Will & Patrick Fight Their Feelings (#4) (2 page)

“Well, to be fair,
I
tried but you didn’t want to hear it.”

Will lowers his head in acknowledgement. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

“Ryan’s free to like sex or not. That’s not our business. But he never had the right to abuse you for any reason. Especially not for enjoying sex.”

“But I didn’t enjoy sex with him.” Will lifts his chin defiantly. “I thought I did, but that’s because I had nothing to compare it to.”

Owen smiles softly. “Oh. I see.”

“What?”

“You and Patrick. You’re sleeping with him.”

Will’s heart slips and starts again like he’s been caught breaking the rules, but then he plunges on. “Yes. I am.”

Owen lifts his hands in surrender.

Prickles of heat sting Will’s neck. “I’m attracted to him and he’s attracted to me too. We’re being responsible, using condoms, and both of us enjoy it.” He clenches his jaw, staring at Owen.

“You don’t have to defend your choices to me, Will. But consider one thing: how will this affect your sobriety? A new relationship so soon is against —”

“It’s not a relationship. We’re having sex, not getting married.” He flushes. “Well, we’re not falling in love.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What?”

“You’re taking a big risk here. Your sobriety and, especially with the diabetes, your
life
could be on the line.”

“There’s nothing about what I’m doing with Patrick that makes me want a drink.”

Owen runs a hand over his bald head and sighs. “What about when your grandmother is finally able to secure a divorce, or when Patrick decides he’s no longer interested in playing house in Healing for the sake of Good Works?”

“Both those things will happen whether I’m sleeping with him or not.”

“I know you, Will. Sex without emotional involvement is way outside your comfort zone. It’s not the way you’re built.”

“We
are
involved. We’re friends and we’re in this mess together.” Will tugs at his collar. “If we get some pleasure out of what’s otherwise been a nightmare, why shouldn’t we?”

“I’m urging caution. Nothing more or less.”

“I’m stronger than I have been in a long time, maybe ever. I feel in control of my life.” A cold finger of anxiety slides down his back. Can’t he have this one thing? “Patrick’s not going to hurt me. Isn’t it better that it’s him?”

“You’re a grown man, and I’ve already told you: you don’t need my permission. I hope you’re right. Just make sure you don’t replace one addiction with another.”

Will’s gut clenches. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve done so well since the Vegas debacle, choosing healthier ways to channel your emotions. I’d hate to see you replace an alcoholic high with a sexual one.”

Will swallows and looks at his fingernails. He hasn’t told Owen about Christmas night or the incident in the hotel bar when he’d nearly caved to his urge to drink. A sponsor should know about close calls like that, but Will’s kept it to himself.

His visit to the bar had been a last-ditch, flailing effort to numb his self-loathing with alcohol and denial, but in the end he’d summoned the will to walk away. Sure, Patrick’s appearance had been the catalyst for his choice, but he could have just as easily allowed Patrick’s taunts to push him over the edge. It would’ve been the simple work of seconds to toss back those shots one by one.

But no matter how generous a lover liquor pretends to be, it’s never going to love him back. It’s never going to even like him. Time and again drinking has brought him to his knees and left him with nothing but pain. Liquor and Ryan. Ryan and liquor. For all that Ryan supposedly “took care of him,” the two always ended up going hand in hand.

Owen’s known the truth about Ryan for a long time. It’s Will who’s just figuring it out. 

Owen speaks quietly. “Remember, addicts can rationalize almost anything to get their fix.”

“You sound like Ryan now.” Will shakes his head. “Look, I’m not hurting anyone, and I’m not drinking. I’ll make my own choices without any guilt trips. Frankly, I’ve gone on far too many in my life and the scenery is getting old.”

“Fair enough.”

Will turns to his computer, effectively dismissing Owen, but Owen doesn’t stand. “I just want you to really ask if you’re being truthful with yourself.” His voice is hesitant and Will has to take a deep breath to keep from snapping his response.

“I am. And I’m being up front with Patrick.”

