Crash & Carnage by Emma Slate

Chapter 3

I trudgedthrough the lobby of my condo building and immediately went to check my mailbox. Nothing. Not even a bill.

“Linden,” the middle-aged security guard greeted, coming out from around the desk.

“Hi, Jerry,” I said with a genuine smile. “What did your wife bring you for lunch today?”

“Eggplant Parmesan.”

I raised my brows. “No chance of any leftovers, are there?”

“Nope. Sorry.” He grinned. “When are you going to settle down with a nice man who knows how to cook and take care of you?”

“You’re starting to sound like the Italian mother I don’t have,” I warned.

“Eggplant Parmesan. Homemade,” he reminded me. “I’ve got a nephew actually. Recently divorced…”

“Oh wow, look at the time,” I drawled and booked it to the elevator. I quickly punched the button. “See you tomorrow. I’m in for the night.”

“It’s not night yet,” he said.

“It is by my body clock. I’ve been up since four.”

First the nurses, now my well-meaning but nosy security guard? I’d only broken up with my boyfriend a few months ago. Did I have a sign painted on my forehead that read lonely doctor in need of a good boning?

I snorted, wondering if that was how my personal ad would read in five years.

The elevator arrived and after the chime, the steel doors opened, and I got in. They closed behind me, and I turned to press the button for the top floor. When I got out, I padded down the long white hallway with slate gray carpet and came to a light wood door.

The condo was everything I needed. The woman who owned it had gone to London for a job, so the place had been rented to me completely furnished. It had made moving from Durham a breeze. I’d been able to leave my old life behind and start fresh.

The apartment had an open floor plan with a modern kitchen and stainless-steel appliances, yet the living room was inviting and airy. Light gray walls matched the accent pillows on the white couch and high-end white trim carpentry highlighted the room. The walls were bare, but there were small holes from where photos or paintings had hung.

I hadn’t added any personal touches to the place yet. Even though my life and time revolved around the hospital, I could’ve taken a few days and really made the apartment feel like mine, but I just didn’t have the inclination. I liked the décor that had come with the condo, and it was comfortable and clean.

I plucked my phone from my clutch. I had a few missed texts and two voicemails. I played my mother’s message first as I kicked off my sneakers.

“Linden, it’s your mother.” Her cultured and deeply condescending voice came through the speaker. “If you would deign to call me, I’d appreciate it. We haven’t heard from you in days, and I assume it’s because you’re working and not because you’re lying in a ditch somewhere.”

I rolled my eyes. Guilt and obligation had been my mother’s one and only strategy to exert her rule over me. It had worked until I’d told her I was going to medical school. She hadn’t been happy with my decision. Not even a little bit proud of me. My mother was a brittle socialite who spent her days going from martini lunches to charity balls. When I refused to follow in her footsteps, she’d taken it personally. She thought I’d done it to slight her, when all I’d been doing was pursuing my own path. Then again, she thought my dreams were my father’s dreams and that wasn’t a box I was interested in unpacking.

Her message ended. I didn’t bother listening to my father’s voicemail—I just deleted it.

I stripped out of my clothes as I headed to the bathroom. I turned on the shower, and as I waited for the temperature to adjust, I undid my wheat blonde braid and ran my fingers through the waves in my hair.

As I stepped underneath the steaming spray, my mind inevitably drifted to Boxer. He’d caught me completely off guard when he pegged me as a blue blood. I hadn’t expected him to be insightful, but clearly, he saw that I was East Coast, and there was nothing I could do to hide it.

He wasn’t what I expected from a biker. I wondered why I even cared.

There was an endless revolving door of patients from the hospital that had allowed me to meet all types of people from all walks of life. I considered myself a good judge of character, but Boxer had thrown me for a loop.

I turned off the shower after cleaning up and reached for the blue towel on the heated rack. I quickly dried off and slathered my body in lotion. I left my wet hair down to air dry.

The espresso I’d downed a few hours ago had long since lost its potency, and I felt the crash coming. I changed into a pair of leggings and a slouchy sweater and then opened a bottle of red wine. My stomach rumbled in hunger, and I ordered my usual from the Thai restaurant around the corner.

Dinner and wine for one.

Pathetic.

