My Perfect Fiance (Perfect Guy Book 2) Page 3

  But today I’m dragging. My right prosthetic hurts like a mother. When I first walked in, it was the kind of pain I could ignore, but it’s gradually grown worse. If the ER weren’t so damn busy, I’d go to the lounge and yank it off for fifteen minutes, but there’s no time for that. Every room is filled, we’ve got patients in stretchers in the hallway, and the waiting room is hemorrhaging drunk guys who fell on broken beer bottles and need to be stitched up or get their heads scanned.

  Just another Monday night in the ER. Only two hours left in the shift. Well, two hours till Dr. Hayes shows up, then it’ll be another hour to get caught up on paperwork before I can leave.

  “You okay, Doc?”

  I look up from the computer where I’m supposed to be putting in orders, but am actually taking a load off my right leg, hoping the pain will ease up. It won’t go away, but if I could get it down to a seven out of ten instead of a ten out of ten, that would be great. A seven is the guy on the visual analog pain scale who is frowning but not crying.

  Claire Morgan, the charge nurse for the ER, is standing over me, her light brown eyebrows bunched together. Claire is the best of all the nurses, and I try to make my shifts line up with hers because it makes my life so much easier. She’s worked here nearly two decades—since she was fresh out of nursing school. She knows what I’m thinking before I even think it.

  We slept together once. We don’t talk about it, and honestly, it’s barely a blip on my radar anymore. It was a long time ago.

  “I’m fine,” I say, flashing a smile that hopefully doesn’t look too much like a grimace. “Hey, Claire, are those new scrubs?”

  “Don’t try to charm your way out of this one.” She folds her slim but muscular arms across her chest. I’ve seen Claire singlehandedly throw a two-hundred-pound drunk out the door. “You’ve been limping all morning. Even worse than usual.” Her eyes soften. “You need a Tylenol or an ibuprofen?”

  “No, I’m good.” I’m not good at all, but Tylenol or ibuprofen won’t touch me. I may as well pop a Tic Tac.

  She lowers her voice a few notches as she leans in close to me. “You need a wheelchair? I can grab a spare.”

  I’m tempted. But the chairs in the ER are shit. I won’t be able to balance, and it’ll probably pull left or who the hell knows.

  “That’s okay.” My stomach lets out a low growl and I realize it’s dinnertime and I forgot to bring the sandwich Bailey made for me. “Actually, got a sandwich?”

  She pats her dark purple scrub pants. “Fresh out. But I can have someone run out to the food truck.”

  The food truck. That could very well be the culprit in my high cholesterol. But what am I supposed to get from a food truck—a salad? I’d die from E coli.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Okay, well, whenever you’re ready, there’s a guy with bloody stool in Two. The fun continues.”

  I smile thinly. “Thanks, Claire.”

  She returns the smile. “No problem, Doc.”

  She always calls me “Doc.” That’s her name for all the doctors. I would have thought after we fooled around, she might upgrade me to Noah. Then again, I don’t kid myself I’m the only doctor she’s slept with. Those scrubs reveal some pretty tempting curves—not that I’m looking anymore. But back before Bailey, I would have been happy to make it a regular thing with Claire if she’d been up for it. I have a rule about no sleeping with women I work with, but there’s an exception to every rule.

  “By the way, Doc,” she says. “The nurse for that guy is Kaitlin.”

  I frown. “Kaitlin?”

  Claire snorts. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that little blonde thing making googly eyes at you the whole shift.”

  “Didn’t notice.” But it’s not atypical. The young nurses make googly eyes at any doctor who isn’t geriatric.

  “You will.” She winks at me. “Trust me on this. Kaitlin is intense.”

  Intense?

  Great. Just what I need tonight.

  I put my hands on the sides of my seat, readying myself to stand up. My right limb has stopped throbbing, but I know it will start again the second I stand up. Two more hours. Two more hours and I can get the hell out of here.

