Patient Privilege (15 page)

After a long while, Erik finally broke the silence. "If Jon wanted to visit in a few weeks, would you let him?"

"Why?" Angel said without raising his head. "Has he been bothering you about me?"

"A little." Erik laughed. "He's curious. Wants to know how you're doing."

"I told him not to worry. I told him to move on with his life."

"Oh, he is. He's doing really well, actually."

At that, Angel raised his head and frowned. "That's good, I guess," he mumbled before going back to his scribbling. "He needed to do something with himself."

"He is doing something with himself, but I think he'd rather be the one to tell you about it."

Angel nodded. "Good. Glad he's moving on."

"So will you let him come see you? He really misses you."

"I thought we were supposed to work on making amends later, Doc."

Erik closed the file and laid it on the bench beside him. He sat back and crossed his legs, staring down at Angel and whatever the hell the kid was working on so intently.

Shaking his head, Erik said, "You don't have to make amends with him, Angel. But I would like to see you take some responsibility for him. He cares about you. Something about you has touched him and he's genuinely concerned. The least you can do is let him know you're okay. You could let him visit so he can stop worrying about you and focus on himself."

"Fine. Whatever." Angel licked his lips, then turned the pad and scribbled a little faster. "I guess he can come on my first visitor's day… I guess I probably owe him that much."

"I think you do."

"You going to be there?"

Honestly, Erik didn't want to be around for that reunion, but it wasn't like he could leave them alone together. After all, the clinic still had rules—despite Erik's unrelenting urges to break them.

"I can be. Or Roni can supervise."

"I want you to be there."

Great. Just what Erik wanted—babysitter to his newest stalker and inadvertent headache. He lifted his glasses, rubbing his forefinger and thumb hard against his eyelids. Speaking of headaches…

"I'll call him and let him know when the next family day is."

"Thanks," Angel mumbled. He held up the tablet, eyed the thick, black lines he'd scribbled against the white page, and grinned. This was the first time Erik had seen Angel genuinely smile since he'd been at West Clinic. The kid ripped the page from the notebook and handed it over to him. "Looks like I still got it."

Erik looked down at the paper and gasped. In those thirty or so minutes they'd spent together, Angel had sketched an almost perfect likeness of the doctor sitting on the bench, making notes in Angel's file. It was amazing, almost perfectly detailed, all the way down to the laces on Erik's brown dress shoes.

"Damn, Angel. Where have you been hiding this talent?"

"I was getting high," Angel said with a shrug.

Chapter Twenty-Six

After one last "Good night", Erik closed the door to Angel's bedroom. He left him lying there alone in the dark, probably scared and definitely suffering. He hated that no one could stay and hold Angel's hand through the rough stuff. He hated he couldn't hold Angel in his arms just so the kid wouldn't have to sleep alone.

God, he couldn't believe the hours he'd spent with Angel, the new discoveries he'd made. Angel seemed to be so full of surprises. The sketch really impressed the hell out of Erik. He knew Angel was smart, but that talented? He had no freaking clue. He
really
hated that someone so amazing wasted himself on drugs. How could Angel's father not appreciate Angel for the miracle he was? How could anyone not? For a moment, Erik wished he could pick up the phone and give that man a piece of his mind, but he'd crossed enough lines already. He sure as hell didn't need to cross any more.

"Roni," Erik called out as he noticed the nurse making her way down the hall. Her head popped up and she gave him that same old excited grin she always did. Erik tucked the sketch safely away in Angel's file.

Roni bounced toward him. "What's up, Dr D?" she asked in her usual light, airy voice.

"Can you do me a favor and check in on him through the night? More often than normal, if you get a chance."

"Sure." She frowned. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah. Absolutely. I just don't like the idea of him being alone in that room. He really needs a roommate."

"Well, what about Chris, the thirteen-year-old? Shouldn't he be coming back soon?"

"Um," Erik tilted his head, fingers scratching at his furrowed brow. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten to tell Roni about the kid. With things being so crazy at the clinic, it seemed as though he had fallen through the cracks. "No, he's not coming back. After the suicide incident, they wanted to put him in an institution. I tried to fight them on it, but the state stepped in and made the call. It's out of my hands."

