Читать книгу ROMeANTICALLY CHALLENGED - Marina Adair - Страница 13

Chapter 7

Emmitt strolled through the leaded glass doors of Tanner and Tanner Family Practice, and the cool air chilled the sweat beaded on his forehead.

He wasn’t sure whether it was walking ten blocks when the thermometer registered in the high eighties, with matching humidity, that had his chest spasming as if he was having a heart attack or if it was simply his body’s reaction to the pain slicing through his head.

Bottom line, Emmitt needed a comfortable place out of the direct sun to sit—preferably with AC—before he embarrassed himself on the main strip in town.

Christ. What would his climbing friends say if they saw him now?

Two years ago, he’d climbed Everest with nothing but a rucksack, his camera bag, and ten days at base camp. Today, he’d made it a whole half a mile before oxygen deprivation made it feel as if his chest was about to explode.

If it exploded in Gray’s clinic, Emmitt was SOL and would likely spend the next six weeks playing invalid on his couch. Then another scenario came to mind, one involving a sexy nurse-not-nurse who was—lucky him—into cheeky cut lace and possessed the softest hands he’d ever had the pleasure of being shoved with.

Would you look at that. Emmitt was suddenly all smiles. Teasing her last night had been fun. Better than fun, amusing. It was also one hell of a diversion from his other problems. Now, though, he needed to focus, get back into fighting shape. At least appear as if he wouldn’t buckle under the force of a gentle summer’s breeze.

Emmitt had one goal here: Convince Gray to clear him so he could get back to work.

Because, while Gray didn’t approve of doctors who fudged on medical forms, Carmen made it clear that she wasn’t going to risk sending an injured journalist on any kind of assignment, even the editorial variety—which was total bullshit—until a doctor cleared him. Neither his charm nor his Fear Nothing style of journalism was going to help him this time.

Emmitt had searched for a loophole that would allow him to keep working, without any luck. Carmen seemed fine being down one—take any assignment no matter how insane—journalist, and Emmitt was slowly going nuts being forced to sit stationary while stories were breaking somewhere in the world.

Maybe it was the thrill-seeker in him, or maybe it was that ten-year-old boy who needed answers to impossible questions, but photojournalism was in his blood. He didn’t want to be so pretentious as to say it was his calling, but no matter how difficult the topic or how dangerous the landscape, something inside him refused to let it go.

Everyone deserved to have their story told. Emmitt sought out stories from the silenced, the ignored, and the so completely marginalized the rest of humanity was unaware of their struggles.

There wasn’t enough time in the world to tell every person’s story, but Emmitt was committed to shining the light on as many as possible. So every day he rode the bench over a stupid doctor’s note was another missed opportunity to share someone’s story.

There was no way Gray would clear Emmitt for work if he knew the extent of the accident and injuries. His co-parent wasn’t the kind of guy who could be bribed, bought, or charmed into looking the other way. Something that shouldn’t piss off Emmitt the way it did.

When it came to his work, Emmitt had implemented his own strict code of ethics—and had never wavered. Didn’t mean he was above misleading or manipulating a situation if it kept him from the truth. Unfortunately, the good doctor had but one kryptonite—and she was off limits.

Emmitt would bathe in BBQ chip dust and play punch-tag with a rabid grizzly before ever bringing Paisley into this. Which left him with just one option. He wasn’t particularly proud of his game plan, but he was desperate. And desperate men did desperate things. Like lie to a man who could remove Emmitt’s kidney while he slept.

Dragging in a few deep breaths, Emmitt wiped his brow and entered the waiting room of the clinic. The place was hopping with patients, ringing phones, and intercom pages. Behind the table sat Rosalie, who ran the front office with the efficiency of an air traffic controller.

Emmitt didn’t know which was older, the town of Rome or Rosalie Kowalski. As far as he knew, she had been the office manager since before Dr. Tanner Senior hung out his shield sometime in the sixties.

