The Surgeon's New-Year Wedding Wish (8 page)

So they had finally gotten a hold of Trevor’s mother. “Okay, I’ll go talk to her after I check on Trevor’s condition.”

“He’s doing very well,” Carrie, one of the ICU nurses, said. “We’ve been checking on him, too.”

She smiled, understanding the nurse’s concern. Between the father and son, they were treating a family. She went down to the pod of ICU beds they used for pe
diatrics, located on the other side of the room from the adult side, and found Trevor. He did look great. No fever, vitals stable, and breathing comfortably on the vent.

They could probably wean him off the ventilator in the morning, but for now his young body was still under the effects of anethesia. After writing a follow-up note in his chart, she went down to the family center to find Mrs. Wolsky.

Leila found her right away. She’d obviously been crying, and yet she jumped to her feet the moment Leila walked in. “Dr. Ross?”

“Yes, I’m Dr. Ross. Your son Trevor is doing great, we’re hoping to get that breathing tube out in the morning. I’ve also just completed surgery on your husband, Carl. He’s still very critical. His heart may have suffered a little damage, but he’s stable at the moment.”

“That’s good news about Trevor. Carl, well, it’s good news about him, too, I guess, but we’re divorced now. For almost six months.”

Leila wasn’t too surprised. “I understand. Is there someone else we should contact for Carl?”

“He’s not married or seeing anyone that I know of. I’ve called his mother, she’s heading down from Minneapolis.” Mrs. Wolsky sniffled loudly and blew her nose in a crumpled tissue. “Is it true? Dr. Torres told me that Carl’s alcohol level was twice the legal limit.”

What? Why on earth had Quinn told her about Carl’s alcohol level? That was confidential information, even if the woman was the patient’s wife, which she wasn’t! Although, the boy’s injuries were significant enough to
warrant potential legal action, she still thought Quinn had stepped over the line, big-time. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give you that information. You’ll need to get what you need from the police report.”

The woman’s eyes filled with tears. “Don’t you care about Trevor? I share joint custody with Carl, but he almost killed our son!”

“I’m sorry,” Leila said helplessly. She understood this woman’s pain, but her hands were tied. And Quinn shouldn’t have told her about the blood alcohol level either. “I know this is a difficult time for you. But Trevor is doing fine. Carl might not be so lucky. Count your blessings for now and worry about the rest later.”

Trevor’s mother nodded and blew her nose again. Leila made sure she didn’t have any other questions before she left.

But she didn’t go back up to the ICU. Instead, she marched straight down to the ED, looking for Quinn.

The man had some explaining to do.

Q
UINN
finished writing the admission orders on his last patient, the final task he’d needed to complete before he could go home. Jadon had come in and had been immediately sidetracked by a patient who’d shown up in the midst of a heart attack, which had meant Quinn had to finish the dispositions of the few patients remaining in the arena.

Not that he minded. Heck, since it had been a long evening, the hour a few minutes past eleven-thirty, Quinn figured things could have been worse. He was getting off his shift early for a change.

Just as he left the arena, though, to head to the lounge for his coat, Leila arrived, approaching him with a determined stride. “Quinn, I need to talk to you.”

Normally he would have been thrilled at having Leila come and find him, but the glint of fury in her eyes warned him he wasn’t going to like this. “What’s wrong?”

She steered him into the staff lounge, closing the door behind her with a loud click. “I just finished speaking to Josephine Wolsky, that’s what’s wrong. What in the world were you thinking?”

He wasn’t in the mood for this. He was tired and he wanted to go home. Trevor’s tiny bruised face still haunted him, although he’d called earlier up to the ICU and the nurse had told him the boy was doing fine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Quinn. You told her what Carl’s blood alcohol level was,” she accused, her hands planted on her slim hips. “You broke every privacy rule there is by giving her confidential patient information!”

“Oh, really? I broke the rules? What rights does eight-year-old Trevor have, huh?” He couldn’t believe she was so upset. “Who’s looking out for his best interests? Certainly not his father. As Trevor’s legal guardian, I believe his mother had a right to know the truth.” She didn’t, according to the letter of the law, but Quinn didn’t care. Given the same set of circumstances, he would do the same thing again.

“She has joint custody with Carl,” Leila said stubbornly. “The boy’s father has rights, too.”

“Does that mean he had the right to drive under the influence with his child in the car?” Quinn asked harshly. “I don’t think so. Parents are supposed to protect their children from harm. They’re not supposed to be selfish, doing whatever the hell they want without thinking about the consequences of their reckless actions!”

Her eyes widened at his vehement tone. And for once she didn’t have a snappy comeback.

He blew out a long breath trying to rein in his temper. Trevor’s situation had reminded him too much of Celeste and Danny. Physically, Trevor would probably
recover from his injuries, but what about emotionally? From Danny, he knew only too well that emotional wounds healed much more slowly than physical ones.

If they healed at all.

