Grumpy Doctor

by B. B. Hamel

  “I realize that.” He glanced back at me. “Do you think it’s too late?”

  I shook my head. “No, I really don’t.”

  He took a deep breath then slowly let it out. “Well, shit, look at that.”

  I followed his gaze and caught sight of a shadow standing next to a support pole—a shadow that moved, and resolved into Ted the private detective.

  “He’s good,” I said. “Really dedicated.”

  “Good thing I didn’t kiss you.” Piers shook his head. “That motherfucker.”

  “Come on. Let’s just go, okay?”

  Piers hesitated, staring at Ted, but cursed again and let me lead him back to the car.

  The night didn’t go the way I wanted. I thought that Caroline or Gina, or someone with power would be impressed by his attempt, but not it felt like the whole thing was futile, and we might as well give up.

  But as we drove away, I caught sight of Ted: his eyes looked hard, and he snapped a photograph.

  20

  Piers

  The hospital was quiet as I walked through the lobby a little before five in the morning. I was an early bird, always had been. Lori wouldn’t be in for another hour, and that meant I had time all to myself.

  But instead of heading to my office, I walked through the back halls, toward the small gym that was tucked in the very back of the facility.

  Dr. Baker was on the rowing machine. Sweat rolled down his forehead. He was an older man, in his fifties, but remained in strikingly good shape. His technique was pedestrian, and he did everything by the book as much as possible, but his outcomes were very good, and I considered him one of the better surgeons in the place. I stepped into the gym and waited until he finished his reps and looked up at me.

  “Morning, Mike,” I said.

  “Piers.” He picked up a towel and wiped his brow. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “I thought we might talk.” I gave him a look and he seemed to understand.

  “Give me a few minutes. I’m almost done.”

  “I’ll wait outside.”

  He nodded, and I stood in the hallway, watching the nurses and patients walk past. I tried to guess the ailments of anyone in a hospital gown, but it was pretty impossible without a chart. Still, I tried anyway: broken toe, obstructed bowel, swollen lymph nodes. Nobody was happy to be in a hospital, but they were always happy when we helped.

  Medicine was a necessary evil, and a necessary good. It was all there, mixed into one thing.

  Mike came out into the hall ten minutes later, slightly out of breath, and nodded at me. “Come on, let’s walk,” he said.

  We headed toward the elevators. “I heard a rumor through the grapevine.”

  “Yeah, which one?” He laughed a little. “There are a lot of rumors around here.”

  “A rumor about me. Gina talked to you about getting rid of me.”

  Mike hesitated, but he didn’t try to hide it. “Yeah, she did. I told her I didn’t agree. She seems pretty set on it.”

  I nodded slowly. “I appreciate you speaking up for me.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not doing it to be kind. You’re a good doctor, is all.”

  “Thanks. Warms my heart.”

  He grinned at me. “You’re an arrogant bastard, you know that? You’ve pissed off everyone in this place. Everyone that matters, anyway.”

  “And all the nurses.”

  “The nurses matter,” Mike said. “Way more than you realize. They run this damn place, as much as we want to pretend like they don’t. Imagine a world without nurses.”

  I had to admit, he had me there. “I’m trying to figure out what it is that Gina hates. I mean, aside from my sparkling personality.”

  He went quiet as we stepped onto the elevators and began to ride up toward his office. “I want to say she’s intimidated by you, but that’s not quite it. I think she’s… frustrated that you’re so good, but you’re not bringing in any more money.”

  “That’s hard to believe. I have more patients than anyone else.”

  “But no rich patients.” Mike sighed and wiped his face with the towel as the elevator stopped and we got off. “I know this is bullshit, and trust me, I don’t agree with it, but you’ve got to bring in the big money guys. Tippett seemed like he was going to be your white whale, but then he died on the table, and you got fucked. That’s basically the worst sin you can commit, letting a rich guy die.”

  “I was his only shot.”

  Mike waved that off. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not about saving lives to them, it’s about making money. This hospital’s an engine, and cash is the gasoline. Without it, the place falls apart.”

  “That’s bleak. But I know it’s true.”

  “Then you’ve got to do something about it.”

  We reached his office and stopped. He faced me, leaning up against the doorframe, still sweating from his workout. I tried to picture him as a young man, sucking up to his bosses, playing the game, bringing in the rich patients, moving up in the ranks—and I could suddenly see all the ways in which I’d gone wrong over the years. I should’ve been like him, or at least more like that anyway. His technique was pedestrian, but that brought in money, and that mattered more than my skills.

  “So, what, I go find some rich old lady, and give her a heart transplant?”

  “If you could do that, yeah, that sounds good.”

  I crossed my arms. “Unfortunately, rich old ladies with bad hearts don’t grow on trees.”

  “Be creative. Listen, I’m pulling for you, I really am. If I can help, I will, but I won’t stick my neck out for you, no offense.”

  “Wouldn’t expect it.”

