Chapter 2 #2
I let out a snort, and he frowns.
“Was that in my head?”
“You definitely said it out loud.”
“Shit.”
I shake my head and bite my lip so I don’t react. He’s a patient, and patients get high. They say things they don’t mean all the time. But for some reason, I can’t help but sneak an extra look at him.
He watches me back, still foggy, but with that frustrating, unsettling sharpness beneath it. He sees more than he should, even half-conscious.
“You’re different without the white coat.”
I ignore that and gesture back at his chart.
“No signs of infection, and Dr. Moreno says the meniscus looked clean. They reattached what they could and trimmed out the rest. It went well.”
He exhales. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Silence stretches.
“But… no Olympics?”
“I can’t answer th—”
“Carina.”
My eyes dart to his. It’s his tone, suddenly sober, but more than that, the use of my first name. So casual, as though he expects more from me. Expects me to be honest.
And it suddenly dawns on me that maybe I’m the only one being honest with him right now.
I lick my lips and shake my head once. “No. I doubt it.”
“It was probably my last chance.” His voice is calm, but I can feel the weight of it anyway.
I close the chart and set it down.
“I know.”
There’s another pause, and he shifts slightly in the bed. “I told Dr. Moreno I need my piercings back ASAP, by the way.”
My brows lift.
“He came in when I was in the recovery room. Told me he’d get them to me once I could use my fingers,” he adds, waggling them at me like a deranged version of jazz hands. “I told him he’s a very smart man.”
I press my lips together to conceal my grin. “I’m sure he appreciated that.”
There’s a pause, and Reid tries to smile, but it’s more of a dazed smirk. “I was right, you know.”
“About what?”
“You. You weren’t scared of cutting me open.”
I don’t know how to tell him I was. Not of the surgery, but of the stakes. Of what it meant for him if we got it wrong.
Before I can reply, my pager buzzes, and I glance down.
?? Four visitors for your dick patient. Loud and coming your way - E
“You’re about to have company.”
Reid groans. “Tell them I’m dead.”
Too late. The door swings open, and the same four oversized athletes from earlier saunter through. They’re led by the loudest one, who’s carrying a wilting bouquet of gas station flowers and, inexplicably, a helium balloon shaped like a smiling turtle.
“There he is! High as a kite and freshly shaved!”
Reid blinks once.
“What the fuck is that?”
“A gift,” the loud one says brightly. “For your trauma.”
“Get it out.”
“C’mon, Hutch, it’s smiling! Look at his little face.”
“Chase,” Reid says, voice low and deadly despite the drugs. “I’ll lace your skates with figure-eight knots and let you eat shit at warm-up.”
Chase just grins and lets the balloon bob threateningly closer to Reid’s face. “You hear that, boys? Still got fight in him.”
The second man steps forward, slightly more subdued. Brown hair, grounded energy, a quiet kind of confidence. “How’s he doing?”
“Stable,” I say, though I’m a little concerned about the vein in Reid’s temple now. “Still groggy from the anesthetic, but no complications.”
“Perfect,” says Chase, gently tying the turtle balloon to the bed rail. “Just gonna leave this little guy right here.”
“I hate you.”
“I’ve named him Franklin.”
Reid’s glare could peel paint. “Untie it.”
“Nope.”
One of the other two leans toward me with a stage whisper. “He’s got a turtle phobia. It’s a thing.”
“Ahh,” I manage, though it doesn’t really sum up the many questions in my head. “I see.”
The last one of them pats Reid’s arm solemnly as though he’s back from a battle. “You made it, buddy.”
I step back as they swarm the bed, checking him over like he’s a broken toy and making way too much noise for a hospital ward.
“Is this the surgeon we should be thanking?” one asks, turning to me. “Dr. Moreno?”
“No,” Reid says, eyes drifting closed again. “She’s better.”
I arch a brow.
Chase beams. “Ahh, so you’re Dr. Doom.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“That’s what he calls you. Apparently, you terrify him.”
“Only a little,” Reid mumbles.
“Anyway.” The broodiest one of them claps him on the shoulder way too hard, then turns to me. “Thanks for not letting him die.”
“My pleasure.” I incline my head. “So you guys are…?”
“Logan.”
“Jake.”
“Chase.”
“Eli.”
They all speak at once.
“The only thing you need to know about them,” Reid adds, “is they’re all annoying fuckers.”
“We contain multitudes, and you love us.” Chase is already unwrapping a meatball sub he somehow smuggled in, dripping sauce on every available surface. “So he’s still gonna be able to skate, yeah?”
“He just got out of surgery.” I give him a flat look. “And you’re dripping sauce on his chart.”
“Enhances the flavor,” he says.
“I don’t even want to know what that means,” I mutter.
Eli leans in. “So… when can he skate again?”
I don’t answer, because the real answer could be months. Long enough that the Olympics are a fantasy. Long enough that it might change everything for their team.
But Reid just closes his eyes again, exhaling slowly as the guys keep up their banter around him and threaten to hand-feed him grapes while he’s forced to cuddle Franklin the turtle.
And for the first time all day, he looks at peace.