Chapter 3 The Pretty Doctor
Doctor Mode
Deck hated clinics.
Hospitals ranked slightly lower on his list of favorite places, but not by much.
The entire building smelled like antiseptic, bad coffee, and bad news. People walked around carrying clipboards and concerns. Every room contained someone eager to discuss feelings, symptoms, limitations, or recovery plans.
None of those things interested him.
Unfortunately, his opinion hadn't been consulted.
Three days after waking up in the hospital, he'd been transferred to outpatient rehabilitation services.
Which meant appointments.
Schedules.
Evaluations.
And entirely too much time around Dr. Finn Ashford.
The realization alone worsened his mood.
The clinic waiting room felt crowded despite only half the chairs being occupied.
Deck sat near the back wall, arms folded carefully across his chest. One hand remained wrapped in heavy bandages. The other looked only slightly better.
His ribs hurt.
His shoulder hurt.
His hands definitely hurt.
Everything hurt.
The discomfort would've been easier to tolerate if people stopped staring.
They didn't.
Apparently surviving a garage explosion turned a man into local entertainment.
Wonderful.
The mechanic shifted slightly in his chair.
Immediately regretted it.
Pain shot through his side.
Another reason to hate clinics.
The receptionist glanced up from her desk.
Smiled politely.
Deck immediately looked away.
People were entirely too friendly in Willow Ridge.
The front doors opened.
Several patients entered.
An elderly couple.
A young mother carrying a toddler.
A construction worker with a brace around one knee.
Normal people.
Normal problems.
Normal lives.
The thought surfaced unexpectedly.
Before the explosion, he would've been at the garage right now.
Working.
Repairing engines.
Yelling at apprentices.
Avoiding paperwork.
Instead, he sat inside a clinic waiting for someone to tell him how broken he was.
The realization settled heavily inside his chest.
A familiar bitterness.
One he was becoming increasingly acquainted with.
The sound of laughter pulled his attention toward the hallway.
Not loud laughter.
Warm laughter.
The kind that made people relax.
Deck recognized the voice immediately.
Unfortunately.
Finn Ashford emerged from one of the treatment rooms carrying a tablet.
A little girl walked beside him.
Maybe seven years old.
The child wore a bright pink cast on one arm and seemed deeply invested in whatever conversation they were having.
Finn listened seriously.
Nodding occasionally.
As if discussing matters of national importance.
The little girl finished speaking.
The doctor gasped dramatically.
"No way."
The child nodded enthusiastically.
"Way."
Finn looked horrified.
"Three whole dinosaurs?"
The girl giggled.
Deck blinked.
The doctor looked genuinely shocked.
The kid looked delighted.
The entire interaction lasted less than thirty seconds.
By the end of it, the little girl smiled brightly and skipped toward her waiting mother.
Finn waved goodbye.
Then returned to reviewing something on his tablet.
The transformation happened instantly.
One moment he looked playful.
The next completely professional.
Focused.
Efficient.
The shift caught Deck off guard.
Not that he cared.
Obviously.
The doctor continued down the hallway.
Several nurses immediately approached him.
Questions followed.
Finn answered each one without hesitation.
Confident.
Calm.
Certain.
Deck watched despite himself.
The clinic staff clearly respected him.
Not because he demanded it.
Because he earned it.
Interesting.
Most authority figures Deck had encountered throughout his life relied on intimidation.
Fear.
Volume.
Finn didn't seem to use any of those things.
People simply listened when he spoke.
The observation irritated him.
Mostly because it felt unfair.
The doctor was already annoyingly attractive.
Competence seemed excessive.
A nurse handed Finn a chart.
The younger man reviewed it quickly.
Then frowned.
Not angry.
Concerned.
Moments later he disappeared into another examination room.
The door closed behind him.
Deck looked away immediately.
He wasn't watching.
Didn't matter.
Didn't care.
The fact that his attention returned toward the hallway less than thirty seconds later meant absolutely nothing.
An elderly man sat down nearby.
Recognizable face.
One of the farmers outside town.
The older gentleman noticed Deck immediately.
"Explosion guy."
Wonderful.
Another fan.
Deck nodded once.
The farmer smiled.
"Glad you're still alive."
The mechanic considered several possible responses.
Eventually settled on:
"Thanks."
The older man seemed pleased.
As though surviving explosions deserved congratulations.
The conversation thankfully ended there.
Several minutes passed.
Then shouting erupted from one of the treatment rooms.
Actual shouting.
The sound carried throughout the clinic.
Patients looked up.
Nurses exchanged exhausted glances.
