Read Third Degree Online

Authors: Julie Cross

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Women's Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Romance, #Contemporary, #New Adult & College, #Contemporary Fiction

Third Degree (31 page)

BOOK: Third Degree
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“Uh-uh.” I shake my head at him. “You don’t get to do the I’m-a-normal-dad-who-watches-football routine. We both know you’re here just to make an appearance, and you’re minutes away from escaping and locking yourself in your office to review patient charts and hope for a Thanksgiving heart attack to roll through the ER doors.”

Dad laughs, then pulls me in close, kissing the top of my head. “Okay, you got me. Obviously your holiday spirit crushes mine. I’m not even sure implanting a pacemaker in a patient with hypertrophic obstructive cardiomyopathy could drag you away from all the Thanksgiving festivities.”

“What?” I say. “Do you mean you’re—”

Just then, from the corner of my eye, I spot Chief O’Reilly talking to a middle-aged woman whose hair is perfectly in place and who’s wearing a perfectly tailored pants suit. I quickly slide in front of Marshall, hiding myself. He rests both hands on my shoulders, squeezing
a little as if to ask me what’s wrong.

“What is
she
doing here?” I hiss at Dad.

“Who?” He glances around, his forehead wrinkled. “Your mother?”

“No, not Mom. I know why
she’s
here. And I refuse to get in the middle of your awkward lack of communication,” I snap, leaning closer. “
Her
 … Dr. Winifred James, Ph.D.”

“Right.
Her
.” Dad’s eyebrows lift and he rocks back onto his heels. “I’ll go over and create a diversion.”

I fight the urge to kick him in the shins. Why is he not taking this seriously? She totally ruined my career. All three of us should go over there and kick her in the shins. Is he not on my side? What the hell?

Maybe I’m holding a grudge over things I haven’t been able to confront either of my parents about. I think the birth mother secrets they’ve kept from me combined with the sneaky divorce is making me assume betrayal in every move my dad or mom makes.

Dad sets his coffee cup on an empty table and buttons the front of his lab coat together before walking off toward Chief O’Reilly and … 
her
.

“What am I missing?” Marshall whispers, turning me around to face him.

I slide him sideways about a foot and then stand directly in front of him so that I’m completely hidden. “The shrink—” I start to say, and then correct myself. “She’s not a shrink, actually, because she’s not even a real doctor.”

“Hence the Ph.D. instead of the M.D.,” Marshall concludes. “And …?”

“And she wrote horrible things about me—” I take a breath and turn down my volume a few notches. “She’s the one who flunked me and kept me from becoming a resident.”

“I see.” Marshall steps closer, allowing me to press my face into his shirt. His hand glides up and down my back. “So really, she’s the one I have to thank for us meeting.”

It’s like the floor gets pulled out from under me. I glance up at Marshall. “You’re right! I just didn’t—”

“Think about it that way,” he finishes. “But you could, right?”

I stand up to my full height again, holding my head up, making me visible to all. “I could do that. Totally.” And then I don’t have to feel like such a failure. Like such an inferior medical professional.
Hey, Dr. James, remember that big fat red
F
you wrote on top of my evaluation for residency programs? Well, don’t sweat it, ’cause I got other options. I mean, look at my Thanksgiving date? I know, right? And you should see him without a shirt on. Plus he’s got the most talented mouth when he—

Okay, I probably won’t go that far.

I wrap my fingers around the front of Marshall’s shirt, pulling him down to me. He smells like soap and deodorant, and it’s way more delicious than the Thanksgiving dinner scents
wafting in the air.

“Hey,” I say. “If I forget to tell you later, thanks for coming.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiles and plants a kiss on my forehead. Then his fingers slide down my back and cup my ass, squeezing it gently. “Seeing you in these tight-ass jeans is worth all the drama.”

I laugh and shove him away. I think both of us may be tucking our real feelings inside all these superficial comments about nice asses and nice abs. But I’m not planning on exploring that fact right now. Instead, I’m gonna slap on a happy face and greet my former boss and … 
her
.

