Will & Patrick Fight Their Feelings (#4) (14 page)

“That’s when I knew he didn’t love me.” Patrick swallows thickly. “So I did what I had to do.”

“I know.”

“I went to Child Protection Services. I never saw my dad again.”

“You did the right thing.”

Patrick snarls. “I shot my virginity down a middle-aged pervert’s throat. That’s not the right thing. That’s disgusting.”

Will holds him tighter. “You were a child.”

“I was fifteen. I knew what I was doing.”

“No, you were just a kid, Patrick.”

“That’s not even the worst part.”

Will sounds like he’s going to cry but he says, “You can tell me. Anything. Let me help you.”

Patrick stares at Will’s wide brown eyes, and he takes a long breath. It cuts deep inside to form the words. He spits them out, like glass in his mouth. “The worst part is I loved my dad. I still do. I hate that about myself. I promised myself that I wouldn’t let anyone else hurt me that way. That I’d never love anyone again.”

Patrick doesn’t know what he said wrong, aside from everything, but suddenly Will’s eyes well with tears and he starts to cry.
 

Will’s dizzy, tears slip out of his eyes, and his chin trembles as he wraps Patrick tighter into his arms. He wants to squash Patrick against his chest until he’s small and safe. He wants to infuse him with the admiration and affection that Will feels for him, more and more every day, more every second. Patrick’s a good man who’s made so much out of his life when God only knows what might have happened had he stayed with his father, had he gone back to that neighbor the next month and the next.

“I can’t breathe,” Patrick murmurs, struggling out of Will’s grasp.

Will lets him go, wiping his eyes and getting himself together. He feels useless without Patrick in his arms. “Do you need fresh air?” He heads over to the window, frustrated to find it only opens a crack. Still, cold air seeps in and he waves Patrick closer. “Bend over. Take deep breaths.”

“I’m fine,” Patrick barks, but he comes to the window and leans over, resting his arms on the sill and breathing harshly at first, panic clearly lacing through each breath, and then, finally, more slowly.

Will sits on the sill, gently carding his fingers through Patrick’s hair. “Just tell me you know it wasn’t your fault.”

“Stop beating a dead horse. I’m done talking about it.”

“Okay.” Will doesn’t know if he should let it go. He wants to help, but he doesn’t want to make it worse for Patrick. This isn’t how he wants to leave things, but he doesn’t know what to do next. A drink would be great. For both of them.

But no.

Patrick moves away from the window, shivering in his baby-formula-stained sweats and T-shirt. “I’m fine. You can shut it.”

Will does, waiting as Patrick goes into the bathroom. He hears the toilet flush and the water run. He stays by the window, looking out at the snow-covered parking lot, anxious until the bathroom door opens again.

“I’m tired.” Patrick crawls into the bed and snaps off the light on the nightstand. “Close the curtains. I’m going to get some shut eye.”

Will hesitates, but then pulls the curtains until the light is blocked except for a stubborn sliver of white. He grabs his phone and sends a text to Starla that he won’t be in to Good Works today. He knows Patrick hasn’t scheduled any surgeries, but he still shoots a message to Patrick’s assistant to make sure he knows Patrick won’t be at the hospital at all.

Standing by the bed, he doesn’t know what to do. Normally, he’d climb in and pull Patrick into their favorite position, but he’s not sure if he’s welcome. Guilt crawls up his back and sits on his shoulder, whispering that he shouldn’t have made Patrick tell him anything. All he’s done is hurt the man he cares about, and now Patrick’s going to push him away.

“Get in,” Patrick growls, turning over and flipping the covers back. “Hold me.”

Will doesn’t wait a second longer. He cuddles Patrick up against his chest and kisses the top of his head. “Thank you for—”

“I said I was done talking about it.”

“Okay.” Will swallows hard.

After a long time, Patrick says gruffly, “I’m not mad. I wanted you to know.” His breath gusts over Will’s chest hair. He kisses Will’s pec and then snuggles his face against him.

