Page 69 of Paging Dr. Breakup
If his condition changes.
If his subdural expands and he dies.
Calvin wasn’t in the clear yet.
“Right. Let’s get you tucked in for the evening. As luck would have it, I’m also your attending doctor for admission.” She did a jazz hands move. “Ta-da, rural medicine.” Then she turned and exited.
He locked eyes with Deirdre again. “I am a lucky guy in more ways than one.”
Air lodged in her lungs and wouldn’t budge. Deirdre had witnessed luck fail in the face of relentlessly progressing medical conditions.
She knew, better than most, that luck might not be enough.
But by God, she was going to remain by his side.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Once in themed-surg inpatient room, Cal wrapped up the questions with Lieutenant Kate and let his body relax into the bed, trying his best to appreciate the one-size-fit-nobody hospital gown with complimentary air conditioning in the back. Before doing the first of the evening’s many neuro checks, the nurse had turned on the air cushion feature. Good news was he wouldn’t get a pressure ulcer. Bad news? It felt like he was sleeping on a shifting marshmallow.
Things could be worse.
He squinted in the low light and spied Deirdre, who half sat, half reclined on the vinyl loveseat, her head drooping. Her chin-length brown hair, normally styled, was a tangled mess, like she’d run her hands through it more than once. Despite the low light in the patient room, that silky maroon shirt of hers made her skin glow.
She was beautiful.
She was here. With him.
Calvin’s chest squeezed.
It took a brain injury, a brief coma, and getting admitted to his own hospital to wake Calvin up to a few key truths.
One, the comfort andrightnessthat Deirdre’s presence brought him was more than friendship. More than fake dating. Their connection was real. His desire to have her in his life was real.
Two, they were not the same people as when they were eighteen years old. Different priorities. Different history.
Three, he realized that he wasn’t second best to his best friend. It wasn’t a competition. He was the right guy at this time. If that meant the possibility of a future with Deirdre, he could accept that reality.
He turned his head, gritting his teeth against the head-spinning nausea and the ever-present headache.
She sighed, then lifted her head. “How are you doing?” Her tired smile triggered a deep-seated need to wrap her in his arms so that she could rest.
“You can go home if you need to,” he said.
She scrubbed her eyes. “No, I can stay. If you’re okay with that.”
“Very okay. There’s no one I’d rather have here.”
Hard to tell if she blushed in the dim light.
She shoved hair behind her ear. “Um, I’ll text your mom with another update.”
“Hopefully, that keeps them from worrying.”
She typed and nodded. “All done.”
“Deirdre.”
She froze, phone in hand, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”
