by Amy Daws
There are so many lines we’ve crossed in his short time here. I’m risking everything by sleeping with him like this. I went to school for so long, and now that I’m an actual doctor, I decide to shack up with a patient? This is insanity.
Pulling my hand free to tuck it under my head, I reply pragmatically instead of emotionally. “Well, as we said, with The Wilson Repair, it’ll be a quick recovery and you’ll be good as new in five to six weeks. Most ACL repairs take six months, which is devastating for footballers. This means you’ll be able to get right back on the field for summer training. Tell them that and you’re sure to get an offer.”
Silence stretches out between us as Cam stares at me for a long, painful moment. He’s trying to get a read on me, but I’m only giving him the business reply. Sure I’m in bed with him and it’s probably too little, too late, but in my mind, I have something to prove. I can still be his surgeon. I want him to be Penis Number One, but I need to do the surgery first. I can handle both.
Without another word, he rolls over on his side, facing away from me, and the cold shoulder feels a whole lot like being slapped in the face.
Ten o’clock turns to eleven. Eleven turns to midnight, and midnight turns to one in the morning, and I’m still staring at the window, begging sleep to take me. Cam’s soft sounds of sleep taunt me, making me feel like a boat with no water.
Lying next to him in his hospital bed when I know, without a shadow of a doubt, it could be a matter of days before I have sex with him is weird. Weirder than weird. It’s like intimate or something. It feels gentlemanly that he’s not trying to have sex with me anymore, which is all wrong because he’s not supposed to be a gentleman. He’s supposed to be Penis Number One. I’m supposed to be his surgeon.
What a mess.
Unable to lie here alone with my thoughts any longer, I grab my mobile from under the pillow and pull up Belle’s name.
Me: Hey, can you talk to me for a minute?
I wait for a moment, knowing Belle’s ring will wake her. Being a doctor trains your brain to be a light sleeper.
Belle: Sure. Let me go into the bathroom so I don’t wake Stanley, who’s probably approaching a wet dream about you right now.
I roll my eyes and slide off the bed, glancing down at Cam for a moment. He’s clearly in his REM sleep cycle. Since I know he’s a deep sleeper, I creep into the loo, leaving the lights off so there’s absolutely no chance of waking him.
I slide down the shower wall just as my mobile lights up with Belle’s call.
“Hey,” I croak as I tuck my feet under my legs on the shower floor.
“Hey, why are you whispering?” she asks. “Aren’t you at home right now?”
I purse my lips. “Promise not to get mad and promise not to judge. And promise not to do that thing where you sound as if you want to pet me on the head.”
“Indie.”
“You do it sometimes. I know you’re not trying to be patronising, but I just need you to promise.”
“Okay, I promise.”
I drop the bomb. “I’m up in Camden Harris’ VIP suite.”
“Why? Did something happen to him?” Her voices raises with alarm.
“No.”
“Then why are you there?”
I drop the second bomb. “I’m sleeping with him.”
“You had sex with him?” she squeals, her voice louder than before.
“Stop shouting! Oh my God, you’re going to wake up Stanley,” I groan. “And no. I didn’t have sex with him. I stayed in his room with him last night and slept in the chair, but tonight he convinced me to sleep in his bed. I was trying to just sleep with him, but I can’t sleep because that’s all we’re doing.”
“I’m so confused.”
“I don’t know how it happened, but it did. He knows I’m a virgin. He knows I want to have sex with him, but we’re waiting.”
“For what? The operating room?”
“Belle!” I growl. “Be serious. I know this sounds crazy. But he’s so hot and he’s actually kind of fun, and he’s really persuasive and charming. Somehow he got me to stay in his room last night. Then he was nervous about the surgery, so I said I’d sleep with him again tonight. But I can’t sleep because all I keep thinking about is the fact that everything we’ve been doing for the last forty-eight hours is very Un-penis Number One. I’m breaking the rules, Belle, and I’m terrified that this is going to mess up more than just my Penis List!” I drop the final bomb and it feels like a stinker.