I reach for Marshall’s hand, then head over to where my dad is probably discussing the pacemaker he’ll be implanting later on. All three doctors (well … if we’re counting the Ph.D. as a doctor) now have their backs to us.

“We had pediatrics specialists from Mayo and Hopkins consulting on the case via Skype, and none of them got the diagnosis before she did,” Chief O’Reilly is saying. “Both of them had me convinced I needed to quarantine an entire wing of the hospital until we found out what was wrong. You know what that would have cost?”

“I can’t even imagine,” Dr. Winifred James, Ph.D., says.

I stop and squeeze Marshall’s hand so he doesn’t drag me closer. They’re talking about me. About the Kawasaki/leukemia patient from a couple of weeks ago. My confidence fizzles out, and I start to turn around, but Marshall holds me in place and then gives me a shove from behind. I stumble, almost falling into my dad and getting his attention at the same time.

“Isabel,” Chief O’Reilly says, causing all three of them to turn around and create a happy little circle with the five of us. “We were just talking about you.”

“Huh … really?” I clear my throat and touch a hand to Marshall’s chest. “Marshall … this is Chief O’Reilly. He basically runs the entire hospital. Chief, this is Marshall Collins.” I wait for them to shake hands, then force myself to look at Little Miss Uptight and Psychological. “And this is Dr. James. She … um, she—”

“Is head of the psych department,” she finishes for me, reaching out a hand to Marshall, practically X-raying his brain with her eyes.

“I’m pulling a B in anatomy this semester, so I’m sure I’ll feel completely equal in whatever conversations are about to take place,” he says, all charm.

God, is he ever nervous?

All three doctors laugh. “Don’t mind our excessive medical jargon,” O’Reilly says, winking at me. “Sometimes we simply have no idea what else to discuss. We aren’t very well-rounded individuals.”

“Marshall knows,” Dad says to the other two. “I’ve already tried and failed to discuss sports.”

“Let’s talk about Isabel.” Dr. James eyes me again. “I would love to hear what you’ve been up to since we last saw each other.”

You mean when you crushed my dreams?
The blinding anger takes longer to dissolve than I would have liked, and Marshall has to release my hand and rest his fingers on the back of my neck to get me to say something.

“Right.” I glance at my hands, wishing there was an alcoholic drink in them right now. “I’m currently studying at NIU.”

“What are you studying this time?” she asks, a hint of judgment in her voice. Enough judgment to get my blood boiling again.

“Oh, a little bit of everything.”

O’Reilly opens his mouth like he’s ready to move on to a new subject, but Dr. James won’t let it go. “Like what?” she presses.

My jaw tenses, my hands balling at my sides. “Like poetry, darts, bowling, military obstacle courses—I’ve recently mastered the army crawl technique. And plenty of hands-on activity outside of the classroom. It’s amazing what you can do with a well-crafted fake ID. Not to mention the amount of cash some of these students are willing to pay for the simplest of hacking jobs. I can’t believe the lack of security in a state university’s computer system. Takes me fifteen seconds to change an F to an A. I’m pulling in more cash than I ever would as a resident. And I haven’t even broken into the prescription drug peddling market. It’s not like I don’t have plenty of connections. Who knew making money would be so easy, right?” I shrug and try to ignore the fact that both Dad’s and O’Reilly’s mouths are hanging open. “But you know what they say about geniuses—we make excellent criminals. Assuming we don’t have any other options …”

“Oh, boy,” Marshall mutters under his breath.

But Dr. Winifred James, Ph.D., shows no sign of shock or surprise. She folds her arms over her chest and continues her penetrating stare. “You’re angry with me for not giving you a passing evaluation. I understand. If you’d like to come by my office tomorrow morning, we could chat about how you’re feeling right now.”

A dozen different swear words dance around inside my head, but I force myself to say, “No, thank you.”

“What Dr. James is trying to say,” O’Reilly interrupts, throwing a worried glance in Dad’s direction, “is that you impressed a lot of people with your recent diagnosis, the CDC included. They didn’t have to come in here with their rubber suits and shut the place down. The AMA feels you’re too valuable a resource to make you wait the full six months before retesting.” He narrows his eyes at Dr. James. “I’m certain this reevaluation will be much less intrusive than the last.”