Most people had assumed that when Gray graduated from med school he would come back to Rome and join the family practice. Anyone who knew Gray, like really knew him, would explain he was the kind of guy who liked to earn his accolades. Who always took the right path, even when it was the hardest.

Emmitt respected that. Respected him even more when, after his grandfather had a stroke, Gray gave up a lofty position in Boston to help his father with the practice until he could find another partner.

Then he’d met Michelle and decided Rome was where he wanted to be after all. Love was funny that way.

“Well, look who’s here,” Rosalie said, managing two phones at once. At first glance, the silver bun and perpetually nose-perched glasses brought to mind a plumper Professor McGonagall from Hogwarts. But while Rosalie had played Mrs. Claus in every Rome Christmas parade since the beginning of time, she was also the leader of Grannie Pack, a motorcycle club for people fifty-five and older. “Our own hometown hero.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I bet those women you pulled from the fire would disagree.” Rosalie placed a pudgy hand to her chest. “Putting their lives before your own. We couldn’t be prouder.”

Emmitt itched the back of his neck. “The women?”

“Yes, the group of Future Female Engineers of the World who were visiting the plant the day of the explosion. I heard you saved them all in one fell swoop.”

Emmitt cringed. The only way to keep his condition quiet was to say as little as possible. But instead of slowing the gossip, people took his silence as permission to fill in whatever holes were missing from his story.

In small town speak, people were flat-out lying.

“The lengths I’ll go through to get a pretty lady’s number.” The only numbers he’d received were from his doctor. The number of ribs fractured. Number of shrapnel pieces extracted. The number of days he’d been unresponsive. The number of months it would take to recover.

And the number of ways he was damned lucky to still be alive. Twenty-two women, eleven men, and nine children couldn’t say the same.

Emmitt had reported on a lot of disasters over his career. One of the worst was a story he’d covered in Iraq when a truck bomb detonated three feet from the walls of a Marine base. It took seventy-three soldiers two weeks to locate all the genetic material belonging to the fourteen downed Marines, twenty-one civilian contractors, nine local workers, and six naval hospital corpsmen caught in the blast.

Soldiers go into a war zone trained to keep atrocities from happening, but equally trained in case the worst happens. In China, these were day laborers in a concrete plant. Moms and dads who felt safe enough that many of them brought their young children to the day care located just outside the factory.

The knot in his stomach tightened and squeezed, which made his eyes burn with grit and his head pound double time.

Rosalie watched him with growing concern.

He was tempted to tell her it wasn’t necessary. He was concerned enough for the two of them. And, before she got it in her head that he needed feeling sorry for, he flashed her enough pearly whites to thoroughly rattle her. It was one of those half-smile, half-grin deals that released a set of double-barreled dimples he’d hated as a kid but came to appreciate the moment he started appreciating women.

“I’m still waiting for your number, Rosalie,” he said and, would you look at that, it worked like a charm.

He’d rather be home rattling his new roomie, but she’d snuck out of the house before he could see what color scrubs she had on today. And wasn’t that a damn shame.

“Why are you sweet-talking me, Emmitt?”

“If you have to ask, then you’re long overdue for some sweet talk and pampering. So why don’t you call that uptight boss of yours out here. I’ll set him straight.”

“My boss treats me just fine. And he’s too busy to be bothered by you.”

“So the doc in, then?”

“Depends. You have an appointment?” Rosalie’s smile vanished.

“No, but—”

“No appointment. No entry. You know the rules.”

Emmitt liked to bend the rules whenever possible, and if he happened to screw with Gray’s schedule in the process, all the better. “It will just take a minute.”

“Dr. Tanner doesn’t have a minute. You see this waiting room?” She pointed to the overly full room of patients. “He has a packed schedule, one of the nurses called in sick, and there’s an outbreak of scabies going around the elementary school.”

On second glance, Emmitt noticed that the room was filled with moms and kids. Itching and scratching kids. “Trust me, I’ll make it quick.”

