Challenge (14 page)

Camden’s Adam’s apple bobs as he wars with himself for a moment. I can’t tell if he’s working up the courage to argue with me or if he’s thinking about something else entirely. Swallowing once, he says, “When I was little, my mum had a couple of surgeries after she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. They said it would give her more time. It didn’t.”

My heart stills inside my chest at the raw and vulnerable words he’s just announced to the ceiling. “How old were you?”

His lips form a hard line. “Three.”

I inhale shakily and can’t help but ask my next question. “Did she die in surgery?”

He closes his eyes and I almost have to look away because the stiff pain on his face is overwhelming. “No. She suffered through two horrid surgeries and didn’t even get the chance to start chemo before things went from bad to worse.”

Relief blankets me right before guilt crushes me. She still died. But in my mind, it would have been worse if she had died on the operating table, especially with what he has coming tomorrow. “I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head. “I was young. I barely remember her.” Gruffly clearing his throat, he adds lightly, “My dad had me take a meeting with Arsenal today.”

My eyes widen at his abrupt change of subject. “Here at the hospital? What did they want?”

“To see how fast I will recover. Dr. Prichard sat in on the meeting, too.”

This floors me. He’s lying here with an injury and they still want to talk contracts with him? He must be an incredible athlete. Regardless, talking here doesn’t seem like a good idea. It’s adding an immense amount of pressure right before he goes into surgery.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” he says ominously. “I’d like to know what you think.”

His blue eyes find mine, gleaming for answers. His hand reaches out to cover my own. It feels warm and personal and so much more than a doctor/patient relationship should be. The intimacy sends shivers up my spine.

There are so many lines we’ve crossed in his short time here. I’m risking everything by sleeping with him like this. I went to school for so long, and now that I’m an actual doctor, I decide to shack up with a patient? This is insanity.

Pulling my hand free to tuck it under my head, I reply pragmatically instead of emotionally. “Well, as we said, with The Wilson Repair, it’ll be a quick recovery and you’ll be good as new in five to six weeks. Most ACL repairs take six months, which is devastating for footballers. This means you’ll be able to get right back on the field for summer training. Tell them that and you’re sure to get an offer.”

Silence stretches out between us as Cam stares at me for a long, painful moment. He’s trying to get a read on me, but I’m only giving him the business reply. Sure I’m in bed with him and it’s probably too little, too late, but in my mind, I have something to prove. I can still be his surgeon. I want him to be Penis Number One, but I need to do the surgery first. I can handle both.

Without another word, he rolls over on his side, facing away from me, and the cold shoulder feels a whole lot like being slapped in the face.

Ten o’clock turns to eleven. Eleven turns to midnight, and midnight turns to one in the morning, and I’m still staring at the window, begging sleep to take me. Cam’s soft sounds of sleep taunt me, making me feel like a boat with no water.

Lying next to him in his hospital bed when I know, without a shadow of a doubt, it could be a matter of days before I have sex with him is weird. Weirder than weird. It’s like intimate or something. It feels gentlemanly that he’s not trying to have sex with me anymore, which is all wrong because he’s not supposed to be a gentleman. He’s supposed to be Penis Number One. I’m supposed to be his surgeon.

What a mess.

Unable to lie here alone with my thoughts any longer, I grab my mobile from under the pillow and pull up Belle’s name.

Me: Hey, can you talk to me for a minute?

I wait for a moment, knowing Belle’s ring will wake her. Being a doctor trains your brain to be a light sleeper.

Belle: Sure. Let me go into the bathroom so I don’t wake Stanley, who’s probably approaching a wet dream about you right now.

I roll my eyes and slide off the bed, glancing down at Cam for a moment. He’s clearly in his REM sleep cycle. Since I know he’s a deep sleeper, I creep into the loo, leaving the lights off so there’s absolutely no chance of waking him.

I slide down the shower wall just as my mobile lights up with Belle’s call.

“Hey,” I croak as I tuck my feet under my legs on the shower floor.

“Hey, why are you whispering?” she asks. “Aren’t you at home right now?”

I purse my lips. “Promise not to get mad and promise not to judge. And promise not to do that thing where you sound as if you want to pet me on the head.”

“Indie.”

“You do it sometimes. I know you’re not trying to be patronising, but I just need you to promise.”

“Okay, I promise.”

I drop the bomb. “I’m up in Camden Harris’ VIP suite.”

“Why? Did something happen to him?” Her voices raises with alarm.

“No.”

“Then why are you there?”

I drop the second bomb. “I’m sleeping with him.”

“You had sex with him?” she squeals, her voice louder than before.

“Stop shouting! Oh my God, you’re going to wake up Stanley,” I groan. “And no. I didn’t have sex with him. I stayed in his room with him last night and slept in the chair, but tonight he convinced me to sleep in his bed. I was trying to just sleep with him, but I can’t sleep because that’s all we’re doing.”

“I’m so confused.”

“I don’t know how it happened, but it did. He knows I’m a virgin. He knows I want to have sex with him, but we’re waiting.”

