Chapter 4
Chapter four
Gray
"Fishes, dishes, pisses." The homeless man in bay two was muttering as I walked by. I paused to listen through the curtain. "Wishes, fishes, mishes, wishes."
I grunted and moved on. The man would be all right.
Had a mild case of hypothermia from sleeping drunk out in this cold, so the cops had brought him in.
I'd keep him here as long as I could, then call a cab to take him to a downtown shelter.
Though I knew from experience the man probably wouldn't stay there long.
I stopped outside bay three and pulled the chart from the holder on the wall.
"Young male, possible concussion, slipped on ice," said Rebecca O'Reilly, the duty nurse, as she came up beside me. She stood just a little too close, as usual. She had a crush on me, but I was immune to nurses with crushes.
And fishes with wishes.
"That's unfortunate." I scanned the front page of the man's file. Patrick Bocker, twenty-seven. "It's that kind of day out there."
"Right? It's a miracle we aren't packed today to the gills given the weather. He's conscious but loopy. Hasn't had anything for pain," Rebecca reported.
I nodded, pulled up my mask, and pushed through the curtain. I froze in place, staring at the patient in the bed.
He was a stunning redhead with the most pissed off big blue eyes I'd ever seen.
I had a thing for redheads. A serious thing.
He was my type physically too—slender and on the small side but in good shape with nice pec definition—they were outlined starkly under his blue T-shirt because of the arms folded angrily over his chest. That fiery hair was short on the sides, longer on top, and thick enough to wrap your fingers in.
Freckles testified that the color was entirely natural.
And given the way those eyes snapped fire, there was a nice, big brain behind those baby blues as well.
The swoops in my belly, and the way my deodorant was suddenly failing my underarms, confirmed it—I was strongly attracted to him.
My physical reaction was automatic, and biologically natural, but so unprofessional I would have slapped myself in the face—if the patient, and Rebecca, weren't looking at me.
This had never happened to me. Well, it happened to all doctors sooner or later, I supposed. But I'd thought myself above all that.
Welcome to physical reality, Gray. You do, in fact, have a body.
Yeah. I'd nearly forgotten. I cleared my throat and put on my best bedside manner. "Hi, I'm Dr. Reynolds. Can you tell me your name?" I walked up bedside and took a penlight from my pocket.
The young man stared at me, looking more curious than angry now. "You're my doctor?"
"I am. And what's your name?"
"It's not in my chart?" The patient's eyes flickered to the folder in my other hand.
"Yes, but I'd like to hear you say it, if that's all right."
"Oh! Right. I bumped my head. Got ya. It's 2025 and I'd rather not say who the president is. Not because I don't know, but because I'm in denial. My name is Patrick Bocker. Like Meet the Fockers only with a B."
He had a personality too, damn it.
"Hmm. Very good. I'm just gonna check your eyes.
Okay?" I used one gloved finger to pull down the lower lid on the right eye and shone the light in.
Then the left eye. This close, Patrick's irises had shades of periwinkle and navy.
"EMS said you took quite a spill and lost consciousness for a few minutes, yeah? "
"I guess. I don't even know who called the ambulance."
Pupils equal, round, reactive to light… No nystagmus. That's good. "Follow my finger—left… right… and center. How's your vision?"
"Blurry at first. Now I see your halo. Do you really have one, or is that a love-at-first-sight thing?"
I blinked and pulled back.
Patrick slapped a hand over his mouth. "Did I say that out loud?"
I chuckled. "I'm afraid you did."
Rebecca raised a laconic brow. "Definitely concussed. Dang, this oximeter isn't working."
She looked at the little monitor above the bed, which should show pulse and oxygen levels, but they were flat. She took the oximeter off the patient's finger and shook it.
"I've got it," I said, taking out my stethoscope. I needed to listen to his lungs anyway. I put the bell over Patrick's chest. He had on a soft blue T-shirt. I looked at the wall.
A whisper came. "Gray."
I startled and drew back. I looked at Rebecca, who was rummaging around in a drawer. "Did—did you just call me?"
She turned her head to look. "No, doctor."
A chill went up my spine. I could swear I’d heard my name come through the stethoscope. But obviously, my patient's heart wasn't speaking. That was absurd. I had no excuse for hallucinations, either. I'd only been on shift for about four hours.
I met Patrick's worried gaze. Good job, Gray.
Way to reassure your patient, act startled after listening to his heart.
I gave him a practiced smile and listened again.
Fortunately, this time, I got a normal heart rhythm.
"Seventy-one," I told Rebecca. To Patrick, I said, "Well within normal range, especially since everyone hates the ER. "
"I can't say it's how I intended to spend my day, but a least I have a hot doctor." He slammed his hand over his mouth again, eyes wide. "Sorry. I don't even know what you look like under that mask. It's your eyes. Those gray eyes with black lashes are killer."
"Thank you," I said primly. "But my aim is to heal."
It was a dorky line, but Patrick snorted a laugh. "Sounds like a premise for a 70's Kung Fu series." He lowered his voice. "His aim was to heal, but his eyes struck women dead."
