Page 49 of Enemies to Lovers

“Maybe. I’m still thinking he ingested something toxic.” She moves to the tail, examining the rectum for signs of diarrhea. “They’re advertising that dark chocolate frappe. Cups are all over that garbage. He might’ve gotten into it.”

It’s a good theory, and the symptoms match. Blood culture will take a few days to confirm, but the saliva test will get here quicker.

She runs her hands over the cat before moving to the screen. I take charge of petting the patient, calming the guy as we continue to examine him. He’s lethargic, and the drool continues to pool under his chin. I wipe his chops, scratching behind his ears. We gave the Starbucks manager a list of vitamins for Mr. Chonk to help control his diet, but the guy made it pretty clear he didn’t give two shits about the cat. He mainly wanted us to get Mr. Chonk out of his garbage and flirt with Professor Clark.

With how this big fluffy guy is looking, it doesn't seem like the manager listened to anything we said.

“We should do a gastric flush,” Val says, turning from the screen. “Get whatever it is out of his system.”

“He’s been vomiting. Might’ve already gotten most of it.” I straighten. “But I agree. Should clear him out.”

“Keep him for observation? It’ll be a long night.”

“Fine with me.”

There’s another slight twitch to her lips, but she flattens them quickly and nods once. We start the treatment, Dr. Goff watching our every move. Val takes the lead on flushing, and I take the lead on catching all the vomit that comes up. It’s messy and not made for the weak-stomached, that’s for sure.

We spend three hours with Mr. Chonk, checking his heart rate and giving him IV fluids while we flush. All three of us are exhausted by the time it’s over, but we finally get a clean test from the saliva sample.

Now it’s just a waiting game. The rest of the class is long gone, and Val and I take shifts holding him in our arms to keep his body warm. He starts purring around hour six, rumbling my arms with his loud appreciation. Come dinner time, I grab us some sandwiches from the school cafeteria, and we eat in our swivel chairs, talking nothing but animals and treatment and what we hope for Mr. Chonk. Val grins around her roast beef when I use the name, swinging side to side on her chair. I follow suit, our knees brushing every few turns.

Dr. Goff comes back around nine o’clock, an impressed eyebrow raised when he sees Val and me still there. He walks up to the exam table, his height putting him eye level with Mr. Chonk.

“How’s our patient?” he asks, stroking a finger across the snoozing cat.

“Clean labs after the flush,” Val says, standing from her swivel chair. “We’ve hooked up the IV to keep him hydrated, and we’re staying on observation duty in case he seizes from any of the toxin.”

He nods, continuing to run a hand over the furry guy. “Heart rate?”

“One-seventy last checked,” I answer. “Around twenty minutes ago.”

“Great. Sounds like he’ll come out of it.” He grins at the both of us, and I’m brought to an image of Hunter at my graduation. My father was never around much to show pride in whatever accomplishment I had. Hunter was that person for me, and the smile that reaches Dr. Goff’s eyes reminds me so much of Hunter it warms something deep within the pit of my stomach.

“We hope so,” Val says, and the urge to make sure she gets most of the credit pulls at me. It won’t make up for what I’ve done, but maybe it’ll show her I’m not playing with her. I want that internship—damn, do I want it—but I’m not going to fight her for it.

“I have a brilliant partner,” I say, nudging her playfully, and her brows pull inward. “She diagnosed the patient almost immediately, got the treatment going…”

“You’ve both come a long way since that first day,” Dr. Goff jokes, his arm dropping to his side. I let out a wobbly laugh, but Val doesn’t give even a chuckle. Her lips purse, and she turns to Mr. Chonk.

“He’s a stray. After the observation is over, do we turn him over to the shelter?”

Dr. Goff runs a hand over his trimmed beard. “I believe Madison—the girl who brought him in—will be back tomorrow.”

I clear my throat. “Do you think she’d be willing to take him?”

“Big commitment,” Val says. “And that’s if her parents say yes.”

My lips turn down. “The Humane Society might be best. I can care for him during my rounds.”

Val doesn’t smile, but I feel the agreement in her movements, the encouragement. Dr. Goff watches our exchange silently.

“What if he’s not up to par tomorrow?” I ask the doctor. We never know what’ll turn in the night.

“I have some space in my clinic.” Dr. Goff scratches the cat’s head. “He’s welcome there.”

I knew I liked him. It’s why I want to work with him—there are doctors who know what they are doing, and doctors who have a perfect bedside manner and respect for their patients, and there are doctors who are both.

He tells us he’ll let the night staff know we’ll be in the lab and then says his goodbyes. As soon as the lab door shuts, Val spins on her heel, narrowing her eyes.

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