  He nodded. “I’ve got a patient in a half hour and I need a shower. Sorry you’re going through all this.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  He went into his office and shut the door. I walked away, staring down at the floor, trying to digest that conversation. It was hard to believe that things could be so simple: all I had to do was bring in rich people, and the hospital would be happy, but maybe it was too late even for that. I could bring in a thousand little old ladies with big checkbooks and bad knees, but that wouldn’t save me, and it wouldn’t save Lori.

  I headed back toward my office and found her already there, waiting for me with a coffee. She smiled as I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. “Where were you?” she asked.

  “Stopped by and talked to Dr. Baker.”

  I took the coffee from her and sipped it as she leaned against the filing cabinet. “And what did he say?”

  “He said I’m screwed.”

  “That’s not great.”

  “No, it’s really not.” I sat down in front of the computer and stretched my legs out, leaning my head back. I stared up at the ceiling, trying to imagine how I could turn this around— and seeing nothing. “He thinks I need to bring in more rich patients.”

  “To replace the one that died?”

  “More or less.”

  “That doesn’t seem very ethical.”

  “Not so much about ethics, and more about economics.”

  She scowled at me. “You know, when I was a little girl, I though doctors were free. It sort of freaked me out when I realized people had to pay for it.”

  “Seems immoral, right?”

  “Economics,” she said, shaking her head. “So all we need to do is find some rich old people that need help.”

  “It’s not going to happen. Even if I had a list of sick elderly folks that could use a quick heart transplant, that doesn’t mean I can just bring them on as patients. It’s not that simple.”

  “We’ll figure something out. There has to be a way.” She shook her head, looking about as annoyed as I felt.

  “I’ll keep playing the game and hopefully that’ll be enough.” I stood and went to her, and she tilted her chin up toward me as I put my hands on her hips and pinned her closer against the filing cabinet. She felt warm, and soft,
and firm, and right. I kissed her gently, tentative, probing, making sure it was okay—and she returned that kiss with a clever eagerness.

  “I’ll help however I can,” she said, voice soft.

  “I bet you will.” I kissed her again, deeper this time, but she broke it off.

  “Don’t we have to be in the OR in twenty minutes?”

  “That’s plenty of time.”

  She sighed. “You’re so romantic.” She pushed me off with a smile and went to the door. “Get your mind right, Dr. Hood. You have a fight ahead of you.”

  “I’ve had a fight this whole time,” I said, slumping back into my chair. “You only just showed up now.”

  She gave me a look then disappeared back out into the hall.

  Damn girl, she was a distraction. A good distraction, the kind I desperately needed, but a distraction.

  It was a heady, rushing thing, whatever was happening between us. I felt like I’d been hit by a wave, and I was tumbling underwater, flipping around and around, trying to gasp for breath—but loving it regardless.

  Sooner or later though, I was going to have to let go of her.

  Not because I wanted to, but because I was toxic. I couldn’t let my stench waft onto her, and potentially mess up her career.

  I’d have to walk away if she was going to become the surgeon I knew she could.

  For now, I’d do what I could, but that future wasn’t too far away.

  21

  Lori

  The OR lights were bright, almost blinding, as a bead of sweat rolled down my forehead.

  The patient was a seventy-year-old man in relatively good shape, thin white hair, hooked nose. I couldn’t remember his name, and that was probably for the best—lots of doctors felt like a little distance between them and the people they operated on was for the best. I happened to fall into that camp, because if I spent too much time thinking of him as a person, worrying about his grandchildren, about his friends, about all those that would miss him if I screwed up and he died—then I’d be paralyzed with fear and unable to do my job.

  So, he was a seventy-year-old white guy, and that was all I needed.

  The room was dead silent. I’d been standing over him for the last hour, going through a relatively simple procedure, one I’d done with Piers over and over again, drilling it into my head. We’d practiced in his office, in the cafeteria, and done a few live sessions where I swapped in during a few of the steps to get a feel for the real thing.

  But this was the first time I took over, start to finish.

  Another bead of sweat as I began to stitch the patient closed. The nurses were quiet, and I realized that Piers hadn’t said a word the entire time. I’d gone through procedures on my own already, but he’d always stood over my shoulder, giving advice, making adjustments. He was a backseat driver, except he was the best driver in the world—and he made me better with every little comment.

  Today though, nothing, only silence as he watched, arms crossed. I didn’t know why, and I didn’t question it. The nurses seemed uneasy, and that was fine. Piers had never given up control like this before, and I was willing to bet that they thought it was a bad thing for him to step aside.

  But I knew I’d killed it.

  Oh, bad choice of words.

  I knocked it out of the park. Start to finish, that surgery went perfect. Each stroke felt right, and I was so deep in the zone that I forgot everything about me. As I finished up the final stitch, closing him, I looked over at Piers for some sign, some measure of approval, some hint of disaster.

  He only nodded once. “That’s it,” he said. “Well done, Dr. Court.”

  I felt a flood of emotions. Relief, excitement, horror. I went through that whole thing alone, all on my own, and although he’d been there if something had gone wrong—I hadn’t needed him, and could’ve done it without him.

  That was a very, very good feeling.

