Better Than Me (A Remington Medical Contemporary Romance)

by Kimberly Kincaid

  The voice that filled the air sent her pulse back into shit, shit, shit territory.

  “Hello, Dr. Kendrick.” Harlow Davenport could probably cause a citywide freeze warning with her tone if she really put her back into it. “I understand that you’re away until after Christmas. If you come to a decision regarding the director’s position at the clinic between now and then, please do reach out sooner rather than later so we can proceed. I’ll be working over the holiday.”

  Natalie blinked at her phone. She was all for a bulletproof work ethic—she had one herself—but was this woman really working in what was sure to be an empty office through the entire holiday?

  “Additionally,” Harlow continued, her voice taking on a softer quality that Natalie had never known existed, let alone heard the woman use. “Dr. Langston mentioned that Dr. Sheridan had a family emergency, and that’s why you’re unavailable. I know you two are close, and…well, I just want to say I hope everything turns out alright. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  “Wow,” Jonah said from the doorway, bringing Natalie back to the hotel room in less than a second. “That’s interesting. I mean, not the part where she’s working over Christmas. That doesn’t shock me. But do you think it’s possible she actually has a heart lurking beneath all those power suits?”

  “I don’t know,” Natalie said, quieting her phone and scooping up her clothes. “It sure did sound like it—at least, for a second. But she’s going to have to wait on a decision from me.”

  Jonah scrubbed at his damp hair with a towel, his jeans already slung over the lean frame of his hips. “You haven’t given her offer any more thought?”

  “No, and I’m not going to for the next couple of days.”

  His stare became serious. “Nat, I—”

  “Nope. No arguing,” she said, gently enough to keep any heat from her words but firm enough to make it clear she wasn’t budging. “I’m where I need to be. What’s going on with you and your dad is way more important than any job right now. Harlow can wait a few more days for me to decide.”

  For a second, she thought he might push, or worse, clam up and close her out.

  But instead, he lowered the towel from his shoulders and stepped in to pull her close.

  “Thank you for having my back.”

  Natalie’s heart squeezed, but she didn’t shy away from the emotion in his voice or in her chest as she said, “Thank you for letting me.”

  25

  Jonah had never hated hospitals. As a kid, then a teenager, he’d never really had cause to visit enough to form a dislike for them, having only been once for a wrist he’d sprained courtesy of softball and for a post-fender bender exam courtesy of one of his dumb buddies who hadn’t been paying attention when Jonah had been in the passenger seat. He’d known fairly early in his college career that he’d wanted to be a doctor, which made hospitals more of a place to be than a place to avoid. But as he walked through the spotless automatic doors of Saint Elizabeth’s hospital, he realized he hated this one.

  Please, God, don’t let my old man die.

  “I won’t ask if you’re okay, because I know you’re not,” Natalie said quietly. “But are you ready?”

  She reached out to brush the side of her hand against his, and Christ, the simple contact was enough to smooth over Jonah’s frayed nerves.

  He needed to believe that his father would wake up. And he definitely needed to be there when it happened.

  He needed to stop being scared to hope.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” Natalie smiled, gesturing to the elevators in the deserted main lobby. “Let’s head upstairs and check in with the charge nurse and the night-shift attending. Then, in a little while, I can go hunt up some breakfast.”

  She was going to insist that he eat, no matter how far food was from his mind—and to be fair, Jonah would’ve made her throw a banana or a bowl of Cheerios down the hatch if the shoe were on the other foot, here—so he said, “Sounds like a plan.”

  The elevator ride was only a couple of floors, and it simultaneously took forever and not long enough. A brunette decked out in light blue scrubs sat behind the nurses’ station desk, her eyes fixed on the computer screen in front of her. She looked up as they approached, a kind but surprised smile moving over her face.

  “Early birds. Can’t say we see too many like y’all around here, especially on Christmas Eve morning.”

  Jonah’s heart tripped against his sternum. But he was here, and Natalie was right here with him. He could do this. “I’m Jonah Sheridan. Kenneth Sheridan’s son.”