Owen rises from his seat and smiles tentatively. “That’s the best you can do. I’ve got a busy day ahead. I should get to work.” He pauses by the door. “Oh, and check your inbox. Congratulations.”

Will waits until Owen closes the door behind him before reaching into his desk drawer for the sobriety chip Owen gave him the prior month. He squeezes it in his fist and then tosses it back.

He knows he’s like a new colt on wobbly legs, but he wants to stretch them. He’s ready to see how fast he can run without a bit and bridle holding him back.

The conversation with Owen has leached the joy from his morning. He finally turns to his screen and clicks open the email with the subject line:
CONGRATULATIONS!

“Patrick!” Don’s voice is cheerful.

Patrick turns away from the nurse who’s just finished up reporting to him on a patient. She scurries away as Don approaches.

“Good news. Just spoke with Dr. Claiborne and she feels that Shane Hammond is stable enough for you to see if he’s a candidate for your procedure.”

“Perfect timing. If Topol and Lerma come on board, it will free up my schedule.”

“Even better, the equipment you requested for arrived last week. I’ve taken the liberty of asking for the key members of your surgical team from Atlanta to be allowed to assist. Shockingly, your old chief, Dr. Schaeffer, said yes.”

“He just wants to get some of the credit for my brilliance in helping this Darwin Award runner up. Since I need the help, he can have it.”

“It’s true being on your team is a coup for them. Makes them look almost as good as you.”

“No promises, Don, but these babies,” he wriggles his fingers, “might just save that idiot’s life.”

Don leans forward and whispers, “Here’s hoping he doesn’t launch another rocket off his head in celebration.”

“Don’t jinx it.” Patrick snatches a patient file from the approaching nurse. She’s new on the floor and he doesn’t recognize her. “What’s your name?” Not that it matters; he’ll forget it again in five minutes.

“Kenzie?”

“Are you sure? You don’t sound sure.”

“Yes, I’m sure, doctor. It’s Kenzie.”

He’s so proud of himself for not saying that’s a name for a kitten not a human. Will is rubbing off on his people skills. He skims the file quickly. “Well, Kenzie, I said to hydrate Mr. Brooks, not destroy his kidneys.”

“I—I’m sorry?”

Patrick flicks a nod at Don and stalks off down the hall with Kenzie already near tears at his heels.

Emotions. All over him. Gross.

Don calls after them, “Dr. McCloud! Don’t forget we still need to convince Mr. Hammond’s wife to permit the surgery!”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “I’ll leave that in your capable hands. Unless you want her to reject our proposal.”

Don’s laughter follows him around the corner. Shane Hammond’s pregnant wife is deeply religious and a mess of grief. He’s seen her praying in the halls and by Shane’s bedside. When she’s not praying, she’s sobbing, and in Patrick’s opinion, she’s in no state to be making decisions for anyone. But the law is the law, and there’s nothing to be done about that. Don’s a better choice to talk to her. Patrick will just insult her and make her cry. Then she won’t let him attempt to save her husband’s life and will probably sue the hospital for emotional distress to boot. It’s better if he stays far away from the woman.

After dressing down Kenzie for nearly killing Mr. Brooks, Patrick leaves her with fresh orders and heads up to his new office. It’s smaller than his office in Atlanta, but it has everything he needs for now.

Sitting down at his laptop, he looks at scans taken of a new patient, a teenager named Addison Rowe with extensive and dense calcification of a ventrally exophytic brain stem glioma. Presenting with generalized seizures and breathing difficulties, Patrick knows there’s no real alternative to surgery. He’s going to have to go in eventually, but for the moment, he’s in no rush to cut. The tumor is in a dangerous location and there’s a very real risk of paralysis or death.

When her breathing is stabilized in the hospital, Patrick’s determined to find something in the scans to cement his certainty he can save her life before he exposes her brain pan. He’s a miracle worker, sure, but a lot of planning goes into those miracles.

After determining his first step in dealing with the tumor will be even more scans, he shoves back from his desk and stares out the window to the snowy parking lot below. January in South Dakota is his definition of hell. Except for the part where Will Patterson gives him super-amazing orgasms now. Then there’s the new neurology unit. Though it’ll be a full year before they’re entirely finished with the improvements, it’s coming along really well too. All in all, for hell, South Dakota has some great perks.

