by Sykes, V. K.
After a whispered conference with the doctor, the paramedics lifted him onto the gurney and strapped him down at the waist and thighs. Morehouse pulled a vial and syringe out of his bag, pushed Nate’s undershirt up a couple of inches, and injected something into his upper right arm. Nate hoped to God it was a big-time painkiller.
The trip to St. Luke’s Hospital seemed really fast, but by then he’d lost track of time. Whatever the doctor gave him had dulled the pain and made him dozy. Even the incessant noise of the ER made little impression.
The x-rays didn’t take long, whether because he was getting priority treatment or because the injury was so bad, he couldn’t tell. But even doped up, shifting his body around for the technicians hurt like hell. When they were finally finished, he collapsed on the gurney with gut-wrenching relief as a porter wheeled him to a bed in the urgent care section. Exhausted by the pain and the drugs, he’d almost fallen asleep when Morehouse pulled back the curtain and stepped in, x-ray films in hand.
“You’re in luck,” the doctor said. “No fractures. You’ve got yourself a hell of a deep bone bruise, but no breaks, so no surgery. You should be able to pitch again in a few weeks.”
In luck? Nate’s shoulder felt like a cannonball had smacked into it. “I’m not feeling all that lucky right now. And exactly how many weeks is a few?”
Morehouse shook his head. “You know that’s impossible to tell. You need to give it a good rest, and see how it goes. We’ll get you into the aquatherapy pool as soon as you’re up to it. That speeds up the healing.”
Frustration clawed its way past the fuzzy feeling in Nate’s head. “Damn. I was having my best season, and now it’s probably down the tubes. And the team’s going to lose me for what…at least six or seven starts?”
He sure wasn’t about to say it, but he also couldn’t help thinking how the Dodgers would react to the news of his injury. It obviously wasn’t career-ending, but they wouldn’t be happy. His trade value, and his contract leverage, had probably taken a hit along with his shoulder.
“Well, stewing about it is not going to help it heal any faster,” the doctor said. “I don’t think it’s all that grim. You could be back in a month. Maybe even less if you’re disciplined about the rehab.”
Fuck. A month. Practically a lifetime in a baseball season. “What else can I do to speed it along?”
“Just do your physio religiously, get lots of rest, try to eat clean. You know what to do. You’ll have to wear a sling for a few days. I’ll give you a prescription to help with the pain. And there’ll be lots of pain at the start, so make sure you take what I prescribe.”
“Great,” Nate said grimly. “In that case, some more of that stuff you gave me in the clubhouse would be appreciated.” Not that there was much chance he’d get more of the high-octane painkiller Morehouse reserved for special occasions. And Nate didn’t want to mess with that stuff in the longer term, anyway.
“You’ll get what you need. Look, I’m going to head back now and report to the GM. Somebody will be here in a few minutes to tape the shoulder and fit you with the sling. Then you’ll be able to go.”
Nate sighed and held out his right hand for Morehouse to shake. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate everything you’ve done,” he said, trying to sound like he meant it.
* * *
Holly raced up Broad Street, pushing her luck with more than one traffic light. Maddie had heard from the clubhouse that Nate had been taken to St. Luke’s for x-rays. She’d told Holly to go without her, since she wanted to wait for Jake.
At the ER, Holly bent the truth and presented herself as Nate’s personal physician. She knew it was the only way they were going to let a non-family member in to see him. Besides, it wasn’t a huge lie. After all, she’d be taking care of Nate now, more involved in his recovery than his actual doctor. Fortunately, she must have looked imperious enough that the clerk believed her.
Holly took directions from a nurse and headed through the trauma center. A middle-aged man in a golf shirt, medical bag in hand, had just emerged from the closed curtains surrounding the bed number she’d been given. She gave him a warm smile.
“Hello, I’m Dr. Holly Bell, Nate Carter’s friend. You must be the team physician?”
He gave her an appraising look, then stuck out his right hand. “Joe Morehouse. Nice to meet you.”
