come on. I need my razor.”
“It’s out there,” she said. “Leave me alone.”
She didn’t unlock the door, didn’t apologize, or explain, and if there was an ounce of remorse in her, Jared couldn’t find it. He sifted through the stack and gathered the things he’d need sooner than later. She’d emptied his underwear and sock drawers into a laundry basket and shoved his shaving kit and toothbrush into the corner.
“My toothbrush, really? How long do you plan on staying in there?”
The rhetorical question, as expected, went unanswered.
He piled his clothes, most of which were still on hangers, on top of the basket and relocated the load to the guest room in two cumbersome trips. In the breast pocket of a jacket headed for the dry cleaner was the business card he swore he’d never use: Wendell G. Cobb, attorney-at-law.
Wilson had given it to him, partially as a gag, but more as a passive offering of help after Jared intimated that his most recent fight with Colby had become physical.
“It’s only a matter of time until you hit back,” Wilson had said.
Jared would have never considered it even a remote possibility, but after what had happened with Dorian, and with the pure disgust he had felt, Wilson’s was a fair warning.
Jared dialed the attorney’s number, relieved, and a bit sad, that things had gone so far.
CHAPTER 24
Dorian kept his head down as he walked into County Memorial, the previous night’s indiscretion radiating from him like a beacon as he hurried toward Emily Warren’s room. Two of the unit secretaries, a middle-aged blonde and an older woman with pure white hair, exchanged hushed conversation as he passed. The older one’s mouth fell open, and the younger one giggled, making Dorian self-conscious.
He’d gone too far this time, and he knew it.
He turned the corner into Emily’s room and breathed a sigh of relief. He closed the door behind him and quietly grabbed her chart from the bin on the wall.
Emily was sitting up in bed, sipping a cup of water.
Derrick slept, slumped over, in the chair at her bedside. His laptop and several notebooks covered the portable table.
Emily wasn’t what Dorian considered conventionally beautiful. Her nose was too pronounced and her lips a bit thin. A smattering of freckles, made obvious by her lack of makeup, dotted her fair skin and in some places blended together, making her appear much younger than her twenty-eight years. She pulled a brush through her unruly, light brown curls and tucked her frizzy hair behind her ears.
“Good morning,” Dorian said. “How are you doing?”
Emily shrugged. “You tell me.”
Derrick’s eyes rolled open and went immediately to the wall clock. “What time is it?” He fumbled for his glasses, askew in the breast pocket of his blue dress shirt.
“It’s six thirty.”
Derrick looked at Dorian. “You’re early. Is everything all right?” He pushed in the foot of the lounge chair and straightened himself up.
“Everything’s fine. I’m starting office hours at eight and wanted to make sure that Emily’s paperwork was in order for her discharge.”
“I get to go home?”
“On one condition,” Dorian said. “You have to agree to home care, which we will provide. We want to make sure you’re healing and taking the necessary medications.”
“Did you do that with your other patient?” Derrick said, now fully awake. “What was her name? Stephanie Martin?” The anxious pressure was like a half-ton weight on Dorian’s chest, and he was unsure of what to say next. “I heard you talking after Emily’s surgery and thought I should check into some things. You didn’t tell us the procedure failed.”
Emily’s pale face flushed with concern. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“I wasn’t sure it was true. Is it, Dr. Carmichael?”
“Our patients’ treatments are confidential, Derrick. I’m afraid I can’t discuss that with you.”
“Then you should tell the nurses to be more
“It’s out there,” she said. “Leave me alone.”
She didn’t unlock the door, didn’t apologize, or explain, and if there was an ounce of remorse in her, Jared couldn’t find it. He sifted through the stack and gathered the things he’d need sooner than later. She’d emptied his underwear and sock drawers into a laundry basket and shoved his shaving kit and toothbrush into the corner.
“My toothbrush, really? How long do you plan on staying in there?”
The rhetorical question, as expected, went unanswered.
He piled his clothes, most of which were still on hangers, on top of the basket and relocated the load to the guest room in two cumbersome trips. In the breast pocket of a jacket headed for the dry cleaner was the business card he swore he’d never use: Wendell G. Cobb, attorney-at-law.
Wilson had given it to him, partially as a gag, but more as a passive offering of help after Jared intimated that his most recent fight with Colby had become physical.
“It’s only a matter of time until you hit back,” Wilson had said.
Jared would have never considered it even a remote possibility, but after what had happened with Dorian, and with the pure disgust he had felt, Wilson’s was a fair warning.
Jared dialed the attorney’s number, relieved, and a bit sad, that things had gone so far.
CHAPTER 24
Dorian kept his head down as he walked into County Memorial, the previous night’s indiscretion radiating from him like a beacon as he hurried toward Emily Warren’s room. Two of the unit secretaries, a middle-aged blonde and an older woman with pure white hair, exchanged hushed conversation as he passed. The older one’s mouth fell open, and the younger one giggled, making Dorian self-conscious.
He’d gone too far this time, and he knew it.
He turned the corner into Emily’s room and breathed a sigh of relief. He closed the door behind him and quietly grabbed her chart from the bin on the wall.
Emily was sitting up in bed, sipping a cup of water.
Derrick slept, slumped over, in the chair at her bedside. His laptop and several notebooks covered the portable table.
Emily wasn’t what Dorian considered conventionally beautiful. Her nose was too pronounced and her lips a bit thin. A smattering of freckles, made obvious by her lack of makeup, dotted her fair skin and in some places blended together, making her appear much younger than her twenty-eight years. She pulled a brush through her unruly, light brown curls and tucked her frizzy hair behind her ears.
“Good morning,” Dorian said. “How are you doing?”
Emily shrugged. “You tell me.”
Derrick’s eyes rolled open and went immediately to the wall clock. “What time is it?” He fumbled for his glasses, askew in the breast pocket of his blue dress shirt.
“It’s six thirty.”
Derrick looked at Dorian. “You’re early. Is everything all right?” He pushed in the foot of the lounge chair and straightened himself up.
“Everything’s fine. I’m starting office hours at eight and wanted to make sure that Emily’s paperwork was in order for her discharge.”
“I get to go home?”
“On one condition,” Dorian said. “You have to agree to home care, which we will provide. We want to make sure you’re healing and taking the necessary medications.”
“Did you do that with your other patient?” Derrick said, now fully awake. “What was her name? Stephanie Martin?” The anxious pressure was like a half-ton weight on Dorian’s chest, and he was unsure of what to say next. “I heard you talking after Emily’s surgery and thought I should check into some things. You didn’t tell us the procedure failed.”
Emily’s pale face flushed with concern. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“I wasn’t sure it was true. Is it, Dr. Carmichael?”
“Our patients’ treatments are confidential, Derrick. I’m afraid I can’t discuss that with you.”
“Then you should tell the nurses to be more
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