It’s almost mid-morning, and Will is probably testing his blood and eating a snack now. Looking down at his cell, there aren’t any texts from Will, but there’s one from Dinah. It’s a photo of Eric using his new sewing machine, red hair sticking up everywhere and his tongue out in concentration, along with a grinning emoticon.

Patrick sighs and twitches his fingers against the side of his desk. He can’t put it off any longer. It’s time to make the call.

“Pat? I’m so glad you called! Did you have a happy holiday?” Dinah’s warm voice fills him up from the bottom of his shoes to the top of his head. It’s better than hot coffee on a cold-as-tits morning in South Dakota.

“It turned out better than I’d expected.”

“I’m so glad.”

“How was yours?”

“Wonderful, of course. Thanks to you.” There’s a thump and then a screech. “Jane, check Mason’s diaper, will you, honey? If it’s dirty, be a good girl and change it for me.”

“Mason?”

“He joined us yesterday. No idea how long he’ll be staying, but we’re mighty happy to have him. He’s almost two and he’s a bundle of fun.”

“So you’re back up to three kids in the house.”

“It gets lonely with less than that. You know if I had my way, we’d always have five at the minimum.”

“You need a bigger house.”

“That’s what Phil says.” She sounds exasperated. “But he also says houses don’t grow on trees. Put a little diaper cream on that, Jane. That’s good.”

“Then let me buy you one.” A muscular nurse walks past his internal office window and Patrick watches the way his ass moves beneath his scrubs. Tight, high, and attached to a prissy walk that makes Patrick think he probably plays for his team.

Nice. But Will’s is hotter.

“A bigger house is an easy fix,” Patrick goes on.

Dinah clucks her tongue. “You do more than enough for us as it is.”

“Two kids are living in subpar conditions right now because you won’t take more of my money.”

“Pat, are you guilt-tripping me?”

“If it gets the job done.”

She laughs. “Fine. I’ll consider letting you buy a house for us, but only if you come home for a good, long visit and help us choose one. It’s been too long since I hugged your neck.”

“Now who’s guilt-tripping?”

“If it gets the job done,” she says sweetly.

Patrick laughs. This woman owns part of his soul and he’s a jerk not to make time to see her more often.

Typical Dinah, she gets right to the chase. “Thrilled as I am to hear your voice, I know it’s not just to chat. So to what do I owe the honor of this call, sweetheart?” He hears the clank of dishes.

“I moved.”

“What? When?”

“November.”

“Are we talking about moving apartments or…?”

“No, more like moving states.”

“What? Oh my goodness. I sent your Christmas package to your old place.”

“It was forwarded. I got it. Thank you, by the way.” The homemade cookies and fudge hadn’t lasted a day.

“Are we going to play ‘you’re getting warmer’? Should I start guessing where on earth you’ve moved to?”

“It’s colder actually. A lot colder.” He snorts. “I’m in Healing, South Dakota.”

Dinah asks, bewildered, “South Dakota? But why?”

Patrick’s fingers tap against his pant leg. This is where he muddies the truth. If the Molinaro family ever causes problems for him, he wants Dinah and Phil firmly out of it. “I’m heading up a new regional neurosurgical unit. It’s being tailored to my specifications. No expense spared.”

“Well, congratulations!” Dinah’s cheerful tone is edged with suspicion. “But what took you so long to tell me about this? If I’d known earlier, I’d have sent you a bottle of Jack Daniels to celebrate.”

“Oh, Dinah. You and your JD.”

“When you’ve got kids crawling up your legs, and in and out of your life, every once in a while you gotta self-medicate. I won’t apologize for it.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“But you haven’t answered my question,” she says sternly. She’s like Will. She won’t let him get away with obfuscation for very long. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Patrick jiggles his foot up and down beneath his desk, takes a deep breath, and goes for it. “I got married.”

“You
what
?”