Emmitt had slept in some of the worst conditions humanity had to offer, dined on crickets before it was a delicacy, and covered every pandemic from malaria to Ebola and a recent outbreak of H1N1. But there was something about little bugs feasting on his skin that wigged him out.

Rosalie shook her head. “It’s a no.”

“I just need a minute.”

“I heard you the first time.” Rosalie crossed her arms and looked ready to take him down if necessary.

“Look, golden boy told me to stop by today.”

“I have two PhDs,” Gray said from the hallway. Glasses on, face buried in a file, he looked to be treating the scabies breakout singlehandedly. “I’m not a boy. And why are you here?” He paused. “Jesus, don’t tell me it’s because you can’t pick up Paisley anymore? You can’t bail thirty minutes before on me.”

“I’m not bailing,” Emmitt said, the Fuck you, dickwad clear in his tone. He might have lost a little track of time, but he’d never bail last minute on his kid. Especially not four months after losing her mom. “You told me to drop by. So here I am.”

“I told you to drop by this morning.” Gray pointed to his watch. “I don’t know how time works in your world, but for the rest of us, morning comes after sunrise and before lunch. Come back tomorrow. Morning.”

Emmitt didn’t have a big brother. Growing up, it was just him and his pops. If he’d had one, though, he imagined the guy would be as annoying as Gray.

“Can’t. And I don’t want to be late picking up Paisley. That would be... what did you guys call it the other day? Oh yeah, a bad dad move.” Repeating the comment stung, almost as much as it had when the guys had uttered it last night. “So we’d better make this quick, Doc.”

They exchanged glances. Neither one gave.

Gray crossed his arms. Emmitt followed suit. Same went for the glare. But when the boy with the ketchup stain on his upper lip—who’d been scratching his junk a moment ago—dropped his Matchbox car and it started rolling toward Emmitt, he pointed to Gray’s watch.

“Tick tock.” He tapped with his middle finger.

“Fine.” Gray handed a stack of files to Rosalie. “Could you push back Tommy Harper by five minutes. And if that five turns into six, buzz in and pretend I have a call so I can kick him out.”

Offended, Him said, “I’m right here.”

Gray ignored him and began walking back toward his office. “Five minutes. I’ll be watching my clock,” Rosalie said to Emmitt.

He gave a respectful salute, then headed down the hallway, surprised to locate Gray in an exam room instead of his office.

Emmitt walked past the exam table, which was prepped for a thorough checkup, and plopped down on the chair usually reserved for the patient’s plus one.

Sitting back, he leaned his head against the wall, sprawled his legs all the way out, sure to take up as much territory as possible. While the position helped with the dizziness and alleviated some of the soreness, he had to admit that the agitated way Gray moved around Emmitt’s legs was even better.

Emmitt took great pleasure in ruffling the good doctor’s lab coat every once in a while.

“So what brings you in?” Gray asked.

“Do I need a reason to visit my domestic partner?”

“We don’t live together, so we aren’t domestic partners.” Gray took the Velcro thing from the wall and wrapped it around Emmitt’s arm—tightly.

Emmitt opened his mouth to respond—and in went the thermometer.

Gray pressed his finger to Emmitt’s wrist and silently checked his watch. He was grinning as if he found some kind of sick pleasure in making Emmitt follow the rules.

“How’s my pulse?” he asked around the thermometer.

Gray lifted a single brow and struck his serious guy pose. “Did you swim back from China?”

“No.”

“Then it’s not good.”

“The closer my proximity to assholes, the higher it gets.”

The thermometer beeped. “It’s 98.9.” Gray coiled the stethoscope back around his neck and took a seat. “What happened in China? And before you give me some half-baked answer, like you did last night, remember I can order a whole panel of random tests if I think you’re wasting my time.”

Needles and being controlled were two big triggers for Emmitt. One came from watching a parent slowly die, the other from being on the receiving end of the remaining parent’s coping techniques.

