Page 20 of Silver Fox's Twin Surprise

“A surgeon?” Her tone was skeptical, but I caught the faintest note of admiration. “Well, that’s… respectable. But don’t you think there’s a power imbalance there, Rose? Older man, successful career, bringing you to fancy spas… He could be trying to, I don’t know, control things.”

“Mom, stop,” I said, laughing despite myself. “It’s not like that. Cole’s not manipulative. He’s supportive, and he listens to me. Honestly, he’s probably more patient with me than anyone else ever has been.” I sighed, closing my eyes as Lena worked on a knot in my neck.

“That’s nice,” she said carefully, but I could hear the reservations lining her words. “I just don’t want you to get swept off your feet by the wrong person. Men with that kind of power can be… persuasive.”

“Not Cole,” I said firmly. “He’s not that guy. I promise, you’d like him if you met him.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.” I appreciated my mom's concern, but it was unwarranted and right now, I wanted to focus on relaxing and letting this spa day take the edge off all my stress.

"I'm not going to get hurt, Mom." I sighed and wished I could just hang up.

Another pause, then a resigned sigh. “Alright. I’ll trust you. But if he does anything that makes you uncomfortable, you call me right away. Got it?”

“Got it,” I promised, smiling. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, sweetheart. And enjoy the spa. You deserve it. I'll call you tomorrow to talk about Aunt Sally. Now probably isn't the time.”

"Bye, Mom," I said, realizing she probably just wanted to gossip about something her sister had done. I was relieved that I was actually busy and unable to sit here talking the whole time.

I hung up, setting the phone aside as Lena pressed into my shoulders again. The tension was uncoiling, and I put my phone down on the massage table beside me.

I wondered if what they said had any merit. Mom only wanted what was good for me, and she was telling me the same things Alana had, but I still didn't believe her. Was I just blind? Was it that I was being ignorant because I just liked him? Or were they just too closed-minded?

I finished my spa day, choosing to buy a sexy negligee from the boutique in the front of the spa, then I sat in the waiting room, waiting for Cole to pick me up. I might have miffed last night by drinking too much, but tonight he and I were going to have a good time.

17

COLE

Ihad our cab drop Rose by the spa with a promise to return in three hours on the dot, then I headed out toward the clinic where I'd see the specialist. My hands were shaking, but not because of the tremors. I clenched them into fists and flexed them, trying to shake away some of the nerves. This wasn't a fatal condition—based on my research—but it would be career ending eventually. I just hoped to stave that off for a while.

I sat in the waiting room for about thirty minutes before they took me back. The nurse was kind enough, checking my vitals and asking simple questions. Every answer I gave made me feel more vulnerable and at risk. There was a voice in the back of my head telling me I was weak for feeling this way, but I couldn't help it. A surgeon with unsteady hands was no surgeon at all.

"Well," Doctor Ballard said as he walked in, "what do we have here?" He narrowed his eyes on my chart and his balding head scrunched up. I wrung my nervous hands together in my lap as he focused on the sheet in front of him. I didn't want to interrupt his concentration, but I was anxious to get this over with. "Dr.Hastings, is it?" He looked up at me and pushed his glasses up to his head, exposing his kind eyes.

"Yes, Cole Hastings. I'm a trauma surgeon out in Denver." I swallowed the knot constricting my throat. "I came here for anonymity." My chest felt tighter than a piano string.

"Yes, we get that a lot," he said, looking back at my chart. "So, you've done no testing yet? EEG, MRI? Nothing?" His eyes flicked back up to me. "Essential tremors seems like a diagnosis you've given yourself. Are you a neurological surgeon?" His skepticism was warranted. I hadn't exactly clarified on the intake form I filled out online that I hadn’t seen anyone about this previously.

"No, sir, that's why I'm here. For your expertise. My self-diagnosis could definitely be wrong. I just wanted to give you a place to start looking." I'd done a substantial amount of reading so I knew what I was looking into, but the ultimate diagnosis would come from him.

"And you don't want this reported to your insurance? You’re all out of pocket?" His skepticism continued, but he had to understand why I was doing it this way. If I could treat it without telling the board, it would be better. There was too much heat on me already.

"Yes, sir. Insurance is required to keep files…" I left the deduction up to his own mind, and he nodded.

"I understand." He eyed me for a moment and said, "You know if we uncover this condition you fear you have and it's progressed, we might not be able to stop or reverse it. And stress will only make it grow exponentially worse. You won't be able to keep this a secret for long."

The pronouncement was something I already knew, but hearing him say it aloud made me feel like punching something. Life got out of control sometimes, but this was something I never expected to happen.

"Of course, I know that. I just want to do what I can now. It will give me time to get a plan together for my future." It didn't mean I wouldn't be able to drive or work, just that I wouldn't be able to operate.

"Well, I'll be happy to treat you once we get some tests. We'll need a serum copper test to rule out Wilson's disease. We need MRI and CT scans to show it's not Parkinson's or MS. We'll do an EMG, DaTscan, thyroid, tox screen, CBC, and a few other physical assessments. If we can induce a tremor and observe it, we'll know better what we're doing. Can you come back next week for the testing?"

I sighed and gripped the edge of the exam table, controlling the anxiety-induced anger I felt. "Uh, no, sir. I have a full schedule. I was hoping we could handle this today. I just need answers." My mind was racing with what-ifs. I needed help immediately, and I couldn't very well prescribe myself the medications needed. Every prescription was tracked.

"Alright, well sit tight. Do you have a few hours? That's what it will take." His eyebrows went up and I nodded. Then he continued as he stood up, "We won't have any conclusive diagnosis today because the results of these tests take time—up to a week. But we can start you on Propranolol to help with tremors, or Gabapentin, though that might make you sleepy."

"Whatever you think will help right away. I have a few important surgeries this week. I don't want to chance a mistake." The truthwas every surgery was important, and I didn't want a mistake on any of them, which was why I was here.

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