“Got it. Okay, hang on a tick. It’s like I just found out Mary Poppins was a pedophile.”
“What?”
“I’m processing. My sweet, perfect student, Indie Porter, has gone rogue on me. You skipped like eighteen steps, darling. I thought we made this list and these rules so you would know exactly what to do.”
“Well! He’s really charming.” I sigh heavily and listen to her breathe in and out for what feels like forever.
“Okay. It’s going to be okay.” Her voice is confident and resolute.
“It is?”
“Yes. I decreed it and so shall it be. You’re worried he’s being too nice? Like he’s not Penis Number One material? Don’t. I’ve been Googling him since he came in. There’s this entire hate mail blog post from that model he was dating last month about how he fucked her over. She doesn’t actually state his name, but you don’t have to be a genius to know who Hamden Carris is.”
“What did the article say?” The inner voice in my head wants to know what he could have possibly done for her to publicly smear him like that.
“Indie! It doesn’t matter. You need him to be a dog. I’m telling you, he’s a player. Don’t get attached. Caring about what happened to some leggy, jilted blonde is irrelevant.
“Furthermore, if you can’t sleep, get the hell out of there now. Nothing needs to mess up your ability to operate tomorrow. He’s asleep. You’ve coddled him. Your customer service job is done. Leave so you can get your head straight and be ready for this surgery. He won’t care. You’re an innocent virgin unicorn…He’d be a fool to walk away from you.”
“Okay.” I swallow hard. “Bloody hell, you give good advice at one in the morning.”
“Well, I hadn’t gone to sleep quite yet.”
“Do I want to know?” I ask nervously.
“No.”
“Okay,” I reply with relief. My shit sandwich is large enough without adding her drama to it. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
She huffs a laugh into the line. “I couldn’t be more proud of you. Now get out of there.”
I creep out of the bathroom and throw on my trainers. Cam’s still out cold, but before walking out the door, I decide to leave him a note—something he’ll see in hopes he doesn’t think I’ve changed my mind about the Penis Number One thing.
My eyes scroll through the notes in the margins of his book until I get to the place he left off. Biting my lip, I grab his pen and scrawl out something of my own just below his last note. It’s something that I hope he’ll be able to appreciate.
Then I creep out like a thief in the night, clutching tightly to my nerves the entire way.
“YOU’RE GOING TO BE great. Don’t be nervous,” Vi coos as she strokes my hair over and over. I know she does it to calm herself more than me, so I bite my tongue to stop from telling her to piss off.
Two nurses just left my room after prepping me for surgery. One shaved my leg, the other started an IV drip. I already feel the effects of whatever meds they put in there to relax me, but they’re making me feel more emotional than calm.
I shift uncomfortably as I’m sprawled out on a hard, mobile bed that’s to take me to surgery any second. It’s different from the large VIP bed that smells like lemons and rain. Thank goodness for small favours, I think sullenly.
“You have to stop,” I growl, unable to bite my tongue any longer and shooing my sister’s hands off of me. My mood is dark, and the fact that I woke up to Beardie’s face instea
d of Indie’s didn’t help matters. “Where are Tan and Booker? Gareth?” I ask, feeling like I’m overwhelmed with the maternal hovering of my sister. Some annoying brotherly distractions could serve me well.
“They’re in the waiting room. I didn’t think you’d want everyone swarming you before the surgery. I can call them in here if you want,” she adds, her eyes bright and helpful.
I shake my head. She’s right. I’ll just get prickly and bark at them like I did yesterday. Best to just get this over with. “Dad?” I ask knowingly.
Her eyes turn soft. “Sorry, Cam. You know this is hard for him.”
Hard for him? I want to laugh. Imagine how it is for me since I’m the one going under. Surgery and my family do not have a good history, but nobody seems to be talking about that.
“Well, are we all ready for action?” Dr. Prichard’s deep voice bellows as he comes striding into the room, adjusting his blue scrub cap.
