Chapter 10 #3
I ignored him and instead answered the question he should’ve asked and didn’t. “He’s coming to, but he’s sweating and ashen. And it’s getting worse.”
“I see that,” Michael said as he approached the bed. He glanced between the monitors and Cash. Despite wanting to stand at Cash’s bedside, holding his hand and brushing his knuckles with my thumb while I combed the sweat-dampened hair from his forehead, I forced myself to keep my ass on the stool.
“Cash? Open your eyes for me,” Michael asked, his eyes focused on the monitors yet again.
Mine stayed locked on Cash’s face. Waiting. Hoping for a response. Other than a few garbled words and brow-scrunched moans, Cash lay just as he had for over the last nearly two hours.
Michael checked him over—pen light flashing over Cash’s pupils. He sighed, sucking his teeth as he swiped across the screen of the tablet he’d carried in with him.
The sucking teeth thing irked me. It had from the moment I met him.
But it was his sigh that concerned me. The two together set me on edge.
Me, Dr. Thaddeus Vale, worried about a patient.
Yeah, I worried about all of them, but not like this.
Not like Cash worried me, but he wasn’t just any patient.
I wanted to fuck him. I wanted to kiss and touch and sleep next to him.
None of which was appropriate. At this point, I didn’t think I knew appropriate anymore. At least not when it came to Cash. My normally rigid sense of self and ethical behavior had been on hiatus since the moment I laid eyes on the man in the bed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, already knowing what his answer would be.
Michael’s gaze caught mine, but instead of answering, he asked, “What’s his discharge situation? Do you know?”
I nodded. “He has a shared living situation.”
“So, roommates?” he asked.
“Yeah. And worse, he no longer has a first-floor room.”
“Well, he’s not going anywhere anytime soon, so that doesn’t matter much yet.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He’s hyper sensitive to the opioids. We knew this. It’s noted in his record from prior surgeries. You see how he’s reacting. It’s why you called me.”
“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “What are you recommending?”
He sighed. “If he had a partner, significant other, or a parent, I might could release him to go home, if the person could understand the risks and symptoms of overdose, and that’s if he was alert with a steady heart and respiratory rate…
but…there’s no way. Not right now. And especially not with him living in a shared space with roommates and not having a lower-level bedroom.
I’ll give it some time before deciding, but I might need to admit him. ”
“What if he did have someone?” The words left my mouth before I even realized I’d thought them.
He looked at me, brow climbing his forehead. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, what if he did?”
I shrugged. “Just what I said. What if he did have someone?”
Michael’s eyebrows rose farther. “You got something to tell me, Doc?”
“No,” I hedged. Of course I didn’t have something to tell him. I couldn’t tell anyone anything. The two of us flirting was inappropriate enough.
He smirked. “But he doesn’t have those things, does he? And even if—”
My head shifted left and right. “No, he doesn’t, but he does have a doctor who gives a shit about him. His recovery.”
“His recovery? Right. So you’re suggesting he go home with you? That’s a little hands-on, don’t you think?”
I scrubbed a hand through my hair, scratching the back of my head. “I’m just suggesting that nobody wants to spend time in the hospital because they’re having a reaction to medicine that could be managed at home with the right caretaker.”
“Well, a world-renowned surgeon would definitely be capable of managing the patient’s recovery at home.
And I’m sure…this same renowned surgeon has a swanky-ass house that would provide the perfect place for a hockey player who…
needs to recover from his fourth knee surgery in the last year? ” Michael’s voice ended on the uptake.
And a smile.
“I hate you.”
He laughed. “He’s not dischargeable right now. I’ll keep an eye on him. Give him some naloxone …”
My eyes rounded until they stretched. “That could negate all the pain meds in his system.”
“I’m not an idiot. I’ll titrate it and work to find something that works for him without the depressant—”
“Hurts.” The slurred, garbled word stopped our banter.
Michael leaned over Cash again. “Cash—”
And Cash puked, covering himself.
“Yeah…he’s not going anywhere anytime soon,” Michael said, dropping the head of the bed as I grabbed Cash’s shoulder and knee, pushing him away from me and onto his good side while supporting his knee.
“No shit, Sherlock,” I muttered.
Cash vomited several more times before the medication Michael and I ordered took hold.
The clock, when I finally had a moment to glance at it, showed several hours had passed.
I dropped into a sleeping recliner Davina had rolled into the room.
My eyes closed before the blanket she shook out dropped over me.