Page 1 of Deprived No More

CHAPTERONE

Nick

Honk!

“Come on, man. The light’s green.”Get control of yourself, Nick. You’re on the way home.Hell, this day must’ve been worse than I thought if I’m laying into the car in front of me as if he can hear anything I’m saying.

Until recently, the hour-long drive from work at St. Luke’s Hospital to our home on the lake hadn’t bothered me. Yet, work has become increasingly more unpleasant. I love my job, but lately, I leave feeling more tense than accomplished. Once I’ve seen my last patient of the day, I immediately crave the comforts of home. Until I can teleport, I need to get my shit together.

The lake house is not the serene existence it once was. But it’s my personal space to kick back, relax, and decompress from the stresses of work, surrounded by my favorite people. Working as an orthopedic surgeon at St. Luke’s for nearly eight years, I’ve been able to build a thriving, respectable practice while keeping my life at home a priority. I’d finally graduated from being the new kid on the block within my group’s partnership. This permitted a rotating call schedule with my colleagues, allowing me to spend more quality time with my family. Yet, this luxury seems to be coming to an end.

We own a small home in town where I can stay when I need to be close to the hospital. When I’m scheduled on-call, I must be available to provide consultations promptly. Many of these patients are in pain or scared. Initially, our little family of three would stay in town when Katarina and I had to work early the following morning. Yet as our brood has expanded, we’ve outgrown the house my wife owned before we were married. Now, I frequently find myself there alone if there’s a dreaded on-call shift or an early case in the operating room.

Kat’s work schedule is typically easier to manage. She’s cut her hours as an emergency room physician assistant to part-time. Often, she’s able to drive to and from her ER shifts without requiring an overnight stay in town. On the rare occasion that her schedule or the weather has been an issue, I’ve made sure to bring our family to her.

Our lake house is safe and secure. It’s gated, and we’re friends with our neighbors. Katarina feels quite confident turning to them if an issue arises and I’m not there. The same cannot be said for the home near the hospital. Those living around us are younger and more transient. While we’ve tried, forming a relationship with these jet setters is difficult.

Reaching for the dash, I flip through the channels. In the past, I’d get caught up on the day’s news on my drive home, but my mood today is already sour. I don’t need to add the deluge of negativity from the world around me.Ah, Lifehouse. My wife’s eclectic music has done a number on me.

Smiling, I recall spending the early days of our relationship with her in her small suburban home. Kat had been recovering from so much, grieving the loss of her fertility and the realization that she’d been sleepwalking from the use of a medication that was supposed to finally give her a good night’s rest. When things came to a terrifying pinnacle, I finally put a stake in the ground. Temporarily moving in with her was the right thing to do.

As painful as that time was, the seeds of our relationship were planted in that little house. So many memories, both difficult and delicious. Confessions were made, and tears were shed. But I made love to my wife for the first time in that special place. Sure, we’d had sex outside the club, but that incredible night has a different memory for me than for Kat. It should. For me, it was the hottest fucking night of my life, while due to Kat’s sleepwalking history, she still can’t remember a thing about it.

We spent hours reading or cooking together in her cozy space while Kat’s favorite songs played, discovering the softer sides of one another. I’m not sure we would’ve made it if it weren’t for the foundation we planted there. Our beginning was turbulent, but our story is uniquely ours. And if I had to go through it all again, I’d jump at the chance.

The bungalow was essentially a starter home for Kat and served its purpose at the time. Yet, I’m a lot more conscious of protecting my family from intruders after my wife’s stalker came along. The subdivision is accessible to anyone who drives through. I know I’m being paranoid. The odds of Katarina being targeted again, or harmed in any way, are small. However, I harbor enough guilt over how I handled that tumultuous time. There’s no room for more. My family is my whole world, and Kat has endured enough strife to last a lifetime. Letting her spend another night alone in that house is non-negotiable.

Merging toward the onramp, I prepare for the usual bumper-to-bumper traffic that greets me as I make the sojourn home. There was a time I’d relish this trip. A brief moment of solitude, smiling at the knowledge my wife and daughter would soon greet me, and all would be right with the world. Yet as much as I still crave the contentment of my family, it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to unwind once I leave the job.

