Page 12 of Running Scared
Bailey covered his nose, feeling the closeness of Dean’s regard pierce him to the bone.Forget “under his skin,” Dean Royal had deftly become a part of Bailey’s soul.
“God, you’re a pain in the ass,” he said, his breath sighing from his chest as he said it, like a swoon.
“I am not,” Dean replied earnestly.“I amveryconsiderate with the lubricant and stretching, and your ass should feel invigorated.”
Bailey’s laughter was partly a gurgle of embarrassment and partly a hoot of genuine glee, because thirty-something doctor or not, that joke never seemed to get old.
And then Dean smiled, letting Bailey know it had been a fullyintentionedjoke, and Bailey loved him more.
Dean’s lips brushed against his, and Dean said, “I’ll try to remember to text you before?”
“Between!”Bailey warned, because they’d spoken about this at length too.
“Between,” Dean repeated obediently.“Betweenvisits.”
Bailey smiled at him warmly, trying to ignore the word, the big word, the L-word, the big L-word that he’d just used in his head.
“I’ll look forward to your next one,” he said softly.“Be safe, G-man.”
“Get some sleep, Dr.Dodge,” Dean said, every bit as sober.
And with that Bailey had to leave, forcing himself into the dedicated heat of the Austin summer, two minutes shy of 11:00 a.m.He waved at Dean’s rental for a moment, almost positive he saw Dean’s hand come up in response as he exited the roundabout, and Bailey had no choice but to go in.
Sarree, of course, gave him an absolute ration about forgetting his ID, but Bailey was sort of on cloud nine, so he blithely let her rant at him while he checked his charts, drank his third cup of coffee (only his third), and set about his rounds, Sarree at his side.
Right before he entered the first patient’s room, Sarree stopped him.
“Wait,” she ordered, and he came to a military halt while she eyeballed him intently.“You are entirely too happy.”She scowled at him for a moment, and then her expression lightened.“Oh my God—he’s here!”
Bailey felt heat in his cheeks, and his seventeen freckles probably stood out in stark relief.
“Well not anymore,” he muttered.“He’s probably on his way home to Sacramento as we speak.But yeah.He got in two days ago, just in time for my day off, and….”He shrugged, unable to keep the smile from his face.“It was nice,” he said, as demurely as he could.
She let out a bark of laughter.“Nice?I see stubble burn on your neck, my fair Irish friend—you had yourself atime.”
Bailey had to glance away, mostly to contain his smile.“He told me about his family,” he all but whispered.“And there’s alotof them.And… and he opened up about why he’s so closemouthed and… and he….”It sounded stupid when he said it.
“Let you know you were important?”she asked kindly.
“Yes!”he told her, his grin absolutely unstoppable.“God, Sarree, it’s just… just the nicest thing to have someone in your life who cares like that.I haven’t felt like this since….”
And it hit him then that after all his complaining toDeanabout whatDeanhadn’t been saying,Baileyhad been keeping one very big thing to himself.
“Since Emmett,” she said, catching his eyes.
Bailey nodded.“I… I haven’t told him about Emmett yet,” he admitted.
“It was an awful, awful time,” Sarree said, and he heardhervoice choking up, and he squeezed her arm in response.
None of them talked about it.It was such a terrible chapter of American historyperiod,and for those who’d been on the front lines, who had lost people on the front lines, it had been so much worse.Every day—every day—it hadn’t been a question of who but of how many.And the statistics, over 11,000 deaths in Texas alone, didn’t account for people who had died in their homes unattended, or who died of complications after the initial fever and cough had passed.
Didn’t account for Emmett Coyle, who had wrestled with the disease for two weeks, come back two weeks later, and dropped dead of a cardiac embolism during his second shift, an event that a young man who took stellar care of himself would ordinarily not have suffered.
It had been COVID.Bailey knew it, Emmett’s family had known it, the entire ER had known it—but he’d never been a “COVID statistic” because the bureaucracy didn’t work that way.
It didn’t matter—not really.But the few ER employees who’d been able to wrangle two hours out of the day had been the only ones at the funeral.They’d stood in the pouring September rain, maskless so they wouldn’t get waterboarded, and said goodbye to as good a doctor, as good a friend, as good a man, as they’d ever known.
And Bailey’s lover, the man he’d planned to marry and who’d told his whole family he was marrying Bailey.They’d been planning on that spring.