* * *

The next afternoon, I walked into the waiting room and looked for the Taylor family. They sat in the corner, occupying three chairs. Mrs. Taylor had an open magazine on her lap, but she was staring out the window. One of her adult sons reached over to grasp her hand and gave it a hearty squeeze. She smiled absently but didn’t turn to look at him. Her other adult son returned to her side, carrying three small cups of hospital coffee that had no business being called coffee.

“Mom,” her son said.

“Thanks.” She took a cup from him, blew on it for a second, and then set it aside on a wooden table.

I observed them for a moment with the trained eye of someone that had cultivated the skill to perceive, calculate, and act accordingly based on the information at hand. Time was of the utmost importance in my profession, but it was a delicate balance. Move too quickly and you could make an irreconcilable mistake. Don’t move fast enough and the same fate could occur.

“Mrs. Taylor,” I greeted with a smile as I strode toward the middle-aged woman who’d kept her trim figure.

She rose, her face carefully blank, as if she refused to allow herself hope. “Dr. Ward.”

Her sons also stood and instinctively moved closer to her, seemingly preparing for bad news.

I smiled. “The surgery went well.”

There was an audible sigh of relief from the three of them.

“I’m optimistic the colectomy was a success, but it’ll be a few weeks before he’s made a full recovery.”

Tears of relief rolled down Mrs. Taylor’s cheeks, and then her sons were embracing her. Their emotion was on display, so great that they couldn’t hide it.

“Charlie is being taken to recovery. He’s going to be groggy for a while, but you can see him in a bit. I’ll send one of the nurses out to get you when it’s okay to go in.”

Mrs. Taylor broke away from her children and flung herself into my arms, gripping me in a strong embrace. “Thank you,” she whispered.

I patted her back.

She pulled away, her blue eyes watery with tears. “I’m so relieved. Thank you.”

“It’s a beautiful day, Mrs. Taylor. Let’s all enjoy it.” With a smile, I gently extracted myself from the presence of the Taylor family and left the waiting room.

My heart felt light. Today, medicine had been on my side.

“You look happy,” Amanda said, as I approached the nurses’ station.

“I am happy.” I smiled. “It’s a good day, Amanda. Charlie Taylor’s surgery went well.”

“Oh, that’s great. Truly. I’m about to make your day even better.”

“Yeah?”

“You got a flower delivery.” She gestured to a bouquet of red roses resting on the counter of the administrative desk. “I wonder who they could be from?”

“Judging by your tone, I would say you already peeked at the card,” I remarked drolly, holding out my hand for it.

“Just the signature.” She handed me the card. I took a few moments to read it but didn’t have a feeling one way or the other.

“Well,” she pressed. “What did Parker have to say?”

“He said he had a good time on our date last week and would love to go out again.”

“That’s great!” she said.

“It is?”

“Well, yeah, isn’t it?” She paused, and then she grinned. “Oh, I see. You’re no longer interested in the suit-wearing lawyer type. Not after meeting Mr. Down and Dirty.”

“Mr. Down and Dirty?” I raised my brows.

“Come on, Boxer’s got down and dirty written all over him. Slathered in ink. Yum.”

“You’re ridiculous. And Boxer has nothing to do with why I’m not going out with Parker again,”

“Yeah, right.”

“Will you stop, please? I don’t have a thing for Boxer.”

“Then go out with Parker again,” she taunted.

“No.”

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Because, as nice as he is, he reminds me too much of my ex.” I placed my hand on her arm. “I know you mean well. I know all the nurses mean well, but can we stop this pushing me toward every single guy? I’m happy with my life the way it is. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, not looking at all like she believed me.

An hour later, I was strolling past Boxer’s room when I saw a pregnant brunette sitting by his bedside.

“Doc!” Boxer called out with a smile. “Come in here! I want you to meet someone.”

“Don’t talk to the doctor that way,” the pretty woman said, lightly smacking his arm.

Bile rose in my throat.

Of course.

I’d fallen for his easy charm and reluctantly been impressed that he’d refused opiates. He’d been intriguing, different. And I’d noticed.

I felt lower than low, but there was no way I could get out of meeting Boxer’s wife. But then I realized it wasn’t my fault. Boxer had led me to believe… He never mentioned anyone or wore a ring. I never would’ve sat and had yogurt with him if I’d known.

