Page 94 of Dr. Bad Boy

M: *groan* But I wouldn’t be there.

V: What?

I squint at the time. Half past six in the morning.

M: I’m at the hospital doing rounds.

V: Oh, that’s so sad.

M: On the weekend we’ll sleep in together.

V: Can’t wait.

M: You feel okay?

V: I’m exhausted. And sore.

M: Good.

V: Sadist.

M: You love it.

V: I do.

M: Out of bed, kitten.

V: Yes, Max.

I watch the screen bubble and go away, bubble and go away. I giggle.

V: You started it.

M: I have to go back to work.

V: Good luck with that.

His next text is just a picture of a grumpy face. I’m not the only one who’s adorable.

33

Max

Two days later, I’m in my office completing assessments of the clerks cycling through our paeds rotation when my pager goes off. This happens constantly, but this one concerns me more than most.

A patient I’d admitted a month earlier for a concussion, Ethan Bolton, is back in Emerg.

I log out of the assessment interface and make a quick note of where I left off. I hand that note to Blair as I leave the office. “Remind me to finish this later,” I say over my shoulder as I jog out the door.

I force myself to slow down as I approach the ER. Butdamn it, a second concussion this soon is bad news for that kid’s brain. And his future.

I stop at the nursing station and they wordlessly pass me the chart. I can see his parents standing at the foot of a bed in the corner. It looks like a resident is doing a quick physical exam, but I don’t want to fuck around with preliminary shit.

Sledding on the first heavy snowfall of the season.Damn it all to hell.I hand the chart back. “Has neuro been tagged?”

“Not yet.”

“We’ll need a consult, stat. It might take a little while to get them here, so put the page in now, please. And find out who from the acquired brain injury team is on call today.”

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