospital gown and thank God for all involved he had underwear on.
My gaze ran over his abs, and I felt my cheeks begin to heat. I knew he had really good muscle definition underneath his clothing, but seeing it was another thing. His six-pack and that v shape that led down to the point of no return… I wanted to reach out and run my palm over his skin. Was it hot in here?
They were just the external oblique muscles. Good going, Holly. Think sexy thoughts in scientific terms. Great job.
Placing my tablet on the bedside table, I stood over him, and he stared up at me with a pleased expression on his handsome face. He really needed to shave—his stubble was getting to the point it was a borderline beard, but it suited his rough, bad boy exterior. His mousy brown hair was sticking up all over the place, but that suited him, too. Thinking about my own unruly hair, I actually envied him. People who looked good without any added effort bugged the hell out of me.
“So what sport do you play?” I asked, trying to cover up my ogling as genuine doctorly interest.
He smirked, his eyebrow raising. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Stop flirting,” I scolded him. “What sport do you play?”
“Why?”
“You have excellent muscle definition. Most people don’t have the motivation to go to the gym that much unless there’s something in it for them.”
He shrugged. “I don’t play sport.”
He still wasn’t tal
king. Fair enough. I was confident I’d get him to open up at least a little bit before he was discharged.
“I noticed nobody has been to see you,” I said carefully as I pressed my fingers against his ribs. His skin was warm, and as soon as I touched him, my thighs attempted to clench together, but I held steady.
“Don’t care,” he muttered.
“What about your Mum?” I asked as I moved onto the next rib. “Does she live close by?”
His brow began to crease, and he glanced out the window, giving away the fact that I’d hit a sore spot.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean… It’s just you spoke about her yesterday, and I thought you might want her to know.”
“There’s no one to tell,” he muttered, and I wondered if they were estranged.
“What about your job?” There had to be some employer out there who was wondering where he was, right?
“No.”
“There has—”
He turned his gaze back to mine. It was full of anger, and I knew I’d pushed too hard. The flirty guy was gone, and in his place, the beast that surfaced the day he woke had returned.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snapped, shoving my hands away and pulling his gown back down.
Feeling like I’d been slapped in the face, I sucked in a sharp breath and turned on my doctor mode. Cool, aloof, and professional.
“Well, your injuries are healing as expected. Your bruising is fading, and your ribs will need a little rest for the next few weeks. Your arm will need to be x-rayed again, but the cast should hopefully come off in about four weeks from now.” I snatched my tablet from the table, checked off some items in his patient file, and tapped in a note. Rounding the end of the bed, I double-checked his chart.
“You didn’t get your medication until late last night,” I said, glancing up at him.
“I thought I didn’t need it,” he replied coolly.
I raised my eyebrows and put the chart back, resisting the urge to slam it back into place.
“What? No lecture?” he asked petulantly.