I mentally braced myself and smiled at the woman who was married to a dog, and I wondered if she knew it. “Hi, I’m Dr. Linden Ward.” I held out my hand to her, and she gave it a hearty shake.

“I’m so glad I got to see you so I could give you these in person.” She held a plastic container of cookies out to me. “I made these for you. My way of saying thanks for…well, being Boxer’s guardian angel.”

“Oh,” I murmured. “It was my pleasure. Really.” My eyes drifted to her belly. “When are you due?”

“In about eight weeks. Each day I keep getting bigger and bigger.” She laughed, her face radiant.

“Congratulations.” It was impossible not to smile at her genuine warmth. Too bad her husband was a complete and utter jerk. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Ugh. Preggo brain.” She smacked her forehead. “I’m Mia Weston.”

“Weston,” I repeated, my gaze darting to Boxer.

Not Ford.

“This is Colt’s wife,” Boxer said slowly, his smile deepening as if he knew what had been going through my mind. “They’re in love and committed and everything.”

Mia frowned in confusion as she looked at Boxer. But then she turned her attention back to me, seemingly unaware of the internal battle I’d been waging. “You met my husband the other night. He’s the big burly one.”

“You forgot grumpy,” Boxer added.

Mia wrinkled her nose at Boxer. “He’s not that grumpy anymore. I make him happy.”

“Sometimes,” Boxer teased.

“Hush, you.” She tweaked his nose, and I couldn’t help but smile at their sibling-like interaction.

“I would’ve been here,” Mia went on, “but we’ve got a twelve-year-old son and I was home with him.”

She didn’t look old enough to have a twelve-year-old son, but I kept that thought to myself. I also kept the thought to myself that she was a very lucky woman to be married to Colt, because wow.

“Here,” she said, insisting I take the cookies.

I grasped the container. “Thank you for this, but it really wasn’t necessary.”

“If you don’t want them, I’ll take them. Mia bakes the best cookies,” Boxer said.

I clutched them tighter. “You’re on a restricted diet and sugar won’t help you heal.”

“Damn,” Boxer muttered. “And here I thought you were gonna take pity on me.”

“You don’t need pity,” I said. “You get enough of that from the nurses.”

“That’s our Boxer.” Mia rubbed her lower back. “I’ve got to get going. It was nice meeting you, Dr. Ward.”

“Call me Linden,” I insisted.

Her smiled widened and she nodded. “Linden.”

“Thanks for making the drive, Mia,” Boxer said.

“Drive? What drive?” I asked.

“From Waco.” She frowned. “That’s where we live. The club, I mean.”

“Oh. I thought for sure you were all from Dallas. I just assumed because Boxer—”

“I was hanging out with a buddy in Dallas when the pain in my side got to be too bad,” Boxer explained. “I wasn’t going to be able to make the long drive home. So I came here.”

“Ah,” I said. “Got it.”

“The boys are still handling stuff in the city, so they’ll be by in a bit. Don’t climb the walls.” Mia grinned and then waddled out of the room.

My eyes followed her, and then I looked back at my patient, lying there, appearing too smug for his own good.

“Jealousy looks good on you, Doc.”

I marched to the end of his bed and set the cookies down. “I wasn’t jealous.”

“No? Didn’t look that way to me,” he teased.

“I thought I’d pegged you wrong,” I stated. “And that you were the kind of guy that was two-timing his wife. A pregnant wife.”

He laughed. “You should’ve seen the look on your face. Man, I wish I’d had a camera.”

It hadn’t been jealousy—it had been regret that I’d read him wrong when I deemed myself a good judge of character. And if I was being honest with myself, it was disappointment in Boxer.

“Did she really drive all the way from Waco just to visit you?” I asked. “That’s a bit of a trek.”

“She’s been wanting to go to this fancy schmancy baby boutique in Dallas. She made a day of it here.” Boxer examined me for a moment. “So, are we gonna talk about why you went all weird yesterday?”

“Weird about what?” I evaded.

“You know what. Don’t play dumb. That’s not who you are.”

“Who am I, Boxer?” I demanded.

