Rock the Cradle: An Mpreg Romance (Silver Oak Medical Center Book 6)

by Aiden Bates

  "Male, twenty-six years old. No allergies, blood type unknown. Gunshot wound to the left shoulder. Seems to have nicked an artery. He's lost a lot of blood. We've given him fluids to replace, but his vitals have been all over the place. Respiration is labored and shallow. He was initially conscious and verbal, but lost consciousness at the scene and has not regained."

  EMTs had already cut off the patient's clothes. His chest was a patchwork of bruises, and Alex didn't need x-rays to diagnose broken ribs. He ordered them anyway, to confirm the bullet had been a through-and-through and to assess the damage he'd have to repair. Then, he prepared himself to operate.

  The OR was ready for him by the time he finished scrubbing in. The films had confirmed what he'd already suspected. The patient had several broken ribs, which had resulted in fluid in the pleural space. That, in turn, required a chest tube. What had happened to him to cause that? Other than that, there wasn't much Alex could do for the ribs. They needed time and management to heal, and that was all.

  He could do something about the wound to the shoulder. They'd gotten an orthopedist to come down to the room to take care of the damage to the joint itself, but Alex had to deal with the bullet. It had not been a through and through, like Alex had hoped. It was lodged in the scapular bone, and Alex had to get it out without further damaging any of the veins or muscles.

  He fished it out, delicately avoiding any of the minuscule structures that had survived the initial impact. Then he stood back and watched as the orthopedist did his job. Ted was fantastic at his job, one of the best shoulder specialists around. Whoever this guy was, he would most likely regain full use of that limb.

  Alex didn't get very curious about his patients while they were on the table. He had to maintain a certain level of detachment. He had some concerns about the man's weight, in that he seemed to be too thin for his height, but that wasn't his concern. He would send a note to the patient's primary care doctor when he kicked the case back to him. He had some concerns about the piercings, but those weren't his problem either. They didn't seem to be causing him any problems at the moment, although they'd stood out on the x-ray.

  How exactly had he gotten into this condition? Alex wasn't supposed to judge his patients, and for the most part he didn't. Sometimes he couldn't help it. Most of the time, people didn't get battered and shot because they'd been innocently walking down the street. Was the patient into drugs? Had he crossed the wrong guy? Flirted with the wrong woman?

  He backed away from those questions. People got beaten and shot every day. Maybe he had just been innocently enjoying a corn dog. Maybe the problem was with the shooter.

  Ted finished his repair of the shoulder. They closed the patient up together, and they left the nurses to get the poor man cleaned up and into recovery. Alex and Ted could go and scrub out, and then Alex's shift was over. He could go home and put his feet up.

  He said goodbye to Rick, who'd just finished up with his patient. Rick wasn't as inclined to work all night now that his husband was home from Texas. Good for him. Alex wouldn't be willing to work all night either, not if he had Dylan Parker to go home to.

  Alex just had his apartment, out in Baldwinsville. If he weren't so tired, he'd be more than happy not to go home at all.

  Tonight, the complex was quiet. A lot of people were at the Fair, he guessed. He didn't see the appeal, personally. Too crowded. Too flashy. Too lowbrow, not that Alex considered himself to be exactly a paragon of the upper crust. He just hated the general aura of grime that went along with the fair. He hated the patina of sleaze that came with the midway. He hated the vaguely agricultural smell that clung to the farm buildings, and the oily smell that clung to everything else.

  So he stayed away. There were plenty of other things for him to do, like get paid to help other people recover from the things they did at the fair.

  His next-door neighbor's apartment was dark. Great. The guy would probably come tromping up the stairs with those great big boots of his at three in the morning, and then he'd wake everyone up.

  Alex knew he should probably think about moving out. He'd bought the place back when he was starting out. It was cheap, and he'd needed that at the time. The loans he had to pay off made "cheap" a priority. He could afford to find somewhere a little more private, someplace where his neighbors didn't drive him up a wall.

  At the same time, why spend the money?

  He fixed himself a martini when he got home. Today had been bloody, and his feet hurt. He just wanted to relax a little bit and go to bed. He flipped on the news, just to see if there was any information about the human trafficking ring that had supposedly been brought in to the hospital.

  He wasn't disappointed. The anchorwoman leaned into the camera with huge, serious blue eyes. "Good evening. Welcome to the eleven o'clock news. I'm Wanda Kislyak. We begin this evening with a horrifying scene from the State Fair. Authorities are hailing a local disc jockey as a hero this evening after his quick thinking saved a young girl's life and led to the disruption of a human trafficking ring at the New York State Fair."

  The camera cut to an interview at the Fair with a uniformed State Trooper, a pretty woman with a blonde ponytail. "The man in question noticed a girl running through the crowd. He picked up on the fact that something seemed not quite right about the situation, and he used the tools available to him in the booth to stop the men pursuing her. The girl was then able to reach troopers and get help."

  The camera switched to what looked like cell phone footage of a standoff. "The suspects became irate with the DJ in question and attacked him before troopers could intervene. The Good Samaritan is in critical condition at a local hospital tonight. The suspect was treated and released into the custody of State Troopers, who arrested him and booked him on charges of human trafficking and attempted murder. He's expected to be arraigned in the morning.

