Dr. Neurotic(11)

"And Will and Scott are doctors, too?"

He nodded. "Will is Chief of Obstetrics, and Scott runs the ER at St. Luke's."

"Gotcha. So, between the seventy-hour work weeks and filming your first  television debut, when do you find the time to enjoy yourself?"

"Sixty hours, and I just started filming today, during work hours," he corrected.

I used my silence as a question and held him at the top of the loop until he broke.

"Fine," he acquiesced. "Sixty- to seventy-hour work weeks, and enjoy  myself? What does that even mean?" he questioned with a soft smirk.

"You know, like, grabbing some drinks with friends. Dancing. Movies. That sort of thing."

"Honestly?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, the last time I grabbed a drink with friends was about three  years ago at a medical conference. I haven't been to the movie theater  since Avatar came out in 3D. And the last time I danced was at my cousin  Jimmy's wedding about a year ago, and I was heavily under the influence  of alcohol."

"Oh boy." I winked. "I'm going to have to loosen you up, aren't I?"

He smirked but didn't offer up any kind of answer. Instead, he reached  his hand across the table and gently swiped something off of the corner  of my mouth. The small hint of yellow mustard sat on his thumb as he  pulled his hand back to his side of the table.

But then, Nick Raines surprised the hell out of me.

Fascinated, I watched as he slid his thumb into his mouth and sucked the mustard off of his skin.

Hells bells, that was pretty fucking sexy …





As soon as I walked through the automatic front doors of the hospital,  the blinding light of the camera, held high on the shoulder of my new  personal cameraman, Jorge, pierced my eye. I had three guys who were  around most of the time, but Jorge …  Jorge stalked me. From the moment  they'd set up that morning, it had been clear that if cameramen were  friends, he was to be my bestie.         

     



 

He didn't speak, he didn't question, he didn't even acknowledge me in  any way other than to trail patiently after me as I swatted at the light  briefly and started the journey to my office. He'd been deathly silent  all day, and a part of me wondered if he was going to be like this for  the six or so weeks of filming we had coming down the pipeline.

Ironically, even as the bearer of the question, I had absolutely no idea  what I wanted the answer to be. Maybe the quiet would be nice. Maybe  I'd slowly lose my mind, medical license, and life, one silent day at a  time.

It was a toss-up.

After a nice lunch with Charlotte, the tang of the mustard I'd stupidly  wiped from the corner of her mouth and sucked off my thumb still  tingling my taste buds, I'd almost forgotten the completely  claustrophobic feeling of losing my privacy-of exposing myself both to  criticism and approval at the discretion of several million strangers'  judgment.

I hoped it would get better the more we filmed, the more Jorge became  like background noise along with the rest of the busy hospital, but I  wasn't sure it would. I'd been uncertain about The Doctor Is In, a  reality show following me and two other heads of department at St.  Luke's around our daily lives at the hospital, from the beginning. I  didn't like to invite people into my personal space, and I didn't do it  often.

With the exception of Winnie and Lexi, I'd scarcely let anyone know anything about me.

But I'd been pressured by both the board and my peers, and I was largely  at the mercy of the hospital these days. It didn't matter anymore that I  was one of the most talented neurosurgeons in the country or that I had  a nearly blemish-free backlist of patients singing my praises. I wanted  to be in New York for my daughter, and I wanted the freedom I'd worked  into my schedule here at St. Luke's.

They had me over a barrel, and they knew it.

Still, every day I got to know more about my daughter validated any  sacrifice I might have to make to stay at St. Luke's. When I thought  about Lexi sitting down at the table in my apartment, after pulling one  of my medical books from my office, mind you, and opening it to a page  about the frontal lobe to ask me specific questions with game show  flare, reality show glory seemed like a relatively small price to pay.

"Dr. Raines!" my nurse Carol called, just as I stepped inside the door to my office and turned on the light.

"Yeah?"

I didn't even have my jacket off of my shoulders when she followed me inside.