“I pretty much told you all of it,” Emmitt began, choosing his words carefully. He needed to give enough info so Gray would clear him but not so much that he started asking more questions. “One of the silos failed, whatever warning system was in place failed, and kaboom.” His hand became a bomb, his fingers sizzling fireworks.

“What I read online doesn’t sound as benign as you’re making it out to be.”

“It wasn’t. Over sixty people died,” he said, unable to look anywhere but his lap. “It looked like a war zone, bro.” He could still hear the screaming of the people stuck inside who—if they weren’t lucky enough to pass out from the toxic smoke—were burned alive. He woke up every night to the lingering scent of smoldering ashes. “I was on the other side of the factory when it blew, so I was nowhere near the blast area. Most of my injuries were from flying shrapnel. I got off easy.”

The sound Gray made said he strongly disagreed. “Are you talking to someone about it? These kinds of traumatic—”

“Yes, Dr. Phil. They brought in grief counselors and made all of us talk to someone at the hospital.” Emmitt had been unconscious for the first part, and sweet-talked his way out of the last. Rehashing it wouldn’t help. The only thing he could think about was getting home and hugging his kid. That hug would feel better than anything some shrink could have given him.

“Good to hear. I started seeing one after Michelle—” Gray cleared his throat. “It helped. A lot.” Before Emmitt could ask how he was doing, the good doctor was back to doctoring. “Did any of that flying shrapnel hit you in the head?”

Emmitt looked him directly in the eye and didn’t waiver. A convincing technique he’d picked up while imbedded with a team of SEALs in Fallujah. When people lie, their gaze tended to shy away. Maintaining eye contact was an easy way to convince someone of your truthfulness—even when you’re lying.

“Everyone was hit with little particles, but beside some lacerations from concrete and a few bruises, nothing major.” Not a lie. It was the crumbling floor above him that did the real damage.

“Then you want to tell me why you couldn’t sit still last night? Hell, you couldn’t follow the card game.”

Yup, Emmitt had been stupid enough to mention the embarrassing shrapnel he’d taken in the ass. Levi had asked him how badly he’d been injured, Emmitt had panicked, and out came the one part of the whole unlucky event that they’d never let him live down.

Better than spilling the truth though. Paisley was clearly having a tough time with her mom gone, and coming clean on all the details would have done nothing but unnecessarily worry her.

“Hard to concentrate on cards when the table is bitching like a bunch of biddies.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re so moody. Plus, you look like shit. How have you been sleeping?”

“As well as a man can when forced to sleep on his own recliner,” Emmitt said, and the dickhead had the nerve to smile, as if finding Emmitt’s current living situation hilarious. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“You have a problem, talk to your property manager.”

“Levi may have agreed, but I know damn well it was because you pressed him,” Emmitt said. “A heads-up would have been nice.”

“If you’d kept in touch, I would have warned you.” Gray picked up his pen and the little notebook he always carried, as if he hadn’t been informed of the computer revolution. “Okay, here’s how this will work. You want me to clear you? You have to be up-front with me.”

Emmitt gave a noncommittal shrug. “What more do you want to know?”

“Were there any complications from the blast that you’re not telling me?”

“That would affect my ability to read and edit words?” When Gray waited for Emmitt to answer his own question, he sat up, and the sudden movement caused the throb in his head to settle behind his eyes. “No, Gray, I can read and write just fine.”

“Doesn’t matter. When you’re hurt on the job, you need to be fully recovered before returning—you know this.”

“You’ve been talking to Carmen.”

He closed his notepad. “I took an oath, which is why I’ll need to see the file from the hospital in China before we go any further.”

“I don’t have one.” That was the truth. “They released me. I flew home. The only paperwork I got was a bill for my insurance company. Even if I did have my medical papers from the hospital stay, which I don’t, they’d be in Mandarin.”

“Then you’ll need to call the hospital where you were treated. After they e-mail me their findings, we’ll schedule an appointment for a proper checkup.”

