Hotshot Doc(60)

Matt listens and nods as he proceeds into his office. “Have Bailey take over the hotels. I need you to finish clearing my schedule. Push everyone you can into the new year. They’ll protest—I’m sure they’ve all met their deductibles, but assure them we’ll work with their insurance companies and figure something out.” He continues inside, raising his voice so we can hear him. “They won’t have to pay anything additional. I’ll see to it.” He turns back to address me. “Bailey, when you’re done booking the hotel, can you help Patricia with rescheduling my patients?”

I nod and scurry to take the phone from her.

I have no idea what I’m doing. I need to book a hotel for the patient’s family? Do we normally do that sort of thing?

“How many nights will they be in town?” I ask, gaze flicking back and forth between them.

“Start with four,” Matt answers, tone hard and authoritative, before he picks up his phone.

The afternoon and evening pass in a blur. I barely have time to let Josie know I won’t be home in time for dinner. It’s nearly impossible to find lodging for the Olsens. Hotels are booked, everyone is here to spend time with their family and enjoy the holidays. Matt goes so far as to shout through his door that they can just “damn well stay with him”, but I eventually sweet-talk my way into getting the family a room only a few blocks from the hospital. The price makes my stomach turn, but Patricia assures me it’s fine. I book it with Matt’s credit card then jump on the phone to start rescheduling patients.

Matt has a hell of a time with his task as well. Between our calls, Patricia explains to me in whispered tones that he won’t be able to do the surgery alone. He’s looking for a neurosurgeon to assist. With what June’s body has already endured, he wants to take every precaution.

He’s on the phone trying to call in favors, but like everything else, the holidays are impeding things. Most surgeons have their own cases to finish up before the end of the year. They can’t rearrange their entire schedules, drop everything, and fly across the country to help Matt.

I’m sitting at Patricia’s desk, crossing through patients’ names as I call and reschedule their consultations and pre-op appointments when Matt shouts for me to come into his office.

I jump out of my skin, drop my pen, and hurry inside. He’s pacing by the window, his white coat long forgotten, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. His tie is hanging on the back of his chair and his shirt is unbuttoned just enough for me to catch a sliver of his tan chest.

He rubs his forehead like he’s trying to ease a tension headache and then turns to face me. I’ve never seen him so stressed. His brows are knit together. His jaw is locked tight. “I need you to go see if Dr. Perry is still in his office. He’s down on level three. If so, tell him I need to speak with him immediately.”

I nod and hurry out of the room, fully prepared to mow down anyone who happens to get in my way, but the hallway is deserted. Dr. Perry’s office is dark and empty, which seems strange until I glance down at my watch and realize it’s half past eight. We’ve been going so nonstop I didn’t even realize it was so late.

I drag my feet walking back to Matt’s office. I don’t want to be the one to tell him his colleague already went home. I have a feeling he might accidentally (on purpose) shoot the messenger.

“Dammit,” he says after I tell him, and then he turns to face the window. He props a hand against the glass and stares out at the city covered in a blanket of snow. I’m torn on what to do. Give him privacy? Offer words of encouragement? I want to help, but I have no clue what he needs. He’s been going full speed ahead all evening. It’s a wonder he still has a voice after all the phone calls he’s placed.

I stand immobile on the other side of his desk, giving him the chance to calm down while I desperately try to think of the right thing to say. I don’t want to toss out some hollow phrase like Have no fear! Everything will work out! Because truthfully, I’m a little in over my head here. There’s a pretty good chance this won’t work out.

“Dr. Russell,” Patricia says from the doorway, removing her glasses and rubbing her tired eyes. “I need to get home before the roads get any worse. I’ll pick this back up first thing in the morning.”

He doesn’t turn from the window. “Of course. Yes. Go home and we’ll finish tomorrow.”

She frowns and heaves a resigned sigh before turning back to her desk to collect her things.

Matt and I stand there in silence for a long time, long enough for Patricia to leave, long enough for the quiet office to close in around us. I have the ludicrous urge to round his desk and wrap my arms around his middle and force him into a hug, but I stay right where I am, waiting for him.

He eventually speaks, turning to glance at me briefly before returning to his work. “You should go too. It’s late.”

He sounds so desolate and hopeless, my heart aches.

“And what will you do?”

He waves to the papers on his desk. “Stay here.”

Of course. It might be late, but Matt still has plenty of work to do. I steel my spine and lift my chin, anticipating his response when I reply, “Then I’m staying too.”

“No, it’s late. You should go be with Josie.”

Just as I expected. His rejection doesn’t hurt because I was prepared for it. I step forward and take a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. He doesn’t look up at me and he doesn’t get back to work. His attention is pinned to a spot on his desk as he tries to work through a problem. I can practically see the weight of the world on his shoulders.