Page 8 of Healing His Heart

“Frankie, wait. Put these on.” He handed me a pair of sliders. “They might be big, but they’re better than what you’re wearing, and put your clothes in here.”

I slipped my feet into them, and the soaked-through clothes into the offered plastic bag.

“Thanks for doing this for me. You didn’t have to, and thanks for outside the hospital, too. I was in a mood, what with Logan and Mum and everything.” I climbed into the front seat and fastened my seatbelt.

“Hey, I’m a doctor. It’s my job to look after people, hurt or not. Plus, your mum did you a disservice today. You should be proud of what you did for Logan.”

I knew that, but I did what any big brother would do.

The trip back into town didn’t take long, and within ten minutes, we were in a place I recognised, not that far from home. “You can drop me here. I can walk the rest of the way.”

“If you’re sure.” Mac pulled over, the indicators flashing on the car.

“I am. Thanks.” I opened the door, but before I could get out, he spoke again.

“If ever you need anything, Frankie, you can always come see me at the hospital. You know where I am.”

“I’ll be okay, but thanks again, Mac.”

And I would be okay. What happened earlier with Mum was nothing we hadn’t gone through before; her admonishment was terse but usual.

I slammed the door and watched as he pulled away. Under different circumstances, maybe we could have been friends.

What a stupid fucking idea that was. Mac would never be a friend of mine, nor anything more. He was the doctor who’d treated Logan, and I was a kid who no one took seriously.

Standing outside the house, I heard shouts from inside. No doubt Mum and Brian were arguing again. I closed my eyes and sighed before pushing open the front door.

The shouting stopped, and two pairs of eyes landed on me.

“And just where the fucking hell have you been?”

CHAPTER THREE

MAC

Two days into my new work week, and a plastic bag containing the clothes I’d lent Frankie appeared at the nurses’ desk. There was no note, but they’d been washed; the subtle scent of fabric softener lingered on the fabric.

Work had kept me occupied, and I’d had no time to dwell on Frankie or how he was. One day morphed into another with treatments ranging from the mundane to the life-threatening, until finally, it was my last shift for the week.

“We almost lost him,” Sal, another doctor on my rotation, said to me as our patient was wheeled away to the theatre. We’d stabilised him as best we could; now it was up to the surgeons to do their part and repair the damage.

Two vehicles had collided head-on; one driver had barely a scratch, the other suffered life-threatening head and neck injuries.

“It was touch and go, but he should make it.” I balled up the apron and gloves I’d worn, throwing them into the bin. Tiredness swept over me, legs weary and feet sore.

“Do you fancy a quick pint? I think we need one after that,” he asked as he followed me to the locker room and sat on the bench next to me.

“I don’t know about a pint. I could do with twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep.” My shoulders sagged as my head dropped to my chest. Days like this took it out of me, both physically and emotionally.

“Yeah, but you’ll sleep better after a drink or two.” Sal nudged me with his shoulder. “It’s happy hour somewhere, and I know you’re not in tomorrow.”

Could I be tempted? How long had it been since I’d last gone out? Too long, if I couldn’t even remember.

“Okay, one drink, then I’m going straight home.” I could leave the car here and pick it up tomorrow. After treating our last patient, the last thing I was going to do was drink and drive.

I jolted as he slapped me on the back. “That’s the spirit. I’ll grab my bag.”

While he did that, I doused myself in deodorant and slipped on a clean shirt. The last thing I needed was to smell like work.