Chapter 19
KAT
Finally. I snap my laptop closed, remove my bluelight blocking glasses, and rub my aching eyes. My back protests when I stand and stretch with arms over my head. A buzzing from my phone draws my attention off to the side. It’s on silent, so the call rolls to voicemail before I realize Tim’s calling. I shrug and roll my head side to side with my hands on the back of my neck like a brace. If I’m going to work this long at a desk, I might need to invest in a standing desk and maybe even a treadmill. Sitting all day is going to make me lazy. And Nantucket is too pretty not to have the energy to explore.
Another buzz tells me Tim’s finished his voicemail. I swipe my phone up and tap the message, putting it on speaker as I grab what I need and head outside.
Tim’s voice is low and grouchy. “Kat. You’re supposed to answer when I call. You know I hate voicemail.”
I grin because he’s right, and because I would have ignored the call even if I”d seen it in time. I rarely get a chance to annoy Tim, so I get my hits in where I can.
He lets out a long exhale. “I saw Clay today. You won’t have to worry about him anymore. I took care of it. You won’t have to worry about him.”
My heart stops. Like frozen in ice nothing is moving, my body might as well be an iceberg, frozen. I can’t move or even think.
“Clay won’t be bothering you. You can move on now.” He says it nonchalantly, but the steel underlying the tone sticks my feet to the sand.
The call ends. No goodbye. Nothing. Just click. “What did you do?” The instant the words leave my mouth, I’m in motion again. I jab Tim’s name on my phone...and it goes straight to voicemail. The little heathen has either turned off his phone or he’s deliberately ignoring me and sending me to voicemail as punishment. With Tim, it could be either. Growling out my frustration, I bolt back to my house and burst through the front door. Wallet. Keys. Phone. The phone stays in my hand as I spin on my heel and lock the door behind me while tapping Clay’s cell number. It rings three times and I growl in frustration and end the call when his voicemail clicks on. I’m starting to understand Tim’s annoyance with people missing calls. Who else can I call? I don’t have Liam’s number. My heart beats in my throat, making it hard to breathe. I run toward the ferry dock as fast as my poor legs can carry me.
If I can’t get hold of Tim or Clay on the phone, I’ll have to track one of them down in person. I skid to a stop in front of the ticket office and work to bring my wheezing down to something less than frantic. My throat and side aches from the impromptu run but that’s the least of my worries. I google the hospital’s number and step into line to buy my ticket. An automated voice rasps in my ear. “Thank you for calling Grace and Holmes Emergency Medical and Surgical Hospital. For English, press one.”
The urge to scream roars up. I need to get to Clay and I’m hitting roadblock after roadblock. I tap one so hard my nail screeches across the screen. The automation goes through another list of prompts, one of which asks if I’m experiencing a medical emergency and if I am to please hang up and dial 911. Good grief. If they made these things any more difficult to navigate I might as well give up now. It’s like they don’t even want to talk to their patients. Finally, finally, I make it through the garbage and the monotonous voice starts listing the different hospital departments.
I reach the front of the line. The woman behind the counter frowns at me. I’m being rude using my phone while buying my ticket, but this is my priority and I smile an apology. “Emergency,” I whisper when her face doesn’t change. She rolls her eyes at my excuse but hands me my ticket.
I snatch it up and weave through the cluster of people blocking me from the door. Being out at the dock won’t make the ferry appear any faster, but moving makes me feel better.
“If you would like to repeat this list again, please press pound.” What? I blink and stare at my phone as I come to the realization that I missed the end of the message. Furious, I tap the pound key and wait for the whole thing to start over again. At this rate, I’ll arrive at the hospital before I even reach Clay’s office.
Nervous energy drives me to pace up and down in front of the rows of benches that line the water. A white fence keeps onlookers from tumbling down into the water, and several people stand around talking and taking pictures.
“For pediatric surgery, press five.”
I’ve never moved so fast to press a button. The phone rings and rings. My hand tightens until my fingers throb. Just when I’m about to give up, a chipper, human voice answers. “Dr. Ashley’s office, how may I direct your call?”
“I need to talk to Clay. I mean, Dr. Ashley.” The tension in my throat makes my voice breathless and weak. “It’s an emergency.”
“Are you a patient?”
Grrrrr. More hospital protocol. “Not exactly.”
