Page 10 of Baby for Dr. Damaged

Like Mark, who’s admitted himself again for another kidney scan. It’s his fourth one this week. And Adam, who works as a PI of sorts, snapping pictures of cheating spouses for cash under the table; he was caught outside of a hotel room by the cheating husband in question, mistaken for a peeping tom, and beaten so badly, it busted his nose, his collarbone, and three knuckles.

The man’s wife showed up at the police station to present him with divorce papers,andhe’s been charged with criminal assault. Adam claims it’s one of the most entertaining jobs he’s ever had, despite ending up in the hospital over it.

It’s a fun time, but a short time. I get up and leave just as Mom is coming back in. She’s a gorgeous woman, pale like I am, with the same honey-blonde hair. We are the same size too, a lean five foot four inches. She hurries over and gives me a hug and a kiss.

“Oh,” she says. “I almost missed you!” When she pulls back, her expression drops just a little. “I did miss you.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I tell her. “I have to be in at one.”

“In the morning?” Mom makes a sound in the back of her throat, a sort of mournful clucking. “Alright, go home. But you have to come back later this week, alright? I want to actually have a conversation with you.”

“I will,” I tell her. “I promise.”

And then I’m sliding out, past her, and trotting over to the car door. It’s a catch twenty-two. On one hand, coming home always reminds me of what I’m working so hard for. A cure for my brother, so that he can actually have the life that he’s always deserved.

But it always fills me with a melancholy ache— It’s the knowledge that most people have brushed Margur’s aside, as it’s not the most common illness out there. Genetic, sure, and it’s most common in boys. There’s not much research being done on it, and there are no active trials for treatment. In fact, everything related to it has pretty much been at a halt for six or seven years now.

The only way that Harris is ever going to be able to walk again is if I figure it out. And I will. I’ve promised my family that I won’t let anything stop me from doing this.

And that’s another reason why I can’t let my infatuation for Jackson take over. Saving my brother’s life has got to be my top priority—not messing around with someone at work. Or any other guy, actually.

Even if they are tall, and fit with biceps that practically burst out of their scrubs, and incredibly sexy, and talented, and smart, and—

Fuck, I amnotmaking it easy on myself!

Chapter five

Jackson

Doubleshiftsarethedevil’s work. An old coworker of mine, now retired, said that to me once, and it comes to mind every time I’m tasked with pulling a double shift, without fail. It’s made easier, of course, by the fact that I’m doing this double shift with Amanda, and not any of the other doctors.

She makes each day at work a little bit easier to bear. We haven’t managed our dinner date yet—though the ‘date’ is questionable in its seriousness—but I can’t help but feel that we’ve still managed to form a strong connection.

I supervise while she hooks a new patient up with an IV, listening to the way that she talks to them. Soft and comforting, but honest. Amanda never lies about the prognosis, but she takes the time to make sure that each patient knows she cares. After we step out of the room, I praise her for it. “You’ve gotten good at that.” This is normally a task a nurse would perform, but staffing issues mean we often do whatever tasks need to be done.

“I have,” says Amanda with a smile but it drops off her face quickly enough. “But that’s nothing, really. Anyone can do an IV with some practice.”

“Not true.” I shake my head, pausing at the end of the hall. “I once had a resident miss the vein and leave the needle just under the skin. The woman’s arm was the size of a grapefruit by the time that we realized what she had done, and we couldn’t get her to stop crying. It was a mess.”

Amanda laughs, and I laugh too, but then a much more serious look crosses my face. Reaching out, I rest my hand on the curve of her shoulder, thumb pressing to the jut of it.

“I’m being serious,” I tell her. “You’re a lot more capable than you give yourself credit for.”

“I don’t feel that way,” she admits. “I feel like I’m barely coasting along. I haven’t done anything to actually help.”

“You’ve helped a lot of people.” The hospital is quiet and dark even with the bright lights. It’s the kind of dark that isn’t visible; an awareness that it’s one in the morning, and the only thing around you is sickness and death and disinfectant. I love my job, and I’ve been doing it for a long time but that doesn’t mean moments like this don’t affect me.

We, the seniors on staff, like to tell the new doctors and the residents that it gets easier. But the truth is, even when it gets easier, it’s still hard. Mostly because you’re always aware of the fact that itshouldbe hard. We’ve got so much going on around us, so much that’s difficult to deal with—and no break from it.

Sometimes, like today, we don’t even get to go home. I don’t get to see Bonnie’s face.

But that’s me. Someone who’s been doing it for over twenty years. Amanda shouldn’t be at this point yet. She hasn’t even had her first patient code on her.

But her lower lip juts out just a little bit and her brows pinch down. She admits, “I know, but… I haven’t been able to do anything to help Harris. And that’s the real point, you know?”

My hands slide up, cupping her cheeks. My thumbs stroke over the soft skin just beneath each eye, as though I might be able to wipe her worries away. “I know. More than most people do.”

Her eyes go wide. “God, I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have brought it up! Of course you get it! And here I am, just thinking about me. I’m—”

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