7. Punctuality and Promises

7

Punctuality and Promises

Dax

Tuesday, May 9 th

9:22 a.m.

"Are you seeing this?" Liam points to the TV across from us in the waiting room.

Reporters are in the background on the live news broadcast, and the closed-captioning words scroll across the bottom of the screen, "Christopher Jenks, Fox 5 News, coming to you live from Mount Sinai West, where it was confirmed that the providers named in the wrongful death litigation are still present and practicing." He holds a hand to the mic in his ear and turns, the cameraman panning past him to the front entrance of the hospital.

"Did you check in?" I'm preoccupied, and I ignore his question and reference to the chaos on the screen.

"Yes."

"What's taking so long?"

"I don't know. Who do you think he's talking about?" Liam, points at the TV.

"Who's who talking about?"

He grabs a hold of my chin and directs me to look at the news broadcast. "Him."

"It's muted."

"Read the captions." I hear the eyeroll in his voice.

"So what?" I don't know why I need to see this. There are two doctors named in a lawsuit. There was a death. They're investigating.

"What if it is my doctor?"

My eyes scroll along with the words on the screen. They aren't naming names. "Under investigation?"

"Yep . Here. It could be her." He takes his eyes off the screen and gives me a furtive glance.

"It's not. You have other things to worry about." Like where the doctor is and why you haven't been called back for your appointment.

I hate hospitals. I hate appointments. And I hate when people aren't considerate of other people's time.

The sound of the elevator catches our attention, and a woman sporting navy scrubs and a mess of wild brown hair exits in a hurry. I do a double take, only glimpsing her face before she jogs past us toward the double doors behind the nurses' station.

And— fuck me.

Ten out of ten. Curves for days. And that ass—I continue admiring it until Liam waves a hand in front of my face, trying to catch my eye.

He's too damn observant.

Focus, Dax. Shit.

"You can pick your jaw up now," Liam mumbles as he drops a magazine into my lap. "Here. This will distract you while we wait."

I groan. "I don't need a distraction."

"Stop staring."

"I'm not." I tear my eyes from her for a second and glare at him. "I'm appreciating."

She steals a glance over her shoulder, and I catch her eye for a flash, giving her an inviting smile. Definitely a ten out of ten. Hazel eyes, heart-shaped lips. I readjust in my seat, thankful for the cover of the magazine.

"You're staring. It's obvious." He waves at her, making the situation awkward.

"Shut up." I've never hooked up with a nurse, but there's a first time for everything. Besides, what's the likelihood she's going to work with Liam? No one ever said the rest of the staff is off-limits.

A pinkish hue fills her cheeks as she swipes her badge next to the door and grabs the handle, her slim waist and perfect ass disappearing from view.

She seems flustered. I can only imagine what the stress of having reporters here is doing to her. I'm sure everyone around here is on edge. Maybe I should have paid more attention to the news earlier.

Liam punches me in the arm. "Dude, you're drooling."

"Do you blame me?"

"I can't take you anywhere. I don't know who that is, but this is your only warning—stay away from my doctor."

"There's no way she's your doctor. And it would help if you gave me more credit than that. Besides, I'm not interested."

He chuckles and pats my shoulder. "You're full of shit."

I'll behave. For now. This was just another much-needed distraction from the nightmare of Liam's diagnosis. What in the hell is taking so long? When is he going to get called back for his appointment? And why—

"Blakely," an older woman interrupts my thoughts. Her green scrubs and wild curls fall around her face as she stands next to the half-circle counter with a chart in her hands. She reminds me of the cranky ladies from the diner this morning. "Blakely."

I nudge Liam. A polite smile stretches across his face as he stands and stretches. "Here."

She meets him halfway between the counter and where I'm still seated. I stand and follow Liam, keeping a couple of paces behind them.

"How are you doing today?"

"Good as can be expected."

She offers a brief smile and opens the door to room four-thirteen, ushering him inside.

I stop outside the door, lean closer to her, and whisper, "I called a couple of times. Left a message."

She raises her brows and gives me a knowing smile. "Mr. Blakely." Her words don't come out as a question.

"I wanted to talk to Dr. Fields before my brother's appointment."

She folds her arms over her chest. "I know."

"I just need a second." I glance at the bedazzled nametag on her breast pocket. "Lauren. It's only a couple of questions."

"I understand. Dr. Fields will be in shortly. I have some paperwork you two can start on in the meantime." She sweeps her arm into the room, and I enter, dropping into the seat next to the exam table Liam's occupying.

Lauren takes some papers from a file and divides them. She offers one stack to Liam and the other to me.

"These are documents sent over by Dr. Gibbons. Please go over the information, make sure it's correct, and sign at the bottom of each sheet. We'll get them scanned into our system." She takes a pen from her breast pocket and hands it to Liam.

I continue to stare at the forms she handed me. I don't want to do this.

"Do you have any questions?" Lauren asks. The room shifts until my guts are twisting, and my heart crawls into my throat.

I stand and start pacing, rubbing the tightness in my chest as the door swings open. A woman walks into the room, and I'm incapable of keeping a thought in my brain. My mouth falls to the floor, and I shake my head. The words spill out of my mouth before I can stop them. "You're the doctor?"

There's a part of me that hopes to all the gods this woman is not Dr. Fields.

Because if it is, I'm screwed.

The messy brown hair.

The scrubs.

It's the woman from the waiting room.

And I'm one hundred percent positive she is not Dr. Fields.

