Doctor Desirable: A Hero Club Novel

by Anjelica Grace

  “Okay, call me tomorrow, or anytime tonight if you need me. I love you, Dee.”

  “Love you too, Tate.”

  I end the call with my best friend, and open the door to the man I think I may be falling for. “Nate…”

  ****

  Nate

  My name on her lips right now is like salt in an open wound. She has no right to use it. None.

  “Please, come in.” She steps back and out of the way, expecting me to enter, but I stand my ground and fold my arms over my chest.

  “There is no need for me to come in. There is very little left for us to say. You betrayed me, Miss Parker. You hurt a patient. You failed to report.

  You. Lied. To me.”

  “What, Nate—”

  “I think it best you call me Dr. Alexander if or when we run into each other again, are we clear?” Her eyes well with tears, making the red, bloodshot orbs look even worse, as though she has been crying all afternoon.

  “Oh, okay.” She drops her hand from her door and allows her head to hang. Part of me wants to reach out and hold her. Part of me wants to promise her everything is okay. Then I remember she’s been talking to Xavier behind my back, so I maintain the cold, distant, and angry demeanor I showed up with.

  “There is only one thing I came here to know.”

  She looks up again, defeat written all over her face. “What?”

  “Did you speak to Xavier today?” I know she did, I called him the moment I stepped out of the conference room earlier. All it took was him saying, “It’s not what you think, Nate,” for me to hang up on him and block his number, so he couldn’t call or text me back again.

  I forgave him with Megan. He was drunk, too drunk, and she was sober and calculating; he had no fucking clue who she really was that night at the bar—it was dark and from what I heard from witnesses—she snuck up on him and acted before he even had time to register what was happening. Some might see it as a flimsy excuse, but he was celebrating a title and way too far gone. I excused him from being held accountable for the kiss I walked up on then because he was my baby brother, and he swore it would never, ever happen again. He meant it.

  I won’t excuse him this time. There is no excuse.

  Her eyes widen, answering for her before she even says a word.

  “That’s all I need to know. You have a great fucking life, Miss Parker.” I turn on my heel and walk down the hall, away from her apartment. There is no reason she should be talking to him. There are no good excuses. She knows how I feel; she knows what happened.

  This is the ultimate betrayal.

  Her sobs follow behind me, as though they’re trying to catch up and convince me to stay, but that won’t happen. I’ve been betrayed one too many times.

  Thirty-Three

  Dee

  Three days. I haven’t left my apartment, my bed, in three days. I’ve never felt so broken and raw in my life. I was on top of the world, then someone thought it would be great to flip it on me, leaving me falling and giving me nowhere to even hold on and ride it out, much less land.

  I lost everything I had in less than twelve hours’ time.

  My chest feels like it has a huge, gaping hole in it from where my heart used to be. I’m not even sure where that is now. Miranda made the first cut, opening me up and exposing me to the deadly blow Nate followed up with later.

  He’s a surgeon. Precision and control are what he excels at. Usually he doesn’t hold people’s lives in his hands, but when he showed up at my door, he went from orthopedic surgeon to heart surgeon. He dug in through Miranda’s first cut and completed the removal. There is nothing left.

  Nothing left of my heart.

  Nothing left of my spirit.

  I am now in the same position Emily was in, yet—where she could choose to believe—I don’t even have that. My job is gone. The man I think I was falling for has written me off and ripped me to shreds. Because of this, all of this, the likelihood of me ever getting another position in a hospital is probably next to nothing.

  I don’t even have the heart to tell my parents. Not yet.

  Maybe tomorrow.

  Maybe not.

  If I can physically survive on no groceries and limited meals, keep my body sustained on the bare minimum, I can probably eek out another month’s rent, maybe even two, before I won’t be able to afford being here anymore. That buys me around a month before I have to tell my parents what a failure I am.

  Of course, I’ll have to take moving expenses, and a cross-country moving truck rental, into account too.

  I bury my face in my pillow and pull the stifling hot comforter back over my head. The sunlight was making my eyes hurt even more anyway.

  Who knew crying for three days could be so painful? I guess you learn something new every day, huh?

  I start to doze off, entering into another nightmare, when a loud knocking sound fills my mind. My eyes pop open, sure I was dreaming it, when it starts again.

  I don’t want to deal with anyone right now. I’m not going to.

  I pull a pillow over my head, trying to muffle the sound, but the knocking gets louder, more insistent. After a couple minutes, I realize whoever it is has no intention of leaving.

  I throw the blankets off me, body hot and sweaty from my own sauna of seclusion, and pad to the front door.

  Part of me hopes it’s him. Maybe he talked to Xavier, realized what’s going on, what I was planning for him… For Micah.

  Another part of me is afraid it’s him. Maybe he forgot to say a few more things… Things that would pulverize whatever he thinks remains of my heart. Of me.

  I hold my breath and peek through the peephole.

  Bridget.

  Oh thank God.

  I exhale slowly and open the door to a crack so I can look out at her. “Thank you for coming by, but I really don’t feel well. Maybe I’ll feel better later.”