“Are you calling about a patient of Dr. Ashley’s? I can take a message, but I’m afraid I can’t transfer you to Dr. Ashley’s phone without more information.”
I need to know if he’s safe. The words almost blurt out, but I hold them back. In this situation, they could be taken as a threat, which would put the hospital on lockdown. What can I say to convince this woman to let me talk to Clay? “I’m his fiancee. I tried calling his cell but he’s not picking up.” Better she thinks of me as a crazy, potentially jealous, girlfriend than a psycho calling in a threat. “I wanted to send him a gift but wasn’t sure what time would be best.”
“Oh.” The woman giggles and there’s a nervous quality to it that lifts the hairs on the back of my neck. “I’m sorry, but all gifts go through our security protocol, so it’s almost impossible to have something delivered at a specific time.”
Drat. She’s not buying it. “Okay. Well, could you at least put me through to his office so I can leave him a message?”
“I’m sorry, but office policy is rather firm on phone calls as well. Dr. Ashley’s office phone is for patients only. I’m sure you understand.”
“Yes. Thank you.” It takes all my experience in customer relations not to rant at her. It’s not her fault. I hang up as the ferry horn blasts to announce its arrival. Time has never passed as slowly as it does now. People disembark at a snail’s pace that feels like it takes hours.
By the time I’m on the ferry and leaving Nantucket, I’ve dreamed up all sorts of terrible things that might have happened to Clay. I replay every word the woman said. None of them give me comfort. They don’t reassure me that he’s okay, because there’s no way she would admit that he’d been hurt to a complete stranger. Especially over the phone. I stand on the upper deck, the same place I stood with Rex. My fingers dig into the rail as I will the ferry to move faster and rush down the steps when I spot the mainland.
I’m the first one off when we dock and run straight for the Uber I booked during the ferry ride over. “Grace and Holmes Medical,” I pant. “The Hospital.” I puff out the address and push sweat-dampened hair back from my face.
The woman behind the wheel lifts her eyebrows. “You need an emergency room?”
“No,” I bark out, then hold out a hand in apology. “I’m going to see someone. It’s very important that I get there quickly.” I try calling Tim again with the same result as the previous five attempts.
She shrugs and pulls out onto the street. Everything blurs as tears prickle behind my eyelids. Clay might be hurt because of me. What did Tim do to him? I never considered him violent, but I’m the first to admit that he knows some seedy people who would be more than willing to have Tim Jones owe them a favor if they roughed up a doctor for him.
Please. Please. Please. Let Clay be all right. I can’t imagine any other possibility.
My driver pulls me right up to the hospital doors and I manage a genuine “thank you” before I leap out and rush through the automatic doors. My eyes skip over the space. I need a directory. I spot it, a dull gray metal sheet listing all the specialties. Pediatric Surgery. Sixth floor. Great. My flip-flops slap loudly but I’m over caring. I hop into the elevator as the doors try to close, shoving my way between several men and women in scrubs. They look at me sideways but no one says anything. This is a hospital, after all. Strange in their world is someone walking in with a screwdriver sticking out of their scalp and asking for an antacid because they have heartburn. I billed a visit like that a year ago, and saw a few even stranger. A woman dressed for the beach slamming the number six button over and over like that will make the elevator go faster doesn’t even register as strange, odd, or mysterious.
I bounce from foot to foot. The elevator stops at every single floor on its way up. Those who’ve been along for the ride with me whisper “good luck” when I throw myself into the lobby. Whew. Made it. I need to present as calm and collected when I approach the desk, but it’s all I can do not to scream Clay’s name.
A woman in blue scrubs lifts her head when I stop at her desk. “Can I help you?”
“I need to see Dr. Clay Ashley.”
Something about my appearance must show my desperation. Maybe it’s my eyes or the frazzled way I keep running my fingers through my hair, because her face falls into what looks like remorse. “I’m sorry. He’s in surgery.”
“What?” I stumble back from the circular desk.
She starts to rise but stops with her palms on the desk. “Are you family?”
I nod numbly. Yes. I’m family.
Her eyes soften. Oh, no. I know that look. That’s the ‘something terrible has happened so lets be nice to the people so they don’t freak out’ look. “Someone will be out to talk to you soon. Why don’t you have a seat in the waiting room? There’s coffee, tea, and snacks if you need something.”
