Читать книгу Finding Dr. Right - Lisa B. Kamps - Страница 8

Sweat poured from Nathan’s face; he reached up and absently wiped the stinging from his eye. Focus. He needed to focus. He struggled against the weight, feeling the pull in his knee. Focus! He repeated the word with a mental shout, over and over until the refrain obliterated the tearing pain he felt.

One more. Just one more.

He leaned back and gripped the padded handles harder, pulling, lifting, until a flash of heat tore through his knee. The sound of steel hitting steel rang out like a shot and echoed through the empty gym, taunting him with his failure.

“Damn!” Nathan wiped a towel across his face before resting his elbows on his knees. Just that little bit of pressure caused more pain and he winced before shifting positions.

“Damn!” The curse echoed around him. This was definitely not going the way he had planned. He was into his fourth week of physical therapy. He should be able to lift more weight by now. They had told him not to push it, but what did they know? If he waited as long as they suggested, he’d be old and gray before he went back to playing. That was a chance he couldn’t take.

Nathan ran his hands through his damp hair then stood, ignoring the throbbing in his leg that threatened to topple him to the floor before he got his balance. He limped halfway to the locker room, thinking of nothing but a long, hot shower followed by several ice packs when the gym door opened behind him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The voice was unnaturally loud, the anger and accusation bouncing off the walls. Nathan stopped with a sigh and slowly turned.

Sonny LeBlanc stormed across the floor, his meaty fists clenched by his sides when he stopped a foot away. Nathan fought the urge to flinch and make up excuses like a child. Sonny had that effect on everyone. At a stocky six feet tall, Sonny looked more like a former drill sergeant than a hockey coach. His dark eyes were harsh slits and the squareness of his face was made more austere by the buzz cut of his salt-and-pepper hair. The straight-edged scar that ran down the left side of his cheek glowed red under the bright overhead lights, an incongruous slash in an otherwise smooth face.

Sonny had the misfortune of running into a skate blade during one of his final games years earlier. Now one of the best coaches in the league, he had the reputation of remaining outwardly impassive—except for the scar. No matter how poker-faced the man stayed, the scar always betrayed him, glowing like a brand during times of anger and duress.

Right now, the brightness of the scar would light the gym if the power failed. Not a good sign for Nathan. He took a deep breath and let it out, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

“How stupid are you, Conners? How stupid do you think I am? What are you trying to do, blow every chance you have of coming back? I oughtta suspend you just for being dumb! I’d’ve thought you knew better! Well? What the hell are you doing?”

“Therapy.” Nathan’s tight voice seemed liked a whisper after Sonny’s outburst.

“Bull! I just got off the phone with that doctor of yours and he said you ain’t supposed to be doing any of this crap until you’re cleared.” Sonny’s finger came up and jabbed Nathan in the chest for emphasis. “And you’re not cleared! Now get in there and wash up and don’t let me catch you back here! I’m not going to have you blow your chance because of some bullheaded notion swimming around that thick skull of yours!”

Nathan clenched his jaw and stared at Sonny’s broad back as he left, feeling like an ultimatum had been laid at his feet. So now they were trying to keep him from working on his own, were they? Well, he’d just go see about that. He had too much at stake to let it rest in someone else’s lap.

“I need to see Dr. Porter,” Nathan repeated for the third time, leaning closer to the desk so he hovered over the receptionist. He felt a second of gratitude when she flinched.

“Mr. Conners, I’m sorry, but I already explained he left for the day. I can make an appoint—”

“No! I want to see him. Now.”

“There is nothing I can do. I’m sorry.”

Nathan glared at the small woman staring back at him and called himself every kind of fool. He would get nowhere by browbeating the poor lady, but he couldn’t just turn around and walk away. He had come here full of steam, eager for a face-off. He couldn’t give up so easily, not when there was so much at stake. “What about Dr. Wilson? Is she in?”

The receptionist eyed him warily then flipped through one of the many appointment books in front of her. He was grabbing at straws, he knew, but he was desperate.