  I struggle to my feet, nearly losing my balance and falling back into the chair, but I get up successfully. Almost instantly, the pain starts up again like it was never gone. I really should have used my wheelchair today. I don’t use it nearly as much as I ought to, especially at work. But it’s a pain to be in the chair in the ER. Can’t navigate as well when it gets crowded. Everything is slower. And procedures are a pain in the ass. I usually strap my chest to the chair so I don’t lose my balance while trying to put in a central line or something like that. Intubating patients is even trickier.

  “Dr. Walsh!” A young blond nurse materializes in front of me. Her scrubs are neon pink—so bright they hurt my eyes. I suspect this is the Kaitlin I was warned about, based on the way she’s looking at me. Also, her badge says Kaitlin. “Mr. Gordon is all set for you!”

  “Great, thanks,” I say.

  She bats her eyes at me. “Would you like me to read off his vitals?”

  She’s attractive. I’m not going to say she isn’t. But even if Bailey weren’t around, it’s not my thing to screw new, young nurses I work with. It’s a bad idea, although a lot of my colleagues disagree. “That’s okay. I got ‘em from the computer.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” She reaches out and touches my forearm. Her fingers are icy cold. “Anything at all?”

  “I’ll let you know after I see the guy.”

  Kaitlin giggles like I said something hilarious. This is exhausting. Sometimes a little harmless flirting is fun, but not now. Not today.

  She scurries off to see another patient, while I square my shoulders in preparation for this new patient. I need to speed up. I’m usually much faster than this, but the pain is making me drag. I’d give anything to go home right now and sink into my wheelchair. Or even just grab a bite of food.

  “Noah!”

  I lift my eyes at the sound of the familiar voice. Holy shit, it’s Bailey. In the ER. She’s got her hair tied into a messy bun behind her head, and she’s wearing her gray leggings under her pea-green Thinsulate jacket.

  For the first time in a good two hours, I smile. “Bailey! What are you doing here?”

  She thrusts a brown paper bag at my chest. “Your dinner! You forgot it! Claire let me pop in to give it to you.”

  “Thanks. So much.” I take the bag from her, knowing I won’t be able to eat it for another half-hour, but that’s okay. Bailey makes the best sandwiches. This one was chicken pesto with red peppers. I was kicking myself for having forgotten it. “I was really hungry.”

  “I psychically sensed you were hungry.” She smiles proudly. “And I had time to kill.”

  I look at the clock on the wall and frown in confusion. “It’s seven o’clock. Aren’t you supposed to be… how are you here?”

  “Lily’s with a sitter. Tonight is her spring parent-teacher conference. So I figured I’d take the scenic route.”

  I grin. “So that means you don’t have time for a quickie in the lounge?”

  She glances around the busy ER. It’s as bad as it’s ever been right now. “Do you have time for a quickie?”

  “No,” I say regretfully. I lean in and kiss her as tastefully as I can manage. “Thanks for the sandwich. I won’t be home too late.”

  “Good.”

  She reaches out to squeeze my fingers. Christ, I wish I could go with her. Instead, I have to see a guy with bloody stool.

  I don’t know how I do it, but I manage to blow through a dozen patients in the next hour. The ER is busy, but nobody is all that sick. I had to admit one guy with pneumonia, but I sent everyone else on their way. My right leg is still throbbing, but knowing I’ve only got one hour left on my feet makes it tolerable.

  Claire comes by while I’m taking a breather at a computer and leans ov
er me. “Hanging in there, Doc?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She smiles at me. She’s about five years older than me, with lines around her eyes that deepen when her lips curl. “Nice diamond Bailey’s got. When did that happen?”

  I look up from the patient census on the screen. “Friday night.”

  “Oh… that French place?”

  “McDonald’s, actually.”

  She throws her head back and laughs. “And she said yes? Wow, good thing you’re handsome. Well, congratulations. She’s a good one.”

  “Thanks. I think so too.”

  Claire seems to like Bailey a lot. She doesn’t know any of our history. Likewise, Bailey doesn’t know I slept with Claire years ago. I’m going to keep it that way.

  “Got a good one for you in Five,” Claire says.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Bar fight. Forehead laceration from a beer bottle.”

