“Who said anything about dating?” His lascivious grin suggested his interests lay in the gloomy torch lit cage I’d imagined earlier.
“Dating includes whatever filthy thoughts you have in mind, Mr. Maxwell. Those are the rules. And we both know you understand the concept of rules. Some blows are too low to throw. Even for a man like you.”
He snickered with cocky self-importance. “I wasn’t planning on being the one doing the blowing.” He reached down and adjusted his massive erection in his lycra shorts. It hadn’t been there when Dr. Hackett and I walked in the room earlier. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I looked, but only for a second. Now it was back with a thick veined vengeance.
I fired a finger at his crotch. “Keep that thing in its cage, Mr. Maxwell. Or I will cut it off with a rusty scalpel.” I spun around and walked out of the room. Not because I was worried about Lion having the last word, but because I knew I couldn’t take my eyes off his cock as long as it was erect and pulsating.
If I’d had any doubts before, they were now completely gone.
I hated men like Lion Maxwell.
The sooner the results came back from Radiology, the sooner I would boot him out of both the ECU and my life for good.
<<<<<<<>>>>>>>
Latisha’s eyes popped when she saw me marching toward the nurses station.
“Something wrong?”
Still furious, I hissed, “That man is completely full of himself. Who does he think he is?”
“Who? Dr. Hackett?” Latisha smirked. She knew all about Dr. Hackett’s assy attitude.
I sneered. “Him… and my patient. Mr. Maxwell.”
“Him? What he do?”
“He told Hackett he didn’t like women doctors.”
“He did?” She was genuinely shocked.
“Yes. And now Dr. Hackett is taking over his care.”
Her eyes narrowed and she looked at me thoughtfully. “You like him.”
“Who? Dr. Hackett? You’re insane.”
“No. Your patient. I know you, Bridge. You like him.”
“I do not. I hate him.”
She leaned back in her chair and snickered. “Right.”
“Are you kidding me? That man is rude and crude and acts like a caveman.”
“It was that python of his, wasn’t it?”
Just then, two random family members of a random patient strolled by the nurses station. Both stared at us. I lowered my voice to a whisper and scoffed. “It’s not a python!”
Latisha whispered too. “So you looked.” It wasn’t a question.
“I didn’t look!”
“You looked.”
“You’re worse than he is!”
“He made a pass at you, didn’t he?”
“He made about forty passes.”
“And you didn’t catch a single one?”
I rolled my eyes. “I couldn’t. He’s my patient.”
“Girl, if a man like that made a pass at me, I’d quit my job on the spot.”
“I’m not quitting my job for an animal like him. Who would date a man like that?”
“I would.”
“Well, I wouldn’t.”
She glanced at her monitor. “Looks like Radiology put his images on the server. You need me to page Dr. Hackett for you? Have him go over the results with your caveman?”
I sighed. “No. I’ll handle it.”
“Make sure you get a good grip.”
“That’s not what I meant! You’re not helping. You know that?”
“Relax, girl. If he gets you all riled up again, just give him your best Dr. Freeze. That always cools ‘em down.”
“Speaking of freezing, can you get me a bucket of ice? I’m going to pour it down Mr. Maxwell’s shorts when I go back in.”
She chuckled. “I’ll get two. One for him, one for you.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Please, girl.”
“I’m acting ridiculous, aren’t I?”
“Relax, Bridge. That man is gorgeous. I’m surprised you made it out the exam room without getting pregnant. Take a moment, get yourself together, then go back in there and show him who’s boss.”
“Thanks, Tisha. I will.”
“Any time, girl. And while you in there, tell him I’m off at two.” She smiled.
“Sure.” I would do no such thing. Why, I couldn’t tell you.
I turned and trudged back toward the crowd outside 109.
Time for me to lay down the law.
<<<<<<<>>>>>>>
“A blow job will make you feel better, babe.” The feminine voice came from inside 109.
“My dick isn’t what’s hurting me, Candy,” Lion said. “It’s my knee.”
I knew it.
Manwhore.
Like I said earlier, I hated men like Lion Maxwell.
No, hate was too strong a word. It implied I had feelings for someone I’d met only two hours ago. That was impossible. A better word would be disgust. Mild disgust. That was it. I was very mildly disgusted with Lion Maxwell. But I was also his doctor. I waited in the doorway.
Lion and Candy hadn’t noticed me and were still talking because the privacy curtain was pulled partway around the bed and I was behind it.
I cleared my throat. “Mr. Maxwell, should I come back later?” I said it without a hint of bitterness. Well, none that I noticed.
“Candy, would you stop?” Lion grunted and leaned over until he made eye contact with me around the curtain. “The doctor is here.”
I glared at him. “Do you need a moment to finish whatever you’re doing?” I did my best not to imagine it.
“No, Doc. It’s cool. Please come in.”
Best to get this over with. I peered around the privacy curtain. On the bed, one of the groupie strippers from his entourage was curled around him. Candy. The one with the big 1980s hair. To my surprise, Lion’s shorts weren’t around his ankles and he wasn’t even erect. Not that I looked (maybe I looked). Candy the Stripper caressed his muscled arm with the backs of her fluorescent nails.