“Yes, she’s still here.”

“Fine, then I’ll see her.”

“Mr. Conners, you can’t just walk in…she has patients.”

Nathan shot a quick look around the empty waiting room then turned back to the receptionist. “I need to see her!”

“Mr. Conners, I said—”

“What is going on out here?” Nathan turned at the sound of the cool voice, swallowed hard at the look of steel in the dark eyes that impaled him.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Wilson, but Mr. Conners insists on seeing someone….”

“In my office!” She turned smartly on her heels and walked down the short hallway, stopping at the open door of her office and shooting him a look of impatient anger. Nathan clenched his jaw and followed, preparing for the battle he had initiated. He flinched when she slammed the door behind them. The apology that hovered on the edge of his lips died before he could utter it.

“Who do you think you are, storming in here and shouting like that?” Clenched fists rested on her slim hips as she stared at him, the fury evident in her flushed face and heavy breathing. Nathan fought back his own anger, knowing he had instigated her temper with his loud demands. It would be easier to ignore her if his gaze would stop traveling the length of her body, noticing how different she looked from the other night. She was dressed more conservatively in dark trousers and an oversize lab coat that hid the blouse she was wearing.

“Well?”

Nathan pulled his gaze back to her face, noticed the flush that had spread across her cheeks and realized he had missed the last part of her angry tirade. He shifted from one foot to the other and tried not to wince at the sudden flare in his knee. “What?”

“I wanted to know who you thought…never mind.” She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and walked back to her desk, passing close enough to Nathan that he could smell the faint hint of her perfume. Something flowery, he thought. “I assume you have some reason for barging in here like Attila the Hun on steroids?”

“Uh, yeah.” Nathan straightened, determined to think of the woman in front of him as a doctor only. The sudden thought that she could possibly be his chance to go back to the ice sobered him. “I want you to look at my knee. I’ve been in therapy for four weeks, and I want to be cleared to go back. At least to practice.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no.” She lowered herself to her chair and bent over some paperwork, the tip of her pen making scratching noises in the silence. Nathan stared at her in bewilderment before realizing she had, once again, dismissed him.

“Why not?” They were the first words that tumbled from his mouth, far from the angry demand he wanted to make.

Catherine’s impatient sigh brought him up short. She leaned across her desk and pointed at him with a stern finger. “Number one, you are not my patient. If Bri—Dr. Porter wants you released, that’s up to him, though he’d be a fool if he did. And number two, you’re not ready. Period.”

“How do you know what I am and am not ready for?”

“You can’t even stand there with all your weight on that leg, can you? No, you can’t, and don’t lie and say you can. I’m a doctor, and it’ll take more than minor acting to fool me!” Her voice was chilly and she slowly stood, her hand shaking as she pointed at him with that long finger. Nathan knew something else was wrong. There was a split second when he thought to question her, to discover the reason for her misplaced anger, before her earlier words actually sunk in.

He took a hasty step toward her desk and curbed the urge to collapse against it, choosing instead to lean his fists on the glossy surface for support. “What do you mean, he’d be a fool to?” Nathan struggled to keep the fear and anxiety from his voice. “You don’t think I’ll play again, do you?”

She stared at him, a flash of sympathy in the depths of her eyes. She didn’t have to answer him—her look said it all. Her sympathy struck anger inside him. Anger and irrational fear. Nathan stepped back, stunned. He wanted to lash out at her unspoken statement, to scream his denial. The words that finally tumbled from his mouth shocked them both.

“Please don’t make the mistake of trying to protect me the way you are your son. That would cost me my entire career!”

Catherine’s face drained of all color as she flinched. Too late, Nathan realized that his words had hurt her more effectively than if she had been slapped. The anger inside him suddenly disappeared, replaced with deep humiliation. He struggled to find a way to break the growing silence. An apology seemed so trite, but it was the only thing he could offer. The empty words fell from his mouth in a hoarse whisper.

Catherine stumbled backward into her chair, her face void of any expression. Knowing that staying would only make things worse, Nathan turned to leave.