I look behind him, hoping to see Indie on his tail, but am disappointed when no one follows.
I’m angry. I’m angry that I’m angry. I’m angry that I care. She did exactly what she did yesterday and just left. I can’t get a read on her and it’s infuriating. I don’t like feeling powerless.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I murmur, trying not to roll my eyes.
“As I mentioned to you in our meeting yesterday, we’ll be video streaming the procedure to other clinics since it’s only the second time The Wilson Repair has been done in the UK. There are a lot of interested sports medicine surgeons eager to watch this all unfold. It’s exciting times in medical history.”
“You hear that, Cam?” Vi says, nudging me. “You’re helping other doctors by doing all of this. Isn’t that great?”
“Great,” I grind out. “Where’s…Dr. Porter?”
Dr. Prichard’s brows furrow. “Scrubbing in I’m sure. She had patients of mine she had to do rounds on before the surgery so…” His voice trails off and I look over to see what his eyes have zeroed in on. A pair of feminine red-framed glasses rest on my bedside table beside my Cross novel. I didn’t even realise she left those there. She must have run out in quite a hurry to leave those behind.
I glance back at Dr. Prichard’s narrowed eyes. “James Patterson fan, are you?” There’s a definite edge to his voice.
“For some time now,” I bite back, feeling certain we’re not talking about mystery authors. “It’s right up my alley.”
“I’m sure.” He forces out a laugh. It reminds me of Dr. Evil. All he’s missing is a facial scar and a hairless cat. “Well then, I best go join Indie and scrub in. This is a very big day for her. She had an article published in a medical journal on The Wilson Repair. Did you know that?”
“Why would I?” I feign ambivalence.
“She was an intern at the time and it’s how she got her job here. So she’d do about anything to scrub in on this procedure.”
I nod but remain silent. What is this spunk bubble trying to do? Create a divide? Well, I felt it before he even came in here, so he can pack away his cock feathers.
“We’ll see you in there, Mr. Harris.” He turns and walks out the door, and it takes all the control in my body not to throw my book at the back of his smartarse head.
“What was that all about?” Vi asks from beside me.
“Nothing,” I reply flatly. “Absolutely nothing.”
The amount of time it takes for an intern and a nurse to begin wheeling me through the hospital toward the OR is the same amount of time it takes for everything inside of me to crack. I feel like a bull in a china shop, ready to snap at any second.
First, a sleep and ditch from Indie. Then that prat of a doctor making it clear what I truly am to Indie: a step up in her career.
She never told me about the published article. When I think about how I told her I was scared, that I didn’t want to have the surgery, it’s no wonder she did anything she could to get me to stick around. She has everything to gain from this surgery. Hell, for all I know she’s laughing to her doctor friends about the footballer who actually believed she was a virgin.
As if I needed any more to Hulk out over, a text from my dad sends me toppling over the edge.
Dad: Cam, you may be a Gunner sooner rather than later. I’m so proud of you, Son. Call me after.
He can’t even bring himself to text the word “surgery.” His priority is all football and contracts instead of the fact that his son is going under the knife in less than thirty minutes. Defence mechanism or not, I’ve never felt more alone in my life.
My sister tries to hug me goodbye at the door, but I can’t even bring myself to embrace her back. I hand her my mobile and watch her retreat, envious that she’s out of the spotlight. She’s with Hayden and they’re going to have a baby. She’s always been the matriarch of our family. Our voice of reason. Our problem solver and our referee. When I think about all the times that Tanner and I have barged into her flat so she could settle a fight between us, it makes me wince. Now she’s going to be a proper mum to her own child. She’s not going to have time for our trivial shit anymore.
Everything is fucking changing. If I lose football after all this, I’ll truly have nothing. In a matter of two days, I went from having the world by the balls and being a sure-footed, footballer to an insecure, injured, emotionally-stunted pussy.
The nurse leans over me as she prepares to push me in. “Mr. Harris, are you all right? You’re looking pale.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” I brood.