  She gives me the look I think all parents master, the one saying ‘You really think I buy that?’ and shakes her head. “You’re not sick. Open up and let me in.”

  “Really, Bridget, I’m fine. I just want to be alone.”

  “Right. And I left you alone for three days. Now open up and let me in. We need to talk.”

  I know she won’t go away. She’s been my only friend here since I moved—until him—and she knows it. I could argue again, but I think she’d wait me out all day at this point. She’s a nurse, being on her feet and dealing with stubborn people is her specialty.

  I open the door wider and step back, watching her eyes take me in, judgment then pity flashing in her stare before she finds my eyes again.

  “You look like a hot mess.” She could have been much harsher with her words, and I’m grateful she wasn’t.

  “Thanks.” I close the door behind her and walk to my front room; sure she will follow me as I drop onto my couch. “Did you come to lecture me too? Maybe end our friendship?”

  “Why would I do that?” She sits down across from me and sets her purse on my coffee table. “What happened, Dee?”

  “With Emily? Or with Dr. Alexander?” I reach for the pillow and put it in my lap, squeezing it as tight as I can.

  “Both. But let’s start with Emily. I want the real story, not the gossip-fueled one.”

  I groan and hang my head. “Can you tell me the gossip fueled one so I know what parts to correct?”

  She ponders it for a moment then nods slowly. “I can, but you have to tell me the truth after. Deal?”

  “Deal.” I lift the pillow to my where my heart used to be, holding it tight, hoping it can keep my chest from opening back up again.

  “From what I’ve heard—what everyone swears is from an accurate, reliable source—you were fed up with Emily’s lack of effort in her own treatment. And you blamed her for not working hard enough. You told her it was her fault she would never have a full recovery, because she didn’t put in the effort. I also heard you said that information came directly from Nate.”


  His name makes me hurt even more, and the first tear of the afternoon slips down my cheek. “What else are they saying?”

  “They’re saying you berated her so badly, she shouted you out of her room. You went off the rails on her. And then you failed to report it to anyone, which only means you are guilty of it all…”

  The tears keep pouring, and I shake my head. “How could she accuse me of that? I didn’t…” I choke back another sob.

  “She didn’t accuse you, Dee. She ran away after she kicked you out. Nobody has heard from her. She didn’t turn you in…”

  “I can’t… I don’t understand this. If she left, how do they know anything?” I look at her through the blur of my tears, hoping she has an answer I can’t see for myself.

  “There was a witness.”

  “No. There couldn’t have been. None of that is right. I didn’t say any of it to her. None of it.” I sniffle back more tears and wipe my arm under my nose.

  Bridget makes a face and stands, pointing down the hall. “Honey, I don’t let my children get away with that, and I have a little boy and two young twins. Go get some Kleenex, wash your face, and brush your hair. Then come talk to me. I think we need to get to the bottom of all this, and fast.”

  “Okay,” I mumble, and lift myself from the couch. My body is heavy, my limbs feel like lead, my head feels like it’s stuffed with tears and snot, and I don’t even know what state my hair is in. But I guess I’m about to find out.

  “Brush your teeth too.” She sits back down and pulls out her phone, making herself comfortable for her wait.

  I trudge to my bathroom and turn on the light. The woman looking back at me looks broken, like a shell of a human. She is not me. Or maybe I’m not me anymore.

  My hair is a wild mess.

  My eyes have bags under them that could act as pillows for small creatures.

  My three-day-old makeup is smudged and running down my face.

  It’s no wonder Bridget looked at me like she did when she got here. I reach for my brush and try to work it through the tangles, but it hurts, and it isn’t easy. It would probably be best if I shower. But I have to get these knots out first, or I’m screwed.

  I rake the brush through my hair, clump by clump, until all the tangles are free. It’s so greasy and gross. I brush my teeth next, realizing the three-day coating of sugar and God only knows what else is finally gone and appreciating the fresh feeling.

  Then I step into a hot shower. The steam surrounds me, and the hot water beats down on my head and back. It feels good. I’m so stiff and tight from not moving from my bed for three days—except to use the restroom in the dark—that I need the heat to loosen me up.

  I wash.

  I shave.

  I condition.

  I make myself human again, because if Bridget is going to be here to be a good friend, I can at least try to look human for her.

  It takes a good thirty minutes before I’m walking back out to the front room, but when I approach Bridget looks up with a wide grin. “Now you don’t look like the first member of the zombie apocalypse. I’ve been doing some digging while you were cleaning up. Come sit. We really need to talk.”

  I step into the kitchen and grab us both waters, ignoring Nate’s leftover Chinese food from last week in there, and shut the door. “What kind of digging?”

  “I wanted to know who reported you.” She reaches for the water and takes it from me, popping it open and taking a few big gulps while I settle back in.

  “And?”

  She twists the cap back on, and her face contorts into something akin to disapproval and embarrassment wrapped into one look. “I don’t know how I could be so wrong about her. Nobody has confirmed it for sure, but it sounds like April went over Dr. Alexander’s head and right to the board, Miranda, and Dr. Nordman.”

  “I don’t underst—” The thought smacks me square upside the head, interrupting my though. “Son of a bitch.”