"That's horrible." Roni reached out and touched his forearm. It was a light, caring, concerned, and friendly touch, nothing more. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine. You know me. I'm a survivor." Erik glanced over his shoulder, back to Angel's door. "He's the one I'm worried about right now. Just keep an eye on him, okay?"

"Sure thing, Dr Daniels."

"Thanks, Roni."

He gave her a half-attempt at an almost genuine smile before walking away. He had absolute faith in Roni. She always cared and always took time with the patients. She always did her best, and right now, Erik wanted nothing but the best for Angel.

Ducking into the doctor's lounge, Erik closed and locked the door behind him. He spread Angel's file open on the table as he slipped down into one of the hard plastic chairs. He scribbled notes like a madman, recounting their conversation—the despondence, the rage, the sadness.

Erik's hand moved back and forth across the page as he wrote word after word on the state of Angel's well-being. The edge of another piece of paper slipped out and when he looked down, he saw the hard, black lines of Angel's sketch staring back at him.

With a deep-set frown and an exaggerated sigh, he pulled the drawing out of the folder and stared down at it. His eyes traced all the miniscule details Angel had somehow managed to capture with the use of shading and just the right thickness of lines. He'd shaded in the slight wrinkle of his shirt and the crease in the folder's spine. The kid had even drawn in the dimple at the edge of Erik's half-curled lips and the frown line between his brows.

"Christ, he's really good," Erik whispered as he closed his eyes. He pictured Angel sitting on the floor beside him, the glow on his face as he talked about having sex with Jon. In all the time they'd already spent together, somehow Erik managed to miss the exuberant sparkle in Angel's eyes.

Oh wait, no, he didn't. The drugs had taken that lively glimmer away. Now that the drugs were leaving Angel's system and his head had begun to clear, Erik imagined he would see a lot more life in his beautiful patient. And honestly, he couldn't wait to see the kid flourish in his new, sober life.

Suddenly, the door handle jiggled, followed by a knock. The sounds ripped Erik right out of his daydream, giving him a start.

"One second," he called out as he quickly tucked the picture away. He unlocked the door and saw Roni standing there with a smile on her face. "Hey. Is everything okay?" he asked.

"It is. Angel finally went to sleep."

"Already? What time is it?"

"Almost eight."

"I've been in here for
two hours
? How is that possible?"

Roni shrugged, pointed at the file and said, "Paperwork can be pretty consuming."

So can staring at a surprising sketch done by an attractive and somewhat distracting patient,
Erik thought. "That it can be. I guess I should probably go home now."

"Want me to take the file?" Roni asked.

"No," because he needed to swipe that picture. No need for anyone else to accidentally see it. "I'll put it away. I have a few more things to finish before I can go."

Nodding, Roni left him to finish up. As soon as she had shut the door, he pulled the picture back out and tried not to get wrapped up in the perfection of it as he slipped it inside the leather binder he carried around wherever he went. Angel's sketch would go home with him and probably be framed to hang on one of the bare walls in his bland apartment. Maybe it could bring a little life to the place.

He closed the file, made sure he had the sketch tucked out of sight, then headed out into the clinic's common area. One of the nurses was standing behind the desk, putting a stack of files back into their places. Well, Erik had one more to add to her pile. He gave her his famous grin and a sweet good-night. She blushed and took the file from his hand.

Time to go home now. Time to try to sleep again.

His little red beater sputtered and choked the five miles it took to reach the main thoroughfare, dumping him out into a not-so-bustling neck of Los Angeles. The sound almost relaxed and somehow quieted the ramblings in his head. Another ten miles and he would be less than twenty feet from his bed.

Erik pulled onto a busy stretch of road about the same time his phone started to ring. Finally, Marshall decided to call him, but at the worst possible time. Not that it mattered. For Marshall, he would risk death by unsuspecting motorist just so he could hear his voice.

"Hello," he said, pressing the button for the speaker phone so he could keep his hands at two and ten. "Marshall?"