“Did you take x-rays yet? Schedule an MRI?”
“The films showed nothing broken. I’m pretty sure it’s a deep bone bruise. I don’t see any reason for an MRI yet. Maybe in a couple of days if the pain is worse even after the anti-inflammatories kick in.”
Holly would have sent Nate straight to the imaging department, but she knew it was useless to argue with the team doctor. “I couldn’t believe how hard that ball was hit. I’m worried about a glenoid labrum tear. Or worse.”
“It’s obviously possible, but I doubt it. I’ve seen hundreds of these injuries,” Morehouse said, a little crustily. Holly held back a resigned sigh at her dubious talent for pissing off older male doctors.
“If his shoulder doesn’t start to improve in a few days, we’ll do an MRI and refer him to a surgeon. If necessary,” Morehouse added in an end-of-the-discussion voice.
Semi-satisfied, Holly shook his hand again and headed toward Nate’s bed. Parting the closed curtains, she slipped inside. Nate had dozed off. She leaned over the side of the bed and brushed a feathery kiss on his pale, damp forehead. As his eyes cracked open, he broke into a sleepy grin. Her knees went weak with relief that he seemed at least marginally okay.
“Hey, baby,” he murmured.
“Great job stopping that line drive with your shoulder, tiger.” She kissed his forehead again, and then his ear and his stubbled cheek. “At least you didn’t do it with your forehead.”
He chuckled, then winced. “I thought I made a good play. The ball didn’t get through to the outfield.”
“Right. But unfortunately the batter was safe at first.”
“Yeah. Stinks, doesn’t it. You’d think that for all this pain we could at least have made the out. I really hate giving up cheap hits.”
“Cheap hit?” she teased, glad that he could joke about it. “The guy practically ripped the cover off the ball.”
“Nah, he didn’t quite get all of it.” Nate gave her a lopsided grin. “Thank God, or he’d have ripped my arm right off.”
That thought made her stomach lurch again. All things considered, Nate had been very lucky.
“I ran into the team doctor in the hall. It doesn’t look like it’s as bad as I feared it could be,” she said, sitting gingerly on the bed and resting her hand on his thigh.
Nate grimaced. “It’s bad enough. He says I’ll be out for a month. I’m not dead, but it’s a bitch for the team. And for me.”
Holly nodded. “I know, sweetheart, but don’t forget you’ve got me to help you. You’ve got your own private and very personal physician now.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “As soon as they tape up this shoulder we can go play doctor—in private, and very personally.” This time his sleepy grin was lecherous.
She poked him on his good arm. “I don’t think there’s much wrong with you after all, Mr. One-Track-Mind.”
He reached up, curling his good hand behind her head to bring her close, kissing her deeply, his tongue slipping easily into her mouth. A shimmering heat flushed her skin and sank low in her belly.
She broke away with a gasp and slid off the bed. “For God’s sake, Carter! You’re supposed to be resting, not making out.”
He reached out for her. “I can rest when I’m dead. Come back here.”
She stepped away from his long reach. “No, you listen to your doctor. And to me. They don’t like extra bodies hanging around, so I’ll head out into the waiting room. I have to call the Cardiac Center and check in, anyway. One of my patients is unstable. Tell the nurse to come get me when you’re done and I’ll drive you home.”
When she turned to go, he managed t
o grab her wrist. “Holly?”
She turned back and gave him a questioning look.
“Thanks for coming. It means a lot.” There was more than a hint of relief in his voice.
“They couldn’t have kept me away.” She blew him a kiss and left.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Holly hurried to the ambulance bay to call Katie Canizaro. The resident had paged her while she was inside with Nate.
“Sorry to have to bother you, Dr. Bell,” Canizaro said as soon as Holly got her on the line. “I thought you should know that Lance Arnold has been on a rampage since he got here this afternoon.”
Great. This day surely sucked. “What’s going on?”
