Page 18 of Doctor's Surprise Twins

“If you think my heart is going to explode from three cups of coffee, you’d hate to hear about all the energy drinks I washed it down with yesterday, and we won’t even get into my cocaine addiction.”

I glare at him over my shoulder and that makes him burst into laughter.

“Just joking for anyone close enough to think I’m serious.”

“Nobody thinks you’re serious,” I tell him. “Your whole life is a joke.”

His chuckles die down. “Wow, you really are a grump this morning. Watch, this is what you do.” He grabs my shoulders and pushes me forward. “Excuse me, everyone!”

Everyone turns and gives him their attention as he pushes me toward the front of the line. “We have a very important doctor here who is running late and hasn’t had a single drop of coffee this morning. Unless we want to start toting patients out in body bags, it’s best just to let him get to the front of the line so he can go back to saving lives. Thank you.”

We’re at the front of the line now. He’s at my side and motions for me to order by waving his hand. “Well, are you goingto order, or do we need to go back to the end of the line and try this again?”

“Large flat white with an extra shot, please,” I order, digging cash out of my wallet.

“Make it two,” Noah says.

I look over at him, and he shrugs. “What? I got us up here, the least you can do is buy me a drink.”

Shaking my head, I pass over enough money for our coffee and a nice tip for putting up with us. Then, I set down a hundred-dollar bill. “For cutting in line. Coffee is on me,” I tell the cashier quietly. I don’t want anyone in line to know I’m buying their coffee because I don’t want to be thanked. I don’t want anyone to speak to me, and I sure don’t want to shake anyone’s hand. I just want to be left alone with my coffee.

When the barista sets my coffee down, I grab it and take off, heading toward the elevator. I stop and push the button as I take my first magical sip. I savor it, my eyes falling closed.

“Not too bad,” Noah says.

My eyes open, and I look to my left.

“I’ve never had one of these,” he says. “They’re not too bad.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m getting on the elevator. What’s got your panties in a bunch this morning?”

The elevator doors open and we both step in. “I slept through my alarm. I woke up an hour-and-a-half late. I didn’t have time to hit the gym or shower. Then I was out of coffee. I got stuck in morning traffic and then I get here, and everyone wants to greet me like I’m a pleasant person to be around when all I want is to be left alone to enjoy my coffee.”

He chuckles and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You better be careful. You keep doing thoughtful things like buying everyone’s coffee and people might think you’re a nice guy.”

“Don’t even joke about that.”

Luckily, my office is located through a back hallway where hospital visitors can’t just wonder in. Not many people walk through the back hallways, so I can move through the building without being bothered. Once safe in my office, I close the door behind me, set my coffee on the desk, and replace my jacket with my lab coat. Then, I sit down, turn on the computer, and dig through the morning’s correspondence. There are e-mails from the Dean of Medicine, reminders for events I RSVP’ed to, and invites to charity balls. Then, my eyes land on an invite to the one event I’ll never attend: The Amelia Walden-Cole Remembrance.

I want to delete it, but instead, I open the email. A large picture of the digital invite fills my screen. There’s a picture of her in the top left corner, looking as beautiful as ever. She could’ve been a model. She had it all. Grace and beauty. She was funny, sweet, caring, and she had a good heart. She only ever wanted to help people. I don’t know what she ever saw in me. Meeting her was the best day of my life, and losing her was my worst. The pain of that day has turned into an echo that has seared its way through me day, after day, after day for six long years now.

The invitation is for her remembrance with drinks and dinner. There will be a candlelight vigil and prayer circle at sunset, leading up to this year’s donation to the IVF fund for underprivileged women. I love that her mother is doing all of this in Amelia’s name. I know it would make her proud, but I hate that this good comes from my loss.

***

I’m just coming back from lunch when I hear the alarm go off. I jog to the end of the hallway and look down, finding theflashing light above one of the patient’s doors. I rush inside to find a panicked couple and a new male nurse. All three are just staring down at a lifeless child.

“What happened?” I ask, rushing over to the bed.

“She was just eating and then she choked,” the mom cries. “We were patting her back and everything, but we couldn’t get it out, and she passed out.”

I push everyone out of my way and scoop up the little girl, performing abdominal thrusts. I only have to do a couple before something flies out of the girl’s mouth. She gasps and starts to cry, reaching for her mother. I hand the girl over with my heart racing. My eyes land on the chunk of red fruit snack that landed on the bed. “And that is why patients are only supposed to eat foods that are prepared by the hospital,” I tell her, pushing my way out of her room.

I step out into the hallway and spin around, looking for everyone.

“Dr. Cole,” the male nurse says, running out of the room, “that was amazing. Thank you so much for helping me out in there.”

---