Clean Lines (Cedar Tree #4) (5 page)

"Later, Sheriff."

"F
ox? What the hell?"

As expected, Naomi is front and center when I bring her son in to the Emergency Room. A quick scan around the lobby shows no sign of Jenna; and thank God for that. One spiteful woman is enough for me today. Ah fuck, I'm lying. One look at Naomi and I remember, with vivid clarity, what attracted me to her in the first place. The glossy dark hair, gentle curves, big eyes, all wrapped in a tight little package that drab green scrubs can’t hide. Happens only every time I see her. Maybe that's the real reason I've been avoiding her more and more. Fucking burns to hit your head against the same brick wall over and over again. And make no mistake, that brown-eyed little spitfire has built one damn fine brick wall around her.

Right now she's too preoccupied with her son to mind me, so I take a wall just inside the treatment room where she ushers him to just observe and listen. Naomi is carefully unwrapping my amateur sling, mumbling under her voice the entire time.

"Mom. Stop fussing."

Oh boy
. Wrong thing to say, kid. I can see her back straighten as she rests her hand on the bed beside her son and leans her face in close.

"Fussing?" The low timbre of her voice would be all sorts of sexy if it weren't intimidating as shit. "You think I'm fussing? You be glad I am keeping my cool and am in my professional mode, Fox, because let me tell you, I'd like nothing better than to break your other wrist for you right now!"

The kid has the good sense to flinch, despite the fact that he is easily a head taller than his mom.

"I can't believe that for weeks you wouldn’t talk to me, hardly do more than grunt actually, yet the first thing resembling a sentence I get is
'stop fussing?'
This after you are brought in to the hospital by the Sheriff...the Sheriff, I tell you, with a fucked up arm when you and I both know you were supposed to be at home doing homework. Yeah, I'll stop fussing. Let me get right on that!"

Turning around, she comes toward me and I have to fight to hide the grin that has crept up on my face. I'm only awarded a deadly glare before she slips past me into the hallway, leaving me with a miserable-looking Fox, whose head couldn't hang any lower. Save for a brief glance my way and a small smile I send him, the room stays quiet until Naomi returns with a nurse in tow.

"Stacy will take you to X-ray, but I can tell you right now that wrist is broken and out of position. I just need to know how badly."

"Mom, I'm—" Fox starts, but Naomi holds up her hand.

"I don't want to hear it right now. Give me time to cool off and talk to the Sheriff. I don't want to say shit I might regret, Fox. Go with Stacy; she'll take care of you."

Technically I should follow Fox wherever he goes but I have a feeling he won't be running off. I stick around to see Naomi deflate the moment Stacy wheels the stretcher out of the room.

"Hey. Come on, let’s grab a quick coffee in the caf and we can talk," I offer, hating the tired and defeated look on her face.

I honestly didn't think she would go for it, but she shrugs her shoulders and pulls herself together and leads the way over to the nurse's station to let them know where she can be found.

My only excuse for following Joe to the cafeteria without argument is that I'm done. Stick a fork in me done. I'm about to lose my shit and I don't want to lose it all over the ER in front of my coworkers, thank you very much.

I've been on eggshells these past few weeks since Fox got home. He's been virtually unapproachable, especially since finding out his dad is missing. Several phone calls to the Phoenix PD have not brought any relief on that front yet either. No, if I thought it was tense between us before he left for Phoenix, it's ten times worse now. I’ve tried now, on several occasions, to get an explanation out of him on what led his father to send him home. Fox has continuously shut me down, each time more insistently than the last. The only thing that’s given me some semblance of peace is that at least he hasn’t been getting into any kind of trouble outside of the house. In fact, he has mostly stayed inside and hasn't even had his old friend Miles around. That illusion is quickly shattered tonight when Joe walked him in, with his arm in a make-shift sling.
Fuck me sideways
.

So here I am, sitting in the corner of the hospital caf with my hands wrapped around a hot coffee I probably shouldn't be drinking at this time of night. My son's in X-ray with what likely is an off-set wrist fracture, and across from me is a man who makes my skin crawl in the most grating and seductive ways equally. All I want to do is cry. I know I have to ask, or at the very least look up, but I'm afraid those last tattered threads that are holding me together will snap. So I do nothing but stare at the small puddle of coffee at the base of my cup, left from when I slammed it down too hard on the table.

"Doc..." he starts softly, and his use of the unimaginative nick name he hasn't used in the last three years tears at my last bit of resistance. A ragged sob breaks free, followed by another, and then the lid comes off. I hear the scraping of a chair and knees pressing in to mine as Joe scoots his chair to shield me from view as I lose it. With one hand on the table in front of me and one on the back of my chair, his big body has me boxed in, but rather than crowded I feel oddly safe.

Struggling to get a hold of myself, I grab a handful of napkins from the dispenser on the table and furiously start wiping my nose and face, all the while, Joe says nothing.

"I'm sorry..." I start.

"Nothing to be sorry for, and just so you know, whatever trouble you think he's in, it's not that bad."

Of course that sets off another round of tears and a few more minutes before I have those under control.

"Tell me what happened?"