“No, wait.” He halted at her shaky voice, then slowly turned back, expecting some heavy object to come hurtling through the air at him. “What did you mean by that?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“But you did. What did you mean?” She stared at him, her brown eyes dark with anticipation as she pointed to the empty chair. “Please?”

Nathan hesitated only a second before walking back to the desk and easing his weight into the chair, stretching his left leg in front of him and giving it a quick rub. “Matthew said something about you not letting him get a prosthesis because you were afraid he’d be hurt.”

“He told you that?” It was phrased as a question but Nathan heard the bewildered shock that laced the words. “But he doesn’t even know you!”

“Sometimes it’s easier for a kid to talk to someone he doesn’t know. I got the idea that there weren’t many people willing to talk to him about his amputation.” He watched her expression, saw the tiny flinch in her shoulders and slight pursing of her lips at the word amputation.

“No. I, uh, that is, I thought it would be best…”

“Listen, Matthew’s a bright kid. It was his leg that suffered, not his brain. Don’t treat him like an invalid.”

“Did he tell you what happened?”

“He just said it was some kind of cancer.”

Catherine pulled her attention away from the pen she had been studying and finally looked at the man sitting across from her. Those strange eyes were focused on her and she had the uncanny sensation that he was seeing more than she wanted him to see. If it was her choice, she would be sharing nothing of her personal life with him; it seemed Matty had different ideas. She released her breath on a long sigh and leaned back in the chair.

“Matty was diagnosed with Ewing’s sarcoma a year and a half ago. It’s a bone disease that affects children, usually boys. It was decided that amputation and chemotherapy would increase his chance of survival. Matty responded very well to everything, and so far there’s no sign that the cancer has spread. But there’s always that fear.” Catherine choked out the last words, the ball of fright still tight in her stomach. She watched Nathan’s expression, looking for either the horror or the pity that people seemed to have after hearing the story.

Instead, she saw understanding in the clear eyes that held her gaze and swore she almost heard some kind of click. She looked away, swallowing against the sudden realization that Nathan Conners had somehow, suddenly, become a part of their lives. It wasn’t a realization she was eager to embrace.

“I take back what I said earlier. Your son’s a lot more than just a bright kid.”

Catherine wasn’t sure what to make of that comment so she said nothing. Instead, she tried to figure out exactly what had changed between them in the past five minutes. More importantly, why it had changed. She missed the last part of what he was saying and looked back at him, asking him to repeat it.

“I said, there’s a sports clinic for kids with disabilities. I think Matthew would enjoy it.” He pulled a card from his wallet and passed it across to her. She set it to the side with nothing more than a passing glance.

“We’ll see.” Catherine fidgeted in the silence that hung between them, feeling like she should say or do something. She cleared her throat and pointed to his knee. “Um, did you want me to look at that for you?”

“I thought you said there was nothing you could do.”

“I can’t clear you, if that’s what you’re expecting, but I can look at it. I can tell it’s swollen. Draining may help, and maybe a shot of—Mr. Conners, are you okay?” Catherine jumped from her chair and quickly circled the desk, alarmed at the sudden change in him. His face was pale and sweaty. She didn’t have to be a doctor to realize he was close to passing out and she placed a hand on his shoulder to ease him slightly over.

“Put your head between your legs. That’s it. Nice deep breaths. No, not so fast. You’ll hyperventilate. Nice and deep. There you go.” Satisfied that he wasn’t going to topple over in the next five seconds, Catherine released her hold on him and leaned over to push the intercom on her desk.

“I’m okay.” His deep voice was muffled as he continued to bend forward, his head between his knees.

“No, you’re about two seconds away from passing out.”

Nathan took another deep breath and slowly sat up. She was relieved to see that some of his color had returned and that his face was no longer covered with sweat. “It’s needles.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Needles. I hate them. Always have.”