  "In other Fair news, we hit record attendance for the third day in a row!" Kislyak switched tones and gears without any effort, and Alex turned the television off in disgust.

  At least now he knew how the patient had gotten into the condition he had. Huh. He couldn't have said he'd have done exactly the same thing. Surely there must have been some other way to help the girl without getting himself killed in the process? Then again, there probably hadn't been a lot of time to react.

  Ah well. Flashy heroics hadn't ever been Alex’s style anyway. He could rest in the comfort of knowing he'd done what he needed to do to make sure this heroic DJ would live to clutter up the airwaves another day.

  He finished his martini and went to bed. His neighbor, for once, didn't come home at three in the morning. He should probably be more worried about that than he was.

  He got up in the morning and headed to Silver Oak. His route had an extra half hour tacked on because of the damn State Fair, which pissed him off, but he tried to keep calm about it. At least satellite radio didn't have commercials or interruptions to talk about Fair traffic, or Fair attractions. He could just listen to calming classical music and get to work in one piece.

  Once he got to work, he checked his messages and looked for Rick. "I guess we've got a hero in our midst," Rick told him. "Who knew, huh?"

  Alex pulled a face. "That's what he gets for going to the Fair."

  Rick wagged a finger at him. "Now now, you know as well as I do that he was getting paid to be there." He shook his head. "I hope they gave him hazard pay, right? Anyway, go do your rounds. They've got him up on the ICU because of the blood and the lung."

  Alex sighed. Yeah, they'd have had him on the ICU, and that made sense. He hated the ICU, personally, but it was where most of his surgical patients wound up. At least, they wound up there for a little while.

  He checked on his patients from the previous day. Two had already been moved to regular wards. A man with a gunshot wound to the leg would be released later that day, if nothing went wrong, and a woman with appendicitis showed such improvement he wouldn't have believed she'd been sick if he hadn't ta
ken the burst organ out for himself. The trucker who'd lost an arm in the semi accident yesterday, he wasn't in such good shape. He'd crashed, during the night. The trauma team had revived him, but his prognosis wasn't good.

  And then there was DJ guy. He wasn't alone when Alex got there. A tall, slim young Black man in a black tee shirt was by his side. The patient was awake, eyes glazed with pain, and he was grinning.

  Alex frowned. "Family only in the ICU, I'm afraid."

  The visitor stood up, lips pressed into a thin line. Had Alex made a mistake? Were they a couple?

  The patient waved a hand. "Amadi's my next of kin. He's been helpfully chasing the good nurses away until I could talk to my doctor about the pain meds they keep trying to give me."

  Alex stepped further into the room. "Okay. My apologies." He checked the patient's chart. "Look, Mr. Brown, you must be in a world of hurt."

  "I'm not going to pretend I'm not." Brown grimaced. "I feel like someone put me through a meat grinder and left me out in the sun for too long."

  "So maybe the pain pills aren't a bad thing. They're there to help." Alex looked down at the chart again. "I mean the whole point is to feel better, right?"

  Brown looked up at his friend. Amadi stood between Brown and Alex. "Look, Doc, I'm sorry, but Derek doesn't take opiates. For any reason, okay? No judging people who do, he's just got a bad family history with substances and he doesn't want any part of them. He'll take NSAIDs and stuff like that, but no narcotics, no booze. Nothing that messes with your mind."

  Alex huffed out a little laugh. "You got all that from a glance?"

  "We're foster brothers." Amadi narrowed his eyes.

  "I see." Alex had really put his foot in it this time. "Okay. So I'll make a note in my file, and—wait. Derek Brown?"

  The brothers glanced between themselves. "That's me." Derek croaked and tried to shift his position.

  "Let the bed do the work for you, idiot." Amadi shook his head and moved Derek's hand to the controls that lifted and lowered the bed.

  "As in, lives in Van Buren, Derek Brown?" Alex looked back down at the chart in his hand. "Oh, come on."

  "Yeah. Yeah, I live in Van Buren. So what?" Derek narrowed his eyes at Alex.

  "You're the jerk neighbor who keeps coming home at three in the morning and waking everyone up!" Alex stepped back. "I can't believe this!"

  Derek tried to laugh, but it came out more like a wheeze. "Jesus. Who would have thought my doctor would be the jackass that slips notes under people's door about tracking snow in the wintertime?" He shook his head. "Honestly, are you going to complain about people tracking blood into the ER too?"

  "Tracking snow is a serious problem! It leads to mold in the carpets." Alex crossed his arms over his chest. "Anyway, I need to look at your incisions."

  Amadi helped move Derek so he could check the wound and the chest tube. "I think the chest tube can probably come out today. I don't see any signs of infection. You should make a good recovery." Alex backed toward the door and fled as fast as he could.

  What were the odds that his wretched neighbor would be the supposed hero DJ?