  I roll my eyes. “Jesus… it’s only seven o’clock. Isn’t it a little early for a bar fight?” Usually those come in after midnight. Guys who should have gone home hours earlier, but just sit at the bar, getting drunker and drunker. Reminds me of the days when my father used to stumble home at one in the morning, waking up the whole house. More than once, my mother had to take us all to the ER because my father had a gash that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

  “It’s never too early for a bar fight, Doc.”

  I get back on my feet, ignoring the throb in my right lower limb. If I have to suture up this guy’s forehead, I’ll grab a stool. Or maybe Kaitlin the Nurse will grab it for me. She’s been fawning over me nonstop.

  I limp over to Room Five. A chart is hanging off the basket on the door, and I flip through it. Just like Claire told me—bar fight, forehead laceration. Easy.

  But when I push the door open, my mouth falls open when I see the man sitting the room.

  I look back down at the chart in my hand and see the name in bold letters. Theodore Duncan.

  How the hell did I miss that one?

  Chapter 5: Bailey

  I love parent-teacher conferences.

  I haven’t been to many of them yet, but so far, they’re great. Who wouldn’t like them? What’s not to like about sitting down with your child’s teacher and getting to hear how wonderful they are for ten minutes?

  I arrive at Lily’s school ten minutes early for my conference with Mrs. Babcock, so I take the time to browse the drawings in the hallway. All the kids in the class did an “about me” poster, which has a photo of them in the center with scattered facts about themselves. The photo of Lily was taken at school by her teacher, and it’s not terribly flattering. She looks like she was drenched with water shortly before the photo was taken—sometimes I wonder what they do in this school.

  Under future career, Lily wrote “bug sintist.” Under favorite food, Lily wrote “cooky.” Under hero, Lily wrote “Noah becuz he is a docter and licks bugs.” I am assuming she meant he likes bugs, or else he and I need to have a little talk.

  While I’m looking at the drawings, I’m joined by Elise Katz, who is probably my best friend among the parents, even though her daughter Arianna is not in Lily’s class. Like me, Elise is a single mom with an ex-husband who is a less-than-stellar father. We bonded over this bigtime at the beginning of the year, when we were waiting together at the bus stop in the morning and picking up our girls at the afterschool program at the Y. But since Noah has started picking up Lily more often, she’s become a little more standoffish.

  “Hey, Bailey.” Elise is petite with jet black hair she always keeps tied back in a professional-looking knot. She’s really pretty, although she hardly ever dates. “Teacher running behind?”

  “No, I’m early.”

  She laughs. “Oh, go you. You’re always so on top of things.”

  I beam with pride at that one. Last year, nobody would have made a statement like that about me. I was a mess last year. Always running at least fifteen minutes behind. I’m not sure why living with Noah has helped me to be on time for things better, but it just has.

  “Hey…” Elise grabs my left hand and holds it up accusingly. “When did this happen?”

  I can’t suppress a smile. I know I won’t be able to wear the ring much on a daily basis, because even a modest diamond is obnoxious in my line of work. But I want a week of wearing it. As a treat to myself. “Friday night.”

  “Oh my God.” Elise shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re marrying Mr. Perfect.”

  “Noah’s not perfect.”

  “Name one thing about him that isn’t perfect.”

  I chew on my lip. Elise doesn’t know Noah is a double amputee. She’s only met him a few times, and it just… well, it never came up. It’s not something you can’t just blurt out easily. I probably should tell her, because Noah’s been using his chair a lot more lately because of increased pain, but I’m fairly sure if I told her now, she’d assume I was joking. And I don’t have time to clear that up with a mere three minutes until my conference with Mrs. Babcock.

  “He snores,” I say instead.

  “How loud?”

  “Not that loud,” I admit.

  She gives me a thumbs-down. “Nope. Try again.”

  “When he does the laundry, he can’t figure out the difference between my clothes and Lily’s.” I was absolutely baffled when I saw he had sorted Lily’s black leggings into my drawer. I was slightly flattered though.

