Will & Patrick Meet the Mob (10 page)

“Ever heard of feeling obligated?”

“C’mon, Patrick. I don’t buy that. You’re just as obligated to every other patient you’ve been so eager to avoid.”

“Okay, fine.” Patrick’s fingers slide back and forth against the edge of the table. “She’s a Libra.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I like Libras.”

Will thrills, a sweet twitter in his heart. “Me, Jenny, and now Addison.”

Patrick shrugs. “Dinah’s a Libra too.”

“Ah, the truth comes out. Did Dinah teach you about astrology?”

Patrick scoffs. “Dinah’s a good old-fashioned Christian who actually follows Christ’s example, so she’s okay with the gays. I taught it to myself. My mom had a book of beginner’s astrology. My dad kept it on the family bookshelf. I read it. End of story.”

Will wonders if these little revelations are ever going to stop making him want to fold Patrick up in bubble wrap and keep him safe forever.

“Besides, Addison’s a good kid,” Patrick says, clearly steering the conversation away from his childhood. “She’s got terrible odds and she knows it. But she’s brave. I admire that. And she smiles when I walk into a room. No one smiles when I walk into a room. But Addison does. And you do.”

Will smiles for Patrick, but his throat is tight like he might cry.

Patrick’s lips work and he finally says, “She doesn’t deserve this.”

“No one does.”

He shrugs, like maybe he thinks that statement’s up for grabs, but doesn’t feel strongly one way or another.

“Can you help her?” Will asks.

“Of course.”

“Then she’ll live.”

Patrick picks up his fork and stabs it into the leftover hunk of calzone on his plate. “There’s no guarantee. No doctor wins every round against death.”

“What happens when you lose?”

“I study everything I can about what went wrong so the next time I win.”

Will’s chest goes tight. Patrick’s face is set with so much determination, but underneath it, all Will sees is a man who’s used to fighting alone against overwhelming odds.

“How do you do it?”

Patrick huffs. “What kind of question is that?”

“The real kind.”

“I assume you aren’t asking about specific surgical skills.”

Will shakes his head. “I mean emotionally. How do you handle patients dying?”

“By being that cold asshole you met,” Patrick says softly.

Will’s stomach flips. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Not sure what happened to him.”

Patrick’s mouth turns up at the edges. “You. You happened.”

Will is breathless with Patrick’s quiet words, and a soft buzz grows where their fingers touch. He licks his lips. “I’m glad we happened to each other.”

Patrick’s eyes go dark and hot. “Me too.”

Will swallows, and the air between them is thick with feeling and want, but he wants to know. He asks again, like the last little tug before the loose tooth comes free. “Does Addison remind you of me?”

Patrick takes a moment to answer. “I don’t let myself think about these things. Not like this. It doesn’t help. But, yeah. She does.”

“Because we’re both Libras?”

“Because I want you both to live long, happy, satisfying lives.”

Will reaches out and touches Patrick’s hand. “I want that for you too.”

Patrick stares at him for a long moment before pushing back his chair and standing. “Good. Now that’s over, let’s get down to business.” His smile is sharp and predatory. “I believe you’re my prisoner tonight.”

“The only rope I could find at the hardware store is kinda rough. It might leave marks.”

“Hot. Test yourself, and then get naked. Lie face up on the bed.” He stalks to the nightstand, shucking his clothes along the way.

Will tests himself while admiring Patrick’s tight ass and the sinewy muscles in his back as he lays out the condoms and lube and grabs his medical bag, putting it on the bedside table. He then grabs two juice boxes from the fridge and a tube of cookie icing, and puts them in easy reach from the bed, too.

“One-twenty,” Will says aloud.

“Good enough. We’ll test in twenty minutes again to get a better reading. Okay, hand me your kit.”

He hands it over and Patrick sets it out by the bed, ready to go. He turns to Will with a length of the yellow rope stretched between his hands, and his erection pointing proudly from his auburn pubes. Will’s mouth waters and he wants to go to his knees and suck until Patrick spurts his tangy-bitter flavor down his throat again.

