Chapter 3
Samantha
I’m about to trust my life to the hottest doctor I have ever seen—and I’ve had my share of medical emergencies. Holy crap, though, this guy ... Looking at him almost takes my mind off the fact that he’s going to thread a weird robotic tentacle through my veins.
He’s got some kind of British accent—more working-class than Oxford—but despite that, he looks Mediterranean. His wavy hair is almost jet black, and he has it pulled back into a short ponytail at his nape. He has olive skin, liquid brown eyes, and a Roman nose above a wide, well-shaped mouth.
He’s tall and broad-shouldered under that white lab coat, and even in my drugged haze, I can’t help but notice that he moves like a panther. But most of all, he’s got me captivated because he has the answers, because he cares enough to do his job right, and because he’s about to fix my problem instead of just throwing pills at it.
The surgical theater is small, and computer screens and equipment dominate one of its walls. I lie on the table while the anesthesiologist prepares my deep sedation. Meanwhile, Dr. Chase is walking me through what’s going to happen next.
“Radio frequency ablation is not a long process. We already went in once to run the test, and it will be a simple matter to go in again. I’d estimate half an hour to go in with the laparoscope, and then we’ll monitor you until tomorrow.”
“That’s it? You’re telling me that I could be well by tomorrow morning.” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. No more pills? No more dizzy spells? No more being afraid my damn heart will give out?
“Well, more or less. You’ll need to take it easy for about a week after everything you have been through, but normally, this is an outpatient procedure. We'll cause the extra electrical node to stop sending signals using radio waves, and then you’re done.” He checks my vitals, then makes a few notes. “Right, well, I should go get ready. See you when you wake up!”
The anesthesiologist, a tiny Filipino woman with graying roots, smiles at me and gives Dr. Chase a nod. “All right, sweetie, I’m going to put this in your IV port, and it’s going to make you very relaxed. You won’t actually remember anything afterward.”
“So, like when I got my wisdom teeth out?” I’m nervous, but this is going to happen; it has to happen. And pretty soon I’ll be too high to care about what’s going on anyway.
“Like twilight sleep, yes.” She takes a syringe and slowly empties the milky fluid inside into my IV line. “And here we are. Now, I’d like you to count back from one hundred for me.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling a different sort of dizziness. A warm rush seems to be riding through my veins. “One hundred ...ninety-nine ...ninety-eight ...ninety-seven ....”
“Uh?” I wake up in a small recovery room, feeling a little bit of pain on the inside of one thigh. I’m sleepy and a little queasy, and the pain is completely gone except for that ache in my upper thigh. I lie there blinking, shocked by the loss of time and memory, even though I was warned.
My heart is beating slowly as the monitor beeps along. It picks up as I notice it, but not by much. I don’t hurt; I take a huge breath and my chest doesn’t ache. I have no trouble filling my lungs with air, something I haven’t been able to do in a long time.
Intrigued, I press two fingers against my pulse to double check. It feels ...normal. Even. It’s not racing at all.
Holy crap. He got it! Dr. Unexpected British Hottie actually fixed me!
All I can do is lie there and stare at the ceiling for a while, grateful tears leaking down the sides of my face. I’m not going to die. I’m going to be okay.
And I have Dr. Chase to thank for it.
The door opens, and I look up—expecting a nurse—but it’s him, and he’s smiling like he’s trying not to gloat. “How are you feeling?” he asks, his eyes twinkling.
“Much better,” I breathe. “Is that ...is that it?”
“Once you’re discharged, I’ll want to see you in my office in about a week. I’ll make sure you’re given an appointment card with directions.” He puts his stethoscope in his ears and warms the business end with his hand before laying it above my left breast.
He smiles after a moment. “Deep breaths?” I oblige, and he withdraws, nodding. “Yeah, I’m ninety-eight percent certain that this is sewn up. As is your leg, which may be sore for a few days.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I say, managing to stop my eyes from leaking again. “I don’t know what I would have done ....” I trail off, because I do know. I would have died, and it would have been at least partly Campbell’s fault.
The thought sobers me a little, but not because it scares me. Now that I can think beyond the possibility of dying, I’m thinking about the possibility of suing.
“Don’t think of it. You’ll be fine now if you look after yourself for a few days.” His voice goes from professional to almost tender, distracting me from my growing anger.
I sigh and sit up easily this time. He reaches over and adjusts the backrest for me. The little bit of extra care makes me smile, but it feels unnecessary—I already feel better than I have in months.
“I have to think about it, though,” I admit. “Because I’m gonna go sue the crap out of Dr. Campbell once I’m well enough.”
He chuckles, and there’s a dark gleam in his eyes now, intriguing me. I stare back at him, tilting my head, and he finally says, “You know, I’m absolutely done with that idiot as well. Would you like some help with lawsuit preparations?”
My heart leaps. It has plenty of reasons to leap—he has healed it, he wants to help me even though he doesn’t have to, and ...he is hot as a Chicago summer. Smiling, I reply, “I’d like that.”