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Chapter 15
“Dr Jakoby, would you say sertraline or fluoxetine as a starting point for Brad Jamieson?”
Solo’s head jerked up from the notes he should have been writing up.
So far all he’d managed to scribble was, “major depressive episode after break-up of long-term relationship”.
“Um, yes, a trial of sertraline, definitely. According to his records he didn’t improve greatly on fluoxetine several years back.”
“Indeed, so it would seem.” Pritchard’s face was grim. “His GP arranged this hospitalisation due to his previous major depressive episode.”
Solo cleared his throat. “I guess the ending of an eight-year relationship would have a fair bit to do with it. There’d be a component of grieving as well.”
He tapped his pen and tried to pretend he didn’t feel a pair of green eyes dwelling on him for longer than was comfortable from across the table.
It was Monday morning ward meeting hell. Friday night was still very much at the forefront of his mind, where it had been lodged all weekend.
Saturday first thing he’d come downstairs to find Carts with an icepack on his head and a gigantic mug of black coffee in his grip.
“Good night?” Solo said, going to the fridge and getting out the milk. “Remember much?”
Okay, he was fishing, but Polly’s concern had been a blow to his ego, not to mention leaving him alone in a bed he’d have much preferred to have been filled with a gorgeous warm woman.
“Can’t remember much past when you left the Shamrock, to be honest,” Carts muttered. “Except I had this weird dream.”
Solo closed the fridge with his foot. “Yeah?”
“Polly Fletcher, putting me to bed on the sofa. Very scantily clad. You’re the psychiatrist. Does that mean I’ve got some kind of subliminal hots happening for her I don’t know about?”
Solo tried to prevent the smile from reaching his lips. Despite still smarting over Polly’s untimely exit, Carts’ complete look of terror was really quite funny.
“The idea doesn’t appeal?”
He couldn’t imagine many guys not finding Polly goddamn awe-inspiringly beautiful, but somehow he got the impression Carts was one of the few.
“I know guys fall over themselves for her.” Carts gulped a mouthful of coffee. “But frankly, she’s a bit full-on for me.”
“I think you’d know if you fancied her in real life.” Shit, he had, hadn’t he? The moment he set eyes on her it was like every nerve in his body stood to attention. And another part of him—best not to dwell on that right now.
“Phew,” said Carts. “That’s a relief.”
Solo wished he could wipe away all thoughts of Polly as easily as Carts could, but here he was, unable to focus, having relived their lovemaking over and over all weekend, and steeling himself not to message her.
And of course, he’d not heard a thing from her.
Disappointment had dragged his feet heavily into work this morning. He’d had to fortify his steps and lengthen his stride as he walked in behind Pritchard with the patient files in his arms.
The atmosphere in the room right now was heavy.
Judith looked pale and swollen-eyed and Polly, sitting close and clearly protective, had shot him a “don’t draw attention to it” look that he’d acknowledged with a tight-lipped nod as he sat down.
Polly’s energy was spiky, tense. But frankly, so was his.
Now, Pritchard looked around the room and said, little weasel eyes gleaming, “Did you all get out of bed on the wrong side this morning? Can we have a bit of enthusiasm here? Okay, Jakoby, sertraline it is. Add a bit of short-term Xanax for the anxiety. Next case.”
“Bernie Bullman,” Leon said with an eye-roll.
“What?” Pritchard frowned. “Didn’t we discharge him on Friday?”