  “Bailey.” She makes a face at me. “You have a boyfriend who does your laundry. You can’t complain about that. He could literally set the laundry on fire, and he’d still be better than any guy I’ve ever dated.”

  Ooh, I’ve got one! “He wants us to get an ant farm.”

  Elise takes a step back, considering that one. “Okay, fine. That’s pretty bad. Also…” She glances up at the poster Lily made. “Word on the street is he licks bugs.”

  Our conversation is interrupted by the door to Mrs. Babcock’s classroom cracking open. She actually finished her last conference on time, which is some sort of miracle. By this time in the evening, the conferences are sometimes running up to an hour behind. Parents don’t seem to know the meaning of “ten minutes” when discussing their children. I get it though.

  Mrs. Babcock spots me in the hallway and waves. She’s about ten years older than me, with a sensible chestnut bob and horn-rimmed spectacles. She strikes me as one of those women who’s been teaching just about forever. Before the year started, we heard she was one of the best first grade teachers, so we were psyched to get her.

  “Mrs. Duncan?” Mrs. Babcock asks.

  I wince, even though it’s a common mistake. “It’s Chapin, actually. But you can call me Bailey.”

  “Sorry about that.” She smiles at me, although there’s something off about her smile. “Please come on in.”

  I head into Mrs. Babcock’s first grade classroom. There’s a whiteboard at the front of the room, with various addition problems scribbled on it. There are little tables arranged around the room, with four tiny chairs at each one. One of those tiny chairs is in front of Mrs. Babcock’s desk. For me, apparently. I settle into it and it creaks threateningly.

  And now I’m all ready to hear about how great Lily is.

  Except when Mrs. Babcock sits down at her desk, she isn’t smiling. There’s no twinkle in her eye. She is downright somber.

  “Bailey,” she says, “we’ve got a problem.”

  Chapter 6: Noah

  I must be more distracted than I thought by the pain in my leg. Theodore Duncan. I must be blind to have not seen his name.

  On his part, Theo looks equally shocked to see me. His mouth falls open and a single syllable escapes his lips: “Shit.”

  He looks like a guy who was just in a bar fight. His checkered shirt is ripped, his hair is disheveled, he’s got the makings of a shiner on his left eye, and he’s holding some crimson-stained gauze to his forehead as he sits on the examining table of Room Five. He’s making the wh
ole room stink of cigarettes and booze.

  “I’ll go find another doctor to see you,” I say.

  Theo blinks his swelling left eye. “You don’t have to.”

  “Yes,” I say, “I do.”

  “Come on, man. I just want to get stitched up and get out of here.

  “It would be extremely unprofessional for me to treat you.”

  He lets out a snort. “You do everything by the book, don’t you, Noah? So goddamn boring. I don’t know how Bailey can stand it.”

  I should be grateful to Theo, because he’s making me forget all about my throbbing right limb. My hand not holding his folder balls into a fist. “Excuse me?”

  He pulls the gauze from his wound, which is oozing badly. He definitely needs stitches. If it were a woman or a child, I’d be calling plastic surgery, but I have a feeling Theo won’t mind a scar on his forehead. “Bailey told me.”

  “Told you what?”

  “That you asked her to marry you.” He snorts again. “And she said yes. Amazingly.”

  I put down the folder and stare at him. “And what’s so amazing about that?”

  “Because she’s my wife!”

  “Ex-wife.”

  “That’s just…” Theo rubs at his left temple and winces with pain. “We were taking a break.”

  “You don’t get divorced when you’re taking a break.”

  “You might.”

  “Maybe you don’t understand the definition of ‘break’ then.”

  “You’re an asshole.” Theo nearly spits out the words, his bruised face turning pink. “You think you’re so smart, with your doctor’s degree from NYU Medical School. You think Bailey is attracted to doctors? She likes artists. True artists.”

  “You mean like failed musicians?”

  “Fuck you.”

  I look Theo up and down, from his scraggly clothes to his unkempt hair to his battered face. “You’re a mess,” I say. “The smartest thing Bailey ever did was kicking you out. Look at you—a bar fight at dinnertime? Really?”