“Candy,” Lion said, “would you mind giving us some privacy?”
“Fine.” She sulked and slid off the bed and walked out. “Maybe you can have the doctor give you a blowjob.”
A slow smile spread across Lion’s face when she was gone.
“Don’t,” I snarled.
“What?” he said innocently.
Men.
Or should I say, dogs.
Because that’s what Lion was.
But he was still my patient.
I took a deep breath, trying to relax. Despite his lack of maturity, Lion deserved the same professional conduct I showed everyone else.
I had already reviewed the images from his MRI outside. The damage to his knee was extensive. For an athlete like him, it would mean surgery and at best, a long recovery period of six months to a year before he could return to sport. At worst, he might be facing the end of his career. All I had to do was imagine someone telling me that I could never practice medicine again and it made my natural compassion kick right in. I instantly went from irritated with Lion to worried about how he was going to take it and what his future would hold for him. Breaking bad news was never easy.
“Sorry about Candy.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
He smiled. “Candy. She doesn’t have the best… what’s the word… you know… manners.”
“Oh. Okay.” I wanted to laugh. Manners? Coming from him that was laughable. It didn’t matter. “Anyway. About your knee.”
“What’d you find out from the MRI?” His eyes shone with hope. He wasn’t making this easy.
“Why don’t we take a look on the monitor?” I wheeled the computer from the corner over to his bed and logged in so I could pull up the MRI images. “Do you see here, where the head of the femur attaches to the tibia?”
“Yeah?”
“Your ACL is completely torn. Do you know what the ACL is?”
“Yeah.”
&nb
sp; “It’s no longer attached to the tibia.”
“Anything else?”
I couldn’t tell if he was playing it cool or in shock or what. “The meniscus on your tibia is also torn and will need to be repaired. There is some cartilage damage as well. All of it will likely need to be addressed through surgery.”
“Surgery?” He said it as if he didn’t believe me. Denial was a common reaction, especially from a highly competitive athlete. It was the last thing they wanted to hear. Their identity often revolved around their ability to compete at the highest levels. Take that away from them and they lost their sense of self. Some athletes managed to transition to coaching or sports journalism or even sports medicine. As long as they worked with athletes, they were happy. But others fell into depression and never managed to recover. It was too soon to tell which of the paths Lion might take.
“Yes. I’m afraid you’ll probably need reconstructive surgery.”
“I don’t need surgery.”
“Actually, you’re correct. You don’t. But that would mean adjusting your lifestyle to fit within the limits of your compromised knee joint. If you want to continue to compete at the level you’re used to, you will definitely need surgery.”
He dropped his head back on the pillow and heaved a sigh. All his cockiness was gone. And there was no sign of his adorable grin. He looked thoughtful and a little bit sad. “What are my options? I mean, for surgery?”
“Since Dr. Hackett will be performing your surgery, he’ll have to discuss that with you after reviewing your MRIs.” It didn’t bother me that I would no longer be Lion’s doctor. Under the circumstances, I cared far more about his well being than my bruised ego, and I knew he would be in capable hands with Dr. Hackett. “He’ll probably suggest a tendon graft of some sort, but I couldn’t say which.”
A smile played across Lion’s face. “You still using zombie grafts?”
“You mean an allograft, like the kind we take from a cadaver?”
“Yeah.”
“Not as much as in the past. The current research shows that harvesting the tendon from your body is more effective long term. So Dr. Hackett most likely won’t use a zombie graft. Unless you demand one.” I smiled, trying to make light of the situation. “But I would strongly advise against it. My understanding is that you might suddenly develop a taste for brains.” I winked. “Human brains.”
He chuckled. His adorable smile was back. It was good to see.
“You might consider an animal graft.” It wasn’t a serious suggestion, but I wanted to keep him smiling.
“Do they do that?”
“Believe it or not, researchers experimented with animal tendon grafts in the 80s and 90s.”
“No shit?”
“None whatsoever.”
“How about a grizzly bear graft? They’re badass. Can we do that?”
“If you can find a donor. Know any bears?”
He laughed. “No. Not personally. But I know a lion who would be happy to loan me some of his.” It was his turn to wink.
“I bet you do.” I was smiling and dangerously close to flirting again.
“Joking aside, what kind of graft will you use?”
“Either a tendon graft, which Dr. Hackett will take from your hamstring, or a bone and tendon graft which he’ll take from your kneecap. Both are viable options with a high recovery rate and return to sport. I’ve done procedures on several athletes who tell me they regained 99.9% functionality.”
“Won’t taking the graft from my knee weaken it?”
“You would be surprised by how well the patellar tendon attached to your kneecap can regenerate, as well as the surrounding bone.”
“Wow. That’s incredible. It sounds like I’ll be able to go back in the cage as soon as I’m healed.”
Sex cage… “I can’t make any promises, but it is a possibility. Although you should know that the recovery protocol calls for six to twelve months of rehab.”
“No worries.” He nodded and his cocky smile returned. “So this is good news.”
