16. He Saw the Doctor
He Saw the Doctor
Aiden
The memory of Ryan Hollyoak touching Lola’s shoulder was blistered like a red scar behind my eyes.
It happened in a second. Innocent. Nothing at all, really.
He held open the coffee shop door for her.
His other hand parked on her shoulder as she slipped past, and when he looked down at her and smiled, she smiled back.
It wasn’t one of her dreamy smiles, like when nothing existed but the two of us tangled in her pink sheets. But it was a smile.
She baked him muffins. Apple muffins.
She liked him.
And it burned through me like acid.
I forced in a slow breath, keeping my gaze steady on the knotted lines of wood as I smoothed the sandpaper down the rough edge. Almost a week alone, avoiding the world in my workshop, had done nothing to dull that memory. But Lola had every right to move on. I just had to get used to it.
Harry’s boots plodded across the workshop floor. He must have been back from the job at the church. I didn’t look up. I wasn’t in the mood for small talk.
His butt slumped against the workbench beside me. “Seriously, old man,” he said. “What are you doing?”
“Working.”
“Hiding.”
“Working . ”
“You’re finding an awful lot of work to keep busy these days. I guess you still haven’t figured out the answer to your problem?”
I sighed and threw the sandpaper down on the workbench. “No.”
“Only you could screw up an apology. You talked to Lola, right? You know, actually opened your mouth and didn’t just stand there being awkward for once?”
I shot a glare at him. “I talked to Lola.” My sigh was defeated. “I just keep saying the wrong thing.”
That was an understatement. Every time I tried to make things right with Lola, I only made it worse.
Frustration coiled around my chest. I needed to do something.
Keeping myself busy and burying my problems was a damn good option.
I snatched the chisel from the rack and got back to work on the cabinet.
“Did you talk it over with Miss Ruthie?” Harry asked. “Get a woman’s perspective?”
“I talked to Ruth.”
“And?”
“She told me I need to try a lot damn harder.”
Harry laughed. “I think she’s probably right.”
“I think I probably need better friends.”
Another of his laughs erupted in the workshop. Even though I scowled at him, a smile tugged at my lips as I flipped the cabinet. I should have clamped it, but I was distracted, so I steadied the side with my palm and started to square off the joints with the chisel.
“Well, if the rumours are true,” Harry said, “you better figure out how to make it right with Lola pretty quick.”
“Ignore the rumours, kid. The gossip’s all bullshit.”
Harry’s grin was far too smug for my liking. “But this is church lady gossip. The best kind. Those ladies know how to bake the yummiest cookies and spill the best tea.”
I grunted. A sinking feeling blackened the pit of my stomach. Something warned me I didn’t want to hear any gossip from those old crows. I pretended to focus on tidying the edges of the cabinet instead.
“Yolanda was singing your praises,” Harry said. “No one else was buying it. Word of the crap you pulled at the Old Cellar has put a lot of the ladies offside.”
“That’s not news.”
“True. But I was minding my own business, rewiring the fans in the tearoom, and—whadda ya know—I just happened to hear that true love has blossomed for one lucky couple after all.” He fluttered his eyelashes. “Apparently, the lonely farmer will soon take a doctor for a wife.”
Jealousy boiled my blood. That split second of distraction was all it took.
The chisel slipped. A flash of cold metal sliced through my hand like butter, and even though shock numbed the pain that should have followed, there was no mistaking what I’d done.
Blood pooled into the wood, the raw pine blooming an eerie shade of red.
“Fuck.” There wasn’t much else I could say, really.
Harry made some otherworldly retching sound as if his soul had just been yanked out of his body. He flew back and hit the wall. He didn’t blink. His eyes were frozen wide open, and his skin drained to an icy white.
“You not good with blood, kid?”
Harry’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
“Don’t look at it, okay?”
First aid training be damned. The first rule of dealing with a cut was to raise the wound to slow the blood flow, but I kept my hand low, out of Harry’s line of sight. We didn’t need to end up with two casualties.
I called to him over my shoulder as I headed to the sink. “Do me a favour and grab the first-aid kit. Back room. Top shelf.”
Harry nodded, sucking in huge gulps of air before staggering away.
I fumbled to turn on the tap, and a deep shudder ran through me when the water hit the open wound.
Goddammit. That stung. I was so bloody stupid.
I knew better. I should have had my mind on the job.
The gossip was bullshit—it was only ever half the truth—but Lola and Hollyoak might be a reality I needed to get used to. Fast .
“Got the first-aid k—” Harry dry-retched again. His eyes locked on the deep, red gash in my hand. “Wait, is that…? The white bit…?”
His eyelids fluttered.
It only took one step to reach him. I managed to slump him over my shoulder just before he passed out. The first-aid kit crashed to the floor, its lid cracking open, and everything inside tumbled across the concrete. Harry was out cold.
With his skinny body flopped against me like a rag doll, I crouched down, sifted through the mess to find the gauze swab I needed, ripped open the packet, and got it on the cut. Dark red bloomed instantly. Not good. I fumbled another packet open.
Harry’s back jolted. He pushed off me but fell to his butt on the floor. “What happened?” He blinked.