"Well, your narrator voice is intact. That's encouraging."
I would have corrected Patrick's assumption about my sexuality—I itched to.
But with Rebecca in the room, I refrained.
It wasn't that I was hiding anything, but hospitals were such gossip mills, and I didn't need the drama.
Besides, when did I even have time to date?
"I'm going to check your neck and spine, okay? "
"Let me know if they're missing."
I suppressed a laugh behind my mask. Patrick was very funny, and the banter was the most fun I'd had in weeks, but things were getting a little too friendly with this cutie pie.
I had to rein it in. Checking for lucidity didn't require getting personal.
But, damn, I did like a man with a sense of humor.
"Do you have any pain?" I asked.
"Just my head. What's it take to get an aspirin around here? My insurance is good for it, I swear."
"I'm sure. But I need to check a few things before we can give you any meds. Just bear with me a few more minutes. I need to check your cervical spine before we move you. Any neck pain?"
"No."
I checked the base of the skull, then put a hand on Patrick's shoulder to move him forward.
Rebecca hurried to the other side, helping Patrick lean into his own lap.
I carefully palpitated around the edges of the impact site—easy to find thanks to the bulge in Patrick's thick hair and a spot of blood.
"You've got a nice hematoma on the occiput. Otherwise known as a goose egg. Did you have any nausea or vomiting in the ambulance?"
"No. Just a pounding headache and a bruised ego."
I checked behind Patrick's ears for discoloration and checked his nose, mouth, and ears for fluid, any of which could indicate a skull fracture. There were no signs of one, thank God. I palpated the spine. No swelling and no wincing. Good.
Next, I had Patrick grip both of my hands—strong, no shaking—and I had him raise and lower his legs, then wiggle his toes. He had nicely shaped feet, even in his socks. Clinically speaking.
Finally, I had Rebecca help Patrick out of bed and perform a balance test. He was a little wobbly, but falling down and cracking your head will do that.
"Okay. Let's help him lie back down, nurse."
I had a hard time not assisting Rebecca as she resettled Patrick on the bed, but that was not my job. I picked up his chart and made some notes. "Nurse, would you go get Patrick some acetaminophen and some juice? And I'll have you disinfect the wound on the back of his head when you have a chance."
"Of course." Rebecca left the room.
I pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. "Okay Patrick, you have a mild TBI—a concussion. But the good news is, on the Glasgow Coma Scale you score a 15. That's in the normal range."
"And I so like to be unique." Patrick put on a fake pout.
"Somehow, I don't think you have any trouble there."
For a moment, we stared at each other. I thought, Why can't I meet someone like this when I'm not working? Only I knew the answer. Because I rarely was not working. And you didn't meet guys like Patrick on dating apps.
Patrick bit his lip worriedly. "I should probably mention…
I honestly never flirt. It's like a genetic flaw.
I try to think of something to say, and then I think it's dumb, and then I play the conversation ahead like I'm playing chess underwater, and then I freak out, and then I don't say anything.
So obviously, something happened to my brain when I fell.
Because I am totally flirting with you."
"I thought I detected that, yes."
"So is this, like, one of those weird neurological cases? Like the woman who had a brain injury and started speaking with a British accent?"
I wanted to chuckle, and I wanted to wrap Patrick in a hug.
Instead, I crossed my legs and tried to appear thoughtful.
"I think you've had a bit of a shock, is all.
You're still a little scrambled. The body makes natural chemicals in the case of injury and shock that make us loopy.
You're just not overthinking at the moment.
Who knows? Maybe you can remember how that feels and try it in the future. "
Patrick considered this. "Man, if I could bottle it."
"Right?" I went back to my notes. "So, um, your motor functions are good.
You're neurologically intact. We'll skip the CT for now unless symptoms worsen.
I'm ordering a CBC—a complete blood count.
Just to rule out anything systemic that might've contributed to your fall.
Assuming there are no red flags there, we'll keep you here for a bit to monitor your progress, and then you'll be free to go. "
"That's it?"
"You'll get a concussion discharge protocol. No screens, no driving, no heroic deeds for forty-eight hours. Someone needs to observe you overnight—got a friend or… significant other?"
I said it the way I would to any patient—I swear I did. But Patrick's sly smile said he read me like a book. "No. But I'm open to applicants." He batted his lashes. Then his eyes grew wide. "I just did it again!"
"It's all right. Better that than the obscenities I sometimes get."
"I am sorry. I don't mean to ramble off bad Tinder lines."
"No, don't apologize. Another time or place."
Another time or place? I shouldn't have said that.
That was out of bounds. My face got so hot, I knew the blush had to be visible above the mask.
I cleared my throat. "I'll go see how Rebecca's doing with that Tylenol.
You take care, Patrick. And be more careful on ice, all right? " I stood up to leave.
Patrick looked a little disappointed. "Thanks, Doctor. Really."
I tried hard not to run from the room before I said or did something else I shouldn't.