“He’s a nice guy. Not sure it’ll last. But so few marriages do these days.”

Dinah is silent long enough for Patrick to grow lightheaded from holding his breath. “Patrick McCloud, you got married and didn’t invite me?” Her voice sounds wounded like he’s never heard. “I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.”

“It wasn’t like that! We…” He doesn’t want to tell Dinah that her beloved Jack Daniels was a driving force behind his unfortunate situation. “Eloped.”

“Eloped. You—my Patrick McCloud—eloped?”

“Yep.”

Dinah uses her “you’re in big trouble” voice. “You better get to talking, young man.”

Patrick can’t help but smile. Dinah in mom-mode is one of his two kryptonites. He hates to admit that everything about Will is his other. “His name is Will Patterson. He runs a charitable foundation.” Patrick fidgets in his chair. “He’s a good person.”

“I should hope so!”

“I met him in Vegas.”

“Vegas!”

“You know Vegas. Bright lights and gambling.”

“Were you drinking?”

“Yes. It’s fascinating, actually. Science says if you apply love at first sight to a good bit of liquor when in Vegas the outcome is marriage.”

The silence from the other end of the line is ominous.

“Yay?” he says weakly.

“You married a man in Vegas and moved to South Dakota for a new job?”

“Do you need hearing aids? I can buy some for you.”

“And you did all this without telling me?”

“Right.” Patrick’s nauseous. He should have told her.

“My God, are you okay? What’s really going on? Tell me. Be honest now.”

Patrick’s gut clenches. He wants to be honest. He’s never lied to Dinah before. “It’s okay. Everything’s fine. I should have told you earlier.”

“Obviously! Oh, lord. Oh, Pat.” She sighs and his throat tightens. He doesn’t want Dinah worrying. This is why he hasn’t told her about any of this before now. He can hear her pacing. “I knew I should have made you go to that counselor more often when you were younger, but you were just so stubborn about it. You’d sit there in silence and I thought, ‘What he doesn’t want to share isn’t anyone’s business but his own,’ and I didn’t push it, but now look at you.”

“Yes, look at me. I’m a brilliant neurosurgeon heading up a world-class facility, married to a handsome, wealthy man whom I happen to like a lot, and feeling something close to genuine happiness for the first time in my life. Yeah, you should have pushed the counseling more. Maybe I could have become a mechanic.”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t say you love him.”

“It’s complicated.”

“How can I best support you right now?”

“Let me buy you a house.”

Her sigh is a symphony of irritation.

Patrick presses the bridge of his nose. “I need to go. I’m at the hospital.”

“Okay, but how can I get in touch with you?”

“My cell phone still works.” He barely refrains from adding
obviously.
“But you can contact me at Healing Regional in South Dakota if there’s an emergency. I’ll text you my address too. But I’m fine. It’s all fine, Dinah.” He sounds like Will now, reassuring everyone, including himself, that everything is fine, just
fine
.

“All right. I suppose. I can only trust that you’ll take care of yourself. But, Mr. Newly Impulsive, when you come down here to buy my new house, I expect you to bring this Will with you. I want to meet the person who’s led my pragmatic Pat to leap before he looks.”

“If we’re not divorced by then, I’ll consider it.” He feels like his clothes are too tight. He tugs at his collar.

“Is that a joke or are you serious?”

“Both. But it’s fine. I’m happy. Don’t worry about me.”

“Oh, I’ll worry about you all right.”

Patrick rubs his fingers along the edge of his desk. “I have to go. I have patients to see.”

“Go on then. And, honey, I’m proud of you. Maybe I didn’t say the right thing to start, but sincerely now, congratulations on the job and the marriage. I just want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

“I know.”

“I love you, Pat. Always have, always will.”

Patrick slips his phone into his pocket and stands, stretching at his desk. He’s an asshole for not coming clean to Dinah. He hates lying to her. It makes him feel shaky like he’s huffed gasoline and downed a six pack of Red Bull. He needs a snack. Something comforting and filled with carbohydrates. Leaving his office, he heads toward the vending machines. Corn chips will help settle the churning guilt in his gut.