“I suppose it is.” I was impressed by his optimism. Unless it was just denial. It was too soon to tell how he would react when the reality of rehabilitation set in. I wouldn’t be treating him, so I would probably never know. But I would be wondering.
“What do we do now?”
“After your discharge papers are processed, you can go home.”
“What about my surgery?”
“That won’t happen for several weeks. Until then, the goal will be to follow the PRICE protocol.”
“What’s that?”
“Protection, Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation. In other words, be careful with your movement. Take it easy, keep things light and don’t over do it. And keep it iced, no more than twenty minutes at a time. You don’t want to give yourself frostbite. I’ll prescribe painkillers and an anti-inflammatory, and crutches. You’ll need them for walking. I’ll also prescribe a knee-brace, just in case. Once the swelling and pain have minimized, you’ll want to work on getting back as much range of motion into your knee as possible while keeping the muscles strong and flexible. The healthier your knee is going into surgery, the easier the recovery. I’ll schedule you for some prehabilitation physical therapy between now and the surgery, and I’ll have the nurse give you some pamphlets which will tell you how to care for your knee and follow the PRICE therapy at home. Make sure you read the pamphlets carefully. Oh, and the nurse will also schedule a consult for you with Dr. Hackett.”
“Are you gonna be my physical therapist?”
“No. I’m not a physical therapist. I’m an MD.”
“Too bad. You would’ve enjoyed it.”
I wanted to laugh, but restrained myself. “I think you meant the other way around.”
“Are you kidding? You know you want to run your hands all over me. You just need official permission. Too bad you’re not a physical therapist.”
I hated that he was right. But rules were rules. “I’m afraid someone else will have that privilege. Well, I think that pretty much covers everything. Unless you have any questions?”
“When do I see you again?”
“Honestly? You probably won’t. Your physical therapist and Dr. Hackett will take things from here. I’m not your doctor anymore, remember?”
“That’s right. Since you’re not, you gotta tell me your first name.”
I rolled my eyes. What could it hurt? “Brigid. My name’s Brigid.” He held out his hand to shake. Being polite, I shook. I wasn’t prepared for the warmth or the size of his hand. It engulfed mine like a human cocoon. Something about it was entirely too comforting.
“Brigid.” That voice.
Ooze.
The heat from his hand was rapidly melting my defenses.
“It suits you.”
“What suits me?” I was on the verge of losing all self control.
“Your name. Brigid. It’s strong. Unique. Exotic. Just like you.”
For a boxing ring bruiser like him, he sure was articulate. I knew I was blushing and about a second away from letting him do anything he wanted with me.
“Now that you’re not my doctor, it means you and me can go out on a regular date. How about dinner?”
Reality smacked me in the chest. I reluctantly withdrew my hand from his and shoved it in my lab coat. I cleared my throat.
“You’re blushing, Brigid.” His eyes darkened and the look of danger returned.
“It’s hot in here.” I felt the urge to fan my face but I stuffed my free hand in my lab coat pocket instead.
“I was thinking the same thing…”
Ooze.
Damn him.
“Unfortunately, Lion, I mean, Mr. Maxwell, you’re still my patient.”
One of his dimples appeared. Damn that dimple. It begged to be licked.
Why had I said his name? I cleared my throat again. “As I said, once a patient, always a patient. You should be focused on your knee right now. I can’t stres
s enough how challenging the recovery process can be. So don’t get any ideas.”
“I’ve got all kinds of ideas, Brigid. But something tells me my imagination is nothing compared to the reality…”
Why was it that he could simply lay there and be excruciatingly hot? He didn’t even have to do anything. If Lion Maxwell had a sexy calendar of his own, the cover would be a picture of him as he looked right now. This image would also be inside as my birthday month: Sexy as hell September.
“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Maxwell. Good luck with your knee.”
I spun on my heel and rushed out of the exam room before I did something stupid.
“Be seeing you, Brigid.”
When I pushed past Lion’s entourage outside, I walked as fast as I could to the nearest exit.
I needed fresh air or I was going to burst into flames inside my lab coat.
<<<<<<<>>>>>>>
The full moon hung low over the hospital.
I stood in front of the main doors of the ECU, staring at the night sky, trying to calm down. Several people stood outside with me, also star gazing. Some of them smoked cigarettes, the tips glowing orange like sluggish fireflies. Smoking wasn’t permitted this close to the entrance, but I wasn’t going to lecture anybody. They were here because their loved ones were hurt or sick or dying. I didn’t want to make things any worse for them than they already were. Sometimes, rules could be bent. For the right reasons.
“You.”
Startled, I turned to the sound of the voice.
The woman who’d said it stood in the shadows.
“Were you talking to me?” I couldn’t make out her face.
“Yeah.” She sounded pissed and projected her irritation in jittery waves I could feel. My defenses immediately went up.
“Can I help you with something?”
“Yeah you can fucking help me.” She strutted toward me, her heels sparking off the brick pavers. Her silhouette was tall and curvy and everything was tight-fitting. When she emerged into the light, I recognized her from inside. Candy the bedazzled groupie with the big mane of hair. “You think he’ll pick you over me because you’re some kind of princess doctor?”
Broken Lion Page 3
