Читать книгу The Surgeon King's Secret Baby - Amy Ruttan, Amy Ruttan - Страница 9
ОглавлениеA year later, Toronto
REAGAN WALKED THROUGH the halls of the hospital in a daze. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to wake her up. It had been a long shift at the hospital and then her infant son had a bad night. The cot in her son’s hospital room in the pediatric critical care unit wasn’t exactly comfortable, and she could use a break to go home and have a shower.
The problem was there was no one to give her a break.
It was just her and Peter in the world.
A year ago she’d spent an unforgettable night in Kainan’s arms. A night that she would cherish forever. Then he’d gone to the front lines and died for his country.
She’d come back to her life in Toronto, empty and alone.
Although it had turned out she was not completely alone, because her one night with Kainan had resulted in pregnancy.
It was the best gift.
A piece of Kainan.
A child.
Someone to love.
And she wasn’t going to make Peter feel like a mistake, the way her parents had made her feel.
Nothing she’d ever done had pleased them.
Her father had never wanted kids. When her mother had got pregnant with Reagan he’d stuck around, but he had always been distant. Over time, her mother had come to resent her for causing such distance in her marriage.
There had been times when she’d got shreds of love and affection from her mother, but it they had been few and far between.
She’d thought maybe being grandparents would soften her parents’ hearts.
She’d been wrong.
When she’d told her mother about the situation—about the baby and the father dying—her mother’s response had been heartless. Painful.
“Get rid of the problem, Reagan. You can’t raise a baby on your own.”
“I’m not getting rid of the baby, Mother.”
“Then what do you want from me, Reagan?”
Honestly, she didn’t know. Some part of her had hoped her mother would change, but she should have known better.
Reagan had always been a burden to them. And her getting pregnant overseas on a mission was just another disappointment for her parents. They were even more disappointed that she’d kept the baby.
As soon as Reagan had found out she was pregnant she’d vowed that she’d protect Peter. She’d give him the love she had never had, the compassion she had to learn by herself.
No one would hurt Peter. Ever.
Her parents had never cared about her. They’d only taken care of her because they were legally obligated to do so.
“I’ve never run from my mistakes, Reagan. That’s why I took care of you. At the time, abortion wasn’t an option.”
Reagan was a mistake. It hurt to hear it time and time again.
She focused on the lukewarm coffee she was drinking.
A baby had never been in her plan, but she was responsible for her actions. There were plenty of single parents out there, going it alone. And she would do the same. She would never let Peter feel as if he was an obligation or a mistake.
But what should have been one of the most joyous days of her life, when Peter was born, had quickly turned into her worst nightmare.
In all her years as an intern and then a resident in hospital, and then her time in the field with the Canadian military, serving as a trauma surgeon during natural disasters and being tossed into the fray of war zones, she’d seen many sick children. Critically ill children. It had always been a deep-rooted fear of hers that one day, if she ever had a child, something might happen to that child.
She had never been able to handle the thought of it.
And then it had happened.
She’d had Peter.
“Let me see him!” she’d cried, relieved that the birth was over.
Only none of the doctors had answered her. Marisa, her OB/GYN, hadn’t looked at her. It was in that moment that Reagan had realized the baby wasn’t crying. There wasn’t a sound coming from him at all.
“What’s wrong?” Reagan had asked.
She’d craned her neck as Marisa had turned back to her, watching the pediatrician on call with her baby in his hands, blue-grey and barely moving.
It had only been a couple of hours later when she’d learned that her baby had cardiomyopathy and would be staying in the hospital indefinitely. The only reminder of her and Kainan’s time together was placed on the list for UNOS and would be staying there while he waited for a new heart.
The nursery she had so painstakingly started to prepare in her small apartment before his birth was still unused, and she hadn’t been able to look at it the few fleeting times she’d managed to get home.
Don’t think about it—and don’t think about Kainan.
