Chapter 6
Chapter six
Patrick
"We know you," said mustachioed Jim in the back of the ambulance. "You're the guy from the parking lot."
"Yeah, what gives?" said double-chin Jim from the driver's seat, glancing around to give me a glare. "Either you've got a death wish, or some seriously bad luck."
"Is it because of Christmas?" Mustached Jim asked sympathetically. "Holidays really get to some people. I have the number for a hotline, if you need to talk."
I was just trying not to move my arm, cradling it as best I could while lying down on a gurney. "It's broken," I said through gritted teeth. "Help."
"Probably," agreed mustache Jim. "Getting hit by a car will do that."
"Hurts!"
"You'll be lucky if you don't have internal injuries," said double-chin Jim as he made a right turn and went over a speed bump. "Won't he, Jim?"
"Oh for sure," said Jim. "Spleen! No one ever thinks about the spleen."
"I just wanna go home," I said, teeth chattering.
I thought I heard one of the Jims say something about shock before the back doors opened and the cold whoosh of wintry air and snow ruffled my hair. Just like the two-by-four. I squeezed my eyes shut.
"Patrick? Patrick?"
I opened my eyes to see the hot doctor, his sable brows furrowed over those beautiful gray orbs.
"Help," I said.
"We're going to help you. Do you have pain anywhere besides your arm? What about your tummy or ribs? Your head?"
I figured I probably had lots of bruises elsewhere, but the pain in my arm was screaming so loud, I couldn't feel them. "No. My arm."
I was being wheeled down a hallway. Faces flashed by. I saw an old homeless guy make some sort of sign in the air as we passed. It had to be the sign of the cross, maybe asking for God's help or maybe he thought I was dying.
It should have been the sign of the cross, though it looked oddly like Fehu.
"Can you tell me what happened? Did you lose consciousness before the accident?" Dr. Gray Eyes sounded very worried.
"Santa was watching TV," I said. "F-flying lumber."
"I swear he was fine when I released him," said a nurse walking on my left side. I recognized her as the nurse who'd attended me in the ER. Like, an hour ago.
"Let's get him into X-ray," said Dr. Gray Eyes. "Then we'll see." He looked down at me, his eyes all kinds of compassionate, and squeezed my shoulder gently. "We're going to take care of you, Patrick. Don't worry."
I looked up into those eyes and believed him. "Don't leave me." I had no idea where that came from. Because it was such an un-Patrick thing to say.
Those gray eyes blinked. "I won't leave you."
And I believed that too.
I gave myself three cheers for my amateur diagnostic ability because, as it turned out, my arm was, indeed, broken.
Specifically, my left forearm was fractured.
After much poking and prodding, and being moved hither and yon, and given drugs—both injected and orally—and lots of pain, can't forget the pain, I found myself in a calmer state of mind.
I sat up in a bed in the ER with a cast and sling on my left forearm.
And… Once again, I was bored. You wouldn't think that would be possible after two accidents, but it was true. It had to be part of the strategy of an ER to make patients wait so long for things, they were ready to chew off their own paw to escape. Because that was how I was feeling.
I got my phone out and checked it—a bit awkward with one hand. It was almost 5 p.m. On Christmas Eve. Geez, I'd left work just after noon, and I still hadn't made it home. What kind of fresh hell was this? How bad had I been over the past year to deserve a Christmas like this one?
That made me think of Krampus. I eyed my backpack on the visitor chair with suspicion. The Krampus curse theory wasn't looking quite so ridiculous now, was it?
"Patrick?" Dr Gray Eyes entered, leafing through pages on a clipboard.
I put down the phone guiltily. "Just checking the time."
Dr. Gray Eyes glanced at the phone but said nothing. He pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down. "How's the pain. Have the meds kicked in at all?"
"Yes. But I still feel like I was hit by a blue convertible while peaceably window shopping."
Dr. Gray Eyes pulled down his mask, his expression concerned.
I gasped in a breath. Crap, yeah, he was handsome.
Handsome in the ordinary, rough-around-the-edges way I preferred, not the too-perfect, smarmy way.