  “Oh! Room 308.” The nurse’s smile brightened. That was a good sign, right? “I’m Nora, one of the nurses who took care of your father last night. Ian’s here, too, but right now, he’s with a patient.”

  “Thank you,” Jonah said, knowing far better than to ever underestimate the power of a good nurse. “We were hoping to get an update.”

  “Of course.” Nora exited the screen she’d been working on, mouse-clicking her way through the hospital’s system. “Your father was still sleeping when I checked in on him about thirty minutes ago, but that’s very common for patients who are being treated with the type of medicine Dr. Aronson ordered.”

  Jonah managed a tiny smile and tilted his head toward Natalie. “Actually, we’re both surgeons, if you want to just…”

  “Skip to the good parts?” Nora asked with a laugh. “You got it. We’ve been monitoring your father’s vitals closely, and he’s stable. His blood pressure is a little higher than we’d like, but he’s been through a lot.” She read off the numbers, and while Jonah didn’t love them, they also weren’t ringing any huge alarm bells. “Once he wakes up, Dr. Aronson will do a full evaluation. But for now, your father is responding to the anticoagulants.”

  “Okay.” Jonah let go of his exhale, although only halfway. “Can we sit with him until he wakes up?”

  Nora nodded and stood. “Of course. Hearing familiar voices, even under sedation, can be a big comfort to patients who are trying to heal. I’m a big believer that having loved ones close is always soothing.”

  Jonah smiled politely and followed her down the hallway. He hadn’t been the best son. Just because he’d had deep-seated reasons for creating distance didn’t keep it from being the truth. But his father had still clearly loved him, enough to display photos and brag to his neighbors about the visit they’d planned, and Jonah loved him, too. So, yeah, he wasn’t perfect, and yeah, he was still really fucking scared.

  But he would be here to comfort his old man. He’d be right beside him when he woke up.

  He would wake up.

  “Alrighty,” Nora half-whispered, leading the way past the closed door. Jonah reached out for Natalie’s hand, finding it immediately and holding it tight as Nora continued. “The call button is right there on the wall, and Ian and I will be here for a few more hours until we change shifts. Dr. Aronson usually rounds at about nine, give or take. But if your father wakes up before then, just let me know so I can page him.”

  “Thank you,” Natalie said, and Nora slipped to the door.

  “No problem. I’m right down the hall if you need anything.”

  Jonah took a deep breath and scanned the low-lit room. His father looked much the same as he had last night, oddly frail despite his larger-than-average frame. His chest rose and fell in shallow yet rhythmic breaths, the pale green blanket tucked around his body moving with each one. His dark blond lashes created shadows beneath his closed eyes, the IVs on either side of the bed hooked up to one arm and the opposite hand, and Jonah’s throat knotted involuntarily.

  Natalie was right there, as promised. “Why don’t we put the chair over here so you can hold his hand if you’d like?” she murmured, indicating the side of the bed with the IV-free hand. The small task hammered Jonah’s focus into place, calming him, and he nodded.

  “Yeah, that’s a great idea.” Together, they arranged the two chairs in the room
side-by-side, and Jonah settled into the one closer to the head of the hospital bed.

  “Would you like some privacy so you can talk to him?” Natalie asked, standing in front of the other chair.

  He didn’t even think before shaking his head. He wanted her here. Plain and simple. “No, I don’t need privacy. I just…I’m not really sure what to say.” Jonah didn’t want to get all emotional, because A) if his father woke to that, he might get emotional, too, which would be bad for his vitals, and B) it wasn’t how their relationship worked. Spilling their feelings by a campfire just wasn’t what they did—to push it now wouldn’t feel genuine. “It’s a little odd to talk to him when he can’t talk back.”

  “Hmm. Well, I guess you don’t have to talk directly to him if you feel like it’ll be uncomfortable.” Natalie sat beside him. “The whole point is for him to hear your voice, right? So, if you want, you and I can talk and we’ll include him in the conversation.”

  Jonah’s brows lifted. But the more he thought about it, the smarter it seemed. “Okay.”

  “Great,” Natalie said. “What should we talk about? Work?”

  “Ugh, no. I love my job, but hearing about chest wall stabilization and emergency tracheostomies is not calming stuff.”