"Erik? Why are you yelling?"

"Speaker phone. I'm in the car. What's up?"

"I assumed you would be home by now."

Erik glanced over at his leather binder and thought about the sketch. "I got caught up with some work stuff."

"Oh," Marshall said. "Well, I've been thinking about you. Thought I would give you a call." Marshall paused. Then Erik heard a faint groaning sound. "I just wanted to hear your voice again."

Frowning, Erik looked down at his phone then back up at the road. "What are you doing?"

"I'm lying in bed."

"You okay? You sound like you're in pain."

Marshall laughed. The sheets rustled like he'd shifted in the bed. "Not pain, baby."

"Jesus Christ, what are you doing?"

"I told you, I was thinking about you. More specifically, thinking about being with you at the hotel. I miss you, Erik.

"You miss me? Or do you miss fucking me?"

"Don't be like that, please," Marshall whined. "I've genuinely missed you."

"I'm glad you called," Erik said as he turned into the dark parking lot of his apartment complex. "I've missed you too. I sort of hoped to hear from you sooner."

"Work has been hectic."

"I can certainly sympathize. The days go by quickly now. I would've called you, but…."

"It's okay, Erik. We have busy lives. Look, I'm trying to get another spot at UCLA." The sound of an excited smile filled Marshall's voice. It held a lilt it didn't have before. "I would be back in LA in a few weeks if I got it."

Shutting the car off, Erik grabbed his leather binder and his cell phone. He killed the speaker and tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder.

"A few weeks?"

"Yes, sir," Marshall said with another wistful lilt. "I would have four extra days this time. That's more than a week, Erik. You could stay with me. You could take a little break from the clinic and stay with me. We could spend time with each other again."

"Maybe," Erik said almost solemnly. The idea sounded nice, but wouldn't Angel need him to be focused, to be there completely and not lingering over some idea of a perfect, rejuvenated relationship with a past love?

Erik trudged up the stairs to his second floor apartment, fumbled with the keys as he listened to Marshall's light groans through the phone's small speaker.

"I guess we'll have to see what happens when the time comes."

"Do you remember the hotel, the way you made love to me?" Marshall purred. "The way it felt being inside me again?"

"What are you trying to do, Marshall?" an aggravated Erik asked.

"Tell me how it felt when you made love to me, Dr Daniels."

"Stop. I'm not doing this with you."

Flipping on the light, Erik slammed the front door behind him, kicked off his shoes, then tossed his leather binder and keys onto the coffee table. Now would've been a damn fine time for a beer.

No.

No, it wouldn't.

He couldn't allow himself to start thinking that way again.

With a soft, seductive moan, Marshall breathed into the phone. "Tell me, please."

"I really don't want to do this. Not now."

"Please?"

"Marshall."

"Please, Erik. I miss you. I need you."

With a hard sigh, Erik sank down on his couch. He laid his head back and removed his glasses, then rubbed his face with his free hand while the other still held the phone to his ear. He knew good and well where this would lead. Marshall's moans would sing of pleasure that couldn't be had by the likes of him—not right now anyway. He'd find himself lying in bed with a throbbing pain between his thighs, longing for something he knew he couldn't have. On the other hand, maybe he needed it just as bad as Marshall did. Hell, maybe a good release would relieve some of his pent-up stress.

"I miss having my hands on your body." Erik's voice dropped to a low, sultry sound. It screamed of sexual tension and a desire that simply wouldn't be quenched by hours on the phone with his lover. "Having my hard cock inside you while I kissed the back of your neck and held you against my chest… I have been hungering for that since the day we said our goodbyes."

"Yes," Marshall breathed. The sound rolled into a moan. "Reach down into those neatly-pressed khakis and be bad with me, Erik."

The throbbing had started long before Marshall asked him to touch himself. His erection strained against the zipper of his slacks, begging to be set free. Erik tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. His fingers fought with his belt, then the button. His zipper whined as it slipped down and freed his thickening hard-on. He pulled his pants and boxers down until his bare cheeks pressed against the rough fabric of his lumpy sofa.