“I was checking on Tyler when he came in, and he asked me how he was doing. I said that if he kept improving every day like he’d been doing lately, then we might be able to do his valve replacement sooner than we’d thought. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, Arnold went postal on me.”
“I’m not surprised. He’s still adamant that we not do the surgery.” Arnold had been railing at her and all the staff constantly as Tyler slowly recovered. Despite his persistent demands that the boy be discharged, Holly—backed by Dr. Rosen—had refused. She feared letting the boy out of her sight. At PCH, he’d be cared for until he was strong enough for the surgery. But if he were sent home, who could even guess what would happen?
“He’s been swearing and yelling at everybody, not just me,” Canizaro said in a worried voice. “Under the circumstances, we don’t want to have to call security. But there’s only so much the staff can be expected to take, Dr. Bell.”
Holly hesitated a moment, then made a decision. “Look, I can be back at the hospital in a couple of hours. Maybe even less. Put everything on hold for now, and I’ll come by and talk to him myself if he’s still around.” Though I’d rather dance a waltz with a grizzly bear.
Her resident’s relief washed through the phone. “That’d be great, Dr. Bell. Thanks. I’ll make sure security is close by, just in case.”
Holly didn’t relish the thought of having to deal with Arnold, especially at a time when she should be focusing on Nate. But Tyler had to come first, and she could at least spend the evening at Nate’s place.
She shoved her phone in her purse and headed to the hospital cafeteria. Sitting down with a tea, she tried to mentally sort through the situation with Arnold. The last thing she wanted was another confrontation, and she wasn’t sure how soon Tyler would be up to the surgery, despite her cautious optimism. A half hour spent approaching the problem from several different angles failed to yield any other result than a growing frustration. Sighing, she finally gave up trying to solve the problem and quickly finished her now-cold tea.
By the time she returned to the ER, Nate’s shoulder had been taped and his arm was angled in a sling. He was standing up, apparently joking with two nurses since they were laughing. Holly wasn’t surprised to see the women gravitating to Nate like steel to a super magnet.
“Ready to go, Romeo?” She tossed the little barb at him, ignoring the nurses.
He gave her a wicked grin. “Hey, I was starting to enjoy myself here.”
The younger nurse giggled, acting like it was the funniest thing she’d heard in years. Holly wanted to throttle her, which made her even more irritated that she allowed it to bother her so much.
But she managed to keep her mouth closed when the young nurse smiled flirtatiously at Nate. “Everyone here wanted to make sure you got the very best treatment, Nate.”
Repressing the unladylike urge to bare her teeth, Holly slipped her hand inside Nate’s good arm. “Well, you certainly seem to be feeling better, don’t you?” she asked in a sugary-sweet, southern accent. “So, let’s go. I want to get you home and in bed.”
Nate threw her a startled if amused glance. “Now you’re talking, Doctor,” he said. “But we have to stop and get a prescription filled on the way.”
Holly sighed. “Let’s just get you settled at home, then I’ll get it filled at the PCH pharmacy. I have to go over there for a few minutes, anyway.”
“Another crisis?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Less than an hour later, Holly had settled Nate in his apartment and was ready to leave for PCH. Nate’s cheery mood—which she knew had been forced—had quickly worn off and he’d grown positively grumpy. The pain had to be much worse than he was admitting.
“Look, sweetie,” she said as she helped him lower himself onto his big leather couch, “I really do have to go to the hospital and talk to the father of one of my patients. But call me immediately if you have any problems. I can be back here in a few minutes.”
“Go. I’ll be fine,” he said, wincing as he shifted his body so he could reach the TV remote. “Jesus, it’s starting to hurt like hell, though.”
Damn, she hated to have to leave him, but there wasn’t a lot she could do for him right now, anyway. He needed quiet and sleep.
She took the remote out of his hand. “And forget the TV. You need to sleep. Doctor’s orders.” She put the remote on the fireplace mantel, out of his reach.
“Cruel witch.” He tried to force a grin, but grimaced in pain instead.
