Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Gray
I'd kissed Patrick. Well, technically, he'd kissed me, but I had jumped all over that.
I should be second-guessing this entire venture—driving Patrick home, eating out with him, the kiss, now going with him on a curse-hunting expedition.
But I just couldn't make myself. Patrick was so bright and engaged and clearly in charge of his own life.
He was no one's victim—surprising given how much he'd been hurt tonight, but it was true.
And he'd led this dance from the start, making his interest clear in the ER, suggesting eating at the restaurant, and initiating the kiss.
And, while I could have put on the brakes at any time, I didn't want to.
Not then, not now. Because I was old enough to know how rare it was to meet a guy like Patrick, and because I was already totally invested in this.
In him. That was crazy, but also… miraculous?
And wonderful. And I was not so dumb that I'd miss my ship when it finally pulled into the harbor.
"Do you want to text Raphael to let him know we're coming?" I asked.
Patrick turned from looking out the passenger window and grimaced. "No. He'd probably turn off the lights and lock the door."
"Is he that bad?"
"He's had it in for me since I started. I think he knows I'm gay, and he's a homophobe. He always makes these passive-aggressive remarks about dicks and stuff."
"Are you not out at work?" That surprised me. Patrick seemed the type to take crap from no man.
He stiffened. "I'm not not out. But I haven't had a boyfriend, so there's no reason to talk about it. I don't really discuss… stuff… with people at work. Not personal stuff."
His tone was defensive, which made me feel bad. "No, I get it. I don't talk about my personal life at work either."
"Really?"
I shrugged. "I'm a doctor. Some patients, especially older ones, might have a concern about being treated by a gay doctor.
Some people are still afraid of AIDS or, I don't know, gay cooties, I suppose.
I just don't tend to talk about my private life at work.
Aided and abetted by the fact that I don't have much of a private life to discuss. "
Patrick was watching me curiously. "So, you don't have a boyfriend then?"
There was a hitch of worry in his voice, and I reached over and took his hand.
I liked that it was fine-boned, long-fingered.
I imagined he typed on that keyboard of his really well.
Not to mention doing other tasks requiring manual dexterity.
My hands had always been rather thick and large—like the rest of me.
"I don't have any type of boyfriend," I said. "Or I wouldn't be here with you. The last serious one I had was before med school."
"Oh. Cool."
"You?"
He blew out a breath. "A whole lot of nothing since I moved here from LA last year. I was dating someone there for a couple of years, but it wasn't going anywhere, so the move was the perfect opportunity to break it off."
I should probably say I was sorry, but I wasn't. What I wanted to say was, maybe your luck has changed. Only I didn't want to jinx it. Especially not with Krampus on the scene.
The address Patrick got off his work roster was on the Lower North Side. The traffic had thinned out, and it was a peaceful drive. It was still snowing, but the salt on the roads, and the brisk traffic, kept the asphalt damp but not icy.
As we got close to Raphael's place, the vibe changed.
It was a lower-income neighborhood with narrow row houses, nearly all of which had seen better days.
Older vehicles were parked out front, and kids' toys littered the narrow porches.
At least half the streetlights were out, and a few houses had boarded-up windows.
But the holiday cheer gave the place a hopeful sheen—lots of tinsel trees on doors, lights, even an inflatable snowman in the small yard in front of one house.
I had to circle a few times to find parking, so I dropped Patrick and his crutch off and walked the few blocks back to the row house with Raphael's address.
Patrick stood on the sidewalk out front, gazing at the house with a little frown. One of the windows showed a light on inside. A strand of red lights outlining the door was the only decoration. There was a pink Big Wheel on the porch.
"You okay?" I asked.
"I didn't think he was married. Or had kids. I don't know, I figured he had a bachelor's apartment downtown or something."
"You're sure this is the right address?"
"Yup." He sighed. "There's only one way to find out. You don't have to go up with me."
If this guy was as rude as Patrick had made it sound, no way was I letting him do this alone in his condition. "I told you I'm all in."
Patrick smiled. "A kiss for luck?"
I looked around. I wasn't used to PDA. But there was no one out and about. And Patrick looked so cute standing there with his puffy jacket only on his good arm. Like a postage stamp featuring a wounded warrior. Gamer edition.
Smiling, I took his face gently in my hands and kissed him. His lips were cold and tasted like candy. I didn't let it deepen. "Let's do this," I said.