Will stays silent, holding Patrick’s slim body tight, and wishing he could have been there for Patrick all those years ago. He can’t fix the past, but he can be here for him now. He’s going to find a way to be there for Patrick forever. Even once the divorce is final.

Whoever he dates in the future will have to understand: what he has with Patrick is special. Different. Beautiful. If their situation wasn’t so messed up, maybe what they have could turn into love—true love. But Patrick doesn’t want that, and who can blame him? The last man he ever loved was his father, and look what had come of that? Will won’t impose any misguided, affectionate longings on Patrick. Still, he can’t stop the pang that fills him, a swell of yearning for more between them. But, no, he will learn to just treasure what Patrick’s willing to give him, and whatever man comes along in Will’s future is just going to have to deal with that.

Because Will’s not going to let Patrick go any time soon, and, no matter how Patrick might fight it, not ever.

Despite falling asleep in a fragile state, Patrick’s in a pretty good mood as he follows Will through the door from the parking garage and into the elevator up to the hospital’s main floor. When they’d woken up, he’d forestalled any conversation by eating Will’s ass until he’d kicked him away and demanded to be fucked. Which Patrick had done with gusto, pleased that his climax obliterated all awkwardness or worry.

Will’s orgasm hadn’t been too shabby either, given he came so hard ejaculate hit his neck. It turns out Patrick finds a pearl necklace very appealing on Will.

In addition, Patrick woke up to good news regarding the Hammond case. Shane woke long enough to tell nurses his name before slipping into unconsciousness again. Patrick won’t say he’s optimistic, but it points to positive possibilities. After another week of intensive drug therapy, he should be able to operate again, assuming Shane’s wife agrees to the procedure. It’s possible they’ll find Shane’s noodle in better working order than expected.

Will’s doting on him too, which doesn’t suck. If confessing horrible truths means Will washes his hair in the shower, gives him the best pieces of bacon, and insists he buy an extra jam doughnut at Brown Gargle, all while smiling warmly and touching frequently, maybe he can dredge up something else awful from his childhood to get this treatment again.

Heading down the hallway toward Don’s office for yet another meeting about the neuro department, Patrick can’t keep his eyes from straying down to Will’s ass. He loves how he strides with confidence, hands stuffed into the pockets of his dress pants, stretching the material across tightly. Patrick smirks, imagining shoving Will into an empty office and getting his pants down so Patrick can rub his face all over the fuzz covering those sweet cheeks. Patrick loves to get his face right up in it and—

“Dr. McCloud?” A man steps in front of him in the hallway. Will turns around.

“That’d be me.”

“You’ve been served.” The man slaps a thick envelope into Patrick’s hand before turning and walking away without a backward glance.

Patrick stares at the envelope in confusion. “What? Oh, for the love of—you’ve got to be—crap.” He rips open the envelope as Will crowds him at the elbow.

“What is it? What’s going on?”

Patrick reads, feeling the blood draining from his face, and thrusts the letter in Will’s direction. “I’m being sued. For malpractice.” Loitering nurses are listening, one male and one female, and Patrick barks at them, “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

They scamper away, pretending to go back to work, but Patrick knows the word is out.

Will’s brows lower ominously as he reads the letter. “Patrick, this says Missy Hammond is suing you. Shane’s wife. And there’s a cease and desist attached revoking your position as Shane’s doctor.”

Patrick nods. “I can read. I know what it says.”

“We need to see Don.” Will grabs his arm and starts down the hall to Don’s office.

Patrick allows himself to be dragged, his heart racing and his mind whirring with expletives and his lizard brain’s full measure of fear.

Don’s in his office reading over a similar-looking letter. He nods at Patrick and Will to sit down. “I see you’re aware,” Don says. “After speaking with Missy the other day after the surgery, I can’t say I’m surprised. But, still, I’d hoped to be wrong.” He shakes his head and leans his elbows on his desk.