Exhausted from the emotional effects of his shift, Quinn abruptly dropped into a chair and cradled his head in his hands. Maybe he had crossed the line with Trevor’s case. But only in an attempt to help an eight-year-old boy who never should have been in the car with his intoxicated father in the first place.

He felt Leila sink down beside him, her hand soft and gentle on his shoulder. She kneaded the tense muscles of his shoulders, offering wordless comfort.

The action drained the rest of his anger. With a resigned sigh, he lifted his gaze to hers. “You’re right. I should have kept the information about Carl’s alcohol level confidential, encouraging Trevor’s mother to get a copy of the police report to get the information she needed. I’m certain the district attorney will press charges against the guy.” Slowly he shook his head. “I don’t know why I told her, other than the fact I was just so angry.”

“I know.” Leila’s voice was soft. “I understand.”

He knew she assumed he was relating Trevor’s situation to Danny, but Leila didn’t know the whole sordid story.

But his past couldn’t remain hidden forever. It was only a matter of time.

Leila kept her hand on his shoulder, leaning closer to him. He inhaled her sweet scent, letting the warmth fill his head. Just being with her made him feel better.
And she had to be more exhausted than he was. He’d heard she’d been in the OR with Carl for hours.

Reaching up, he covered her small yet skilled surgeon’s hand with his. In a heartbeat the slight touch changed, shimmering with tension.

He turned toward her, pinning her with his gaze as he slid his hand up her slender arm until he could gently cup her face. She didn’t move away.

Her mouth was so close, he couldn’t help himself. He needed to kiss her more than he needed to eat, sleep or breathe. How could he crave something as simple as a kiss? How was it that he couldn’t seem to stay away from this woman?

Sex, he reminded himself, masterfully taking possession of her mouth and reveling in her response as her fingers tightened in his shirt. This was only about sex.

He couldn’t allow it to feel like something more.

The door to the lounge opened and then shut again. Just as quickly as whoever had walked in, they’d decided they’d better leave the entwined pair alone.

Regretfully, he lifted his head, pulling oxygen into his lungs with a deep breath, realizing this wasn’t the time or the place for this.

“Quinn,” she whispered. He loved the way she said his name. She was so beautiful, she made his heart ache.

“Just say the word and I’ll take you home.” His voice was hoarse with need. It was a rash promise, but he didn’t care. He wanted her. Danny was home, sleeping. There was plenty of time to get home before Danny was likely to get up.

No matter what, he was determined to be home in the morning when Danny woke up.

“I can’t. Carl’s condition is tenuous. I need to stay here tonight.”

The stark regret in her eyes helped soothe his ego. He understood there would be times, like now, when patient care had to come first.

Heck, his son would
always
come first.

Reluctantly he nodded and took a step back, putting a bit of space between them. Not that the action helped take the edge off his need. “All right. Hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Are you working tomorrow, Wednesday?” she asked.

“Yes. Are you on call?”

“No. Not until Thursday.”

Great. Their schedules were completely opposite, which would make their ability to find time alone that much more difficult. “Call me,” he said in a low, urgent tone. “We’ll figure something out.”

“All right.”

Trying to be satisfied with at least her acknowledgment that they’d see each other again soon, he turned to leave. But then he couldn’t help glancing back at her over his shoulder. Her scrubs were slightly askew, her hair tumbling around her shoulders in a silken cloud, having come loose from the rubber band sometime during their kiss.

Walking through the doorway and continuing through to the employee parking lot outside took every ounce of willpower he possessed.

The next morning, Quinn woke up early so that he wouldn’t scare Danny again by sleeping too soundly.
Despite the fact that the kids were on winter break from school, his son still tended to rise early.

Danny ran into his room at seven sharp and this time Quinn was ready. He opened one eye and levered himself up on his elbow before Danny managed to reach the bed. Of course, Danny moved a lot more slowly on crutches than he did with two good legs.

“How is your leg feeling?” Quinn asked.

Good. It doesn’t hurt anymore. What’s for breakfast?

Food. His son was always interested in food. He grinned. “I don’t know. Is Auntie D. up yet?”

I didn’t see her
, Danny signed.

Hmm. Odd, since Delores usually made it a habit to be up earlier than Danny. Quinn hid a yawn and swung his legs out of bed. If Delores wasn’t up yet, he needed to make coffee. Fast.

“All right, let’s go find something to eat,” he told Danny. “I’ll make some bacon and eggs.”

Danny’s eyes widened in surprise.
Auntie D. is going to be mad. She says that stuff is going to clog your arteries
.

In his opinion, Auntie D. read too many health magazines. “She can’t be mad if she’s the one who overslept,” Quinn pointed out.

Danny’s cocky grin boosted his mood. They headed into the kitchen, two conspirators in search of real man-food.

Coffee was the first order of business, but as Quinn was frying up the bacon, Delores came out of her bedroom. “Good morning,” she said in a strained tone, completely oblivious to their sacrilegious breakfast fare.

“Good morning.” Quinn frowned. “What’s wrong? You look like you haven’t slept much.”