I’m a quick thinker, yet my brain is still playing catch-up. I had no idea that so much was riding on diagnosing that three-year-old a couple of weeks ago, nor did I realize until eavesdropping on their conversation minutes ago that anyone besides Justin and Dad knew I’d been consulted. I’m not an employee of any hospital, so it was all unofficial and off the record.

“Wait.” Dad rests a hand on my arm and turns to O’Reilly. “So you’re saying she could be placed in a program very soon? After she meets with Dr. James tomorrow?”

“That’s correct,” O’Reilly says.

I don’t even know how to react. I just stand there, my gaze bouncing between the three doctors, until Dr. James says, “I’ll see you around ten in my office tomorrow, Isabel?”

My head bobs up and down. Dad wraps an arm around my shoulder and turns us in the opposite direction.

“Excuse us,” he says over his shoulder to Dr. James and O’Reilly.

I tug Marshall’s hand dragging him out into the hall with us. I shake out of Dad’s grip. “Did you know about this? You could have given me some warning.”

“I didn’t know anything. You heard me question the chief,” he says, glancing down the long corridor. “We’ll talk about this tonight. I’ve got to go check on my cardiomyopathy patient.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, Dad, whatever. I’m gonna show Marshall around.”

I’m still gripping Marsh’s hand when we head in the opposite direction, toward the back entrance to the ER.

“So,” Marshall says after we turn a corner. “I’m guessing this is turning out to be an unusual day?”

My heart starts pounding. I can’t quite grasp what I’m feeling. Maybe a bunch of things all at once.

“Izzy?” he says, stopping and facing me. “What’s going on in your head? I can’t tell.”

“Me either.” I look him over, hesitant to make eye contact. “What’s going on in
your
head? I mean …”

He gives me that sexy half smile. “I’m excited for you. Do you think it was my tutoring? I felt like I did a pretty good job.”

“Well, I haven’t passed yet,” I remind him. “But yes, of course it’s your tutoring.”

Marshall wraps his arms around my shoulders from behind and drops his mouth to my cheek. “My girlfriend is going to be a surgeon. I won’t even need to work. I can stay at home and watch TV all day and hire a maid. A hot maid. ’Cause you’ll be in surgery all the time and I have needs.”

“Oh, do you?” I spin around to face him. I know he’s only teasing with the references to playing house, probably to avoid stating the obvious, but I’m both grateful and feeling a bit
warm and fuzzy because of it. “Let me show you the best spot in the entire hospital.”

I lead him to a stairwell and up to the third floor, near the peds wing. I open an unmarked door and flip on a light switch, revealing a small bed and nothing else. I close and lock the door behind us, leaning my back against it. Marshall turns in a circle, assessing the room. “The on-call room?”

“It is.” I reach for his shirt and pull him against me. “But if you’re hungry, we can go back and get some turkey and stuffing …”

Marshall reaches above my shoulder and checks the lock a few times before quickly yanking my sweater over my head. “I already ate.”

The clothes on the floor, the pounding of my heart against his, the idea of people everywhere outside the door to this tiny room makes this way more exciting. But it’s not just that. It’s Marshall. He’s gentle, yet direct and controlling. My hands are pinned above my head, my mouth falling open, a gasp escaping when he finally pushes inside me.

Marshall’s mouth drifts up and down my neck, his own groans soft in my ear. “Put your legs around me,” he whispers, his free hand sliding down my thigh and tugging my ankle toward his back.

My thighs squeeze his sides, and we’re so close you couldn’t wedge a sheet of paper between us. He releases my arms and pulls them around his neck. My fingers are in his hair, gripping tight, and then he’s kissing me. His hips freeze and I’m suddenly aware of my own panting. “Don’t stop …”

He pulls back, smiles, and says, “Just for a minute.” And then he’s kissing me again, moving harder and faster until I feel so many things my brain shuts down.

Marshall can turn off the noise. That’s why I love doing this with him. For a few minutes, I don’t think. I just feel.

BOOK: Third Degree
11.35Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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