"I was just about to page you. I know you've got surgery scheduled for  this afternoon already, but we've got an emergency downstairs. Blunt  force trauma, and the scans are showing a bleed."

"Where's Dr. Johnson?" I asked of the only other neurosurgeon on the floor today.

"In OR two."

"I thought he was supposed to be done at noon?" I half asked, half  stated. It'd taken me a few egotistical years in the field before I  realized how much nurses really ran the fucking show. I might be trained  in precision, but Carol was the one who dealt in details. I'd never be  able to run this department without someone like her helping me keep  track of shit.

"The damage was a little more extensive than he was expecting, but  vitals are still strong. He doesn't see any reason that the extra two  hours under should be a problem."

"All right," I accepted, closing my eyes as I thought through my other  options. Dr. Forrest was on call, but knowing the kind of lunchtime  madhouse it was in Midtown at this hour, having just been out there  myself, I didn't think that was a good option.

Carol waited patiently for me to figure out what to do. In real time,  it'd only been a few seconds of stewing, but I always felt too slow.  These decisions were life-and-death, urgent milestones of a patient's  life. To me, or Carol, it was an everyday nuance. I worked hard to keep  myself firmly in the patient's point of view.

"Okay. Push back my two o'clock to four, and have Dr. Forrest come in  and catch up on all the case details. I'll take the emergency  downstairs, and if I don't make it out in time, Forrest can take the  four o'clock with Sarah Clark."

Carol didn't even chirp, turning quickly on her heel and exiting my  office to execute the order. Unfortunately, as her presence disappeared,  the obviousness with which I had a camera pointed right fucking at me  grew. Apparently, now that I wasn't fighting the good fight to get back  in Charlotte's good graces, the millions of future viewers seemed a  little less invisible.

Great.

I tried my best to ignore it as I rounded my desk and shucked my coat,  tossing it on the hook and pulling all of my personal items out of my  pocket to lock in the drawer of my desk. I moved as quickly as I could  out the door and down to the locker room to change into my scrubs.         

     



 

When I came out the door from changing, Jorge was there. In fact, I nearly ran right into the motherfucker.

Goddamn, this was going to take some getting used to.

"You're going to have to back off in the OR, okay?" I told him as he  followed me with nearly zero personal space. I could only imagine the  camera five inches from my face as I put my hands directly in someone's  fucking brain.

Jorge didn't speak-I was becoming more and more convinced it wasn't  allowed-but he did nod. At least, I thought he did. Even the motion of  his head was underexaggerated.

Oh, well. If he didn't comply, I'd have him thrown the fuck out, contract or not.

Breaking into a jog, I turned the corner to the nurse's station on my  floor to find Carol holding out the file I needed like a quarterback  holding a football for his running back.

The image made me smile, but it also formed a weird pit in my stomach.

Everything about football did these days. I'd told Charlotte that I  didn't have time for sports, and mostly, that was true. But there was  another reason I didn't immerse myself in all things athletic, and it  wasn't nearly as easy to explain.

Winnie was married now, to Wes Lancaster, the owner of the New York  Mavericks, and even more than that, my daughter called him Dad.

Naturally, at first, I was jealous of the way he was with her. He  coached and supported her foray into football, and I sat on the  sidelines.

Luckily, that didn't last long. No, I realized pretty swiftly that I'd  spent my daughter's entire young life being a jackass with nothing more  than money and a few sporadic calls to offer, and Wes had come along  when she'd needed someone. He'd given her the structure and love of a  father when I hadn't, and I was grateful.

It was, perhaps, the first truly adult emotion I'd ever experienced.

But the twinge never went away, the swirling mist of what if and why not a power in my mind I couldn't will away.

My life could have been different if I'd been a quicker learner. If I'd  realized the things I had now earlier on. But I also couldn't go back.

And if I had to let someone fill the voids my faults had left, Wes  Lancaster had done a great job. As thanks, I tried carefully to avoid  treading on the territory he'd built. Sports with Lexi could be his  thing.