“You’re not good with blood,” I said. “Take a few deep breaths. The feeling will pass in a minute or two.”
“How are you okay with that?” Harry nodded at my hand. “The…blood and the…the…seeing the”—he clamped his hand over his mouth as his shoulders heaved in another retch—“the bone bit?”
I shrugged. “Just used to it, I guess.”
“ Used to it?” Harry squeaked. “This is just like your ninja self-defence moves on the mountain. Or that time you hauled the Collins’ kid out of the river when he nearly drowned. Are you gonna tell me where you learned all that crap?”
“In another life.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Were you some kind of secret special-ops commando or something?”
“Nah, that’s army shit.”
“You going to admit the truth if I keep guessing?”
I shook my head.
“Alright. Keep your secrets. But I’m onto you, old man.” He shook his head. “ Used to it.”
I shuffled through the mess on the floor and finally spotted a bandage. “I do need someone to look at this pretty quickly, though.” I kept my voice calm and low—nothing to panic about. “Think you can drive?”
“You want me to take you to the clinic?”
“Yeah.” I flicked him a glance as I wrapped the bandage around my hand. “I don’t think I can drive like this.”
“I can’t drive you to the clinic.”
“Kid, you’re fine. It’s only five minutes—”
“No. Not the clinic.”
“You scared of doctors too?”
“No.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s, you know… Brooke works there.”
“And?” My eyebrow rose. “Look, kid, if something happened between you and the blonde, just sit in the car while the doctor patches me up.” I threw him my keys. “But you’re driving.”
Harry sat silent for most of the drive into town. Restless, never sitting still, his fingers drummed the steering wheel. When we stopped at the last turn coming into town, his gaze flicked to me.
“It’s not like that.” Harry’s voice was strained. “With Brooke, I mean. She’s gorgeous, but I’d never, you know… It’s not like that with her.”
I was on a roll for sticking my foot in it with the people I cared about. “I’m sorry. Heat of the moment. If I assumed the wrong thing—”
“Nah, it’s all good. But Brooke…and me…” He shook his head and blew out a slow breath. “Forget it.”
Harry’s nervous tapping on the wheel continued the rest of the way into town. Something was bothering him. A couple of gentle prods to talk went ignored, and I didn’t want to push my luck further. Our friendship was already hanging by a thread.
When he pulled up outside the clinic, he didn’t unbuckle his seat belt. His jaw clenched, tense. Poor kid. I clamped a reassuring hand on his shoulder before I hopped out of the truck.
For only the third time ever—which was still three times too many—I walked through the clinic doors.
The waiting room was deserted. Brooke lounged behind the reception desk, one of her bright red heels kicking out as she flipped through a magazine and shoved a bit of muffin into her mouth.
My shadow looming over the desk eventually caught her attention.
Her eyebrows slowly lifted as if my presence were the biggest inconvenience in the universe.
I held up my bandaged hand. “Workshop accident.”
“Just your hand?” Brooke fluttered her eyelashes. “It’s a pity you didn’t get sliced and diced lower down.” She picked up the desk phone and tapped a few buttons. “Doc, I’ve got a bleeder out here if you’re free.”
Her red fingernail pointed at a row of chairs. She wanted me to sit my backside down and wait. Too bad. I ignored her and lounged against the wall. I had no intention of getting comfortable. The sooner I was out of that damn clinic, the better.
Every so often, Brooke flashed me an evil smirk over the top of her magazine.
I’d bet she was planning how to murder me for the unforgivable way I’d treated her friend.
A map of one of the remote wilderness trails was probably hidden in the glossy pages, a big red X marked where she planned to bury my body.
She was pure type A, that one. She could pull it off without getting caught. No one would know.
The sweetest voice in the world floated down the corridor. “Alright, who have we got…?”
Lola stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes flew to Brooke, my bandaged hand, and back to Brooke. But before she could protest and refuse to see me, I saved her the effort.
“No.” Nerves thumped through me that had nothing to do with my butchered hand. “I need to see the other doctor.”
Lola threw her hands up.
Add that to my list of screwups, but there was no way I could be alone in a room with her after everything that had happened between us—the bar, the storm, and definitely not after seeing her with Hollyoak. I couldn’t face her again until I found a way to fix us.
Brooke smiled at me sweetly. Too sweetly. “The other doctor is doing their rounds at the old folks’ home this afternoon. Only Dr. Hughes is available.”
I looked helplessly at Brooke, pleading for mercy. I’d take murder over the torture of being alone with Lola. “I can’t see Dr. Hughes.”
Lola shrugged. She was completely done with me. “Whatever. Your choice.” She waved me away. “Bleed out in the corridor if you want. There’s a warmed-up raspberry muffin and a pile of test results waiting for me.” She spun on her heel and headed down the corridor. “Adios, muchacho!”
“Hey, hey, hey!” Brooke bent over the reception desk to holler after her. “I don’t want the big oaf bleeding out on my nice new carpet!” She pointed her red fingernail at me. “You heard the doctor. Move your butt to the treatment room, muchacho .”
I trudged down the corridor.
Brooke cackled. “Don’t worry,” she called after me. “The doctor will take real good care of you.”
My murder might be on the agenda after all.