I nod again, unable to do anything else, and make my way to the waiting room. My mind spits out all the possible scenarios in rapid bursts.
Clay’s hurt and he’s in surgery.
Has anyone called Liam?
Why am I waiting here? If Clay is in surgery, he’ll be on another floor. Where’s the surgery floor?
The off white walls swim in and out of focus when I start pacing again. I can’t keep still. And my hands shake too much to risk trying to hold anything hot.
CLAY
At last, I emerge from the operating room, exhausted but elated to have successfully completed a delicate spinal surgery on an eight-year-old patient. Peeling off my surgical mask, tension leaves my shoulders that I”ve carried for too long now—ever since the fake engagement and dishonest grab for promotion.
But I came clean to the board and, by some miracle, still managed to land Head of Pediatrics on my surgical skills alone. No more scheming or cutthroat ambition at the expense of others. Just hard work and doing right by the kids.
My thoughts derail completely as Kat jumps out from the waiting area, round eyes focused on me.
Without warning she rushes over, and throws her arms tight around my neck. ”Thank goodness you”re all right. I was so worried that Tim had arranged some mob to get you or something crazy,” she says way too loud in my ear.
I freeze. What’s she talking about? Oh, no. The look in Tim’s eyes when he left my office. “Tim wouldn’t—would he?”
She squeezes my neck harder. “I hoped not. Just he likely has connections and he used to be a different man before Kayla, but anyway, you’re perfectly fine.” She runs her hands over my bicep and nuzzles into my neck. Her lavender scent surrounds me, and I find myself grinning over her shoulder. Kat was worried about me. She still cares.
”Yep. I”m injury-free. Wasn”t me on that table.”
We slowly separate. Her hands linger on my shoulders and she scans my face intently. I meet her bright smile and all other sounds of the busy ward fade away for a second. I cup her cheek and draw her to my lips. An explosion erupts in my chest as she responds with desperate kisses. She missed me and I missed her. Missed this.
Maybe I will need surgery after all because kissing Kat messes with my once closed heart and organized life. She’s opening me up and making space for herself and a possible future together.
A few playful whistles from passing nurses snap me from my daze. We spring apart, both flushing as colleagues call out cheeky comments.
“Get out of here with that smoochy smooch. Room 6B is free, if you need post-surgery tender loving care, Dr. Ashley.”
“Is kissing allowed on duty, doctor? Think that’s against policy procedures.”
Kat covers her face before peeking at me through her fingers. “Oh gosh, I just mauled you at work. I’m so sorry, I don”t know what got into me.” She brushes a palm over my chest. “Must be the scrubs. Something about you in a doctor’s uniform and saving lives like a superhero makes me lose control.”
My heart lifts at her cute confession. Throwing professionalism aside, I chuckle and gently thread my fingers through hers. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not complaining at all.” Happiness rushes through me at what this could mean . . . assuming my past idiocy hasn”t ruined everything.
Dr. Arnold steps out of the surgery room, wanders over and gives me a congratulatory pat on the back that nearly knocks me off balance.
“Our new Head of Pediatrics! What a flawless, meticulous spinal fusion—nice work, Clay.”
Dr. Arnold winks roguishly at a mortified Kat. “And seems your personal life is shaping up too from that little display, eh?”
We both blush again. But Dr. Arnold just laughs. “Ah young love. Well, I won’t keep you, but take your girl out for a celebratory dinner. My treat. If you go to Clancy’s on Fifth Avenue, tell them I sent you and put it on my tab. They’ll call to confirm, and it’ll be all sorted.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I’m proud of you for coming clean too. That was good of you to humble yourself at the risk of your career. We’re surer than ever that we made the right choice to promote you.”
He ambles off, leaving Kat staring at me. “Came clean? So you told them, and they still gave you the job?”
I rub my neck. “It’s a long story but I was an ambitious jerk using you for career advancement. Until your cousin Tim set me straight,” I say flatly. “How about we grab that dinner? If you’ll still go with me? I’ll tell you everything.”
Her features soften into a gracious smile that lifts my spirits. “I won’t say no to a free meal at Clancy’s.” She winks and loops her arm through mine. “And for the record, I like the real deal Clay even more.”
My heart somersaults in my chest as I take her warm hand in mine, enjoying the certainty of her touch. I kiss her knuckles. “Good. No more faking. The real deal from now on.”