Even a year since his death often Kainan crept into her thoughts because Peter looked like him so much. And she couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like had Kainan lived.
Reagan had had a couple of relationships before Kainan, but they’d failed because of her—because she couldn’t trust. At the back of her mind she was terrified she’d disappoint, that she’d never be good enough and her heart would be broken. Again.
It was better this way.
She was better off alone.
“Reagan, you look like you didn’t get a wink of sleep!”
Reagan rubbed her tired, sore eyes and saw the Chief of Surgery leaning over the central desk, where he’d been studying a chart.
Michael McNeil had been so understanding. He’d trained her as a resident, and encouraged her into the Canadian Armed Forces to expand her skills, and since she’d announced her pregnancy and Peter’s birth he’d been accommodating, knowing she needed to work. Right now he was looking at her with pity. Like most people. She hated pity.
“We need better cots on the NICU floor,” she mumbled, stifling a yawn.
“Are you going to be able to work with this new doctor?” he asked.
Reagan nodded. She needed this job. It was more pay, and not so much time spent doing surgical rounds. Right now she couldn’t do a lot of surgery. A call about a heart might come in at any time, and she needed to be near Peter.
Peter was all she had.
She really needed sleep, but right now she needed work more. It kept her sane. And she was looking forward to this new job. It was more flexible.
“Yeah, I’m good.” She walked to the other side of the central desk and poured herself another cup of coffee into a plastic cup and capped it.
“Good. I know things have been hard—”
She held up her hand to cut the chief off. “Michael, I’m okay. I need the work. I love the work. And Peter is not that far away. Besides, I’m the only staff member available who knows American Sign Language.”
“And you worked in Isla Hermosa as well,” Michael said, setting down his chart.
Reagan’s heart skipped a beat—which was silly. “The new specialist is from Isla Hermosa?”
Michael nodded. “The Canadian government is giving him asylum. His work is important. That’s all I know. And he’s a brilliant teacher. I think he will be an asset to our medical students.”
“I wonder if I worked with him?” Reagan said, taking another sip of the bitter coffee. The caffeine was doing its job. There had been many other Hermosian physicians out in the field whom she’d worked alongside, but none had been like Kainan.
No one will ever be like Kainan.
She couldn’t think about him now.
“I don’t know, but the Canadian government was very adamant that he should be given asylum here, and after chatting with him over email I’m very excited to have him on board.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting him,” said Reagan. “To become a surgical consultant when you can’t speak—that’s impressive.”
She couldn’t recall any nonverbal surgeons out in the field on Isla Hermosa. Of course it had been a war zone. Everything was a bit blurry about her experience. Except...
“Well, he could speak before. He was injured at the front and a badly placed endotracheal tube damaged his vocal cords. I’m told he can speak a bit—but not much, and not for long periods of time. He will be getting corrective surgery here before the New Year, but for now you’ll help him.”
“Of course,” she agreed. She would be happy to. “Does he know about my son and my need for flexibility?”
“No,” Michael said. “I told him you needed a flexible schedule, but I thought it best if you tell him about Peter if you want to.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”
It was exhausting, constantly explaining Peter’s condition to people. It drained her. The new surgeon didn’t need to know about Peter, he just needed to know she needed flexibility—which Michael had taken care of.
Reagan fell into step beside Michael as they walked toward his office, where she would meet this Hermosian doctor and they could get to work.
“So, my job consists of interpreting American Sign Language to the students so he doesn’t overtax his voice?”
Michael nodded. “You can use my office to draw up your plans. The first medical students will be coming at one—after the lunch rotation.”
Reagan nodded. “Sounds good, Chief.”
Michael smiled, and then said softly, “You know we’re all here for you, Reagan. If there’s anything more we can do...”
Reagan gave Michael a quick nod. She appreciated it, but she didn’t want pity or help. Too many people pitied her, and she was tired of it. She was still a surgeon. She was still Reagan Cote, even if it sometimes didn’t feel that way.
