Page 89 of Doctored Vows

“I don’t want to take anything.”

“Doc—”

“The more you try to medicate headaches, the more headaches you get. Analgesics dependency is no different from any other dependency.”

He’s not up for a lecture, so he tries to take another route to drag me over my stubbornness. “Then drink some water.”

“I will,” I murmur groggily. “Later.”

“Not later. Now.” He unscrews the cap of the vitamin water while grumbling under his breath that he isn’t dealing with the mess that comes from migraines. “I don’t do piss, shit, or vomit. Those are my limitations. I’d rather clean up a blood bath than my father’s stinky whiskey barfs any day of the week…” He freezes before his face screws up.

He’s so deep in thought it takes me saying his name three times before he finally looks at me. “Was that your first memory of your father since your accident?”

I don’t know a lot about what happened to Ano when he was sixteen, but I know his injuries weren’t caused naturally. Someone struck him hard enough that they cracked his skull in multiple places. He didn’t tell me that. I read it on his online medical record I unearthed when searching for information about Maksim’s years of childhood abuse.

“Ano?” I prompt when he remains quiet.

“Yeah.” He shakes his head like he’d rather get rid of the memory he just unearthed than encourage more like it before he places the open bottle onto the side table I’m using like a bedside table. “You should drink that, and I’m gonna… ah…” He flicks his eyes to the front door of my apartment before focusing on the one behind him. “I’m going to shower.”

“Okay.”

He smiles to assure me he is okay before he makes a beeline for the bathroom. I’m so tired I should be asleep before he turns on the shower, but I’m not. It takes several hours for my exhaustion to pull me under, and even then, it’s cut short by the shrill of an alarm.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“Eventually, the long hours, lagging sleep schedule, and massive student loans will be worth it, right?” An interim doctor I’ve not yet met slumps onto the bench wedged between lockers before she carefully commences peeling off her stiletto. “And the blisters. We can’t forget the blisters.”

I hiss with her when the removal of her shoe unearths a massive blister. She’s either never worn high heels while working or forgot to run her new shoes in before undertaking a double shift.

“Here. This will help.” She stares at me peculiarly when I hand her a condom. “Condoms have many uses that don’t involve the prevention of STIs and unwanted pregnancies.”

She stares at the foil disc for a few seconds before seeking instructions.

“You just slip it over your foot.”

“Over my entire foot?”

Her shock is understandable. Guys often pretend they can’t wear a condom because their penis is too big. They’re lying. You can wear a condom as a knee-high sock if latex is your jam.

When I nod, the intern I believe took my position on the surgical rotation last week twists her lips. “Interesting.”

“The latex will stop any nasties from getting in the wound when your blister pops, and its natural lubricant will eliminate the rubbing that’s causing the discomfort.”

With her curiosity as high as her manicured brow, she slides the condom over the toes that are aching and red. When it offers instant relief, she shoots her eyes to me. “You wouldn’t happen to have another condom, would you?” She gestures her hand at her right foot. “I went with this foot first because I wasn’t sure I’d get my heels back on if I were to free the beast I feel growing on the big toe on my left foot.”

I smile, loving the ease of our conversation, before opening my locker to hunt for another condom. “I should have another one here somewhere, but if I don’t, there are condom dispensers in all the washrooms in the ER.”

My rummage through my locker knocks out the credit card Maksim gifted me last week.

The still unnamed intern collects it off the floor before handing it to me.

“Thanks.” Her curiosity is expected, and so is the unease of my reply. “It’s not mine. A… friend gave it to me.”

She waits for me to return the credit card to its rightful spot on the shelf—next to my rings—before asking, “If your friend has a brother, let me know.”

I laugh like that introduction wouldn’t encourage a heap of trouble in her life, before handing her a second condom.

“Who knew something so simple could offer so much relief.” After ripping open the foil disc with her teeth, she peers up at me through a mop of curls. “Eva Mahoney.”

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