A haze of neon lights cast over my head, and I look around to get my bearings. The OR is full of at least fifteen people all busying themselves with medical instruments. There’s a crew adjusting a huge telescope-looking camera above the operating table and a couple talking into headsets as they stand in front of some TV monitors.
They transfer me to the operating table and, before I lie back, my eyes land on a large glass window on the far wall. Behind the glass is Indie and Dr. Prichard. They are standing face-to-face, oblivious to our entry. I see his hand reach up and touch her cheek in a tender, intimate, and definitely familiar gesture.
Fury courses in my veins as I lie back on the table and, in a flash, my mind is made up. Whatever Indie Porter and I could have been will never happen. Camden Harris competes with no one, especially not wankers like Dr. Prichard. She’s not worth this much effort.
The anaesthetist is talking to me as he places sticky, round pads all over my chest and shoulders, but I can’t hear a word over the frustration roaring in my ears. He places a mask over my face, and the last thing I see before black is familiar, feminine, toffee-brown eyes behind a blue mask.
Bye, Felicia, I think ironically and do my best to ignore her tender touch on my shoulder as my vision fades to black.
I MAINTAIN MY PROFESSIONALISM AND concentration during the surgery, but I feel everyone’s eyes on me the entire time. Watching, judging, and wondering exactly how I got to where I am, holding a camera scope during a nationally-televised rare surgery.
I’m a twenty-four-year-old second year resident. I already have a target on my back for being the youngest doctor here. People already expect me to fail. I don’t need to give anyone any indication that I don’t deserve everything I’ve gotten.
So when Prichard stroked my cheek in the scrub room in front of the entire surgical staff, it took everything I had not to knee him in the balls. He said I had an eyelash on my cheek, but then a gentle swipe turned into a caress and a caress turned into a cupping. When he leaned in, I couldn’t believe what was happening. I yanked myself out of his grasp, pulled my mask up over my face, and gave him clipped, one-word responses the rest of our time together.
Thankfully, he didn’t seem angry with me during the surgery and even allowed me to present some of the particulars during the procedure. Camden’s knee accepted the graft perfectly and, technically, it couldn’t have gone better.
But the look in his eyes before he went under still chilled the
blood in my veins. His blue pools were swimming with anxiety and…loneliness. I almost regretted my decision to not see him prior to operating, just to help put his nerves at ease. But I’m so attracted to him and in tune with his desires. I was scared he would rattle me. Letting my relationship with him cloud my focus was not an option. I needed a clear head and I needed to trust myself to do his surgery properly.
I hurry and scrub out, anxious to see Camden after he wakes up from his anaesthesia. I nod and smile politely at Prichard, even though I want to be a cold bitch to him. I can’t lose my spot on the follow-up surgery in a month, so I plan to avoid any personal interaction with him until then. It shouldn’t be too difficult because I’m coming up on some time off here soon.
Striding into the post-op room, my eyes find Camden right away. He’s the only patient whose feet are hanging off the end of the bed. His eyes are closed and his face is moving side to side as he stirs. A nurse has just finished replacing his IV fluids.
“Has he woken up yet?” I ask, approaching the other side of the bed.
“Yes, he was awake for a bit but has been in and out since then.”
“How’s his pain?” I ask.
“Good. He said he had none.”
My brows arch. “You can’t always trust his answer on that. He looks restless, so let’s give him eight hundred milligrams of Ibuprofen.”
“You’re talking like you know me,” Cam’s voice croaks. His blue eyes crack open and he swallows as if his throat hurts. I grab the lidded cup with a straw and try to offer it to him, but he shakes it off. His blonde hair is disheveled and his normally tan skin looks pale beneath the fluorescent lights. Regardless, he’s still painfully handsome.
“I just know from experience that you like to minimise your pain,” I smile sweetly.
“I don’t need you to speak for me.” He grimaces and closes his eyes tightly, as if he’s trying to fight off a sharp jab of pain somewhere. “So how did the surgery go, Doc?”