"I was following up on some reports of vandalism at Crow Canyon; the Archeological Center? He was one of four kids partying at one of the digs. The fire they built tipped me off from a distance. I had no idea it was him. He saw me first and started running and I took off after him. He ended up falling right into another excavation. Tried to stop his fall with his hands I imagine, because by the time I got to him, he was sitting at the bottom cradling his arm. That's when I recognized him. Got him out and brought him straight here."

I'm sick to my stomach but I have to ask the next question, both as a mother and a physician.

"Alcohol and drugs? I thought I smelled some booze on him now that I think about it."

"Yeah well, you might want to take some blood and get a lab work-up done. I'll need it for my report too."

I just nod. I haven't looked Joe in the eyes yet, but when his hand slides down my back I turn to face him.

"What will happen?"

The genuine concern and warmth in his clear blue eyes is unmistakable and for a minute I wonder if I should just tell him all my worries, but just then Stacy walks in looking around.

"Dr. Waters? Your patient is back in his room and I took the liberty to have security stand guard when I couldn't find the Sheriff. The radiology report is at the nurse's station."

"Thanks Stacy, I'll be right there. Oh, and could you, or get the lab to come and draw some blood for a tox screen on him?"

"Sure thing."

With a curious glance at Joe after seeing what I'm sure is my tear-blotched face, she is off again.

"Well, I'd better get back and see what the damage is," I sigh, pushing back my chair, and forcing Joe to do the same.

"I'll stick around here to wait for results. We'll take it from there. He didn't have anything on him, so for now trespassing and mischief are his only issues. Maybe we can ask him some questions together later?"

I know Joe is being gentle with me, or rather for me, and I'm grateful, so I take the plunge.

"Yes. There are things I need to know too; things he hasn't told me. Stuff that may be important. There is so much I've tried to manage by myself but I think I might need your advice. But first let me look after him."

He's surprised, I can tell that much from the slight lift of his eyebrows. And no matter how much I want to stay angry with him, right now my son is in trouble and I am not above using my fucked up connection with Joe to get answers if I can.

I walk straight into the room and pull up Fox’s scans on the computer, while Joe stays to chat with the security guard. Fox is lying on the bed, his good arm covering his eyes.

"How are you doing?" I ask him softly.

"I'm okay," he mumbles, but he doesn't move his arm.

"Hey Bub? They're gonna come take some blood in a minute to take to the lab; anything you wanna tell me before they do that?"

Slowly he drags his arm down his face and his eyes are brimming with tears. My baby is crying and it breaks my fucking heart. Swallowing the lump in my throat and blinking furiously I smile at him, letting go of all the anger and frustration I'm feeling. I carefully reach out and place my hand on his cheek. Instead of shrugging me off, he presses his face into my palm and another little tear cracks my heart.

"Just tell me, babe—like ripping off a Band-Aid—then we'll deal with it, and with that messed up wrist of yours. Come on, be brave."

I can hear Joe has entered behind me and a quick look over my shoulder finds him once again leaning against the wall. Fox looks at him too and then at me.

"It was stupid. Just hanging out. At first it was a few beers and some laughs. Then one of them started bringing hard liquor and weed. Last night this new guy came and he brought meth. I told them I didn't want it." He focuses his eyes down on the floor as he continues, no longer willing to look either of us in the eye. "But they gave me a hard time, so I inhaled some to try it anyway. The stuff made me sick and when I went in the trees to throw up, that's when Sheriff Morris saw me."

I have to swallow hard and take a minute. Fear and anger threaten to make me lose my cool but in the end I manage to maintain my composure. I need to keep him talking and continue in a moderate tone. "Okay. Okay... I guess it's good it made ya sick. But Bub, we're gonna have to sit down and talk about why at some point. Why you stick your neck out and do stupid shit you are too smart for. Now I know Sheriff Morris will have some questions for you, but first we're gonna have a look at these scans of your wrist and see what's what. That okay with you, Joe?"

I turn around to Joe, who simply nods in response.

The news is not so good for Fox. He has a complex fracture of his distal radius, the end of the larger of the bones in his forearm, and will likely need surgery. I've put a call in to the orthopedic surgeon, but he won't be in until tomorrow and with the alcohol and the meth in his system, I'm going to have to admit Fox. He won't be happy, but I'm hesitant to give him any pain medication without very close supervision. The end of a fucking perfect day.

Joe managed to get a little bit of information out of him and left a short while ago, telling me he was sorry he had to leave, but that he had another one of the boys at the station he wanted to have a talk with. I don't know whether it's fatigue or what, but I can't quite figure out what he has to be sorry about.

It’s after midnight already and well past the end of my shift. I manage to snag one of those fancy sleeper chairs and pull it into the room next to Fox's bed. Might as well crash here.

I must've fallen asleep myself at some point, watching the rise and fall of my child's chest, still seeing the little boy in the lanky almost-man crowding the hospital bed. A noise behind me startles me awake and I turn to find Joe standing in the doorway.

"Sorry, Doc. Didn't mean to wake you. I was just backing out," he whispers.

"S'okay. I just dozed off."

I watch him make his way in the room and pull a stool up beside me.

"What are you doing here so late?"

"Just on my way home from the station. Decided to see how he was. How you are."

I take my time scanning his face, the day's growth of beard, the hair curling up at his ears, his straight nose and firm jaw, before those expressive blue eyes drawing me in.