  Chapter Two

  Derek looked up when he heard footsteps entering the small, sterile-smelling room. At first he worried he might be seeing another nurse. Worse yet, he might be getting a visit from his hot but clearly disturbed neighbor. A quick glance set his mind at ease. His visitor was only Amadi.

  "How you feeling today, man?" Amadi grabbed a chair and dragged it over to the side of the bed. "Has Dr. Charming come to check on you yet?"

  Derek snorted. It hurt, like anything involving breath hurt right now. "Yeah, no. Dude couldn't wait to book it out of here as fast as his little feet could carry him. He's not about to be coming back here." He closed his eyes against the pain, but when he did all he could see was his asshole neighbor's face. "Why did he have to be hot?"

  Amadi laughed and settled into the chair. "Because it's been a while for you, and you're starting to see with the goggles of desperation, brother. It's okay. Everyone does it eventually." He glanced around at the small room with all the monitors. "Well, at least you're getting some sleep. You've got that going for you, at least. Speaking of things it's been a while for."

  "No joke." Derek groaned and used the bed to push himself into a more seated position. "I'm not sure I know how to do that anymore, but they're setting me up just fine in here. Non-narcotic sleep aid and I'm out like a little light."

  "Good." Amadi leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So, I called your bosses at WWTF and at that satellite station."

  "Oh." Derek reached for the pitcher of ice chips on the bedside table. Amadi passed it over to him, and poured him a cup. Half the ice chips were melted, but Derek didn't care. His ribs were hurt, not his throat. He could drink some water, even if Asshole Neighbor hadn't authorized it yet.

  "Anyway, thanks for doing that," Derek continued, once his mouth and throat had a little bit more moisture. "I wasn't even thinking that far."

  "Oh I know you weren't. You were thinking, 'Ouch.' And 'Hey, that hurts.' And 'How am I still alive, anyway?'" Amadi ruffled Derek's hair. "It's okay. That's why I called. And both of them are cool with it. It's not like they could doubt you. You, brother, are front page news all over the country. You're a hero."

  "Oh Lord." If Derek could have pulled the pillow over his face, he would have. "That's all I need."

  "Your mic was on." Amadi laughed at him. "Your mic was on. You couldn't have been more public about what was going on if you'd tried."

  "I've always been good at drawing attention to myself, I guess." Derek shifted. "I just want to get out of here, go lie down in my own bed for like a year or so, and maybe get on the air again once the publicity dies down. You know?"

  "Yeah, I know. Unfortunately, that's not going to happen for a while. You've got so much going on they're going to want to keep an eye on you for another few days at least."

  Another figure strode into the room. This new visitor stood a little taller than average, although shorter than both Derek and Amadi, with tan skin and messy brown hair. He'd thrown a white coat over blue scrubs, and his gray eyes burned with a kind of intensity that scared Derek just a little bit. "I couldn't have said it better myself," the new arrival said, walking right up to the foot of Derek's bed. He had a little bit of a Texan drawl to his voice, one that Derek could probably listen to all day. "You don't come that close to the end without earning a few nights where someone else does the cleaning, I'm afraid. I'm Dr. Rick Wade. I'm the Director of Emergency Medicine here at Silver Oak. Your actual surgeon had to recuse himself from your care when he discovered that you were neighbors."

  Derek tried to snort, and wound up coughing instead. "I'm sure that was it." The cough brought tears to his eyes, it was so painful.

  Wade's eyes narrowed. "Is there something else going on that we should know about?"

  Amadi stood up and shook his head. "Nah, man. They're just not very good neighbors. Your buddy is that guy, you know? The one that's calling to complain about noise in your condo when you ain't even home."

  Derek met Wade's eyes. "Five times," he added. "He did that five times."

  "Wow." The corners of Wade's mouth twitched. "He's not bad around here, but I guess I can kind of see him being a little bit like that. Okay then. Good to know. Anyway, him being your neighbor gives him an inherent conflict of interest, so I'll be acting in his stead while you're here. How are you feeling today?"

  Derek made a face. He didn't dare shrug. He couldn't shrug, with his arm strapped down as it was. "I'm not going to pretend I'm comfortable, but I'm surviving." He considered for a moment. If he gave an honest assessment, he might be here longer. Then again, he might be less likely to come back. "My chest is tight."

  "That would be your broken ribs. You're going to feel pretty crappy for a little while yet. You need to remember to take it easy, okay? I mean it. You can't go back to work for a while yet, not that they'd want you to. Somehow a DJ onl
y sounds good gasping for air on a certain type of channel, and I don't think you work for one of those."

  Derek blushed and turned his head away.

  "Blood pressure's good," Wade commented, a little grin cracking his professional facade. "We'll keep you for a few days, but I think you're well enough to go to a regular room. You don't need the ICU and all the bells and whistles they've got going on here. What you need is rest, mostly, and you'll get better rest on a surgical floor than you would here."

  "You won't hear any complaints from me, Doc." Derek managed a tired grin.

  He slept through the actual transfer. He fell asleep, or maybe passed out would have been a better word for it. When he woke up, he was in a new and quieter place. Amadi was still with him, though, so he knew it was safe. "Has anyone been giving you a hard time?" Derek asked with a yawn.