My heart gave a valiant effort to speed up, but it was half-assed thanks to the meds.
My eyes, however, worked just fine. Black hair, gray eyes, a whole lotta five o'clock shadow.
I glanced at the doctor's blue cuffs, where a bit of dark hair peeked out.
I wanted to purr. This was one luscious bear. So my type.
"—said to thank you."
"Huh?" I said.
I could swear he knew I'd had been checking him out and was holding back a smirk.
"I said a woman stopped by while you were in X-ray.
She said you saved her life. From flying lumber.
She couldn't stay, it being Christmas Eve.
But she said to thank you, quote—from the bottom of her cynical little heart. "
"Oh. I'm glad she's okay. She seemed nice."
Dr. Gray Eyes just stared at me. "So, apparently, it could have been a lot worse. You're lucky to have gotten off with just a broken arm. And we're lucky not to have had some fatalities in here tonight."
I flashed on the memory of the two-by-four skewering Santa's lap. "Well, Macy's is gonna need a new life-sized Santa, that's for sure."
The doctor sighed, that little frown between his brows. I wanted to lick it. Lord, I was high.
"I'm, um, pretty concerned about you, Patrick. Do you have someone who can pick you up? I don't want you trying to walk again tonight."
It was on the tip of my tongue to say, I don't need help. Because I didn't. Not ever. That wasn't part of the Bocker creed. Only right now, sitting in the ER for the second time that day, my arm in a cast and sling, and my head still a bit woozy from the first accident, I didn't feel so invincible.
"There's no one." I shrugged.
Dr. Gray Eyes looked dubious. "No one? What about family?"
"My folks're on a Christmas Cruise. Sister's in Dayton, and she's got kids and the whole Christmas thing. I'll be okay."
"You must know someone in Chicago."
My heart throbbed with embarrassment. "I have friends and… work people. But everyone's got plans tonight. I just need to get back to the office to get my car."
"No. No, you really can't drive. Doctor's orders."
"I'll be fine. It's no big—" I began, because Self-Sufficient-R-Us. But one look at the doctor's face, and I hurried to add, "Or—yeah, I mean, if you insist. I could take an Uber home and pick up my car tomorrow. That's fine."
"Good." The doctor rubbed his jaw. "Will you be able to drive with a cast though? Tomorrow, I mean."
"I'm right-handed." I wiggled my fingers. "I do all the important stuff with my right hand."
Whoa, that sounded dirty. And I didn't mind. In fact, I raised my eyebrows and licked my lips to emphasize the point. And that was terrible. But I didn't mind that either. I lowered my voice and it came out in a rasp. "Wanna see?"
Dr. Gray Eyes—and yes, yes, his name tag was right there, and said Dr. Reynolds, but I wanted to call him Dr. Gray Eyes anyway—took a shaky breath and his face flushed, but I didn't think it was out of embarrassment.
We stared at each other for a long moment.
He didn't flinch, didn't look away. His gaze started to warm me in a way that transcended the meds.
"You're my patient. And you've had way too many accidents and drugs tonight," he said quietly.
"I swear, I'm in my right mind."
"I doubt it."
"Can you help me to the bathroom?" I asked, holding out my right hand. "Before we have to add burst bladder to tonight's tale of woe."
"Of course!" Dr. Gray Eyes jumped up and put an arm—a lovely, strong, warm arm behind my back to help me off the bed. But a stern voice interrupted us.
"Doctor! I can do that. There's a patient in bay two that needs you urgently." That was the nurse, standing at the curtain to the hall. I wasn't sure how much she'd heard, but she didn't look happy.
Dr. Gray Eyes released me. "Yes. Of course.
Nurse, this patient needs help to the restroom.
And I'm calling him an Uber. Make sure he gets in it.
" He said that last very sternly. But when he turned to give me a final nod, his voice softened.
"I don't want to see you in here again tonight, Patrick. Okay? Go home and rest. I mean it."
"I will, Doctor," I said obediently. I watched Dr. Gray Eyes leave, feeling irrationally happy. The man had said no, but he'd wanted to say yes. I'd seen it in his eyes. And that was enough to send me soaring.