  “What?” Bridget sets her phone down and leans closer.

  “She was in the hallway. I thought she was down the hall and didn’t hear anything. She didn’t… But she would have talked to Emily first. She walked by me toward her room the second I left.”

  “So it’s not possible for her to not have spoken to Emily?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Not without me hearing her or seeing her walk away.”

  “You were on the phone though. That was more important than charting…” She gives me a disproving look—one I deserve—because she’s not wrong.

  “I was. It was stupid. I was playing phone tag with him for days though. But I should have charted everything immediately. That part is right.”

  “He?” Her look stops short of extreme judgment and lands squarely on absolute confusion.

  “Xavier Alexander… It was a surprise visit for Na—Dr. Alexander’s birthday. And he was going to surprise Micah. I was working with his mom to bring Xavier in for him, too.”

  “Your relationship did get in the way of your work then?”

  “No, not at all. Work got in the way of charting. I was going to go back and do it. Then I got paged to assist with a transfer, then there were other patients, I forgot…”

  “Dee…” she chastises. “You can’t do that. It bit you in the ass.” She is so right. So, so right. It was a career costing decision.

  “Can we go back to April? I know what I did wrong. Believe me. She really said I berated Emily, said I said it was Emily’s fault she would never heal?” I can’t believe she would do that. If it were just me it would hurt, yes, absolutely. But it affects a patient too.

  “From what I’m hearing. A friend of a friend was on the floor and heard the discussion through the closed conference room door. Said friend of a friend also was the one who started spreading everything.”

  “It’s all wrong though, Bridget. I swear to God, I would never in a million years do that to a patient. It was tough love, yes. And probably out of line. But I told her Dr. Alexander said with work she could heal. I told her if she started working for herself, putting in the effort, everything wouldn’t be over. Everything I was accused of is the exact opposite of what I actually said…”

  “I don’t know what to say, Dee. This all looks bad, and with Emily leaving… Nobody can corroborate your side. April has experience; she has the friends. She’s a PA, one who isn’t in a probationary period. She has everything on her side. It’s your burden of proof needed to save your career. She doesn’t need it. She has everything already. Emily is in the wind. And the hospital won’t be reaching out to her. The possibility of lawsuit is too high. They’ll keep quiet until or unless they hear from Emily, her family, or their legal representatives.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  “So I’m screwed?”

  “For right now. What does Dr. Alexander say about all of this?”

  Her question brings about a fresh set of tears. It’s time I tell her everything. Including who his brother is. She needs all the backstory. And I trust she is a true friend who will keep it to herself.

  I work through the whole story. I share the trust issues, what happened with him and his brother in the past, all of it. Retelling the story splits me open again, but I do my best to keep it together this time.

  “Shit. You did everything backward, didn’t you? Surely his brother will defend you though? Unless he’s an asshole.”

  “Xavier is a good man. I’m sure he did, but the damage is done, and Nate’s trust in me is gone. He is done with me.”

  “You know, I thought Simon and I were done at one point too. It was over trust and betrayal. Things have a way of working themselves out if they’re meant to be though. Our marriage is living proof of that.”

  I sigh out and wipe away my tears. “I want to believe that’s true, but I just don’t. I’ve lost everything, and I don’t think it’s possible for me to get any of it back.”

  Thirty-Four

  Nate

  Never in my life have I
called in and taken multiple sick days. Never. Until now. And I’m not even sick. Not in the typical sense, at least.

  I am sick to my stomach though.

  How could I be so fucking stupid? I knew. I’ve been here, in this exact same position before. That time, though, the betrayal didn’t hurt so bad.

  It hurt, but a part of me expected it. Part of me knew I couldn’t really trust my ex. But Dee?

  No.

  I put all of my trust in her.

  I believed all the bullshit she fed me about caring only about me.

  I let her get close to me so she could further herself in the hospital, blind me to her fucking antics. I let her do it all.

  Shame on me.

  And shame on my little fucking brother. Loyalty apparently doesn’t mean shit to him. Trust doesn’t mean squat. Blood is just a component in our body’s makeup and holds no significance to life or relationships.

  So yeah. I’m sick. I’m sick to my stomach everyone I trusted has betrayed me. I’m sick I put my career and reputation on the line. I’m sick a patient of mine was hurt because I let my personal life get in the way of my professional life.

  I would’ve deserved the suspension Dr. Nordman threatened—even if he didn’t have ample reason to follow through.

  I shouldn’t be punishing my patients who need surgery right now, either. Thank God for colleagues and partners who offered to take up some of the burden in our practice. But the patients were scheduled with me. Some couldn’t wait. Some weren’t understanding. But I’m not capable of doing my job at one hundred percent right now.

  She compromised my whole personal code.

  You let her.

  This is the war my mind has been having for days. I’m pissed off at Cassidee Parker. I’m pissed off at myself.

  I gave her the power to destroy everything.

  And she fucking did it.

  It’s nobody’s fault but my own, I know.

  I can’t even trust my PA any longer. April could have come to me. She fucking should have. We could have sorted out everything professionally, but instead, she went over my head to the board, to Nordman.