And Call Me in the Morning (10 page)

“Not again.” Eli frowned. “They aren't going after the cardiology department, are they? I can't imagine they'd be so stupid.”

“Us? Hell no. But would you care to take three guesses what they're firing at in the hole?”

A sinking feeling began to coalesce in Eli's stomach. “Not the free clinic.”

“Got it in one.”

Not good. The free clinic was Zane's baby, or close enough. It consumed all his passion and energy not spent otherwise—on Eli. Huh. Eli took care to hide his abrupt worry. “Do you know specifics?”

“I know generalities.” Diana pushed the vile coffee aside and sat back, sighing. “Budgets are tight, corners need to be cut, the free clinic gets it in the ass without lube. Again.”

“Christ. Does that leave them with any operating capital at all?”

“Not enough to stay open for much longer. The death of a thousand cuts. You know how it goes. They'll last a week, maybe two on band-aids and aspirin and ingenuity, and then?” Diana drew her hand across her throat. “Sometimes I hate modern medicine. It's all about the Benjamins.”

“Mmm.” Not that he could deny the truth of that, but Eli wasn't listening as closely as he might have. He pulled Diana's rejected coffee to him and sipped, lost in thought. Zane wasn't going to take this well.

Ah. The light dawned. “This would be why you brought up but specifically weren't mentioning Crazy Eyes,” Eli said, piecing it together. “Because you know he's going to be either wrecked or on the warpath and wanted to give me the heads-up.”

Diana looked slightly embarrassed, not a familiar expression for her. “See earlier mention of text. I went too far. Still, I'm looking out for you. And him. You're both dear to me, no matter how it might seem sometimes.”

Eli was strangely touched. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me.” She jerked her head to one side, indicating the hallway. “Go catch up with Crazy Eyes before he explodes. You think I look rough? Should have seen him when he stalked into administration like a grizzly bear on a mission.”

Not,
not
good. Eli scrambled to his feet. “You couldn't have told me this before?”

“I had to work my way up to it. Who knew if you weren't going to give me the cold shoulder?”

“Diana.” Eli made himself pause long enough to take up and squeeze her hand. “I'm not great with feelings. But that won't happen. Okay?”

The surprise in her reaction stung, but her dawning relief eased the bite. “Good. Now go get him, would you?”

Still Eli hesitated. “What about you? You'll be all right?”

“I've got a hot date tonight. After that, I'll be super or know the reason why.”

Impulsively Eli kissed the top of Diana's head.

“What the hell was that for?”

“For being a good friend,” Eli said. He would have added more if he hadn't heard the slam of a door being opened far more forcefully that the hinges' design allowed and, immediately following that, the particular staccato stomp that he knew as well as his own footfalls. Zane. “And I think that's my cue.”

“Yeah,” Diana said with a chuckle, taking the coffee back once more. “That's what he said. Work it, baby.”

Dear God. So much for Diana behaving herself. Eli shook it off and went after Zane to see how bad it was, though to be honest, he had a pretty good idea.

Eli reached Zane just in time to see him draw back his fist and aim it at a perfectly innocent wall. He caught Zane by the arm and wrestled him back. “Calm down. What did the sheetrock ever do to you?”

Zane snarled and shook Eli off. Damn. Nowhere near explaining himself yet. It was a rare occasion when Zane's sangfroid reached the end of its tether, but when it did, look out. Earthquake time.
Boom
,
crash
, and don't forget about the aftershocks.

“Zane, talk to me.” Eli kept guard on his friend—his lover, now—like a basketball player defending the goal. He wasn't exaggerating. Punching a wall and destroying his hand was the least of what Zane could get up to when truly overwrought.

Zane had run his hands through his hair so many times it stood nearly upright in disheveled clumps, his tie was mostly undone and his shirt half-untucked, and he'd taken off his lab coat to roll his sleeves up to the elbow. The muscles in his arms flexed as he bunched his fists, and the muscles in his legs jerked with irritation as he began to—not pace. Stalk. To and fro, reminding Eli of a caged tiger. His gray eyes were almost black. He looked dangerous.

Eli wondered exactly how bad a person it made him to be slightly turned on by Zane in a tempest. More than slightly.

He reined in his newly awakened libido and, though he didn't make a grab for Zane, stood firmly in his path. “Zane. Talk to me,” he repeated with firmer emphasis. “I heard what happened.”

“Then what the fuck do I need to talk about it for?” Zane swerved past Eli and made to roll on by like a thunderstorm.

“Uh-uh. I know you, friend.” The time for delicacy was past. Eli took Zane by the biceps and gave him a push. “Roof. If you're going to blow your stack, you do it in relative privacy.”

* * * * *

Everyone needed a place to go and scream at the heavens sometimes. On busy days, it might be choked with frustrated doctors and nurses come to rage against the universal machine.

