Challenge (15 page)

“You hear that, Cam?” Vi says, nudging me. “You’re helping other doctors by doing all of this. Isn’t that great?”

“Great,” I grind out. “Where’s…Dr. Porter?”

Dr. Prichard’s brows furrow. “Scrubbing in I’m sure. She had patients of mine she had to do rounds on before the surgery so…” His voice trails off and I look over to see what his eyes have zeroed in on. A pair of feminine red-framed glasses rest on my bedside table beside my Cross novel. I didn’t even realise she left those there. She must have run out in quite a hurry to leave those behind.

I glance back at Dr. Prichard’s narrowed eyes. “James Patterson fan, are you?” There’s a definite edge to his voice.

“For some time now,” I bite back, feeling certain we’re not talking about mystery authors. “It’s right up my alley.”

“I’m sure.” He forces out a laugh. It reminds me of Dr. Evil. All he’s missing is a facial scar and a hairless cat. “Well then, I best go join Indie and scrub in. This is a very big day for her. She had an article published in a medical journal on The Wilson Repair. Did you know that?”

“Why would I?” I feign ambivalence.

“She was an intern at the time and it’s how she got her job here. So she’d do about anything to scrub in on this procedure.”

I nod but remain silent. What is this spunk bubble trying to do? Create a divide? Well, I felt it before he even came in here, so he can pack away his cock feathers.

“We’ll see you in there, Mr. Harris.” He turns and walks out the door, and it takes all the control in my body not to throw my book at the back of his smartarse head.

“What was that all about?” Vi asks from beside me.

“Nothing,” I reply flatly. “Absolutely nothing.”

The amount of time it takes for an intern and a nurse to begin wheeling me through the hospital toward the OR is the same amount of time it takes for everything inside of me to crack. I feel like a bull in a china shop, ready to snap at any second.

First, a sleep and ditch from Indie. Then that prat of a doctor making it clear what I truly am to Indie: a step up in her career.

She never told me about the published article. When I think about how I told her I was scared, that I didn’t want to have the surgery, it’s no wonder she did anything she could to get me to stick around. She has everything to gain from this surgery. Hell, for all I know she’s laughing to her doctor friends about the footballer who actually believed she was a virgin.

As if I needed any more to Hulk out over, a text from my dad sends me toppling over the edge.

Dad: Cam, you may be a Gunner sooner rather than later. I’m so proud of you, Son. Call me after.

He can’t even bring himself to text the word “surgery.” His priority is all football and contracts instead of the fact that his son is going under the knife in less than thirty minutes. Defence mechanism or not, I’ve never felt more alone in my life.

My sister tries to hug me goodbye at the door, but I can’t even bring myself to embrace her back. I hand her my mobile and watch her retreat, envious that she’s out of the spotlight. She’s with Hayden and they’re going to have a baby. She’s always been the matriarch of our family. Our voice of reason. Our problem solver and our referee. When I think about all the times that Tanner and I have barged into her flat so she could settle a fight between us, it makes me wince. Now she’s going to be a proper mum to her own child. She’s not going to have time for our trivial shit anymore.

Everything is fucking changing. If I lose football after all this, I’ll truly have nothing. In a matter of two days, I went from having the world by the balls and being a sure-footed, footballer to an insecure, injured, emotionally-stunted pussy.

The nurse leans over me as she prepares to push me in. “Mr. Harris, are you all right? You’re looking pale.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” I brood.

A haze of neon lights cast over my head, and I look around to get my bearings. The OR is full of at least fifteen people all busying themselves with medical instruments. There’s a crew adjusting a huge telescope-looking camera above the operating table and a couple talking into headsets as they stand in front of some TV monitors.

They transfer me to the operating table and, before I lie back, my eyes land on a large glass window on the far wall. Behind the glass is Indie and Dr. Prichard. They are standing face-to-face, oblivious to our entry. I see his hand reach up and touch her cheek in a tender, intimate, and definitely familiar gesture.

Fury courses in my veins as I lie back on the table and, in a flash, my mind is made up. Whatever Indie Porter and I could have been will never happen. Camden Harris competes with no one, especially not wankers like Dr. Prichard. She’s not worth this much effort.

The anaesthetist is talking to me as he places sticky, round pads all over my chest and shoulders, but I can’t hear a word over the frustration roaring in my ears. He places a mask over my face, and the last thing I see before black is familiar, feminine, toffee-brown eyes behind a blue mask.

Bye, Felicia
, I think ironically and do my best to ignore her tender touch on my shoulder as my vision fades to black.