“I’m good.”
“Are you sure?” Michael asked, and there again was that expression of pity that she loathed, directed toward her.
She couldn’t push Michael away like she did so many. He had been her mentor when she was resident. He’d taught her compassion and patient care. Things she hadn’t been able to learn from her parents. When she’d started her bedside manner had been atrocious, but Michael had guided her, and he had been the one who welcomed her back with open arms when she’d finished her tour of duty.
“I appreciate it so much, Michael. You know that, but I’m fine. Let me work—it keeps me busy.”
Michael gave her a quick kiss on the top of her head and whispered, “He’ll pull through.”
She nodded, blinking back the tears that always threatened to fall when someone started talking about Peter and his condition. Tears that she had learned to swallow because she had to be strong for Peter.
And for herself.
She had to be tough. There was no time for weeping or sorrow. If she gave in to the grief that she was actually feeling she would collapse and be useless.
This new assignment had come at the perfect time. Even though it would take her off her precious surgical rotation, it would keep her at the hospital.
It would keep her busy and close to Peter.
And that was the most important thing.
“You okay?” Michael asked.
“Perfectly.”
Reagan plastered on the fake smile she was used to wearing. The one she’d perfected when she was a small girl, because her father had liked her just a bit better when she’d smiled, and had been nicer to her mother when Reagan had smiled and behaved.
Michael nodded and then opened the door.
Reagan stepped in, seeing the Hermosian doctor had his back to her. Something tugged at the corner of her mind, but she couldn’t sift through the fog—or maybe she was having a hard time seeing. Maybe she was so sleep-deprived that this was just a dream.
She began to tremble.
“Dr. Kainan Laskaris—I would like to introduce you to Dr. Reagan Cote, who will be working with you here at the hospital.”
The ghost turned around, those dark, expressive eyes of his hollow and wide with shock. The beautifully chiseled face was marred with scars, and on his throat she could see where they had put the botched endotracheal tube. It was almost as if his throat had been slit, the scar was so bad. The dark brown curls were tamed, and streaked with silver. He’d aged. The war had aged him. But he was still devastatingly handsome.
He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then snapped it shut. And his lips pressed together firmly, as if he was angry.
Her coffee shook in the cup she was gripping so tightly. Her world was spinning and her tight rein on those emotions she’d become so darn good at locking away had gone slack.
She was losing control.
“Never lose control, Reagan. Don’t show your weakness to anyone or they’ll take advantage of you.”
Her mother’s voice was screaming in her head.
“Kainan?” her voice finally squeaked out in disbelief.
“You two know each other?” Michael asked.
She waited for that deep, rich voice to answer, Si. That affirmation had always made her go a bit weak in the knees.
But of course it couldn’t.
His voice had been taken from him.
Instead he just nodded quickly and looked away. As if he was annoyed she was there.
“We worked together on Isla Hermosa during my last tour of duty,” Reagan answered, steadying her hand so Michael wouldn’t see her tremble. “And we worked well together.”
Michael looked visibly relieved. “I’m glad to hear it! Well, I’ll leave you two to it. I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do.”
Reagan didn’t even see Michael leave. She just heard the door shut, her gaze focused on Kainan. The man she’d thought was dead.
He stared back at her, but he didn’t smile at her the way he’d used to. There was no twinkle in his eyes. Just darkness. It was cold. It didn’t faze her, didn’t hurt her. She was used to people looking at her that way. It did sting a little, and it gave her confirmation that Kainan was like all the other men she’d met. Like her father. Cold and distant.
“You’re alive.” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement of fact, because she’d thought he’d died.
Clearly, he signed in American Sign Language, barely looking at her.
“They told me you had died.”
His expression softened briefly. I’m sorry. There was a lot of confusion at first. I was reported dead for days...
“Your medical transport was attacked and they found your dog tags in the rubble.”
Again, there was a lot of confusion.