Lucky them, no one else was to be seen on the expanse of gravelly roof tar and assorted city flotsam that coated the roof of Immaculate Grace. Eli made sure the stairwell door was shut behind them and that he stood between Zane and the edge before letting go. “Let it out. I've got you. Shout, scream, whatever you need. Take a swing at me if you want.”

“Pass.” Zane's wrath had cooled during the forced march up the stairs. He scrubbed at his eyes and kicked the wall behind them, but nowhere near as forcefully as he might. “What I'd do without you, I don't know.”

“Probably make an ass out of yourself in front of millions.” Eli guided Zane down to a seat beside him on a concrete extrusion of the roof. Possibly a long-capped-over chimney. The hospital had age on it. Too bad wisdom didn't go hand in hand.

Zane propped his elbows on his knees and kept his face in his hands. Funny how familiar a pose despair was when one worked in health care. “You know,” he said, “you're the only person I've ever been able to do this with. Lose my cool, let off some fucking steam, punch things, you name it.”

Eli blinked, nonplussed. He didn't ask about Zane's family. He'd met the ice-cold remnants of the old-money crew, and they wouldn't show an emotion if threatened at gunpoint. But… “Not even with Diana? Or Holly?” They'd been Zane's friends first.

“Those two? As if. They're…women. Dainty.”

“Don't let Diana hear you say that. She'd rip your nuts off. Holly too. Either that or she'd smile ever so sweetly at her husband and get him to do it for her. Weaker sex, my ass.”

Zane half laughed, not as if he found it funny, but it was a start, and Eli would take what he could get. “You asked me to talk; I'm talking. Quit flapping your gums and listen.”

Eli spread his hands wide to indicate Zane should bring it on. He had asked, after all. Even if he had a feeling this would make him uncomfortable—compliments, truly not his thing—he was obligated to listen. Besides, what was he doing that no one else with a heart wouldn't?

Zane collected himself before he went on. “I've always been someone I was expected to be,” he said, slowly choosing his words. “The son of doctors, successful doctors, game players. My wheels were greased, and I was set on the lickety-split track before I knew how to walk. You knew this.”

“And? It paid off. You're the best doctor I know.”

“Not the best. Look in the mirror sometime.” Zane handwaved Eli's protestations. “That's not the point. I'm good. Sure. I know I am. But was it who I was supposed to be?” He rubbed his eyes. “And now, with what the system's become even since I started working…” He shook his head and sighed, the look on his face so woebegone and lost that Eli's heart would have gone out to him even if he'd been a total stranger.

Eli squeezed Zane's leg. “Still here. Still listening.”

Zane covered Eli's hand with his own. His shook just a little. “You know…more and more I think we're not here to treat patients any longer. Not to heal. We're here to turn a buck and milk the insurance companies, and the one who dies with the most prescription drug T-shirts wins.”

“It's a hell of a thing. I know. But without us—without you—it'd be a fuck of a lot worse for those we can help.”

“Yeah.” Zane's laugh lacked even the small trace of humor it'd contained before. “True. But you would see it that way. You love what you do.”

“And you don't?” Eli asked without thinking.

Zane was quiet for too long. “On days like today, when I'm told that everything I promised when I took my MD is on its way out the window, sometimes I wonder if I ever loved it at all, or just the ideal. Sometimes I have no fucking clue who I am.”

“Zane…”

“Forget it.” Zane stood with an abrupt push and tried to smooth his hair. “I'll be all right. Mr. Bounce-Back-from-Disappointment, that's me, and fuck knows I've had plenty of practice. I have a few resources I can try to tap to help the free clinic.”

It was like poking a stick in a lion's cage, but Eli had to. “And if they don't come through?”

“Fuck me if I know,” Zane said. He exhaled deeply. “You busy tonight? I really don't feel like going home alone.”

Not an unfamiliar question, but the subtext, that was new. Strangely enough, Eli wasn't bothered. More relieved. Talking was great. He often thought it didn't accomplish much, especially when emotions ran this deep. Normally he'd have suggested a good hard run or a session at the gym where they could beat holy hell out of punching bags or spar with one another.

He had the distinct feeling that if he went home with Zane tonight, none of the above would be on the menu. And with that came a warming sense of liberation. Stress relief. That he could do. He thought. He was willing to give it a shot, inexperience be damned for now. And hell, if it was bad, then maybe it'd get Zane to laugh and mean it. His pride could take the hit.

Besides. Eli wanted nothing more than to follow Zane home, come what may. Wanted to take care of him.

“Can't say I feel like going home to an empty apartment myself,” he said. “Your place or mine?”

Zane bit his lip. “Your place. It's nicer.”

“It's a West Side shithole.”

“It's real,” Zane shot back. “It's lived-in and comfortable, and it's a home. Eli. Please.”

He didn't need to say anything more. “I've got you,” Eli said, tossing his arm over Zane's shoulders. “Always. C'mon. Half an hour on the El and we're there.” He rubbed Zane's back through the sigh of relief he gave and led his friend away from the hospital toward something they both wanted.

Maybe even something they both needed.