“Bed. Now.” Patrick’s voice sends chills down Will’s spine into his gut. His cock throbs and he quickly strips out of his pants and shirt. The bedding is soft against his back. Patrick quickly ties one hand to the headboard with the rough rope, before walking around the bed to secure the other. “Red means stop. Yellow means slow down. Green means go.”

“Green.”

“Secret Agent Patterson, you’ll never escape my clutches.”

Will’s heart thumps hard and a wash of eager adrenaline lifts him up and out of their crazy everyday lives. “And
you’ll
never get away with this.” He tugs at the ropes and glares. “Wait, why’ve you kidnapped me?”

“Because I’m an evil doctor with mind-control powers and I’m going to steal your super high-level spy secrets by breaking down your mental barriers through forcing you to orgasm against your will.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s good,” Will says, breath catching. He tugs on the ropes again, his cock aching and lifting toward Patrick, reaching for any kind of touch. “I mean, no, Dr. Nefarious! I’ll never submit to your filthy torture.”

Patrick’s smile is sharp as he shifts Will’s legs up and apart. “We’ll see about that. Fight all you want, but you’ll spill every. Last. Drop—of information—before I’m done with you.”

The next day, Patrick examines himself in the Brown Gargle bathroom mirror as he washes his hands. He looks pretty okay for an out-of-work guy suffering through his first love and being blackmailed by a mobster. His hair lays against his pale forehead in soft curls, and he might need a haircut before long.

Grabbing a paper towel, he uses it to open the door. The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills his lungs and just as he rounds the corner, he hears Will’s voice.

“Please, I know you don’t want to talk to me, but can you just hear me out?”

Patrick’s confused. Will left earlier after grabbing coffee. He’s supposed to be at his endocrinologist’s in fifteen minutes. He’d refused to let Patrick come with him, saying that Dr. Anastasia didn’t deserve to be subjected to Patrick again after enduring him at the hospital the other night. Under protest—a lot of protest—Patrick had agreed, and they’d parted ways by the door when Patrick ducked into the bathroom.

But Will is still by the door, wearing only a lightweight coat because it’s unseasonably and miraculously above freezing for the first time since Patrick arrived in Healing. Determinedly blocking a very blond and very pregnant Missy Hammond from making an exit, Will goes on, “Missy, we’ve known each other a long time.”

Missy’s cheeks are flushed. She looks as if she’s on the verge of tears as she holds her round stomach like she’s protecting the baby from Will. “I don’t think I should be talking to you. My lawyer says—”

“I’m sure your lawyer’s advised against it, but I also know who’s paying for that lawyer.”

She stares up at him with wide eyes.

“My father convinced you to transfer Shane to Dr. Maxwell.”

“So?”

“I won’t try to stop you, not if you really believe he’s the best man for the job. But this lawsuit against Dr. McCloud isn’t necessary. It’s manipulative, unnecessary, and unkind. You’re putting other people’s lives at risk, and for what? The good graces of a mobster? That never lasts past the first payback.”

Missy swallows hard, her blue eyes growing saucer-round and scared. “You don’t understand.”

“I’m sure I don’t have all the information, but when it comes to my father, I know you can’t trust him.”

Missy’s lips tremble. “Tony said Dr. McCloud had no business performing surgery on Shane to begin with. He said Dr. McCloud didn’t know what he was doing.” 

Patrick opens his mouth to shoot that bullcrap down, but Will does it for him.

“How would my father know? Because he knows so much about brain injuries? Meanwhile Dr. McCloud is one of the most admired and skilled neurosurgeons in the United States.”

“The world,” Patrick whispers, crossing his arms over his chest.

Will goes on, “The surgery was always a long shot. The best case scenario wasn’t very good for Shane. The fireworks accident did so much damage to his brain. Both Dr. McCloud and Dr. Knife explained that to you.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s in the papers, Missy. Everyone knows what’s going on with Shane, and I know Dr. Knife and Dr. McCloud are ethical professionals who’d never let you go into the surgery expecting more than is possible.”

She wipes at her eyes and strokes her stomach again. Will touches her arm gently and she doesn’t pull away. Patrick can practically see empathy oozing from his pores.