Catherine remained still, eyeing him warily, wondering if he was playing some kind of joke on her. She noticed both sincerity and embarrassment in his eyes. The laughter escaped her before she knew it was coming, before she had a chance to push it back. The look of mortification in his eyes only made her laugh harder and she clamped her hand over her mouth.

“Sure. Go ahead and laugh. It’s a real hoot. Big hockey player brought to his knees by a tiny needle. Hysterical.” His deep voice was light and laced with irony, making Catherine laugh even more.

“I’m sorry.” Another deep breath. “I just didn’t think…I mean…” One more breath. “I’m sorry.”

“No problem. Anything to brighten your day.” Nathan smiled then rose from the chair, his large frame unfolding with a feline grace in spite of the obvious discomfort in his knee. Her breath caught as she watched him stand, only inches from her.

“Don’t stop.” Nathan reached out and gently grabbed her chin with one hand, turning her face toward him. “You have a nice smile. You should do it more often.”

“Mr. Conners, I—”

“Nathan, please.”

“Nathan.” Catherine stepped back, needing to put distance between them. She heaved a sigh of relief when he released her from his gentle hold.

“And should I call you Catherine?” His crooked smile and tawny eyes were focused on her with a charm that was nearly irresistible. She took a nervous step back and silently cursed when the edge of the desk bit into the back of her thighs.

“Yes. I mean, no. No. I don’t believe in doctors and patients getting personal with one another.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing you’re not my doctor, isn’t it, Catherine?” His smile never faltered as he turned and walked to the door, stopping to look back at her with an unreadable expression on his face. “I was serious about that clinic for Matthew. And I think it would be good if he went to more games, too. I’ll send over some more tickets. Catherine.”

She stared after him, astounded at the onslaught of charm she had just been subjected to, wondering which was worse: that she had allowed the flirting banter, or that she had enjoyed it.

Don’t do it.

A voice of conscience piped up and screamed at her before she could get any idiotic notions in her head. She could not—would not—let Nathan Conners into her life. Or Matty’s. It would only invite disappointment for both of them. Matty would become attached, then be hurt when he left. And he would leave. It was unthinkable that any steady dependability would come from someone who wasn’t family.

Catherine sat behind the desk and absently shuffled the files in front of her. She couldn’t allow anyone else into their lives. She had to think of Matty’s feelings, nothing else. She grabbed the card Nathan had given her and threw it into the wastebasket beside her desk, hoping she could remove the other influences he had left behind just as easily.

“You don’t need to be so tense, Catherine.”

“I can’t help it.” She unclasped her hands and wiped them down the front of her jeans before facing Brian. “What if he gets hurt?”

Brian chuckled then swung his arm in a wide arc, encompassing the large room with machines of all shapes and sizes, with an attendant at each one. “Here? You’re sounding unreasonable. This is the safest place for him and you know it.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. They were standing off to one side, watching as Matty practiced with his new prosthesis. Two weeks had passed since he first got it, and even his therapist was amazed at how well he was doing. Catherine kept her gaze on Matty, watching for the slightest indication that he might fall or that he was tiring. Then she would firmly suggest to everyone that the prosthesis could wait until later.

“He’s not going to give up, you know.”

Catherine pasted a smile on her face and waved to Matty, then faced Brian. He was watching her with a hooded expression, his eyes serious behind the wire-rimmed glasses. “I don’t want him hurt. He’s been through too much already.”

“So you’d take away his new freedom? I thought I knew you better than that.”

The accusation hung between them, made worse by Brian’s quiet voice. In all the years she had known him, he had always been reliable, always supporting her and Matty. It wasn’t like him to sound so critical.

“You need to let him go, Catherine.”

“He’s nine years old. I don’t need to do anything but protect him.” The words came out in a hiss and caught the attention of another parent standing several feet away. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want him hurt. Is that so terrible?”

“No, it’s not. As long as you don’t go overboard.”

“But what’s overboard? Are you saying it would be better if I just let him go, let him do what he wants?”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Catherine, and you know it. And you also know how far is too far for him. Don’t let the voice of reason get lost in your need to protect him.”