I
MAINTAIN MY PROFESSIONALISM AND
concentration during the surgery, but I feel everyone’s eyes on me the entire time. Watching, judging, and wondering exactly how I got to where I am, holding a camera scope during a nationally-televised rare surgery.

I’m a twenty-four-year-old second year resident. I already have a target on my back for being the youngest doctor here. People already expect me to fail. I don’t need to give anyone any indication that I don’t deserve everything I’ve gotten.

So when Prichard stroked my cheek in the scrub room in front of the entire surgical staff, it took everything I had not to knee him in the balls. He said I had an eyelash on my cheek, but then a gentle swipe turned into a caress and a caress turned into a cupping. When he leaned in, I couldn’t believe what was happening. I yanked myself out of his grasp, pulled my mask up over my face, and gave him clipped, one-word responses the rest of our time together.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem angry with me during the surgery and even allowed me to present some of the particulars during the procedure. Camden’s knee accepted the graft perfectly and, technically, it couldn’t have gone better.

But the look in his eyes before he went under still chilled the blood in my veins. His blue pools were swimming with anxiety and…loneliness. I almost regretted my decision to not see him prior to operating, just to help put his nerves at ease. But I’m so attracted to him and in tune with his desires. I was scared he would rattle me. Letting my relationship with him cloud my focus was not an option. I needed a clear head and I needed to trust myself to do his surgery properly.

I hurry and scrub out, anxious to see Camden after he wakes up from his anaesthesia. I nod and smile politely at Prichard, even though I want to be a cold bitch to him. I can’t lose my spot on the follow-up surgery in a month, so I plan to avoid any personal interaction with him until then. It shouldn’t be too difficult because I’m coming up on some time off here soon.

Striding into the post-op room, my eyes find Camden right away. He’s the only patient whose feet are hanging off the end of the bed. His eyes are closed and his face is moving side to side as he stirs. A nurse has just finished replacing his IV fluids.

“Has he woken up yet?” I ask, approaching the other side of the bed.

“Yes, he was awake for a bit but has been in and out since then.”

“How’s his pain?” I ask.

“Good. He said he had none.”

My brows arch. “You can’t always trust his answer on that. He looks restless, so let’s give him eight hundred milligrams of Ibuprofen.”

“You’re talking like you know me,” Cam’s voice croaks. His blue eyes crack open and he swallows as if his throat hurts. I grab the lidded cup with a straw and try to offer it to him, but he shakes it off. His blonde hair is disheveled and his normally tan skin looks pale beneath the fluorescent lights. Regardless, he’s still painfully handsome.

“I just know from experience that you like to minimise your pain,” I smile sweetly.

“I don’t need you to speak for me.” He grimaces and closes his eyes tightly, as if he’s trying to fight off a sharp jab of pain somewhere. “So how did the surgery go, Doc?”

My brow furrows at how he addresses me, but since the nurse is standing only a few feet away, I decide to ignore it. “It went really well. Your ACL accepted the graft. Your knee should feel great in a day or two, just like we said. You can start working out with the PT tomorrow. It should feel pretty normal. Just avoid football until we pull the graft out in a month. By then your ACL should be fused back together and you’ll be good as new. Really, it all went perfectly. From the procedure to the broadcast, everyone is buzzing about how this will be changing recovery time for ACL tears in sports medicine. It’s exciting. Dr. Prichard is talking to your family in the waiting room now.”

“Great.” He slow blinks a couple times and stares at me with a hard look in his eyes. “Glad I could help you get ahead.”

I frown as he looks away and can feel the nurse’s curious eyes on us. I shrug as if I don’t have a clue what he means by his remark, but deep down I can tell something’s wrong. “Well,” I begin awkwardly, “you helped a lot of people get ahead, I’d say. We’re very grateful. I’ll let you get some more rest. I will check on you again soon, Cam.”

I reach out and touch his shoulder, mindful to not appear too personal, and he doesn’t even look at me. I turn to leave and hear him quietly say, “Bye, Dr. Porter.”

I look back and he closes his eyes as if he’s closing the door on something so much bigger than this moment. I have no clue what’s going through his head, but my only hope is that I can get a better handle on him later. Or better yet, when he’s out of the hospital.

A while later, Belle finds me in the cafeteria throwing away the remnants of my lunch. “Hey! I heard surgery went well. How was your goodbye?” she asks, adjusting her tray on her hip.

“My goodbye?” I ask, setting my tray on the conveyor belt.

“With lover boy. I saw a nurse pushing him out the back exit door a little bit ago. I suppose to avoid all the paparazzi and media crews. I assumed you already spoke to him? Arranged your first date.” Her eyes flash with a dirty look in them.