  We left the OR as the nurses finished up. I scrubbed off and changed, and he stood nearby, watching, his mask still covering his face. I exited out into the hallway and wanted to let out a wild yell of elation. Piers followed, taking off his mask.

  “Well done,” he said again, smiling now.

  I grinned at him. “Really?”

  “Really. I would’ve said something if there was something to critique. But you did a fantastic job.”

  I laughed and nearly hugged him. I was tempted, I wanted to throw my arms around his neck, but I held back. It was hard to keep my distance when every time he was around, I felt a pulse in my chest, a yearning for his skin, a memory of his touch. I had to resist it and find a way to shut that part of me down, at least for a while. When we were alone, I could indulge—kiss his chin, let his hands touch my hips—but in the hospital, I had to be professional.

  And being professional killed me.

  “I have to admit, hearing you say that feels really, really good.”

  That made him smile. A rare thing, from Piers. “I’m glad. You earned it, to be honest. I’ve stood in on several surgeries in my time, and I never once felt the need to just shut up.”

  “Dr. Hood, that might be the highest form of praise possible.”

  “Of course it is, Dr. Court. Not many people can stun me into silence.”

  We walked away from the surgery together, back toward his office. I buzzed on the elation, practically floating from the feeling of doing my job, and doing it right.

  Something was different about Piers, too. For the past few weeks, he’d been trying harder, being a little kinder to the nurses, going out of his way to help out when he could. I knew people were beginning to notice, and even had a few of the nurses make comments to me. Apparently, some of them thought I was a good influence on him.

  They probably thought we were sleeping together. They were right, but still.

  He wasn’t joking when he said he wanted to change. It wasn’t perfect, of course—he was still Piers, still short with people that didn’t move as quickly as he wanted, still kind of a grumpy asshole—but he was improving a little bit each day.

  “I was thinking,” he said when we were alone in the elevator, “maybe we could have dinner together. You know, as a celebration.”

  My immediate reaction was, yes, of course yes, but I stopped myself, and reconsidered.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, chewing my lip.

  He didn’t react right away. “Why not?” he asked slowly.

  “We’re trying to rehab your image, right? Taking your resident out for dinner is probably not going to help that.”

  “That’s not unheard of, you know. A celebratory meal between colleagues.”

  “Yes, but, everyone already thinks we’re sleeping together, so.”

  He frowned deeply at that. “They do?”

  “Of course they do.” I laughed nervously as we reached his floor and headed toward his office. We stopped talking as we walked through the halls, and I could tell he had a lot of questions. I tried to steel myself for an uncomfortable conversation.

  Sure enough, as soon as the door shut, he swung toward me. “What do you mean, they think we’re sleeping together?”

  I threw up my hands and sat on the edge of his desk. “I mean, the way you’ve changed lately, can you blame them?”

  “Jesus, so I act nice, and that must mean we’re fucking.”

  “We are.”

  “They don’t know that.”

  I laughed a little. “That’s exactly what I thought, but still, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been extra nice, right around the time that we started working together.”

  “I hate these politics. You know that, right?”

  “You’ve made that abundantly clear.”

  “Really hate it.” He paced back and forth, hands behind his back. “We should get out ahead of this. Tell everyone we’re definitely not sleeping together.”

  “Right, that’ll fix it.”

  He glanced at me and rolled his eyes. “What do you suggest then?�
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  “I suggest we do nothing.”

  He stopped pacing and considered me. “Explain.”

  “There’s nothing we can do,” I said, holding my hands out. “Look, even if we wanted to say something, and there was the perfect statement we could make, it would only make us look that much guiltier. Right now, it’s probably nothing more than an ugly rumor.”

  “An ugly rumor could ruin me right now.”

  “True, but still, I don’t think we can do anything about it.”

  “You realize how fucked this is? If I keep being myself, then everyone will keep on thinking I’m a huge asshole, and nothing changes. If I keep being nice, everyone thinks we’re fucking, which is arguably even worse, and nothing changes. Either way, Gina and Caroline find some flimsy bullshit excuse to get rid of me, and the world keeps turning.”

  “I know,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s a bad situation.”

  “There’s got to be something we can do.” He tilted his head and stroked his chin. “Maybe we could get married. You know, fake marriage.”

  “I think that only works on TV.”

  He threw his hands up. “I don’t know what to do then. Get you pregnant?”

  “How would that help?”

  “I don’t know, I’m just thinking about fucking you.”

  I laughed and went to him, tugging at the front of his scrubs until he pinned me back up against the door. He kissed my neck, then my lips, and I held him there for a long moment, feeling his warm, hard body against mine. It felt good, safe and incredible, and I loved his smell, even mixed with the scent of antiseptic from the operating room.

  “No babies,” I said. “No fake marriages. We’re going to handle this like normal, functioning human beings.”

  “That’s overrated. How about I fuck you here and now, and we blow off the rest of the day?”

  “Tempting. I’m pretty sure that would only confirm everyone’s suspicions though.”

  “Let it. I think I’m starting to give up.”