Chapter 5 - Andrew #2
“This is the last thing, amore,” he’d said, stroking my hair as I lay in his lap on the couch, a fire roaring in the fireplace. “If this does not work, you must promise me you will stop chasing a miracle. It hurts me to see you disappointed.”
My heart contracted at that, at the idea of causing him pain, but I had to try. “I promise,” I murmured, closing my eyes.
I brought my mind back to the present. Gabriel’s stubble had grown out a bit, not quite a full beard, and it suited him. “I like this,” I said, brushing my finger along his jaw. He rewarded me with his brilliant smile. It lit up his entire face and creased the skin around the corners of his eyes.
“You like me to be as uncivilized as you,” he said, then sighed. “Fine. If you must do these treatments, I will make sure they take good care of you.”
After a shower and a plate of shakshuka, Gabriel and I left for the city. We took the Jaguar that I’d bought after my Australian Open win. Even though it had been years since my last death threat, Gabriel still insisted on keeping a small, concealed handgun in a safe under the front seat.
The drive to the city took about two hours thanks to a snarl of traffic on the expressway, but we’d left early. We parked in the garage of my city apartment and walked the ten blocks to the clinic with plenty of time to spare.
How could Gabriel not be hopeful? I wouldn’t have been able to cover that distance without limping two weeks before.
Anticipation curled in my stomach as we waited in the futuristic lobby. Not only was I eager to see if the tests they ran showed objective improvement, there was also a small, guilty part of me that was excited to see the little blonde scientist again. Bridget.
I was happily bonded, and Gabriel would skin me alive if I cheated, but there was something undeniably compelling about her. And the spark of attraction I’d seen in her eyes had been gratifying.
I tamped down those particular thoughts. She was a professional just trying to do her job. I wouldn’t be the creepy patient.
When I was called back to the exam room, a nurse came to do a blood draw and collect “synovial fluid.”
“I’m going to numb the area first,” she said, using a small needle all around my knee joint before returning with a syringe with a comically large needle.
“Ma che cazzo,” Gabriel said under his breath, covering his eyes with his hands. “Tell me when this is over.”
“You shouldn’t feel anything, but you might be sore tomorrow,” the nurse said and inserted the needle right below my kneecap. As she pulled the plunger on the syringe, the chamber filled with a yellowish fluid. “They’ll test this for signs of inflammation.”
The nurse finished and placed the syringe on a tray, then retrieved a tablet. “How are you feeling overall?”
I told her everything — about how I’d been able to start training again, the reduced pain. She asked if I’d had any other symptoms, any swelling or tenderness.
“None at all,” I said. “I feel better than I have in a year.”
The nurse scribbled on my chart. “Great. Unfortunately, Dr. Davis is in surgery today, so he won’t be able to say hi.”
“His doctor cannot even come to see him?” Gabriel asked from his perch on the windowsill.
She pulled a sympathetic face. “No, I’m so sorry. But I’ll send in Dr. Manalo and the other researcher to see you.”
I furrowed my brow. I didn’t like Bridget being referred to as “the other researcher.” But I held my tongue.
“é ridicolo,” Gabriel muttered. “One hundred thousand dollars per injection and he cannot see you?”
I sighed and patted his leg. “Relax. This is just a follow up.”
The door opened again, and I braced myself for Dr. Manalo, who seemed to hate me on sight.
But it was Bridget, alone and looking pissed.
Her eyes found mine immediately. Her clothing was more professional than the last time I’d seen her — a skirt and tights with shiny black loafers — but she seemed flustered.
“Hi, Mr. St. James,” she said, a bit out of breath. “There was an issue with the incubator —” she cut herself off, pressing her lips together. “Sorry, but it’s just going to be me today.”
“That’s alright,” I said. “Thanks for taking the time. This is my partner, Gabriel.”
Her wide blue eyes swung to where Gabriel was sitting. He rose, smiling, to greet her.
“Ciao,” he said, shaking her hand. “Are you one of the doctors?”
“No, she’s not,” I said, unable to help myself. She turned to look at me with narrowed eyes, and I smiled. I liked having a private joke with her more than I should have.
“I’m the research associate for the study. I’m part of the team working to grow and isolate the Omega stem cells that Mr. St. James is receiving.”
Gabriel raised his hands, like he was already apologizing for what he was about to say. “I am sorry to be so blunt, but I am skeptical of the treatment. Andrew has gotten his hopes up before…” he trailed off. “Can you help me to be more positive?”
Bridget shifted on her feet, looking uncomfortable. “I… that’s not…” She pressed her palms together, looking down.
“I won’t make any promises. That’s not fair to anyone. But the initial signs look good,” she said, then looked back up at Gabriel, smiling. “And I’m personally excited about the results so far.”
He smiled back, his shoulders relaxing away from his ears. “Thank you, Bridget. I appreciate your honesty.”
Bridget turned to me with a guarded expression. “The nurse told me you’re experiencing reduced pain and an increase in range of motion?”
“Yeah. It’s incredible, actually.” I flexed my leg. The joint was still numb from the local anesthesia. “When will I get the next injection?”
“In two weeks,” Bridget said, looking down at my knee. “But it’s truly feeling better?”
“He is like a new man,” Gabriel said.
Bridget smiled again. “Sorry, this is really unprofessional, but that’s amazing.” Her eyes shone with excitement. “I’ve never gotten to speak with a subject before.”
“That’s cruel. They should not have you stuck in a lab all day,” Gabriel said with a frown.
Bridget laughed, surprised. “Actually, I prefer being in the lab. It’s much easier to deal with stem cells than with people sometimes. Not that you’re difficult to deal with,” she added quickly.
“He is,” Gabriel said. “He will do anything to get back to competing.”
“You said you had meniscus replacement surgery?” Bridget leaned against the wall behind her with her arms crossed. “Was it autologous or allogeneic?”
I smiled. “Ask that again like I’m five years old.”
“Was the tissue your own, or from a donor?” she clarified.
“A donor,” I said. “Apparently the graft failed? To be honest, I’m just trying to keep the doctor from giving me a full knee replacement. I can’t come back from that.”
“They offered him an announcing job. I told him to take it, but he does not listen to me. He wants to kill himself to win,” Gabriel sighed and gave Bridget a long-suffering look.
Bridget’s smile became a little more mischievous. Gabriel had a tendency to do this — to draw people out. “It’s very nice of you to stick by him when he’s so impossible. Does he always ignore your sound advice?” she asked.
I felt a little buzz of happiness through our bond as Gabriel winked at me. He was enjoying himself at my expense.
I groaned. “Please don’t encourage him. All the way home, I’ll be hearing about the pretty scientist who agrees I should do exactly as he says.”
Bridget’s face flushed bright red.
Gabriel scoffed, mock-outraged. “‘Pretty?’ Come osi? How dare you? She is beautifully radiant, and a scientific genius. Have some respect.”
My heart rate picked up as Bridget laughed again, her face still flushed with embarrassment. A faint trace of the scent I’d picked up the last time I’d seen her danced into the room. It was floral and sweet, and I wanted more.
Just as I opened my mouth to retort, there was a commotion in the hallway.
“Ma’am, you need to wait in the lobby,” A woman’s voice said, from right outside the exam room door.
There was a mumbled response. Bridget raised her eyebrows at us, looking intrigued, then cracked open the door so she could peek into the hallway.