“Are you serious?” Emmitt scoffed. “Is this because I’m claiming my right to take Paisley to the father-daughter dance?”

Gray lifted a judgmental brow.

Okay, that came out a little angrier than he’d anticipated but, Jesus effing Christ. Why did Gray have to be such a Boy Scout all the time? Emmitt wasn’t asking for clearance to drop into a hot zone from thirty thousand feet up. All he wanted was to finish the article he’d started, which required a few more interviews and pictures.

His camera and computer had made it back to Rome, but most of his notes and all the digital recordings Emmitt had compiled for the story were accidentally shipped to the home office in New York and were now being held hostage by Carmen.

“How about we make a deal?” The throb in his head had settled firmly behind his eyes. “You send Carmen an e-mail stating that I’m good to go and I promise not to take any new assignments until after the dance.”

“Lie to Carmen Lowell?” Gray laughed. “That woman isn’t going to let you off the hook until you apologize for every transgression since you met her.”

“Which is why I need a doctor’s note. Then it wouldn’t be up to her. HR would step in and she’d have to let me finish the story.”

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe the order came from HR and Carmen was just the messenger?”

No, Emmitt hadn’t. He’d been so frustrated by the entire situation that he’d just assumed it was another one of her Carm-trums. “Remember when she sent me on a last-minute assignment to Moscow, booked me a flight that landed at three a.m. in the middle of January, only the person I was supposed to interview was in Moscow, Kansas?”

“And the story wasn’t even yours to cover?” Gray had the nerve to laugh. “I warned you about mixing business and pleasure, Em. What can I say, you made your bed—not my problem that she’s still pissed to no longer be in it. But backburning a story and having to redo the entire layout of the magazine seems a little extreme, even for Carmen.”

“I’m not so sure.” But if Carmen wasn’t behind it, that meant the higher-ups made the call, and he needed to get Gray on board more than ever.

“Either way, you see why I have to do this by the book. If I clear you and then you’re further injured on the job, I’m opening up myself and the hospital to a lawsuit.”

“We both know I’d never sue you,” Emmitt scoffed. “You’re just making shit up because you get off controlling my life.”

“Life isn’t always about you and what you need, Em,” Gray said in that calm zen way of his that pissed Emmitt off. “When my practice merged with Rome General, I had to adopt an entire binder of rules and a board I answer to. We can’t all run around the world making up the rules as we go.”

As far as direct hits went, that one sank his proverbial battleship.

Emmitt didn’t globe-trot just for the hell of it. He had bills to pay, a college fund to contribute to. His job afforded him the opportunity to take Paisley on amazing trips around the world and explore places she’d never know of otherwise. She wasn’t old enough to have a driver’s license, but she had a stamp in her passport from four of the seven continents. Her upcoming graduation present—visiting the penguins of Antarctica—would bring that number to a whopping five.

From the moment Paisley had come into Emmitt’s life, Gray had always managed to have the advantage. He had a say in what weekends and holidays Emmitt got to spend with his own kid, how Paisley was raised. He even had the nerve to school Emmitt on what kind of gift was considered “too extravagant.”

Yes, Gray had been in Paisley’s life since before she could remember. And yes, Emmitt was thankful every day that Michelle had someone to help her raise Paisley. But just because Gray had showed up first to the race—a race Emmitt didn’t even know he’d been entered in until Paisley had turned five—that didn’t make him a better dad.

“You’re right, I don’t play by the rules. Funny how if it benefits you, like when I didn’t go after custody when Michelle died, it’s the noble thing. But when there’s nothing in it for you, I’m being selfish.”

Gray went so very still he didn’t even breathe. He just sat as if trying to register what Emmitt had said. When he spoke, it was barely a whisper, “You considered going for custody?”

“Damn right I did. She’s my kid.”

“She’s mine too,” Gray said, and Emmitt watched as the truth settled on the other man like a concrete slab. “Are you still? Thinking of going for custody?”

