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“I’m giving you some antibiotics first, and then I’ll take a minute to get your vitals. How’s the pain in your throat?”
Like I swallowed the devil’s cum. I made a grimacing face and shrugged one shoulder.
“I thought so. I’ll get you some Novocain to help you eat and drink later.” Dr. Cade was focused on his work, his eyes on his hands as he injected antibiotics into my IV port. Then, he scooped up all the empty packages and stepped on the trashcan lever to dump everything into the empty receptacle. He peeled off his gloves with it, and then washed his hands.
I leaned my head against the plastic, paper-covered pillow and let my eyes drift closed again as cold trickled into my arm. I realized, for the first time in a really long time, I felt safe. With Lachlan busy and intent on fixing my traitorous body, I felt… protected. It was new and warm, and slightly ambrosial. Like, maybe, I was drunk.
I stiffened, looking at the IV in my arm.
Lachlan had turned on the computer monitor just across from the door, and he looked up from clicking. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s—” I winced. My throat was impossibly dry and sore. I pointed to the IV and gave him a questioning look.
“It’s just clindamycin, ibuprofen, and saline,” he said. “Why?”
I shook my head, closing my eyes.
“Why?” he asked again, his voice more insistent. He came to stand beside the exam table, and this time, he had a stethoscope around his neck and folded his toned arms. “Tell me.”
“Dizzy,” I rasped.
“Still?”
I nodded. He gave me that doctor look again. The one where his eyes were taking in every microparticle of my being, and if I hadn’t already been flushed with fever, I would have burst into flames of embarrassment. He was seriously so gorgeous. And smart. Why he was helping me, I couldn’t guess. I didn’t want to name what Iwishedhis reasons were.
Lachlan stepped forward, leaning against the exam table, and felt under my chin for my swollen lymph nodes. He massaged around the back of my head, and I resisted the urge to close my eyes in gratification. It was stupid. So, so stupid. But I hadn’t been touched by anyone in years. The pressure, his closeness—it felt amazing.
He reached over and unhooked the otoscope from its place on the wall, and after fitting a disposable cover over the cone, he gently turned my head to peer into my ears. First my left, then my right. After making a low sound, like he was thinking, he deposited the cover in the trash at his feet, and then replaced it.
He rotated slightly, grabbing a tongue depressor from a jar on the counter, and still holding the light, he hooked me with his gaze. His chin lifted slightly, indicating something in my direction. “Open your mouth.”
Five
Lachlan
Any desire I’d felt for Laurel when I’d caught her in my arms had been quickly replaced with stark fear. I should have taken her right to the emergency room. I should have insisted that she received proper medical attention. But the look of terror on her face when I’d suggested an ER trip was just as familiar to me as her symptoms. I knew that look when patients didn’t have insurance and couldn’t cover the cost of their care. And, sure, we could lie about her name and who she was, and the hospital would have to give her treatment, but I doubted she would go along with that, either.
Especially not when I could help her. So, I did. Even if she didn’t want my help, it was either this way, or I was calling an ambulance. Even in the grocery store, especially after she’d removed her mask, I had seen the circles under her eyes, the chapped lips, the flushed face, and unfocused, dilated pupils. Her pulse had raced under my fingertips, and I didn’t need a thermometer to feel that she had a raging fever.
And now, with my otoscope confirming my worst fears, I was more tempted than ever to scoop her back into my arms and take her straight to my ER. The infection had spread to her ears, and I had a sinking feeling that her throat would look even worse. “Open your mouth,” I said.
She gaped at me, mouth slack but not intentionally open.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. My initial assessment that she was some kind of innocent fairy had been dead wrong. The way her breath hitched when I held her against me, the way her already flushed face turned scarlet when I touched her—even when I had snapped at her, her deep blue eyes had hooded with desire, and it took every ounce of effort not to shake her shoulders until a bit of sense dropped into her head.
I tapped her chin playfully. “All the way.”
She seemed to startle herself out of a reverie, and obediently, her eyes screwing shut, she opened her mouth.
I pressed the wooden depressor on her tongue and leaned forward, shining my otoscope light down her throat. I hardly needed the light, though. It was obvious from the white, weeping sores and swollen tissue that she had one of the worst cases of streptococcus infection I had ever seen. Like, necrotizing fasciitis risk-factor bad. And if the infection had spread to her ears, then I had a sinking suspicion that her lungs were next.
“Congratulations,” I said briskly, clicking off the light and leaning away from her. “You managed to give yourself a case of otitis media in addition to your strep infection.”
She blinked at me and mouthed, “Huh?”
“The strep spread to your ears,” I explained. “Which is why you feel dizzy.”
Her mouth stretched to the side with an expression of “oops” like she’d forgotten a dental cleaning appointment.