“Shane’s condition isn’t Dr. McCloud’s fault.”

Missy’s eyes flash angrily and she tugs her arm away from Will, her lower lip quivering. “Whose fault is it then?”

“No one’s.”

“Shane’s,” Patrick whispers.

Will bites his lip and contemplates her a moment before saying softly, “You must be so scared.” He motions at her stomach.

Tears slip down her cheeks.

“You’ve got another person to think about, Missy.” Will pulls a handkerchief from his murse and presses it into her hands. “Don’t waste your time or resources on a lawsuit that won’t pay off. Dr. McCloud did nothing wrong, and any review committee or jury will find for him.”

Missy blows her nose and wipes her eyes. “Dr. McCloud is your husband.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“So why should I listen to you? You have every reason to defend him and want me to drop this case.”

“Because, unlike my father, you know I’d never put people’s lives in jeopardy. Not for the sake of my husband’s ego or his career. Not for any reason. If I believed for an instant Patrick did anything to harm Shane, I’d be on your side. But he didn’t.”

Missy nods and then whispers angrily, “He’s so rude. And he talks to me like I’m an idiot.”

“Dr. McCloud can be a jerk. Believe me, I know all about that.” Will chuckles softly. “But underneath it all, he’s a good man and a great doctor. And he
cares
about his patients.” Will reaches out and takes her arm. “He cares about
Shane
.”

Missy’s lips wobble. “Your father wants me to do this…this lawsuit. He said he’d fund it for me. He said even if we lose, he’ll pay for Shane to live in a nice facility—” She starts to cry and Will pulls her into a hug.

Patrick takes a step forward, ready to add in his own two cents, when she eases away and Will starts talking again. “You’ve got a life to heal, and a new life to nurture. You don’t need the heartache of a lawsuit. Please, Missy. Reconsider.”

She pushes her hair out of her reddened face. “Dr. Maxwell’s already reviewed the scans, and he says he can help Shane. I trust him.”

Will nods, wearing her down with those shining, earnest eyes. “I understand if you don’t want Patrick as Shane’s doctor anymore. I disagree with that assessment, but if you feel more comfortable with Dr. Maxwell, that’s your prerogative. But please, for the sake of Patrick’s other patients, drop this suit.”

“What about your dad?” Missy asks.

“I can handle him. He won’t bother you.”

“I don’t know.” Missy bites her lip and the truth comes out. “My father owes him a lot of money.”

Will puts his hand on Missy’s shoulder and squeezes. “It just so happens I have a lot of money. I can take care of that problem, and the problem of Shane’s living facility after surgery too.”

“My father won’t take your money. Tony would see that as a rejection.”

“Then I’ll find another way for him to get it. Hire his trucking company for a project of mine.”

Missy hisses, “It doesn’t work like that. You know it doesn’t.”

“Maybe not, but no matter what’s going on, Patrick doesn’t deserve to suffer. Neither do his patients who need him.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t. I have to do it. For Shane. For my dad.” Missy puts a hand on her belly. “I have to keep the baby safe.”

“Has my father threatened you?”

“What?” She shakes her head hard. “No. I just can’t afford to be on the wrong side of Tony Molinaro. I’m sorry, Will. Maybe Dr. McCloud doesn’t deserve this. But this lawsuit is just a pain in his ass, right? Not a death blow to his career.” She shifts from foot to foot. “I’m moving Shane tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

Will doesn’t hold her back when she pushes the door open, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. When he sees Patrick, he lets out a nervous exhale and approaches with a shaky smile.

“I guess you heard that?”

Patrick nods.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t interfere.”

Patrick doesn’t understand how Will gets it so wrong sometimes. “No, I want you to interfere. I want you to do whatever it takes to make this lawsuit disappear. Unlike me, you’re not a jerk who makes her feel stupid.”

“She doesn’t know you’re on the autism spectrum.”

“Oh, no you don’t.”

“What?”

“You don’t get to file me away like that. That’s one reason I don’t tell people.”