Apparently this wasn't unusual.
A male voice continued ranting.
Angry.
Frustrated.
Loud.
Deck listened automatically.
Not because he wanted to.
Because ignoring yelling proved difficult.
The examination room door suddenly opened.
A large man stormed into the hallway.
Construction worker.
Late forties.
Red-faced.
Furious.
"I don't need another damn test."
The outburst echoed through the clinic.
Several people stared.
The construction worker didn't seem to care.
"Everybody keeps telling me what I can't do."
Nobody answered.
The silence stretched.
Awkward.
Then Finn appeared behind him.
The doctor didn't look intimidated.
Or annoyed.
Or even surprised.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The construction worker pointed aggressively.
"You think because you went to medical school you know everything?"
Deck expected an argument.
Most people would've argued.
Instead, Finn nodded.
The reaction visibly confused the man.
"Absolutely not."
The answer arrived calmly.
Steadily.
No defensiveness.
No ego.
The construction worker blinked.
Apparently not expecting agreement.
Finn continued.
"I think you've spent thirty years working construction."
The angry man frowned.
"Yeah."
"I think you know your job better than I ever will."
Confusion replaced some of the anger.
The doctor stepped slightly closer.
Not enough to invade personal space.
Enough to hold attention.
"And I think if you keep ignoring your injury, you're going to lose the ability to do that job."
The hallway fell silent.
The words weren't dramatic.
Or threatening.
Just honest.
The construction worker looked away first.
Finn waited.
Patient.
Steady.
Several seconds passed.
Eventually the larger man sighed.
Long.
Frustrated.
Defeated.
"Damn it."
The doctor smiled slightly.
Not victorious.
Understanding.
The difference mattered.
"Come back inside."
Another sigh followed.
Then surprisingly, the construction worker obeyed.
Just like that.
No argument.
No fight.
The two men disappeared into the treatment room.
The door closed.
Conversation resumed throughout the clinic.
Deck stared at the hallway.
Annoyed.
The entire thing annoyed him.
Not because Finn handled the situation well.
Because he handled it too well.
The mechanic understood difficult men.
Spent most of his life surrounded by them.
Worked with them.
Fought alongside them.
Occasionally punched them.
Men like the construction worker didn't respond to authority.
They didn't respond to orders.
Yet somehow Finn had talked him down without raising his voice.
Without threatening consequences.
Without acting superior.
The realization bothered him more than it should.
An hour later, Deck found himself sitting inside a rehabilitation room.
Waiting.
Again.
Apparently rehabilitation involved endless waiting.
The room contained exercise equipment, therapy tools, and several motivational posters.
The posters proved particularly offensive.
Nobody recovering from serious injuries wanted motivational quotes.
They wanted functioning body parts.
The door opened.
Finn entered carrying a tablet.
His sleeves were rolled up.
The movement exposed strong forearms beneath the white coat.
Noticed entirely by accident.
Obviously.
The doctor smiled.
Deck immediately disliked how easy the smile looked.
"Good afternoon."
"Is it?"
Finn considered.
"Depends."
The answer sounded suspiciously amused.
The mechanic narrowed his eyes.
The doctor ignored him completely.
Typical.
Finn reviewed several notes.
Asked several questions.
Examined healing progress.
Professional.
Focused.
Everything remained normal.
Until a young nurse entered carrying paperwork.
The woman couldn't have been older than twenty-three.
Maybe twenty-four.
She approached Finn immediately.
"Sorry to interrupt."
The doctor glanced up.
"No problem."
The nurse smiled.
Brightly.
Entirely too brightly.
Deck immediately disliked her.
The realization caught him off guard.
The woman handed over several documents.
Their fingers brushed briefly.
Finn thanked her.
She smiled again.
Then left.
The interaction lasted maybe fifteen seconds.
Nothing happened.
Nothing important anyway.
Yet somehow Deck found himself irritated.
Deeply irritated.
The sensation made absolutely no sense.
The doctor returned to reviewing information.
Unaware.
Or pretending to be.
The mechanic looked away.
Toward the wall.
Toward the window.
Toward literally anything else.
The irritation remained.
Wonderful.
Just wonderful.
The rest of the appointment passed normally.
At least outwardly.
Inside, Deck remained increasingly annoyed.
Not at the therapy.
Not at the clinic.
Not even at the injury.
At himself.
Because every day seemed to create new problems.
A week ago, Finn Ashford was simply another doctor.
Now Deck noticed everything.
The way he listened when patients spoke.
The way children trusted him immediately.
The way staff members relaxed around him.