Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“You don’t seem like the type to get tired of much.” Cal made a noise that might have been a chuckle, and I wasn’t sure whether he meant because I had so much energy or because I gave off manwhore vibes.
“I’ll take that as a compliment, but even extroverts wear out.” I waggled my eyebrows, not flirting but definitely trying to earn a real laugh.
“Think I saw a commercial for a med…” Trailing off, he licked his lips and reached for the mug of ice water on the table over the hospital bed. Groaning, he dropped his hand, face contorting.
“Here.” I sped to the rescue before he could proclaim he didn’t need a drink after all. I knew all the tricks. And I also knew the exact angle to hold the mug and straw so Cal could take a sip. “Don’t strain.”
“Thanks.” His gaze softened as our eyes met over the rim of the hospital cup. I held still, mug and breath both, not wanting to pierce this moment. It was sweet and strange. When had I last had someone to take care of? Not gotten laid or had a date or done a favor for a friend, but when had I taken care of someone? Cal made me want to remember, made me want to try, made me wonder if there was a way past all his prickles and claws.
“Mr. Phillips.” A young doctor with short twists poking out of her colorful scrub hat popped our little bubble of peace as she entered, followed by two medical assistants. Coughing, Cal batted away the mug like we’d been caught making out, and the shorter of the two assistants grinned.
“I’m Dr. Washington.” The doctor grabbed a rolling stool and plopped down on the other side of Cal. “Congrats on avoiding the need for surgery or a blood transfusion.”
“Um. Thanks.” Feet moving restlessly under the light hospital blanket, Cal seemed to have no clue what to make of Dr. Washington’s chatty, cheerful energy. I liked her immediately, and not simply because she made me appear undercaffeinated and shy by comparison.
“Luckily for you, I was on call. I did a residency in plastic surgery before emergency medicine won my heart, and I was able to talk triage out of transferring you to Portland.” The doctor kept up her conversational patter as the medical assistants laid out a tray of stitching implements.
“No transfer,” Cal gritted out. “Don’t care what the scar looks like.”
“Luckily, I do.” Dr. Washington laughed. “Though, I’m going to warn you that the stitching process will be uncomfortable. Not painful, but because of the location and depth of your wound, you’re going to feel pressure, and I need you to hold super still.”
“Fine.” Cal held himself as stiffly as if she’d asked for his name, rank, and serial number.
“You might want to grab onto your…partner.” The doctor jerked her head in my direction. And why my chest gave a weird pang, I had no freaking clue. So I did what I did best and laughed.
“Oh, we’re not a couple, but he can squeeze my hand anyway.” Mindful of Cal’s IV, I took the hand on his uninjured side in mine.
“No…need.” Cal didn’t pull his hand away, but he did make an utterly disgusted face like we might all be about to revoke his SEAL trident if he admitted the slightest anxiety.
“It’s that, or I crack more bad jokes to distract you.” I had no issues threatening a SEAL, and all three women tittered at my commanding tone.
“Fine. Hold my damn hand.” Cal loosely laced his fingers through mine, a frisson of electricity racing up my arm. “I’ve had tats. This is no biggie.”
“Mm-hmm.” The doctor shook her white lab coat sleeve to reveal some truly spectacular floral work along her forearm. “So have I, and I’d rather get a full-color backpiece than neck sutures any day. You have no idea how lucky you got. Wonder you made it back up to the surface.”
Her cheerfully gory speech earned a mere grunt from Cal.
“Ignore him.” I waved away Cal’s crankiness like we were old friends. “He’s just mad he won’t be able to dive for a while.”
“Dive? Oh, heck no.” The doctor’s dark eyes went wide as she looked up from cleaning and prepping the worst of Cal’s wounds. “It will be a few weeks before you’re back in the water. Sutures need to heal, your neck mobility will be compromised, and the antibiotics are likely to irritate your stomach. Not a combo I’d want to dive with.”
“I’ve dived with worse.” Cal tensed, fingers tightening against mine.
“Uh-huh. Don’t think I missed the navy tat, sailor.” She nodded at the anchor and compass near Cal’s wrist. “But you’re not ruining my handiwork. No, sir. No diving. That’s an order.” Setting aside the wipe she’d been cleaning with, she flipped over her hand, revealing a carefully lettered Whatever It Takes and army logo tattoo on her inner arm. “Reserves. Most folks just call me Doc, but if it keeps you on shore, you can call me Captain.”