“For what? The operating room?”

“Belle!” I growl. “Be serious. I know this sounds crazy. But he’s so hot and he’s actually kind of fun, and he’s really persuasive and charming. Somehow he got me to stay in his room last night. Then he was nervous about the surgery, so I said I’d sleep with him again tonight. But I can’t sleep because all I keep thinking about is the fact that everything we’ve been doing for the last forty-eight hours is very Un-penis Number One. I’m breaking the rules, Belle, and I’m terrified that this is going to mess up more than just my Penis List!” I drop the final bomb and it feels like a stinker.

“Got it. Okay, hang on a tick. It’s like I just found out Mary Poppins was a pedophile.”

“What?”

“I’m processing. My sweet, perfect student, Indie Porter, has gone rogue on me. You skipped like eighteen steps, darling. I thought we made this list and these rules so you would know exactly what to do.”

“Well! He’s really charming.” I sigh heavily and listen to her breathe in and out for what feels like forever.

“Okay. It’s going to be okay.” Her voice is confident and resolute.

“It is?”

“Yes. I decreed it and so shall it be. You’re worried he’s being too nice? Like he’s not Penis Number One material? Don’t. I’ve been Googling him since he came in. There’s this entire hate mail blog post from that model he was dating last month about how he fucked her over. She doesn’t actually state his name, but you don’t have to be a genius to know who Hamden Carris is.”

“What did the article say?” The inner voice in my head wants to know what he could have possibly done for her to publicly smear him like that.

“Indie! It doesn’t matter. You need him to be a dog. I’m telling you, he’s a player. Don’t get attached. Caring about what happened to some leggy, jilted blonde is irrelevant.

“Furthermore, if you can’t sleep, get the hell out of there now. Nothing needs to mess up your ability to operate tomorrow. He’s asleep. You’ve coddled him. Your customer service job is done. Leave so you can get your head straight and be ready for this surgery. He won’t care. You’re an innocent virgin unicorn…He’d be a fool to walk away from you.”

“Okay.” I swallow hard. “Bloody hell, you give good advice at one in the morning.”

“Well, I hadn’t gone to sleep quite yet.”

“Do I want to know?” I ask nervously.

“No.”

“Okay,” I reply with relief. My shit sandwich is large enough without adding her drama to it. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

She huffs a laugh into the line. “I couldn’t be more proud of you. Now get out of there.”

I creep out of the bathroom and throw on my trainers. Cam’s still out cold, but before walking out the door, I decide to leave him a note—something he’ll see in hopes he doesn’t think I’ve changed my mind about the Penis Number One thing.

My eyes scroll through the notes in the margins of his book until I get to the place he left off. Biting my lip, I grab his pen and scrawl out something of my own just below his last note. It’s something that I hope he’ll be able to appreciate.

Then I creep out like a thief in the night, clutching tightly to my nerves the entire way.

“
Y
OU’RE GOING TO BE
great. Don’t be nervous,” Vi coos as she strokes my hair over and over. I know she does it to calm herself more than me, so I bite my tongue to stop from telling her to piss off.

Two nurses just left my room after prepping me for surgery. One shaved my leg, the other started an IV drip. I already feel the effects of whatever meds they put in there to relax me, but they’re making me feel more emotional than calm.

I shift uncomfortably as I’m sprawled out on a hard, mobile bed that’s to take me to surgery any second. It’s different from the large VIP bed that smells like lemons and rain.
Thank goodness for small favours
, I think sullenly.

“You have to stop,” I growl, unable to bite my tongue any longer and shooing my sister’s hands off of me. My mood is dark, and the fact that I woke up to Beardie’s face instead of Indie’s didn’t help matters. “Where are Tan and Booker? Gareth?” I ask, feeling like I’m overwhelmed with the maternal hovering of my sister. Some annoying brotherly distractions could serve me well.

“They’re in the waiting room. I didn’t think you’d want everyone swarming you before the surgery. I can call them in here if you want,” she adds, her eyes bright and helpful.

I shake my head. She’s right. I’ll just get prickly and bark at them like I did yesterday. Best to just get this over with. “Dad?” I ask knowingly.

Her eyes turn soft. “Sorry, Cam. You know this is hard for him.”

Hard for
him
? I want to laugh. Imagine how it is for me since I’m the one going under. Surgery and my family do not have a good history, but nobody seems to be talking about that.

“Well, are we all ready for action?” Dr. Prichard’s deep voice bellows as he comes striding into the room, adjusting his blue scrub cap.

I look behind him, hoping to see Indie on his tail, but am disappointed when no one follows.

I’m angry. I’m angry that I’m angry. I’m angry that I care. She did exactly what she did yesterday and just left. I can’t get a read on her and it’s infuriating. I don’t like feeling powerless.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I murmur, trying not to roll my eyes.

“As I mentioned to you in our meeting yesterday, we’ll be video streaming the procedure to other clinics since it’s only the second time The Wilson Repair has been done in the UK. There are a lot of interested sports medicine surgeons eager to watch this all unfold. It’s exciting times in medical history.”