  Natalie laughed, and God, Jonah loved that sound. She looked from him to his father. “I don’t know, Mr. Sheridan. I think your son is giving trauma surgery a bad rap. I mean, who doesn’t love hearing about a good, old-fashioned chest wall stabilization?”

  His father remained still, eyes closed and breathing even, but Jonah answered without a second thought. “You’ll have to excuse Natalie, Dad. She’s a total workaholic.”

  “Oh my God, really?” She swung a sassy glance in Jonah’s direction. “Jonah, the pot and the kettle are both giving you major side-eye right now. Major. Side-eye.”

  That launched a conversation about several cases they’d each worked (Natalie’d just had to bring up the ten-hour surgery he’d done on a woman who had sustained three life-threatening injuries in a car wreck last year), what they did to relax (he’d made a mental note to accompany her to her next yoga class, where she would be, hello, wearing yoga pants), and—in a weird segue—landed them back on the Die Hard as a Christmas movie debate.

  “Come on!” Jonah said to his father, even though the man was still sedated. “Dad, really. Think about it. Die Hard has it all. Perfect holiday soundtrack, epic office Christmas party. And the villain is even nastier than the Grinch. What better evidence do you need?”

  “It’s a Wonderful Life is a Christmas movie,” Natalie argued past a soft laugh. “A Christmas Carol is a Christmas movie. How are you even going to compare ‘God bless us, everyone’ with yippy-ki—”

  His father moved. Just a shift of his hand, but it was enough to make Jonah’s heart climb his windpipe. “Dad?” He grabbed his hand and squeezed. God, the old man’s fingers were so cold. “Dad, can you hear me?”

  His father’s fingers fluttered, his eyes following suit. “Unh.”

  Jonah dug deep and called on every ounce of medical training he owned to keep his adrenaline from filling the room. “Hey, Dad. It’s me. I’m here.”

  “Forget the call button. I’m going to go get Nora,” Natalie murmured, slipping from the room before Jonah had even finished nodding.

  He held his father’s hand tightly. Please, please…

  “J—Jo…nah.” His smile was weak, but oh, God, it was there.

  His father was awake. He could speak.

  He recognized him.

  Relief crashed through Jonah’s chest, pulling an involuntary laugh out of him by way of an exhale. “Yeah, Dad, it’s me. I’m right here. Try to take it easy, okay? You gave us a bit of a scare.” He paused. He didn’t want to upset his father with the news that he’d suffered a stroke, but the old man’s blinks of confusion were becoming more panicked by the second. Better to parcel out a little bit of truth and reassure him.

  “You’re at Saint Elizabeth’s,” Jonah said. “You had a stroke, but you’re in great hands, and I’m here. I promise. You’ve had a lot of medication, and it’s going to make you feel pretty fuzzy. That’s normal, so don’t worry.”

  His father’s fingers curled around his, and some of the fear in his eyes slipped into understanding. “All…right.”

  “Are you experiencing any pain?” Jonah asked, and oh, how you could take the doctor out of the hospital, but not the hospital out of the doctor. “Does anything hurt?”

  “Mmmm,” his father said. But he didn’t get to elaborate before the door opened, and Dr. Aronson appeared with Nora, Dr. Lee, and Natalie in tow.

  “Mr. Sheridan. It’s great to see you awake. I’m Dr. Aronson. I treated you when you arrived last night.” He stepped in to perform a quick assessment as Dr. Lee collected a fresh set of vitals and read them off to Nora, who recorded them with care. “Can you tell me where you are?”

  “H-hospital,” Jonah’s father said. “Saint E’s.”

  “Good. You’re here because you suffered a stroke, but the good news is, you’re responding very well to the treatment protocol.” He did a few cognitive tests, what year is it, who’s the President, that sort of thing, then some motor function assessments, and more relief spilled through Jonah’s veins at the results.

  “Well, you look very good, but let’s get to the important part,” Aronson said. “How are you feeling, Mr. Sheridan? Any pain?”

  “No. A little foggy.” His speech seemed to be getting stronger with every word, although it wasn’t close to his regular volume or cadence yet. “My head…aches some. But it’s not bad.”