He nodded. "Right."
We walked up the steps onto a creaky porch, Patrick careful with his crutches.
He knocked. The door opened after a long pause and a young guy in a Mets sweatshirt stood there.
He was Latino and handsome, with a thick head of black hair.
But the sneer on his face when he saw Patrick annoyed me immediately.
"What the f—" He looked over his shoulder self-consciously. "What are you doing here, Patrick?" He hissed. "And who's this?"
"This is my friend, Gray. Who is also my doctor," Patrick said in a dry tone. He waved to his sling and boot. "As you can see, I need one. Let us in. It's freezing out here."
Raphael looked puzzled, but he stepped back. Patrick barged in, his crutches forcing Raphael to make more space. I followed, and Raphael shut the door.
"Hi. Dr. Gray Reynolds," I said, holding out my hand. "Not here on official duty, though."
"Raphael." The guy shook my hand. Then he looked at Patrick. "What happened to you? You get hit by a train?"
"Krampus. Krampus happened." Patrick glared at him accusingly.
Raphael blinked in confusion. "What?"
"Krampus! The weird little figurine I got in the secret Santa exchange. Which you know damn well."
Raphael looked more confused than ever.
Before he could answer, a woman walked into the room.
She had thick black hair like Raphael's cut short in a bob.
She was on the chunky side, and she looked tired.
"Raphe, who was—oh. Hello." She smiled at us.
Then she noticed Patrick's crutches and boot.
She clucked her tongue. "What are you doing making them stand?
Come. Sit down." She took Patrick's arm and guided him to the sofa.
Then she waved at the spot next to him. "Sit! " she told me.
I sat. Raphael did too, in a drab green upholstered chair across from the sofa, though he didn't look too pleased about it.
Patrick gave me a look that said this wasn't going at all the way he'd imagined it in his head.
And I had to agree. Raphael genuinely didn't seem to know about Krampus.
And this house—with its well-used furniture, afghans in bright colors, a baby swing, Christmas tree with its nest of presents underneath, and myriads of framed family photos on the wall—was hardly the abode of the chief dickhead Patrick had described.
Of course, that didn't prove anything. Family men could be dickheads.
"Maria, this is Patrick. From work. And his, um, doctor."
"Friend. Gray," I said.
Maria's eyebrows went up. "Patrick?" she spoke rapidly to Raphael in Spanish, and he replied back defensively. My Spanish wasn't great, but I picked up enough to get the feeling that Raphael had not exactly talked about Patrick in a positive way.
Maria gave a forced smile. "It's so nice to have guests on Christmas Eve. I'll make some hot chocolate."
"That's okay," Patrick said. "We won't be here long."
"It's no trouble!" Maria bustled from the room.
"Didn't know you were married," Patrick said to Raphael.
"She's my sister." Raphael's attitude was sour, and I totally got why Patrick didn't like him.
"I didn't know people who hatched from an egg had sisters," Patrick said mildly.
I cleared my throat. "You guys come from a big family?" I said, hoping to ease the tension.
Raphael glanced at me. "Just us two. Not every Latino family has fourteen kids, you know."
I felt my face heat. "That's not what I meant."
"Don't be an ass, Raphael. Not to him, anyway. He's just doing me a favor." Patrick looked around. "You've got kids?"
"A niece," Raphael said flatly. "What is this about, Patrick? How did you even find me?"
"Work roster."
Raphael glowered. "Add your info to the work roster. It'll be fun!" He shook his head in disgust. "So, you said something about your secret Santa gift?"
Patrick's jaw tightened. "Yeah." He brought Krampus out from his coat pocket.
It looked unremarkable in this room—just another Christmas decoration.
Though the black horns and hooves made it a weird one.
"This. It's cursed. Traya looked it up online and found a whole Reddit thread about it.
And since I got it, I've had one accident after another.
Broke my arm. And my foot. In two separate incidents.
I was mugged in Millennium Park. And run over by a horse. "
Raphael's jaw dropped open. "Holy shit."
"So, I need to give it back to the person who gave it to me. And I can't think of anyone else on the team who hates me enough to give me a curse. So just admit it and take this thing back." Patrick set the Krampus on the wooden coffee table with a definitive thump.
Raphael stared at it a moment, then burst out laughing. He covered his mouth with his hand and doubled over in his chair. Patrick glared at him, then me. I shrugged.