Page 73 of King

“We’ll start by cleaning the infected area and then I’ll prescribe antibiotics to help fight the infection,” I explain while donning gloves. “It may be uncomfortable, but we need to do this in order to promote healing in your leg.”

Joe clenches his jaw but nods in agreement. “Understood.”

Carefully and meticulously, I cleanse the infected area with an antiseptic solution, trying my best to minimize any discomfort. Despite the pain, Joe remains still and doesn’t protest. Next, I apply a topical antibiotic ointment and cover the wound with a sterile bandage.

“In addition to this treatment, I will also give you a course of oral antibiotics,” I inform him as I rummage in the prescription cabinet, handing over a small bottle of pills. “It’s crucial that you take these exactly as prescribed, even if you begin feeling better. It’s essential for your recovery.”

He takes the bottle hesitantly and examines it before looking up at me with a mix of hope and apprehension. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll make sure to take them.”

I offer him a reassuring smile. “Good. And please, if your condition worsens or you start feeling very ill, promise me that you’ll go to the hospital. Your life is worth fighting for, Joe.”

He nods slowly but makes no such promises.

As he walks away, Sarah sighs. “It’s so hard, isn’t it? Knowing there’s only so much we can do.”

I nod, feeling the heavy weight of just the very first patient encounter. “It really is. But we have to keep trying.”

♦

By the timeI leave the shelter around four p.m., I’ve reached my limit of sadness and despair over the things I’ve seen. I had brief moments of truly helping patients but for the most part, I couldn’t do much but slap Band-Aids on significant issues. I feel drained, both physically and emotionally, as I slide into my car.

After starting it and putting on my seat belt, I pull out my phone to check messages. I’ve been so busy I haven’t looked at it all day.

A smile slowly spreads across my face as I see a text from King.Hey, babe. Just thinking about you. Hope your day wasn’t too tough. Remember, you’re amazing at what you do. Can’t wait to see you again.

A fullness within me speaks to not needing another damn thing from a man other than what King has already given me. He intuitively knows exactly what I needed to hear at the end of a long day, and he did it while preparing for a hockey game.

Weight lifts off my shoulders and the drive home is done while singing along to Taylor Swift. By the time I pull into my driveway, I’m in a good mood but when I spot the bouquet of fresh flowers on my doorstep, I am nearly giddy with delight.

I shut off the car, jog to the porch and snatch the card from the huge arrangement of pink, white, purple and blue flowers.

Just a little something to brighten the rest of your day. –King

Clutching the card to my chest, I close my eyes and savor the moment. The sheer romanticism in this tiny gesture has me swooning and I nearly can’t stand it.

I lift the flowers, manage to wrangle open the door and call out to Brittany as I enter. “I’m home.”

“In the kitchen,” she calls back, and I smell the aroma of tomato sauce so I’m guessing it’s pasta for dinner tonight.

I set the flowers on the kitchen table as Brittany turns from the stove and gasps at their loveliness. “You bitch.”

“Why am I a bitch?” I ask with a laugh as I fluff the bouquet.

“Because you lucked out and got probably the one good guy left in the world,” she says with an exaggerated whine, but I see the amused twinkle in her eye before she turns back to the stove. “We’re having stuffed shells. Dinner will be ready in about an hour.”

“Perfect,” I say, letting my purse slide off my shoulder to the chair. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Knock yourself out,” Brittany says, but as I turn to walk away, she adds, “Oh… and you might want to pop your head in on your niece. She’s having an existential crisis.”

I blink in surprise at my sister. “A six-year-old can have an existential crisis?”

“Apparently mine can. She’s not sure hockey is her calling. She feels she’s far too graceful for the rough-and-tumble nature of the sport.”

“She said that to you?” I ask, agog.

Brittany snickers. “No, that’s me paraphrasing but I think she said something along the lines of ‘I decided I want to be a figure skater like Aunt Willa.’”

“And what did you tell her?”

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