It was obvious that he wasn’t going to give any further information about it.
Reagan sat down on one of the chairs at the table in Michael’s office. There was a stack of materials there. New orientation information for Kainan. She needed to keep busy and not think about why he never reached out to her.
“Has anyone explained all this stuff to you?” she asked as she quickly scanned the binder full of information. If she kept busy she could ignore the racing of her pulse, her trembling hands, the urge to hug him and cry because he was alive.
He shook his head and took a seat across from her. Then he cleared his throat. “Best...come...from...you.”
His voice was broken, harsh and guttural. And color bloomed in his cheeks. It was either embarrassment or anger, and knowing Kainan it was most likely anger.
She knew how much he liked to be in control of every situation. He’d commanded all those around him during surgery, and those working with him had followed him blindly.
When he lost control he got angry, but that would drive him to work harder to solve the problem and regain control.
He was an amazing surgeon.
And this loss of control...
She could only imagine what he was going through. She liked control in her life, but she’d learned a humble lesson when Peter was born. Control was just an illusion.
Reagan had to admit that she was angry too. That he was alive and hadn’t let her know. He’d known where she was going. He’d known so much about her. Why hadn’t he reached out?
Only she couldn’t think about that right now. She’d swallow the anger she had and do her job. Keep moving forward as she had always done. If she stopped for a second everything would fall apart.
“Okay,” she said, setting her half-empty coffee cup down and opening up the materials. “We can do this together.”
Is there anyone else? he signed.
The words were like a slap. He didn’t want her here. She realized his body language was more than just embarrassment or anger over his situation. He was annoyed that she was here, helping him.
Her spine stiffened.
She should have known his attention to her back then had just been seduction. He didn’t want to see her again. He’d just been using her.
You wanted it too.
Well, she wasn’t going to let him shove her aside. She had a job to do, and anyway she’d got the best part of him. She had Peter, and she didn’t regret that for anything.
“No, there is no one else. I am the only doctor here who can interpret American Sign Language and who’s free to support you.” Now she was really annoyed with him. She wasn’t going to let him ruin this job for her.
Fine, he signed. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. His gaze was fixed on her, but instead of anger or annoyance, like before, there was bit of humor. Some smugness.
She wanted to wipe that off his face. “What?” she snapped.
I forgot how prickly you get. How fast your walls go up.
The twinkle she knew so well returned to his eyes. It was meant to lighten the mood, but she wasn’t in the mood for that.
“I get prickly when people are acting like jerks.”
“Sorry.” He spoke, his voice now barely a whisper.
Reagan shut the binder and, though she knew she was going to regret it, she had to ask. “Why don’t you want to work with me?”
* * *
The question caught him off guard. Of course this whole situation had caught him off guard. He’d known that Reagan was Canadian, but hadn’t realized that she worked at this hospital, in this city. Canada was a large country. He’d chosen this hospital simply because Dr. Shaw, his otolaryngologist was here.
He hadn’t known that Reagan was here. And he hadn’t known that she knew American Sign Language or that she would be working in the education part of the hospital. He’d have thought she would be on the surgical floor, wherever she worked, which was where he wanted to be, but couldn’t be any longer.
How could a man with no voice convey what he needed to his surgical staff during an emergency situation? He couldn’t, so his surgical career was over.
Of course that wasn’t the only reason his career was over.
His throat tightened at the thought of why it was over. It always tightened when his stress levels rose, and he was certainly stressed now.
Seeing Reagan again was a shock.
And he’d had to hold himself back, because his first reaction when he’d seen her had been to run to her and take her in his arms and kiss her. But this wasn’t the time or place.
Nowhere was the time or place.
Still, seeing her again had brought back so many memories. Even though they’d served during a war—a brutal war which had torn his country apart—working alongside her had been some of the happiest moments of his life.
He loved his country, but being called back to serve had been painful. Since his mother had died Isla Hermosa had reminded him only of loneliness and pain.