“Come on, you’re a surgeon,” he pointed out, not at all taken aback by my tone. “You’re clearly not an idiot.”

I paused, weighing my words before I spoke. “People assume things about you, when they know you come from a privileged background.”

“Just like people assume they know things about you because you wear a leather cut and ride a motorcycle.”

“Touché,” I said with a wry grin.

“Posture.”

“Huh?”

“It’s your posture. The way you carry yourself, Doc. You never slouch or shuffle. Asking you about tennis was just a confirmation of what I already knew.”

“You noticed how I walk?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “It stands out. You stand out.”

“I spent years at cotillions and having manners drilled into me.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.”

“It was,” I admitted.

“Yogurt?” Boxer reached for one of the plastic cups on his meal tray.

“Excuse me?”

“I was hoping you’d stop by so we could eat yogurt together. It’ll be the highlight of my day.”

“Are you always full of wind?” I demanded. “Speaking of wind…have you passed gas yet today?”

He stopped mid-pull while opening the foil on one of the yogurt containers. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m your doctor. I have to know if things are working.”

“Like hell I’m gonna tell you that.” He finished ripping off the foil and set it aside. “I’m trying to impress you. If I tell you I’ve farted—”

“So, you have passed gas then?”

“If. Jesus, I said if—you know what? Let’s not talk about that anymore.”

“How’s your pain today?”

“Six and half.”

“Yesterday it was a seven,” I pointed out. “So, you’re feeling a bit better. That’s good.”

“I always feel better when I fleece the prospects out of a few bucks. But they don’t really offer me that much of a challenge, you know? I like a challenge.”

“Yeah, I bet you do,” I mocked.

He raised his brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing. Say it like it is, Doc.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry. I was doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Assuming I know who you are because you flirt with everything that walks.”

“Um. Ouch. And I don’t flirt with everything that walks. There are a few male nurses here you know, and as nice as they are, they’re not really my type.”

“What’s your type?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

His grin was slow, appreciative.

“Yeah, walked right into that one,” I muttered. “I blame the sleep deprivation that goes with the job.”

“Really? I think you should blame your overwhelming attraction to me. Just admit you don’t know how to handle it.”

“I’ll pay you five dollars to change the subject,” I said, feeling testy and antsy, and wondering why I didn’t have the willpower to get up and leave.

“Okay, Doc. Let’s talk about when I can get out of here.”

“One more day,” I said. “You’re responding well to the antibiotics, but I want to make sure there’s no infection before I discharge you.”

“Gas, infection, and you just said discharge.” He shook his head. “There’s no way in hell you’re ever gonna give me a chance once I get out of here, are you?”

“Give you a chance?” I arched a brow. “Give you a chance to do what, exactly?”

“Buy you an ice cream soda and ask you to wear my letterman jacket, of course. And if you’re really nice to me, I’ll even take you to the sock hop.”

“You know just how to treat a girl from the ’50s.” I chuckled. “I think you’re swell, but I don’t want the complication. Plus, you’re my patient, and that’s against the rules. Actually, I shouldn’t even be sitting here with you—”

“You think I’m swell?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes.

“Let’s get back to this idea that you think I’m a complication.”

“Men usually are.”

He raised his brows. “Maybe the kind you normally date. The ones who wear bowties and talk about stock portfolios.”

Totally nailed.

“You’re my patient,” I said. “I don’t date my patients.”

“After you discharge me, I won’t be your patient anymore.”

He had a point.

“So that just leaves your issue with thinking I’m a complication. I’m the least complicated guy you’ll ever meet. You clearly need a man you can blow off steam with. So how about it, Doc?”

“How about what?”

“How about we get together and—”

My pager vibrated against my hip, effectively ending the conversation that was rapidly spinning out of control. Because as much as I tried to ignore his banter and flirting, I was enjoying it immensely.

I stood up and set the half-eaten yogurt on the tray before checking the page. “I’ve got to go.”

“Damn. It was just getting interesting.”

I headed for the door.

“Doc?”

I looked behind me.

“Think about it.”

“Think about what?”

He grinned. “Me. Naked. I’ve got tattoos you haven’t even seen yet.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

He reached for my yogurt. “You’re already thinking about it. I know it.”