“You had some idea this was coming?” Patrick asks. He hadn’t realized how much he trusted Don until the cold knife of betrayal slices into his gut.

“Like I said, I hoped I was wrong. Missy isn’t thinking straight. She’s terrified and, worse, getting terrible advice from outside sources.”

“What sources?”

“She’s being cagey about that. Someone who says he has inside information that you’re not all you seem.” Don rolls his eyes. “And he’s convinced her to transfer Shane’s care to a buddy of his in Minneapolis—a Dr. Lee Maxwell.”

“Lee Maxwell is a charlatan,” Patrick snarls. “Let me guess, he claims he can perform my procedure.”

Don nods.

“Bullshit! Even if he was capable, which he’s not, especially given the circumstances, there’s no way he can match my surgical skill.”

“I know that and you know that. Shane’s parents know that too. They’re trying to talk Missy down and convince her that Shane’s best chance still lies with you. Unfortunately, she thinks you’re an uncaring asshole with a God complex. At least, that’s what she’s heard from Dr. Maxwell.”

“I’d rather be an uncaring asshole than an incompetent hack.”

Will squeezes his shoulder.

Don waves the paper toward Patrick. “Good thing you’re neither. But unless Shane’s parents can talk sense into his wife, there’s nothing we can do. She’s already making plans to transfer him.”

“Dammit.” Patrick shakes his head. “Maxwell’s going to kill him!”

Don’s lips press into a grim line. “I’m afraid so.”

“Make her listen,” Patrick says.

“I’ve done what I can. Now I have to follow the law.”

Will’s hand tightens on Patrick’s shoulder again.

Patrick taps his fingers wildly at his thigh. How can Missy Hammond be so stupid as to take her husband away from his best shot at being something more than a vegetable? And how can Lee Maxwell be such an arrogant, selfish asshole that he’d even attempt a surgery he knows perfectly well he’s incapable of? Egomaniac!

“Patrick, I don’t want you doing or saying anything to Missy. It wouldn’t be prudent for you to approach the Hammond family at all during this time. I’d like to give Shane’s parents the opportunity to work on Missy. In the meantime, you need to consult with our staff attorney.”

“I can convince her. Get me a few minutes alone with her and I’ll make her see how ignorant—”

“No, no. We all know your social skills can be…shall we say, lacking? Not pissing her off any further is this young man’s only shot. Don’t make things worse.”

Patrick taps his fingers against his pant leg. “Screw that.”

“No. Promise me.”

Don’s kind eyes bore into Patrick until he concedes with a nod.

“Good. In the meantime, procedure dictates you’ll need to take a leave from the hospital until we get this resolved.”

“What? You can’t be serious?” Patrick’s stomach drops.

“I’m sorry. I know you did nothing wrong. But it’s standard hospital regulations. No one with an open malpractice suit can practice within our walls until the situation is investigated and the doctor found in the clear. I’m truly sorry for both you and your patients. I know you’re committed to your work and many of your patients require your unique skills. Hopefully, Shane’s parents and our attorney can talk some sense into the Hammond family sooner rather than later and, if nothing else, get the suit dropped. In the meantime—”

Patrick stares at Don, throat dry, head spinning. “What?”

“While we wait this storm out, enjoy a bit more of your honeymoon. I’m sure we’ll have this cleared up in no time.”
 

A few hours (and an incredibly aggravating meeting with the hospital’s attorney) later, Patrick paces the floor at the Tallgrass. Evening descends outside, pink and orange on the snow in the branches of the parking lot’s trees. It’s the second time in two months he’s at loose ends. No work. No vocation. Basically no
meaning in his life
.

Except for Will. Who doesn’t love him that way. God, he’s going to go insane. He should never have left Atlanta, never agreed to go to Las Vegas. None of this would have ever happened.

Will watches him from the bed with an irritatingly empathetic expression. Patrick presses his lips shut, clenching his jaw, because he just knows if he opens his mouth he’ll say something cutting and Will doesn’t deserve that.

