Page 82 of Challenge
“Cam, I can see it in your eyes. You’re lying. Tell me the truth. What did she do to you?”
I sneer, “Why do you think she did something to me? Isn’t it far more likely that I kicked her to the curb?”
Her chin drops. “Drop the shield, I’m not shooting at you.”
“Vi, this isn’t about Indie. But I’m grateful for my time with her. I learned a lot. People can survive with torn ACLs and live perfectly normal lives.”
She clenches her jaw. “How could she say such a thing?”
“She’s a doctor and it’s the truth. But it doesn’t matter. I can’t take this pressure. This weight. This…everything. It’s too much. I’m telling you because I love you and I don’t want you to be disappointed in me. You’re the one person I can’t take that from.”
“But football is everything to you. It’s everything to all of us.” Her voice is panicky.
I want to growl, but I’m staying calm because she has a baby inside of her and I need to be gentle. “I just need some time to decide whatIwant to do for a change.”
“You’re so talented, Camden,” her voice sounds defeated.
“That’s not the point.”
She sighs dejectedly. “This is not going to go over well.”
“INDIE,”PRICHARD SAYS, STOPPING MEin the hallway on my way to Patch Alley.
I do my best to suppress a heavy sigh. “Hi, Dr. Prichard.” I enunciate his name more forcefully than necessary, attempting to put extra focus on thedoctorpart of my address.
He grasps my elbow and guides me away from the hustle and bustle, into the darkened hallway where stretchers are stored. His touch feels like needles. “I have excellent news.”
“I was just paged for an ortho consult on a little boy,” I say, pointing to where I was heading.
“This won’t take long.” His eyes crinkle on me in that way that makes me feel squirrely. I’ve done my best to avoid him since that odd moment in the scrub room, but with Camden’s surgery coming up, there’s only so much space I can create.
“The British Medical Journalwill be here on Monday for the Harris surgery. They want to interview me…and you.” He seems to bite out the last part. “They are interested in talking to you about the research you did in med school.”
My mouth drops open.The British Medical Journalis even bigger than the one that published my research before. “What do they want to know?”
“Nothing too technical. They want to do a human interest piece on how you are one of the youngest published practicing doctors operating on a top-level athlete. They want to talk about your upbringing, your research, the procedure we’re doing on the Harris patient. Everything. The hospital is very keen about this idea.”
“Wow,” I reply still feeling a bit stunned. To have a medical journal interested in me at all is a tremendous honour. But a human interest piece? About my background and Camden? Nerves erupt inside my belly over how awkward this could be for me in more ways than I can even admit.
“I thought you might be pleased.” Prichard’s brows rise and he gets a smug look in his eyes. “I have a bottle of vintage Dom we can share after the surgery to celebrate.”
Realising that his hand is still on my elbow, I force out a smile. His advances are becoming more and more obvious. It’s not against hospital policy to date a member of the staff; however, when I’m already fighting against other residents’ perception of me, attention like this will not help me get ahead.
“We’ll see.” I step away from him, but he steps back into my space—so close that I can smell his cologne.
“Indie, I hope you can see what a good team we make. Together, I can really see big things happening all around.”
I stare back at him in wonder. It’s such a jarring juxtaposition for someone so handsome to say things so obviously creepy. When he has the entire hospital flocking at his feet, I wonder why he puts so much focus on me.
“Well, Dr. Prichard, I have a patient waiting, so…”
“Of course.” He smiles and winks. I turn and haul arse out of his space, away from his scent, and retreat into my own thoughts.
“What was it you did, little man?” I ask, sitting down next to a wide-eyed little boy whose tiny form takes up only ten percent of the stretcher we’re sitting on.
His lower lip protrudes as he’s doing his very best not to cry again. “Well, I was chasing my sister…and she went downstairs real fast and I wanted to get her…and so…I didn’t.”
“The steps are wooden. There’s no carpet, or padding, or anything. He screamed so loud. I just know something is broken.”
