Page 20 of Dying for the Doctor

“Ohmygod, Drake, the police are going to question me at some point,” I say as my heart starts to pound. “And if I lie to them about what happened in that room . . .” Blinking hard, I shake my head and push Drake’s comforting arm away from me because I need to think clearly, sort out everything before my head explodes from anxiety. “I can refuse to talk to them. But they can subpoena me if there’s a trial. And a judge can force me to testify against you or go to prison indefinitely for contempt of court.”

Drake seems annoyingly unconcerned with my impending inevitable incarceration. “Nah, confidentiality will apply,” he says coolly. “You don’t need to say a thing. Nobody can force you to testify against me.”

Frowning, I shake my head firmly. “That’s not how doctor-patient confidentiality works, Drake. Besides, you aren’t evenmy doctor.” Now my temples are throbbing, and although Drake is saying something, I can’t hear him. My mind is racing too far ahead to listen to anything but my own paranoia. “I . . . I need to call my parents,” I gush. “They’re probably worried sick about me. I need to use your phone.”

Scrambling out of bed, I pull the comforter off with me, using the bulky quilt to clumsily cover my nakedness as I stumble towards a table on which there’s a landline telephone. Obviously I’ve memorized all the important phone numbers I might ever need, and it’s only when I grab the handset and start dialing that I notice Drake watching me with a strange look on his face.

It’s sort of a smile, but not that wolfish grin of affectionate amusement he had earlier. No, there’s a hint of nervousness in his smile, almost like he’s worried about something. Strange, I think as I finish dialing Mama’s cell phone and hold my breath as it starts to ring.

But the ring sounds strange. Like I’m hearing two phones ring or something.

“Weird.” Holding the receiver away from my ear, I frown when I realize the other phone that’s ringing in the distance is in this very house, like it’s coming from downstairs. ‘Wait, that’s Mama’s ringtone.”

“Yeah, I was going to tell you . . .” Drake flashes that vaguely worried grin at me, then swings his legs off the side of the bed and stands. He’s naked, and I gulp at the sight of rippling lean muscles lining his torso, veins popping down his biceps and snaking around his forearms. He strolls languidly to the bathroom, grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist, then takes a breath and sighs it out.

Meanwhile Mama’s phone is still ringing in what seems like two places at once. For the moment, nothing makes sense. “Why . . . why can I hear Mama’s ringtone coming from downstairs?” Placing the landline receiver to my ear again, I canstill hear my call ringing at the other end. “And why isn’t Mama answering her phone?”

Drake sighs again, runs his fingers through his hair. “So, yeah, I was going to tell you before you fell asleep. But then you fell asleep and so I didn’t tell you.”

Now I slam the receiver back into the cradle. A moment later that ringtone downstairs goes silent.

“Wait, are my parents downstairs?” My eyes widen. First in surprise. Then in panic. “Ohmygod, why aren’t they answering the phone? Are they . . . did your dad do something to my parents?”

“Oh, shit, no, babe. Of course not.” Drake smiles reassuringly before that strange expression of uncertainty is back on his face. “They’re fine. But Dad is keeping them away from the phones for now. Just until everything is signed and sealed.”

Now my brain almost combusts with confusion. I look at Drake like he’s speaking in those monkey-sounds I hear sometimes in my head when I breathe too fast. “Um, what . . . what does that mean, Drake?”

Drake rubs the back of his neck. “You asked about that confidentiality thing earlier, right? And I said you can’t be compelled to testify against me?”

“Right. And I said that doctor-patient confidentiality doesn’t work that way. I also said you aren’t even my doctor.”

“I don’t need to be your doctor for confidentiality to apply, Wanda.” Drake walks towards me now, that towel still around his waist, that strangely quizzical smile still on his face. “I just need to be your husband.”

My mouth hangs open wide enough to swallow the phone. “Um, sorry, what?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality is for amateurs,” Drake says with a sideways grin. “Spousal privilege is where it’s at. A wife can’t be compelled to testify against her husband. And ahusband can’t be arrested for taking his unconscious wife out of a hospital—or taking her anywhere, for that matter.” Now his grin widens as he goes down on one knee while I clutch that comforter against my bare breasts like it’s the only thing that’s real, like my hold on this piece of quilt is what’s tethering me to the real world. “This is Vegas, baby. The marriage license will have today’s date on it, so spousal privilege will apply to the entire day. So if you say yes, it means that legally we’ve been married for the entire day. I’m your next-of-kin, not your parents. We can re-interpret the entire day’s events under the presumption that we’re husband and wife. We can rewrite reality, Wanda.”

I stare dumbfounded at this bare-chested doctor on his knees before me. I’m pretty sure most of what he said is total nonsense, with absolutely no legal standing. But some of what Drake said could work. I do know that Vegas doesn’t have the three-day cooling-off period that most states have when issuing marriage licenses. And spousal privilege definitely has legal standing. Whether a marriage license issued today would apply to the entire day remains to be seen, but stranger things have held up in a court of law.

“Rewrite reality . . .” I whisper as the world spins around me like a carousel, Drake’s wickedly infectious grin urging me to hop on for the ride.

The ride to our forever.

“What do you say, Wanda Turner?” Doctor Drake grins up at me from upon bended knee. “Dad’s already got it set up downstairs, license ready for us to sign, ordained Elvis impersonator ready to declare us man and wife. Your parents have been hyperventilating for the past three hours downstairs. What do you say? Will you be mine forever so I can stay out of prison? Will you marry me, Wanda?”

Now I’m spinning again, but in a different way, like the carousel of my life is turning the other way, the right way, the perfect way. All I have to do is get on and hold on.

Hold on to him.

Hold on to us.

Hold on forever.

11

ONE HOUR LATER.

DRAKE

---