Reagan had brought back joy into his life.
One of the hardest things he’d had to do in his life was to leave her behind, knowing that she was going back home to her country and that he was going to the front lines. That he might never see her again.
It had nearly broken him, but it had been for the best that she’d left when all was said and done. Now circumstances had changed and they could never be together. He’d never trap her the way his mother had been trapped in her marriage to his father.
Still, he wanted Reagan—even though he shouldn’t. Their year apart had done nothing to extinguish the flames of passion that he felt for her.
He still wanted her.
That long, silky brown hair that was so neatly tied back. The long, graceful neck that he’d once run his hands over. And those lips he’d kissed and wanted to taste again.
Only he couldn’t now. Not because he’d lost his voice, but because he would never, ever put her inside the dangerous situation he now found himself in.
He was a displaced king, of a country that was precarious and about to sink into oblivion, and he couldn’t bring her into that situation.
There were people who wanted to assassinate him. And he would gladly take a bullet for his country, because he felt responsible for Isla Hermosa’s downfall.
He hadn’t been able to control his late brother. Kainan had tried, but his brother had ruined the country in six months after their father had ruled gracefully for fifty years.
Now Kainan was King of a broken, bleeding country. And instead of being there he was here in Canada. First in Ottawa, to recuperate from all the injuries that he’d sustained when the palace had been attacked, and now here at this hospital in Toronto, working and waiting for surgery that might or might not return his voice to him. Surgery he might not survive due to the damage in his throat.
Still, he needed a voice to rule. As King, he had a duty to his country—a tradition to uphold and a service which had so depressed his mother and made her feel trapped.
His father had been a great king, but cold, and protocol had come first. Kainan had watched his mother take second place to Isla Hermosa.
So, no, he couldn’t drag Reagan into that. The crown would die out with him. And maybe it was better that way.
What’s first? he signed.
“Have you got your hospital identification yet?” she asked, leafing through all the papers from Human Resources that Kainan had just skimmed.
No. I haven’t got that yet.
“Okay, we’ll fill out this paperwork and—”
Kainan touched her arm and got her attention. Why aren’t you practicing surgery?
“I told you. I’m the only one fluent in American Sign Language here who has room in her schedule to assist you.”
So this is a punishment for you?
“What?”
Surgery was your life.
She frowned, and continued to leaf through the binder. “It still is, but I was asked to do this and—” She was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Yes?”
A nurse stuck her head round the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Dr. Cote, but it’s Peter.”
Reagan’s expression changed. She frowned, looking worried as she slammed the binder shut. “I’ll be right up.”
The nurse nodded and shut the door.
“I’m sorry, Kainan. I’ll try to be as fast as I can but...it could take a while.”
Is it a patient? he asked.
Reagan sighed sadly. Her expression was tired, broken, and Kainan couldn’t help but wonder who Peter was. Was Peter her husband?
That brief, fleeting thought of her with another man enraged him. It made him jealous to think of another man loving her.
Not that he deserved to feel any sense of jealousy when it came to Reagan. He’d given up those rights when he’d let her go in Isla Hermosa.
“No, it’s not a patient.” Then she sighed again and looked almost as if she was going to be sick. “Kainan, I’m... He’s my son. Peter is my son.”
She stood up to leave, her body tense.
Kainan was shocked, and sat back as reality sank in. He hoarsely asked, “Your son?”
And then it dawned on him—because he knew that she hadn’t had a child when she was serving alongside him in Isla Hermosa.
A cold tendril of dread unfurled in his belly. He jumped up and stood in front of her, blocking her escape and he cleared his throat. “How. Old?”
“He’s three months now. He’s your son, Kainan.”
Reagan didn’t offer any other explanation.
* * *
“Never trust women, Kainan. Never. Your mother tried to hide you from me when she wanted to divorce me, but you were a prince of Isla Hermosa. She had no right to do that. But she did try. Women are fickle. They are not devoted, they only think of themselves. Never trust them. Close your heart to them or you’ll be hurt!”
