Devaney’s Doctor Daddy by Honey Meyer

Chapter Two

Devaney’s skin had gone from pale and dull to outright green. She looked terrible, and she clutched a hand to her stomach.

“Hey, Chase, my man. I think we’re done here. You can go ahead and get dressed, okay?”

He talked to Chase while the kid pulled his clothes back on—he played lacrosse like his big brother but on Clover Hills’ under-ten squad.

“I’m not as good as Logan. I asked if I could take chess lessons instead but Dad said I had to play because Bishops play lacrosse. But like, there are literally bishops on a chess board.”

Chase was funny, but Devaney didn’t laugh. She’d probably heard this argument before, but she didn’t even smile. Nah, she put her hand over mouth and her lashes fluttered.

He was about to ask if she was feeling okay—she clearly wasn’t—or if there was something he could do to help, but she swallowed hard and gave Chase a weak smile.

“Okay, bud, all done. Let’s go pick up some tacos for dinner.”

Chase did a fist pump. “I love tacos! Can I get the ones with the cheese melted on the inside and the extra guac?”

“Sure can,” Devaney said as she nodded and gave him a pained smile. She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door but after taking a couple of steps, she doubled over and wretched.

It was far from the first time someone had puked in his office, but usually it was the kids and not the parents. The weird thing was that Chase didn’t seem alarmed. Like his mom throwing up was something that happened all the time. What the hell?

“Chase, why don’t you go out to the waiting room and tell Logan your mom’s not feeling well? Tell Flora at the front desk too. Just wait out there for a few minutes while I help your mom, okay?”

The boy nodded, his gaze wandering over his mom who was now on her knees, heaving again. That poor woman. He hoped it wasn’t a stomach bug because that was the last thing he needed—there was never just one case of stomach flu. Food poisoning maybe?

“Hey, I’ll take good care of her, promise.”

“Okay,” Chase granted before walking through the door and swinging it shut again.

Now he could focus on Devaney. Mrs. Bishop?

He did notice now with her hands splayed over the linoleum that she wasn’t wearing her wedding band anymore. And some women got really upset if you used their married last names after a divorce. He couldn’t blame them. Probably safest not to call her Mrs. Bishop then.

He crouched down by her side and put a hand between her shoulder blades.

“Devaney? What’s going on? Do you think it was something you ate?”

She was breathing hard and what he wanted to do was pick her up, bring her over to the house, and cuddle her. Figure out what was wrong and either do something to make her feel better or just help her through it if there was nothing he could do.

He fucking hated those times. Had he really gone through four years of med school and three more of a fellowship to tell people there was nothing he could do to help? One of the worst parts of being a doctor—there were just some things he couldn’t fix.

She shook her head, not meeting his eyes.

“Doctor Southerland, I am so, so sorry. This is… Here, I’ll clean it up. I—”

“You’ll do no such thing. Sit down. Doctor’s orders. And I think if you’ve vomited on my floor you can call me Eric.”

Poor thing put her hands over her eyes and groaned.

He hadn’t meant to embarrass her further. So sensitive. He needed to be more careful.

Eric crouched behind her, put an arm around her waist and grasped her forearm, helped her to stand and led her over to the exam table where he had her sit until he could pull out the extension and then helped her put her feet up and lie back against the recline.

“Eyes closed. Hold on a second.”

Out of the cabinet he grabbed a washcloth, soaked it under the faucet and wrung it out before folding it and placing it over Devaney’s closed eyes.

“That should help. I’m gonna get this cleaned up and then I’ll lower the lights.”

He got to mopping up and thought it was a mark of how awful she felt that Devaney didn’t try to argue with him. Didn’t in fact say a single word.

Once the floor was spic and span—and his custodian Henry would be going over it tonight again anyhow—he lowered the lights and went over to where Devaney was lying pale and still, her pulse beating visibly in her throat. He shouldn’t touch her again, but he couldn’t stop himself from resting his hand on her forehead and running it over her hair.

“I’m going to go check on the boys, I’ll be right back.”

“’Kay.”

Oof. That one word was a punch to his gut. Devaney Bishop had never struck him as a little—he’d thought maybe she had a bit of a subby streak but nothing more. But the way she whimpered and curled up, leaned toward his touch, her small voice, well—

Fuck, Southerland, you cannot think about that right now. You’ve got a job to do.

Reluctantly he pulled his hand away and headed out to the waiting room where Logan was slouched and playing on his console and Chase was thumbing through a book.

“Hey, guys. Your mom’s really not feeling well. Are you guys feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” Chase volunteered, looking up at him with those blue eyes so like his mom’s.