“I don’t know.” It was an honest answer to a difficult question he’d been struggling with since the day Paisley had called him in hysterical tears to tell him about Michelle’s accident. At the time, he knew leaving her in her childhood home was the right call.

But a lot had happened since then, and Emmitt had started questioning his decision.

“Paisley is my life,” Gray said. “The day I asked Michelle to marry me, I also asked Paisley if I could be her stepdad. And the day of the accident when I went to see Michelle, I promised I’d take care of Paisley.”

“That’s the thing, man,” Emmitt said, standing so he could face Gray head-on. “You always assume you’re the only one fit to take care of her. Did it ever cross your mind that she has a dad to keep her safe and wipe away the tears? That she has me?” Emmitt pressed his palm to his heart, as if the act alone would heal everything.

“How could I? You never let me forget,” Gray accused. “But you always manage to forget that I’m the guy who’s raised her since she was small.”

“Not by my choice. If I’d known I had a kid, I would have been there from day one.”

“I know.” Gray sat down, resting his forehead in his palm. “Michelle said it was her biggest regret. But she also made it clear, she wanted Paisley to live with me.”

Emmitt sat too. Or maybe his legs gave under the mounting insecurity that nugget of information had caused. “I know.”

“Stability and routine are extremely important for a kid who is suffering loss. Mixing things up now could have horrible repercussions.”

“I know. You don’t need to lecture me.”

“I mean, my house is the only home she knows.”

“I know, Gray. Which is why I didn’t sue.” That and because Paisley had told him at the funeral that she wanted to stay with Gray. It wasn’t a great conversation; in fact, it made Emmitt question what he was doing wrong. It seemed the longer he stayed in Rome, the more problematic his presence became, until every step forward with his family felt as if it complicated their routine—which was so vital to keeping Paisley’s life on track.

After the funeral, tensions were at an all-time high, and Paisley struggled to keep it together, spending more and more time away from home to avoid talking about her feelings. The last thing she needed was one more dad asking her how she was handling things.

In the end, Emmitt felt about as effective as a pinball machine flipper. All he wanted was to be her rock during that painful time. What he became was one more bumper for her to collide with, so he accepted an assignment where he felt useful—and Paisley had one less person to worry about.

“She’s my world. Especially now with Michelle gone.” Gray’s voice hollowed out on the last word. “She’s as much my kid as if she were biologically mine. Loving someone more would be virtually impossible.”

And when he met Emmitt’s gaze, a blast of raw agony hit him square in the chest. It was almost as humbling as the guy’s love for Paisley. That was what always kept Emmitt in check. That another man in the world loved Paisley as fiercely as Emmitt.

Last night, Annie had implied he rattled people for amusement, and he’d quickly laughed it off. Listening now to Gray, Emmitt didn’t feel much like laughing.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “She isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Where she wants to stay is her choice. I don’t like that it’s your place, but I’d never put her in a situation where she felt she had to choose between us. And I’d never stand in the way of her happiness.”

“Same,” Gray said with a rough chuckle, calling a truce.

Emmitt didn’t mind ruffling the good doctor’s lab cost occasionally, knocking him off his high horse. Michelle had always let the guys have their fun with each other—because they were all jackasses—but now they’d lost their buffer.

They’d lost the heart of their patchwork family. And they were all feeling her absence. The loss of her love.

“Paisley loves you, Em. She loves when you are around, and when you’re gone she talks about you constantly. You’re the fun dad, the one she brags about. Her love for me doesn’t detract from the way she loves you.”

The warm burst Emmitt usually experienced when talking about his daughter was slow to come. This time it was overshadowed by a dull longing that had slowly built over the past few months.

God, he was homesick. But for some unexplained reason, Emmitt didn’t feel as if he’d made it home yet. In thirty minutes he was going to see his baby for the first time in months, and he felt about as uncertain as the first day he’d met her.