Will’s mouth moves like he’s going to say something, but then he mock salutes and clicks his heels together. “Aye-aye, Cap’n. It won’t happen again.” Patrick snorts and Will smiles, bumping his shoulder. “We good?” he asks, his brown eyes warm and sweet. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“I’m not insulted.” Will’s chin dimple calls to him and Patrick runs his index finger over it and smiles. “We’re good.”

Will slings an arm around his shoulder and Patrick leads them toward the counter. “Let me guess, you’re getting more doughnuts for the hotel room?”

“Nope. Taking them to Jenny’s.” Patrick catch’s Jax’s eye, points at the jam doughnuts, and holds up two fingers. “And a Calamalatte Jane to go.”

Jax is looking good today with his long hair in a neat ponytail and dark eyes twinkling. Turning away from his dark beauty to feast his eyes on Will’s light, Patrick goes on, “She’s promised me sandwiches stacked with fatty deli meat, gobs of mustard and mayo on good old-fashioned white bread.” Patrick growls softly as eager saliva fills his mouth. “I thought I’d bring dessert.”

“You’re headed over to Jenny’s?” Jax asks.

“Yep.”

“Can you give her a message?”

Patrick shrugs.

Jax smiles and puts one of the heart-shaped Valentine’s Day cookies they already have in the case into the bag too. “That’s the message. It’s on me.”

Patrick nods and gives him the money for the latte and doughnuts. Moving out of the way of the next customer, Will wraps his arms around Patrick’s shoulders and leans in for a kiss. He lingers long enough that Patrick’s knees go a little weak.

“Mmm,” Will hums, cupping Patrick’s neck to pull him up and peck his lips again. “Gotta go. I’m going to be late to Dr. Anastasia’s and I have to actually go into Good Works today.”

Patrick slaps Will’s cheek softly and smiles up at him. “I’ll see you at the Tallgrass tonight. For dinner with your dad.”

Will grimaces. “I’ll have to hit the gym afterward to work out my aggression.”

“Or we could work it out another way,” Patrick whispers. “How are those rope burns on your wrists this morning?”

Will blushes and tugs at his coat sleeves, making sure the red, chafed circles are hidden. “Between beard burns and now these, people are going to think you abuse me.”

“Sex injuries mean you’re doing it right.”

A little old woman clears her throat behind them and they break apart.

“See you later,” Will calls as he heads out the door. “Give Jenny and Scream Machine a kiss from me.”

Patrick waves him off, a nervous flutter taking over his stomach as he stuffs his mouth with one of the jam doughnuts. He’s made up his mind. Things can’t continue like this. As a doctor, he knows what he has to do.

He needs a consult with a specialist and today he’s going to get it.
 

“And then she asked me why I don’t have any A&D ointment and I told her I use Desitin, and she sighed like I’d confessed to murder and went to the store. It’s just diaper rash cream, for God’s sake!” Jenny reties the belt of her fuzzy pink robe and collapses into the chair next to him at her IKEA kitchen table.

“Life or death stuff.”

“Anyway, I texted her that you came over so she said she was going to swing back by her place and get some more clothes. I wish she could just stay home, but I can’t pick Dylan up yet.”

“Glad I missed her.” Patrick scoops a heap of mustard onto his knife and smears it over the bread.

Jenny, looking tired but like a real human again, folds a square of ham next to a square of turkey. “She’s great, really. I shouldn’t be such a bitch.”

Patrick shrugs. “Family’s complicated.”

“Tell me about it.”

He takes that as an offer. “Will went to bat for me today.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jenny dots mustard all over her folded meat like yellow polka dots. “About what?”

“About an issue I’m having with a patient’s wife,” Patrick says, vaguely. He can’t talk to her about this. He shouldn’t have even brought it up. There’s a crackling sound from the baby monitor, but it clears up quickly, and they once again hear Dylan’s gentle snores.

Jenny grabs the jar of sweet pickles and slaps a few on her sandwich. “Let me guess. Missy Hammond?” She sends him a cheeky smile. “Don’t look so surprised. It’s a small town. News like this travels fast.”

“Of course it does.” He’s been so wrapped up in mobsters and lawsuits and kinky role playing sex that he hasn’t even looked at
The Hurting Times
the last few days. He bets they’ve got it all.