“I’ve been sick to my stomach half the night,” she confessed. Delores sat down hard in a chair at the kitchen table, as if her legs had refused to support her. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Alarmed, he crossed over to her. “Do you have a fever?”

“Not according to the thermometer,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “But my whole body aches and the nausea is nonstop.”

Quinn tried to hide the extent of his concern. Delores could simply have flu. Yet as much as she insisted on eating healthily, she was in her early sixties. Maybe this was a prelude to a heart condition? “When’s the last time you’ve seen a doctor?” he asked.

She winced a little. “Close to eighteen months. I’m a bit overdue.”

It had been eighteen months since Celeste had died. She’d put off going to the doctor because of him and Danny. “Not anymore. You’re going in today,” Quinn said firmly. “I’ll take you myself.”

“Nonsense. All this fuss for a touch of flu.” Her voice did seem stronger. “Finish making breakfast. I’ll be fine.”

Quinn glanced at his son, who was watching the adults with wide eyes. Since he knew Danny was hungry, he would finish breakfast first. But Delores was going in to see someone today, whether she liked it or not.

“Danny, come over here and help me with the toast,” Quinn said, distracting his son with the task. “Delores,
would you like to try some toast? It might settle your stomach.”

“Sure,” she said gamely, although the expression on her face was one of hesitation.

“Danny, will you make five pieces of toast?” he asked.

Yes
. Danny nodded. He used the step stool to reach the toaster on the counter, propping his crutches nearby. Quinn continued to chat as they worked, Danny interjecting with the occasional sign language question, but Quinn knew his son was still worried about Delores.

He was concerned, too.

She seemed better after she’d eaten some toast. Quinn relaxed a bit as he and Danny finished breakfast and then took care of cleaning up the dishes as well. But it was only about an hour later when he heard Delores being sick again in the bathroom.

Danny was playing video games in the living room, so Quinn knocked softly on the door. “Delores? Are you all right?”

There was a long silence before she finally answered the door, looking pale and shaky. “I don’t think so,” she admitted.

“That’s it,” he decided. “I’m taking you to the ED now.”

She didn’t argue and that was nearly as alarming as listening to her being sick.

Quinn tried to hide the extent of his concern from his son. “Hey, Danny, get your hat and coat. We’re going to take Auntie D. to see the doctor so she can get some medicine for her tummyache.”

Okay.
Danny readily abandoned his video-game controls to hunt for his outerwear.

Quinn knew he could have called for an ambulance, but Delores wasn’t that badly off and his house was only five minutes from the hospital. They’d be there quicker than it would take for the ambulance to get dispatched. He helped Delores with her coat and then bundled Danny, his crutches and Delores into the car.

At the hospital, he took Danny inside with Delores, because he didn’t have much of a choice. The staff immediately put Delores on a heart monitor and drew some blood to check her electrolytes. Shortly thereafter, Seth pulled Quinn aside.

“Her heart is throwing some premature beats, so we’re going to work her up for an MI. We’ve called the cardiologist, just in case.”

Damn, Delores’s illness was more serious than he’d thought. He’d shrugged off her symptoms as flu but he should have insisted on bringing her in right away. “All right, keep me posted.” He walked back into her room to fetch Danny, anxious to protect his son from the seriousness of his aunt’s illness. “Come on, let’s take a little walk. I’ll show you where I work.”

Cool
.

He took Danny through the main arena, introducing him to some of the staff, and then took him into the staff lounge area, thinking there had to be something back there to help keep the boy occupied for a while. There were snacks, of course, the ED staff always had snacks, but he finally unearthed a deck of playing cards and showed Danny how to play solitaire the old-fashioned way, rather than on the computer.

“Dr. Torres?” Susan poked her head into the staff lounge about fifteen minutes later. “Dr. Taylor wants to talk to you.”

“Stay here for a few minutes, Danny, all right? I’ll be back shortly.”

Danny nodded, his attention on the game.

Quinn hurried to find Seth. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, the good news is that so far Delores’s cardiac enzymes and her troponin level aren’t too high. We’ve given her a little fluid and she’s been feeling better. But given her age and risk factors, the cardiologist would still like to do a cardiac catheterization, just in case.”

“Has she agreed to the procedure?” Quinn asked.

Seth grimaced. “No. We could use your help with that. Michael Hendricks, the cardiologist, tried to get her consent but she refused.”

“I’ll see what I can do to convince her,” Quinn said, knowing the woman could be pigheaded and stubborn. He pasted a smile on his face as he entered her room. “I hear you’re feeling better.”

“Well enough to go home.” The spark was back in her eyes. “I guess I was dehydrated, my electrolytes had gotten out of whack. Tell them to let me go home.”

“Don’t be too hasty,” Quinn chided. He knew IV fluids would make her feel better, but right now flu was the least of her concerns. “Your heart put out a few irregular beats, and they’d like to do a procedure just to be sure you’re all right.”