Page 11 of Doc Showmance
You’re on camera.“I know you care about your patients.”Total bullshit, but it’s what the world thought. Because they carefully edit all Kovac’s TV time.The show also paid off a few people to keep them from making a stink when their pet’s case went south under his care.“I just saved Mac’s life. So, back the hell off while I go tell his owner he’s alive.Isaved his life. Not you. You don’t get to play hero after all that.” I waved toward the surgery room.
I lowered my voice. “Look, I know this is about saving face on camera, but right now let me do right by this dog’s owner, who’s a friend of mine. Let me see if I can keep him from suing you.”
Kovac’s glare promised retaliation. He hissed under his breath, “Watch your back, Hardin.”
Assholes like him didn’t scare me.
I marched toward the lobby, hoping the cameraman stayed with Kovac. Through the swinging doors, I located Wade as one of the two people in the waiting area. He sat, gazing blankly at the TV where a nineties sitcom rerun played. His empty, shocked loneliness broadcast the pain of acceptance that news of the worst was coming. Life was fragile, but none comprehended it more acutely than someone who realized their best friend, sometimes only friend, might be gone. The pain of losing a pet was a socially marginalized grief, borne too much in silence. Vets bore the weight of this grief with an empathy that few of the person’s friends and family understood since they comprehended the depth of the bond.
He didn’t hear me approach. Quietly, I asked, “Wade?”
He lurched in his chair and rotated. Reddened eyes met mine.
“He’s doing fine. He’s going to be okay.” I smiled. “He’s awake.”
Wade collapsed forward with his hands on his knees. “Oh, God. Thank you. I’ve been praying.”
I put my hand on his shoulder while he pressed a thumb into the corner of his right eye.
“He’s got some healing to do. We had to do a blood transfusion, and he might need another. He’ll need to stay through tomorrow, but I feel like I got the whole mass out. Now, we don’t know what kind of tumor it is, but even if it’s cancerous we bought him a good amount of time. He’s not bleeding anymore.”
“When you called…” Wade looked up. “I didn’t get to see him before they took him away to do surgery. I worried that might’ve been my last time with him.” He dropped his head and swiped at his eyes.
“I’m sorry about how it all happened.” I sat in the empty chair next to him. “I didn’t want to make that call to you, but…” I whispered, “I’m sorry I had to put you through that.”
“He almost died, didn’t he?” he rasped out.
“He did. But we got him through. I have an incredible surgical team. We stopped his bleeding, and I got out the mass. I have a good feeling about it. The rest of his liver looked great.” I fought the tears burning my eyes. I had a hard time watching grown men cry without tearing up. My gaze went bleary. “You want to see him?”
He nodded.
I stood and silently led him to the back where Mac rested in an oversized lower-shelf cage on a cushy mat beneath the circulating air warmer. I noticed the things that might make Wade uncomfortable—the trash bag filled with bloody items shadowing through its white plastic, the pile of bloodied instruments waiting to be washed and sterilized, and the syringes of medication on the counter nearby readied to be administered intravenously to Mac. Yet the room was quiet. No other patients were being worked on in the treatment area. No howling or barking dogs broke the peace. A sleeping cat rested a few cages over.
The basset hound’s face perked up when he saw Wade, although he didn’t try to get up. I loved the moment when a dog got the spark that only came from seeing the person who was their reason for existing.
Wade knelt down next to Mac and touched his head as if worried he’d hurt him. “How ya doing, buddy?”
Wade hugged Mac’s head to his chest in a long, silent moment of communion. He glanced up to find me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I stood from where I’d knelt next to him. “Remember, he’s not out of the woods yet, but he’s a fighter. We have to give him tonight to recover from surgery and regroup in the morning. Why don’t you spend a bit of time with him? My shift is over, and I’ve got to take off. Just let one of the techs know when you’re ready to go.”
Wade mumbled something soft to Mac.
I felt watched. Quick glance around found Ian Todd’s gray gaze on me.
Ian stood angled in a way to watch me while one of the managers seemed to be showing him how to use the computer software. He looked as if he planned to speak to me. The intention was written in the lines of how intensely he stared.
That was a no.
Not today. Not after this surgery.
If I were anyone else, he might’ve made me gooey to be the focus of his attention. But I wasn’t his groupie. I refused to lose my mind over him or his good looks. I remembered what he’d done to me well enough not to be distracted by him. In school, we’d been friends who enjoyed our time together as study buddies and lab partners. There’d been an almost moment, the night before he flushed whatever fledgling lust we had for each other down the toilet. For that one instant in time we’d almost given in to the burning chemistry between us. But he traded it away to gain popularity points at my expense.
I’d seen him a few times at conferences since graduation. Every time I froze him out if he tried to talk to me. I understood the danger of trusting him again. Hell, I knew I couldn’t trust myself. Not when confronted with that gray gaze and that face carved straight from my fantasies.
At the moment I wasn’t sure what might come out of my mouth if he approached me, and I didn’t want to feed the show more drama.
Like a coward, I planned my escape. I should’ve had tonight to figure out how to handle seeing him again. And again… And every flipping moment of the day. I needed a strategy to avoid storming to the edge of panic every time he so much as glanced my way.