A lot of personnel changes have occurred in the last few years. The practice has gone through several hand surgeons. None appeared to be the right fit for St. Luke’s. Some couldn’t handle the high volume at our facility and wanted a slower pace. A few were more skilled on paper than in the OR. As these surgeons moved on, there were gaps in coverage, which caused many cases to be referred to other hospitals. This is far from ideal for the patient or the practice.

Then a year ago, St. Luke’s sought after and acquired an up-and-coming surgical specialist with an impressive resume. He’d studied medicine at Stanford and graduated with a prestigious surgical hand fellowship from Johns Hopkins. This proficient prodigy had achieved all of this by the ripe old age of twenty-nine. Admittedly, it’s impressive for someone to have achieved what he has in his twenties, given the years of academic and clinical training required.

Not only is he skilled enough to manage cases his predecessors couldn’t, but he performs them with ease. From day one, he’s earned high marks with the hospital administration. Truth be told, our entire orthopedic practice is benefitting from increased referrals due to his presence here. And St. Luke’s marketing staff has spared no opportunity to publish articles on the impressive addition to their surgical team.It’s surprising he doesn’t pose for pictures, given he looks like he belongs on the cover of GQ.

But something about Holden Knight rubs me the wrong way. I can’t put my finger on it. Perhaps it’s the way he pushes back on the call rotation. It’s commonplace in most orthopedic practices that anyone new should carry a heavier call load. Seniority has its benefits, but it’s earned.

Yet this guy waltzes into town, either unaware or unwilling to comply with the status quo. We’ve all been the new recruit once. We’ve each done our time. Why the hell does Holden Knight think rules don’t apply to him? “His name suits him,” I mutter to myself. The arrogant prick acts as if he’s royalty. And we’re his lowly minions.

In the year since Holden’s joined our practice, my call shifts have increased. There’s also no flexibility in his schedule. If someone is out on vacation or ill, he will not budge. And given his celebrity status amongst the administration, this rookie seems to be calling all the shots. As he’s nearly a decade my junior without a wife or kids, it tends to get under my skin.

I’m allowed to feel irritated. What is it about this guy? Maybe he’s somehow related to the CEO. There’s got to be more than meets the eye.

Adding to his entitled persona, Dr. Knight is also quite aloof. Almost insolent. He never discusses anything beyond business, even if at a work social. I don’t think I’ve seen him crack a smile unless he’s trying to hypnotize the administrative staff. Holden doesn’t appear to be a loner, as I’ve met several women he’s brought to said work functions. Yet, they all appear plastic. Devoid of any real personality.Perhaps he’s looking for his female equivalent.

I turn up the radio a little louder as I turn onto the narrow, wooded path toward my home. The sultry stylings of Jason Mraz lilt from the speakers as he croons, ‘I’m Yours,’ and I can’t stop the smile from taking over my face.

I can picture my sweet Katarina on our wedding day, her long dark hair tumbling down her gorgeous gown as we danced to this song in my father’s rose-filled garden. She was simply radiant. Her face was aglow with a joy I’d only witnessed between my mother and father, and I’d never felt more grateful for anything in my life. That gorgeous, strong-willed creature practically crashed into me in the hospital parking lot the first day I laid eyes on her. And fight it as I might, there was no mistaking we belong together. She’s the very best part of us. I’m one lucky bastard.

Finally turning into the gates of our subdivision, I feel my tension dissipate as I get closer to home. Why am I allowing my job to cause such strife? I have everything a man could want. I have a beautiful wife, a healthy family, and a peaceful life on the lake. I’m living the American dream.

Parking the car, I grab my briefcase and head for the door. It’s a temperate fall day.Maybe I’ll enjoy a Scotch on the deck overlooking the water before dinner.As I push the front door open, thoughts of unwinding are cut short as a whirlwind of activity flies about the large open great room.

“Whoah,” I belt out as my boys nearly careen into my legs as they chase each other from the living area to the kitchen. The great room is just ahead and to the right, with a large picture window opening onto the tranquil lake below. Quite the juxtaposition to the raucous activity in front of me.

In my short interaction with the boys, I notice they appear to be brandishing long, plastic objects as makeshift swords and wearing odd little white hats on their heads as they charge by, screaming in their usual fashion.

“I’m going to get you, Mason.”

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