“Voice of reason.” Catherine forced a half laugh, her attention focused on Matty. He was back in the wheelchair, removing the prosthesis with the therapist’s help. “He told me the other day he wants to play hockey. Hockey, for crying out loud! Like I don’t know where that idea came from.”

Brian crossed his arms in front of him and shrugged, almost too nonchalantly. “Who knows? Maybe one day he will.”

“What? You didn’t just say that. I’m imagining things.” Catherine studied her friend, saw the barely noticeable blotch of red creeping up from his shirt collar. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “What is it, Brian? What aren’t you telling me?”

His mouth opened and closed silently. He pursed his lips together and shrugged again, still refusing to face her. She folded her own arms in front of her and stepped into his line of vision, ready to demand an answer.

“Hey, Mom! Did you see that?” Matty’s excited voice came from behind and she turned to face him, forcing a bright smile. She gave the therapist a passing glance then bent down so she could be on eye level with Matty.

“I sure did. You’re getting better each day.”

“He’s done remarkably well, Dr. Wilson. At the rate he’s progressing, it won’t be long before he’s sprinting with that new leg of his.” Catherine straightened and leveled a serious look at Matty’s therapist, Paul. She wanted to tell him, to scream at him, that there was no way she would allow her son to risk getting hurt by doing something as foolish as sprinting with a prosthesis. Or running. Or even walking fast. But there was no way she could say any of that, not now and certainly not here, so she just smiled tightly and said nothing.

Matty waved goodbye to Paul then looked from her to Brian and back again, a look of excitement on his face. Catherine felt the bottom of her stomach drop in anticipation.

“Did you tell her yet, Uncle Bri?”

“Um, not yet.”

Catherine looked from one to the other, at the excitement dancing in Matty’s eyes and the frown creasing Brian’s forehead. Her stomach did another funny little dip. “Tell me what?”

“Uncle Brian got me into this neat camp for kids like me. It’s got sports and all kinds of stuff, and there’s even going to be some pro guys there. Isn’t that cool, Mom?”

Catherine clenched her jaw against the sudden fear and fury that ripped through her and turned to Brian, ignoring Matty as he pulled on her hand. “What is he talking about?”

“I heard about this sports camp run by the players of some local teams and thought it would be good for Matty. I made arrangements to have him enrolled.”

“How dare you go behind my back and do something like this! And who told you about it?” She didn’t know why she was asking; she already knew the answer.

“Mom?” Matty pulled on her hand. “I can do it, right?”

“Matty, I…I don’t think so.” She tried to soften her voice, to lessen the blow to Matty, but disappointment still flashed in his eyes. He yanked his hand from hers and looked away, sending a sharp stab of pain through her. She faced Brian, her anger clear.

“Who told you about it, Brian? Who?”

“Nathan Conners.”

“He went to you? After I already told him no, he went to you!” She shook her head, wanting to say more, knowing she couldn’t. She stepped behind Matty’s wheelchair and grabbed the handles, squeezing until she thought they would bend. “I think you know what both of you can do.”

“He came to me because he thought you were being unreasonable. I happened to agree with him.”

“Mom, I can do it, can’t I? You’re going to let me do it, right?” Catherine’s throat constricted at the pain in Matty’s voice and she had to swallow before answering.

“Matty, sweetie. You’re not ready. I don’t want you hurt.”

“But, Mom—”

“Matty, I said no, not right now.”

“Catherine, don’t you think—”

She shrugged Brian’s hand from her shoulder. “I think you need to mind your own business. I think you need to tell your patients to mind their own business.”

“Catherine…”

“I have nothing more to say to you.” She leaned into the heavy chair and pushed. Brian’s betrayal bit into her, hurting her in a way she hadn’t expected.

“Mom, why can’t I?”

“Because I said. I don’t want to hear another word.”

Catherine squeezed her eyes against the tears, blinking back all but one that rolled down her cheek. She wiped her face on her sweater. The last thing she needed was for the waterworks to start, not here and especially not now.

Matty was doing enough crying for them both.