Perhaps another nurse, but definitely not a doctor. And that ass. There's no way she's old enough. I give her an apologetic smile.

This woman and Lauren give each other a look before she turns her attention to me.

"Mr. Blakely?"

My name on her lips causes a momentary pause in my trying to solve who she is. I stare at her in confusion. "Yeah?"

"Sorry about my brother," Liam says as he hops off the exam table and offers her the papers.

"It's nice to meet you," the woman says before taking the papers and passing them to Lauren. She shakes Liam's hand and then directs her attention to me.

I can only nod because I'm tongue-tied, and my brain is blank. I didn't see the charts in her arms until she extends a hand.

There's no fucking way. Not that this woman doesn't seem capable of being a doctor. She can't be past early thirties with a face I'd describe as pensive, if not for how tired she looks and her scowl. I figured Dr. Fields would be older with her credentials.

I lean against the wall behind me, watching for a sign. Nothing changes in her demeanor. I rub the back of my neck, my eyes ping-ponging from Lauren to her and back. Lauren's face is stoic, unreadable.

Give me a sign, Lauren. Come on. Is this another nurse? Lab assistant?

The woman takes the top chart, pushes the remaining pile out of her way, and opens it.

I instantly regret the vulgar thoughts I let play through my mind earlier. What is wrong with me?

Her eyes scan the page.

"Everything's signed. What's next?" Liam questions. His cool chuckle clashes with the panic flooding my veins.

The woman continues to examine his chart. Liam clears his throat, and the two of us glance toward him as Lauren offers him a small cup.

"We need a sample to evaluate for cancer cells, red and white blood cells, and microscopic infection. I can show you to the restroom."

"I already did this at Dr. Gibbons' office." He holds up the cup to examine it.

"We need a fresh sample." Lauren opens the door, and Liam follows her out. "We'll be right back."

And fuck me.

This has got to be Dr. Fields.

The Dr. Fields.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"You're Dr. Fields?" I ask, needing confirmation as my hopes and dreams tumble around me. Maybe Bree's right, and I'm no better than Garrett.

"You don't miss much, do you?" She doesn't take her eyes off the chart on the counter, but I note a slight upturn of the right side of her mouth. "Lauren mentioned you were pushy. It's a virtue, you know."

I'm lost.

No idea what she's talking about.

I stare at the perfect curve of her lips and how they form over every syllable. Fantasize about them wrapping around my . . .

Her head snaps up, and our eyes meet.

Yeah, I'm a piece of shit.

Can she read minds?

Her brow scrunches.

Shit.

A smirk plays at the corner of her mouth. Like three seconds of eye contact was enough to read my innermost thoughts.

An honest-to-god chill runs down my spine at the shadow that crosses her face.

People cannot read minds.

My voice falters, "I'm sorry, I, um . . ." I'm at a loss for words. That's a first. "What?"

She closes her eyes and lets out a slow, audible breath.

My lip quirks, and I do my best to school it back into place.

She gestures toward her lab coat, and my eyes follow—across the pocket is Dr. B. Fields —how did I miss it?

"Patience—it's a virtue. Thanks for the vote of confidence, by the way." She continues to peruse the forms as her brow creases in confusion. "D, as in D-E-E? Is that what you prefer to be called?"

She takes a form and hands it to me. It's a signed waiver from Liam permitting me, D. Blakely, to have all access to his charts and any information about his treatment. One he signed at Dr. Gibbons' office. I read over the fine print, ignoring most of it until I make it to the bottom of the page, and a few words jump out at me.

Next. Of. Kin.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

I tear my eyes from the form and find her messing with her wild hair. She pulls the elastic out, sticks it between her teeth, and combs through the strands with her fingers. I daydream about wrapping my fist through the wavy tendrils and—fuck me.

No, Dax. Off-limits. Here. For. Liam.

I need to stop trying to deal with my problems and insecurities by burying myself in women. Liam's mentioned this in the past. And Bree did so in a round-a-bout way. And they're right. Why am I such a dick?

When she catches me watching, she clears her throat. With one hand holding her hair in a ponytail and the other pointing at the sheet of paper in front of me, she mumbles past the elastic band in her mouth, "I need a signature there."

She finishes adjusting her ponytail and offers me the pen from off the counter.

"No," I say, recovering my place in the conversation as I slide the paper back to her after signing.

Confusion spreads across her face. "I'm sorry?"

"I don't go by Dee. It's D as in D-A-X, but only friends and family call me that." I try to make this come across as friendly, but it errs dangerously close to flirting. And I should definitely not be flirting with her.

Her look says, "Wipe that smirk off your face, you're not that cute," but the tiniest shred of a grin hides in the corner of her mouth.

She leans against the counter opposite me and crosses her arms over her chest, giving me a tight-lipped smile. "Good to know, Mr. Blakely ."

The friction is palpable between us. I can appreciate her need to be professional, but I haven't given her any reason to be cold.

She doesn't know what you're thinking. Chill.

Her defenses are up, and I'm not sure what I did to put her on edge. I smile at her, trying to reconcile, but my efforts are useless.

I can only assume it's difficult for a woman who looks like this to be taken seriously in this profession. But I'm not the bad guy here. It's not like I'm here to mar her persona of perfection and make her dirty. She doesn't know I objectified her, and it's not like I don't know what it feels like.

I'm here for answers. Nothing else. I go to inform her of this when I get a scowl of annoyance.

She grabs the form before clearing her throat and making her tone neutral. "All that persistence, and now we're dawdling. I'm busy, and I'm running late. You had some questions, right?"