“Hey,” Will says gently, like he’s talking to Connor or a kitten stuck in a tree. “Don said this would be cleared up in no time.”

Patrick snorts. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. And yet I’m still wearing this!” Patrick lifts his left hand, flashing his wedding band at Will.

Will flinches and Patrick curses under his breath. That’s exactly what he’d wanted to avoid. Because, truth be told, being married to Will isn’t terrible. He has a neurology wing being built to his specifications (assuming they don’t take his license away because the judge is a golfing buddy of Missy Hammond’s daddy, which is entirely possible in this hick town), and he’s having amazingly hot sex with a guy he’s legally bound to, and he’s falling in love for the first time in his life, which sucks, but is also soul-crushingly beautiful. So it’s not like he’s feeling a ton of pressure to get their knot untied. But the point remains.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning when you lured me to this town, it was with the promise we’d be divorced and free of each other in no time at all. And look how that’s turned out. So what does Don’s word on this matter actually mean? What does anyone’s word really mean?”

Will approaches with his hands out, like he would a spooked horse. “Look, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Will had said that the night before too, about Mr. Roland. “The entire surgery is videotaped; the committee will clear you for surgery again. It’s going to be okay, Patrick.”

“And what if it’s not? You’ve seen me without my work. I’ll go crazy. I need to focus on my job. It’s who I am. It’s what I do. I don’t understand how to live without it.”

Will cocks his head and gazes at him, stepping closer. “Well, maybe that needs to change. You’re not just a surgeon. You’re a more than that. Aren’t you curious about the rest of you?”

“No.”

“I mean, come on, surely there’s a hobby you’ve always wanted to try out? Cross-country skiing maybe?”

Patrick snorts.

“Fine, panic. But I’m telling you, everything’s going to be okay. You’re a good doctor. Everyone knows that.”

“Tell that to Missy Hammond.”

Will sighs.

“I should countersue. Her actions are depriving very sick people of my unique skills and talent; she’s risking their lives. It’s unacceptable.”

Will takes hold of Patrick’s hands and tugs. “That’s it. We’re getting out of here.”

“Why?” Patrick asks, trying to pull away, but Will’s too strong. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see. Get your coat. You’re going to need it.”

South Dakota winter remains miserable and the cold bites at Patrick’s nose, but being dragged down the town’s streets by Will’s strong hand warms him on the inside.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.”

Patrick gazes longingly after Brown Gargle as Will tugs him right on past.

Will clucks his tongue. “The sun is setting. It’s too late for coffee.”

“But it’s warm in there. And they have cookies. And doughnuts. And decaf.”

“You need fresh air. You’ve been cooped up all afternoon talking to that lawyer and freaking yourself out. This will be good for you. Trust me.”

Patrick groans but dutifully follows Will through the town. They take a left where the main square hits an intersection by the post office. Ahead of them lies Healing’s high school and Will drags him right toward it.

“Why here?” he asks, staring at the square, short, brick structure.

“Come on, you’ll see.” Will jogs off around the corner of the school and Patrick jerks into a run after him like he’s on a leash.

The grounds of Healing High are well lit with large streetlights that turn on automatically at night. The courtyard in the rear contains what looks to be a surprisingly well-groomed—if currently barren—garden, full of leafless trees, twigs, and brown leaves clinging to snow-covered sidewalks and bushes.

“It’s really pretty in spring and summer,” Will says. “This didn’t exist when I went to school here. Back then, it was just patchy grass and the woods over there.”

“Let me guess, Good Works funded a landscaping job.”

“Actually, we sponsor a horticulture club. It’s a learning opportunity for the kids and beautifying for the community.”

“Good work as usual, puddin’-pop. But what the hell are we here for?”

“That.” Will points toward a white wooden gazebo toward the back of the garden area. A large streetlight is positioned above it, illuminating it in the snow like an angel over the baby Jesus’s stable.