She bent and gave him a kiss. “I’ll be back as fast as I can. Just try to get some rest.” Casting one last worried glance over her shoulder, she closed the door behind her and jogged down the hall to the elevator.
* * *
Holly hurried through the front entrance of the Cardiac Center and caught the elevator to the fourth floor. Canizaro, looking grim, was charting at the nurses’ station.
“What’s Arnold up to now?” Holly asked.
“He’s calmed down,” Canizaro said in a low voice, indicating with a nod that Arnold was in the room with Tyler, only a few feet away. “Two guys from security are down the hall. They’re watching, and they’ll be in the room in two seconds if we call out.”
Her resident bit her lower lip and glanced toward Tyler’s room. Holly felt a sick little jolt at the look of fear that flashed across Canizaro’s features.
“Dr. Bell,” she went on, “please be careful.”
Holly tried to inject confidence into her voice. “Don’t worry. I’ll take it from here.”
She turned on her heel and strode into Tyler’s room with Canizaro coming in behind her. Arnold slouched against the wall on the far side of Tyler’s bed. The boy, thank goodness, looked to be sound asleep.
“Mr. Arnold,” Holly began, “I’d like a moment with you. Let’s go up to my office so we can speak more privately.”
“Screw that,” Arnold snapped, fixing the women with a glare. “I ain’t going anywhere, so you can say what you’ve got to say right here. If there’s anything worth listening to, which I doubt.”
Holly didn’t argue. She had thought she should offer him privacy, but much preferred having security close by.
“All right, then,” she said with a curt nod. “Mr. Arnold, it’s understandable that you’re upset. I can sympathize with that. It’s very stressful for the parents in these circumstances, and we’re used to dealing with high emotions around here. But there’s a limit, sir. So, I would ask you to treat my resident and all the staff here with respect. They’re here to take care of Tyler and all the other patients, not to be abused or frightened by angry parents.”
“Abused?” Arnold said, sneering. “Aw, you poor little prima donnas. My heart bleeds for you.”
Holly matched him glare for glare. “Mr. Arnold—”
“Shut the hell up and listen to me.” Arnold didn’t shout, but his menacing, cold voice nailed Holly’s feet to the floor.
He nodded at Canizaro. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on this little girl here, since she’s obviously just your stand-in.” Then he jabbed a thick finger at Holly. “You’re the frigging problem, Bell.” He said her name as if he were spitting poison from his mouth. “You start blabbing again about doing that surgery on my boy, and you don’t even talk to
me first? What the hell kind of doctor are you, anyway?”
Holly drew back her shoulders and practically stood on her toes. Arnold obviously thrived on his ability to intimidate people with his size and belligerence. She had to admit it worked pretty effectively, but she wouldn’t be cowed by a loudmouth bully.
“Those are not quite the accurate facts, Mr. Arnold.” She tried for a polite but stern tone. “No firm decisions regarding future surgery have been made. No decision will be made without a thorough discussion with you first.”
Arnold looked slightly mollified. He loosened his clenched fists and shifted his weight from his right side to his left.
“The good news is that Tyler’s condition is much improved,” Holly went on. “I’m sure you’ve seen the improvement yourself.”
While still desperately weak, Tyler had started to eat solid food again, and was carrying on short conversations with his nurses.
“No kidding,” Arnold said in a flat, emotionless tone.
Holly barely stopped herself from frowning at him. Did he really not care that his son was improving? She’d seen all kinds of emotional reactions from parents before, but Arnold’s behavior didn’t match any of them.
“He’s a tough little boy,” she continued. “And if things keep progressing as they should, we’ll be able to have that discussion about a long-term solution sooner rather than later.”
Arnold’s body went rigid. “That thing with the bionic valve?” He gave his head a violent shake. “Never going to happen.”
Holly’s heart sank clear to her toes. The last thing she wanted was a possible court battle with an irresponsible, even callous parent. But sometimes it happened, and if that’s what it took to save Tyler Arnold’s life, then that’s the way it would have to be. But there was no point in bringing that up now.