Kainan didn’t want to hear his late father’s voice in his head. He’d been a fine king, but a terrible husband and father.
Still, Reagan hadn’t told him he had a son.
“I have to go and check on him. Kainan, please move.”
Numb, he stepped to the side so she could open the door.
Of course Kainan was going to let her go, but he needed more answers. His son? It couldn’t be. Why was his son at the hospital? Why was a nurse taking care of him?
He dashed after Reagan, cursing himself inwardly because he couldn’t call out to her to stop, but he caught up with her quickly and grabbed her arm, holding on to her.
She tried to shrug out of his grip until she saw it was him and relaxed.
My son? he signed.
“Yes.”
Why didn’t you tell me I had a son? Were you trying to hide him from me? He instantly regretted the words. They were so much like something his father would have said.
Her eyes narrowed. “I thought you were dead. They told me you were dead. I wouldn’t hide him from you—you know that.”
He wanted to believe that, but his own mother had tried to hide him from his father when she was pregnant.
“I never wanted you locked away in the palace, Kainan. I didn’t want you locked away like me. I tried to leave, but I couldn’t hide you from him either,” his mother had said on her death bed. “I just wanted us to be happy. To be free. I didn’t want you to grow up with him as a father.”
“Why?” He’d felt as if his life was a prison sentence. He was guarded and watched all the time, and though surrounded by people he’d always felt alone. “Why did you tell him?”
“I had to. I loved him.” His mother had sighed. “I am sorry I am leaving you. You will never be free. Even as the spare. You will never be your own man. I wanted more for you, Kainan. I’m sorry.”
His mother had died then, and his father had told him woman weren’t to be trusted.
“Never trust a woman, Kainan. Never.”
Kainan rubbed his temple, where a pounding headache was brewing.
Reagan didn’t hide your son from you. She thought you were dead.
That was little consolation to him at this moment.
“I have to go see him,” Reagan whispered.
What is wrong with him? he asked as they waited for the elevator.
“Cardiomyopathy.” There was a glitter of moisture in her eyes as she cleared her throat. “He was born that way. He was born with a failing heart.”
Oh, God.
His heart sank. It was too much. He’d learned he was a father and that his son was dying all in the same day.
He was no fool. He knew the severity of cardiomyopathy in a child.
Run. Turn and leave.
But he couldn’t do that either. He was not the cold, unfeeling man his father had been.
The elevator dinged as the doors opened, and they stood to the side as people got off, before getting in.
Kainan didn’t say anything as they rode in silence. Everything was still sinking in.
He had a son.
And his son was the Crown Prince of Isla Hermosa.
He felt bad for inflicting that burden on him. And his son was ill. Cardiomyopathy in an infant was horrific, and Kainan could only assume that he was on the UNOS wait list for a new heart, because that was his only chance at life.
Reagan led him to the NICU, giving him a disposable gown and mask. He didn’t really hear anything that anyone was saying as he was led into the room.
In the far corner stood an incubator that was covered with a blue blanket.
His heart was hammering.
He had never wanted a child. He didn’t want to sentence any child to a life where he couldn’t live, where he was under constant scrutiny. He’d never wanted a family. Relationships didn’t work. His father and late brother had shown him that. He didn’t want to trap a woman the way his mother had been trapped.
Reagan raised the blue blanket and Kainan gasped as he saw a baby with dark hair. A baby who looked like him and Reagan.
A baby hooked up to a machine.
His heart ached to hold him. It was instant love. It surprised him.
This child was the future of his country. But how could a voiceless king and a broken-hearted crown prince rule a country that was already broken and bleeding?
His heart shattered and guilt washed over him. Reagan had done this on her own. He hadn’t been there. He’d failed her. He’d failed them both.
All Kainan could do was turn and leave.
His heart was breaking along with his son’s.
