Page 25 of Hate To Want You
“Heidi, let me rephrase.” I startle at the command in his tone. It’s not the same as how he sounds when he’s running the show at work, but it’s powerful, nonetheless. “I want to walk you home. You shouldn’t be walking around alone at night.”
I bristle at that, even as a part of me swoons at his protective instinct. I’m sure it has something to do with his father’s accident, but still, there’s no need for him to be this way with me. “I can take care of myself, you know.”
“I do know. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t see you home safely and something happened. Please. Let me do this.” His quiet request takes me by surprise, yet again. God, this man keeps me on my toes like no one else.
“Okay. Thank you.” I reply quietly, and we start walking in the direction I was headed. “What were you doing out at this time, finishing a hot date yourself?” I regret asking the question as soon as it comes out, and I hold my breath to see how he’ll respond.
But he just chuckles. “Nope. No date, I was out for a run.”
“That explains the sweatpants,” I blurt out.
Max’s head turns to look at me. “What is it with women and sweatpants, anyway?”
“You don’t want me to answer that,” I say quickly, hoping he won’t push for more.
“Humph.” His noncommittal grunt is a relief. What the hell am I doing flirting with him about his freaking sweatpants?
Apparently, I’m losing my grasp on any semblance of self-control around him.
This should make workveryinteresting…
Chapter twelve
Max
“You don’t look comfortable.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” I glare up at Cyrus, a colleague from the cardiology department. He leans against the counter in the small coffee shop that’s a part of the hospital lobby. Normally, I’d walk across the street to the café and get agoodcup when I have an actual break like I do right now, but my back is telling me not to move anymore than necessary.
“What did you do and why are you here?”
Cy always gets to the point. It’s one thing I appreciate about him: there’s no pretense, no beating around the bush, just blunt honesty.
“Tweaked something at the gym, and I’m here because it’s my job,” I grumble, barely managing to flash a smile of thanks to the girl who made my coffee. I make my way out to the hall, working hard not to make it apparent I’m in pain. Cyrus has a point; I shouldn’t be here. Of all the days to use a sick day, this would be it.
Except, I received a notification from the nurses. The one thing that would bring me in to work, no matter what, has happened.
“Did you at least take something so you stop walking around like you got railed in the ass last night?”
“Seriously, Cy?” I bark at him in a loud whisper, my eyes darting around. “Come on, man, we’re at work.”
Blunt and no filter. That’s Cyrus.
He just shrugs as his pager goes off. “All I’m sayin’ is, you look like hell, Max.”
With a parting wave, he takes off toward the emergency room. I, on the other hand, slowly make my way to the elevator, trying to take stock of how obvious it is that I’m in pain. Crude as his description was, Cy wasn’t totally wrong about the location of my pain. After all, it is my sacroiliac joint that I irritated with a late night gym session trying to exorcise the vision of Heidi, in that dress she was wearing for her date from hell, out of my goddamn head.
The muscle relaxers I took just before going to get coffee are weak, because the last thing I need is a fuzzy head today, but I’m hoping they take the edge off. Because as soon as I get to the unit and see the worried looks on the nurses’ faces, I know it’s not good.
Teagan is what we call a frequent flier. Only instead of reward points, she just gets to see our faces way too often. I’ve known her since she was five, which is when I first started at Westport General. We’ve had good years and bad. Years when her disease is under control, and years when it isn’t.
This year was looking good, she hadn’t had an infection that landed her with us in months. But that’s changed, apparently.
“Where are we at?” I ask Ginny quietly as I gingerly sit down in a chair opposite her.
She types on the computer for a minute, pulling up Teagan’s chart, I’m sure, then she spins the screen around so I can see the initial results from the ER.
“She came in last night, febrile, with a productive cough and audible wheeze. Mom said it started as a cold, and they were able to manage at home for a couple of days, but she worsened quite suddenly, became short of breath, so they brought her in.”