Logan rolled his eyes and looked disgusted. “Yeah, we’re fine. This happens like every month. She says she has migraines.”

Not “she has migraines,” but “she says she has migraines.” Bet Logan got that from his father.

Eric knew better, but he ground his back teeth together nonetheless. Sometimes you just had to get the frustration out.

“Alright. We’ll figure something out. If you’re hungry, Flora can bring you back to the staff lounge. There are some snacks and drinks back there while you wait. Sound good?”

Flora stepped out from behind the desk and as she passed, he asked her, “Can you stay for a bit while we get this sorted out? Don’t have a hot date tonight, do you?”

Flora smiled and shook her head. “Only with a microwave dinner and Netflix, and those will wait. Don’t worry, I got this.”

“Thanks, you’re the best.”

* * *

She had to get out of here. This was mortifying.

Of course Doctor Southerland had been nice, but he was always nice. He was probably going to go home or over to his girlfriend’s or maybe he was going out on a date tonight, and he’d tell the woman about how this frumpy mom had puked all over his office and that’s why he was late. He’d probably pick up flowers for her too because Eric Southerland seemed like the kind of man who would bring a woman flowers.

Devaney removed the washcloth from her eyes and sat up slowly. And then clapped a hand over her mouth because goddamn her stomach was out to get her today. Ugh, it was never fun, but really? Here? Now?

She would be okay. She’d have to be okay. She’d get the boys out of here, hopefully make it through the takeout line at Talkin’ ’Bout Tacos, tell Logan to make sure both he and Chase got their homework done and then she could go lie down and hope this got better before the full-on migraine struck.

At least the lights were dimmed and she didn’t feel like knives were gouging out her eyeballs while she grabbed her bag. But before she could make it out the door, Doctor Southerland was letting himself in.

“Hey, what’re you doing up?”

His stern voice almost made her knees buckle. Carter had yelled at her often, but Doctor Southerland’s firm tone didn’t bear any resemblance to that. No, this made her want to walk into his arms and have him hold her, rub her back, reassure her everything was going to be fine and that he would take care of her.

Dream on, Devaney. He was a young, attractive, single doctor, and she was a rundown single mom. What on earth would he want with her?

“I, um, I’ve got to go. I’m sure the boys are starving and I promised them tacos and they need to get their homework done before they go to bed, and—”

“My receptionist is getting them some snacks right now,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder and stroking his thumb across the crest like he was trying to comfort her. “They can start their homework in the staff lounge and Flora said she could hang out with them for a while.”

Oh, god. Now she was inconveniencing Doctor Southerland’s staff too? Ugh, she was the worst. She put her face in her hands and tried to blink back tears, even knowing her headache would get worse with the pressure.

“Logan said you get migraines?”

She nodded, still hiding her face. Why was he being so kind? It didn’t feel like he was watching the clock, tapping his foot.

“Since I was a teenager.”

“Are they always this bad?”

Devaney choked on a laugh. “You mean do I always throw up? No. I always get nauseated though. But I can usually manage to not actually puke.”

“Is this the worst of it?”

She hesitated, pinched her lips between her teeth, but then Doctor Southerland was urging her chin up and she let her hands fall.

“Tell me the truth, Devaney. Is your migraine going to get worse or is this as bad as it gets?”

She felt like shit with her head aching, her stomach roiling, humiliation burning her cheeks, but the way he was touching her—his fingers grasping her chin and tilting her face to look up into his dark eyes and the big hand splayed over her back was so nice. Supportive and firm, almost possessive in a way she loved.

“Worse,” she whispered, and flinched as he frowned.

“Oh, hey. Don’t be scared. I’m sorry, I—”

Doctor Southerland released her chin, removed his hand from her back and took a couple steps away from her. When he did, she felt the absence of his touch like the sun going behind a cloud. She wanted it back, warm and comforting.

Carter had hit her a few times—when he’d been drinking and he’d gotten really angry with her—but bracing to be slapped was a gut reaction now to men looking cross. Which had of course infuriated Carter even more because it made him feel like a brute and he wanted to be civilized.

“I’m not angry, and I promise I’m not going to hurt you. I get frustrated when people don’t feel well and I can’t make it better right away, that’s all.”

“Okay. Well, I have to get the boys home, so again, I’m sorry about your floor and if you weren't such a good doctor and the boys didn’t like you so much I’d probably switch their pediatrician because that was so embarrassing. Next time we come see you I’ll just tell myself you forgot about the mom who barfed in your exam room. So, um, thanks, and see you next year.”