  “Can you rate it on a scale of one to ten?” Aronson asked.

  “Three.”

  Jonah tamped down the urge to give up an ironic smile. Ah, but his father was a tough old guy.

  “Okay, that’s a pretty good sign,” Aronson said, and both Jonah and Natalie nodded in agreement. He did a more comprehensive exam, explaining his findings to everyone in the room and asking Dr. Lee some questions about the specifics as they went. Some of the strength and fine motor responses were still a little shaky—damn it!—but there were some encouraging results, too. Finally, Aronson stepped back to loop his stethoscope around his neck, splitting a glance between Jonah and his father.

  “Based on everything I’m seeing and how well you’ve regained speech and motor function, Mr. Sheridan, I feel confident in diagnosing this as a TIA. We sometimes call them mini-strokes.”

  He went on to explain to Jonah’s father how a clot had formed in his carotid artery and traveled to his brain, blocking off the blood flow and interrupting his normal brain function. Not that Jonah heard much of it, really. He was too busy grabbing Natalie’s hand and thanking every deity he could think of.

  “I don’t see any reason to alter the course of treatment right now, since you’re responding nicely. But just because this wasn’t a full-blown event doesn’t mean it’s not serious,” Aronson said. “There is some significant narrowing in that artery, and we’re going to have to keep a close eye on it. That said, considering the improvements you’ve made over the last fourteen hours, I also think we’re looking at a very good prognosis overall.”

  “So, you think he’ll make a full recovery?” Jonah asked. Please, please…

  Aronson smiled. “We may not be all the way out of the woods, but I think we can definitely see the tree-line from here. There’s always a risk of residual effects, but a full recovery is certainly within reach. We’ll talk about a longer-term plan to keep your risk factors for a repeat stroke as low as possible later, Mr. Sheridan. Medication, changes to diet and exercise, things like that. For now, your only job is to rest.”

  “Thanks…Doc,” his father said.

  Jonah thanked both doctors and Nora as they all moved toward the door, and Nora promised to return for a vitals check in a little bit. Natalie hung back a little, and Jonah could tell she was torn between wanting to offer support and wanting to give them privacy, j
ust as she had been before. But Jonah wanted her next to him just as much as she’d wanted to be there this whole time, so he cleared his throat and said, “Dad, this is Natalie.”

  “Ah.” His father’s eyes brightened. “The…lady doctor,” he said, the words slow but even. “Jonah’s told me about you.”

  Natalie’s brows flew upward. “Oh. Well, we’re, um, good friends, and we’ve worked together for a long time,” she said politely.

  “That, too, I s’pose,” his father said with a smile, and ohhhkay, time to save face while he still could.

  “I told him about your bathtub, and how you needed a place to stay,” Jonah said. He’d told his father at least a half dozen stories that featured or included Natalie in some way over the past couple of weeks. If the fact that the corners of his father’s mouth were still lifted was any indication, he was going to share that little nugget if Jonah didn’t take action. “So, do you want some water or anything, Dad? Or I might be able to scrounge up some juice.”

  His father nodded. “Now that you mention…it, my throat is a bit dry.”

  “No problem.” Jonah grabbed the plastic pitcher from the bedside tray. He knew far better than to fill it with tap water, which would be lukewarm, at best. “I’ll ask Nora where to get some ice. I’m sure they’ve got a lounge up here or something.”

  Of course, he realized his tactical error too late. Specifically, when he returned two minutes later to find Natalie sitting at his father’s bedside, both of them laughing like old friends.

  “Hand to God, Mr. Sheridan. I have the pictures right here,” Natalie said, eagerly flipping through her phone.

  “You have pictures of what?” Jonah asked warily.

  Natalie’s grin went full-on mischief. “A certain princess tea party with a certain eight-year-old girl and a stuffed fox.”

  Well, fuck. “How on earth did you two even get on that topic?”

  Natalie passed her phone over to Jonah’s dad, letting him wrap a hand over hers so she could keep the display steady, and Jonah’s heart squeezed at the sight of her helping the old man while still letting him do what he could.