CHAPTER FIVE - GAVIN
Morgan was a quick study. She was better than any of my recent interns, and picked up on things quickly. She also knew her stuff. On several occasions, she surprised me with her skill – and it took a lot to surprise me.
But still, I couldn't help but check out her tight little ass or her curvy figure every chance I got. With the way the buttons on her shirt threatened to pop open, it was hard to focus at times. Yes, I loved women, maybe a little too much, but women like Morgan were not my normal. Brains and beauty? It was like a powerful drug for me.
My phone buzzed and, looking at the caller ID, I saw it was Tracy. I had a moment where I could talk, but I didn't want things to be awkward. I knew she was delivering the divorce papers to Tyler that afternoon, and well, I'd just seen him a few hours before. Now was probably the time to cut ties with her – for professional reasons.
When I didn't answer her call, it rang again, and this time, she left a message and sent me a text.
“Sounds important,” Morgan said, glancing over at me as we walked into Michael Greene's room.
“Not really,” I said. I reached into my pocket and silenced my phone. “It's my personal phone, so it's not a patient.”
“Uh huh,” she said, as if she knew more than she let on. “Well, hopefully whoever it is won't be too mad at you.”
Yeah, Tracy wasn't known for being calm and collected. It was one reason she and Tyler didn't work out, I suspected. Tyler, as far as I could tell, was a good guy. He loved his wife dearly, and with good reason – she was hot as hell and willing to do pretty much anything in the bedroom. He wouldn't cheat on her, not with another woman, though that is what Tracy liked to tell everyone. But his career came first, and I already knew how their arguments went down.
She accused him of cheating because he was gone all the time. He denied it and I believed him. He was a pro athlete and they lived life on the road. But, she'd flipped the fuck out and things got ugly, fast. I knew women like her all too well. Tyler wasn't the problem – Tracy was. And now, she was trying to be my problem.
No way was I going to let that happen.
I put all thoughts of Tyler and Tracy aside as we stepped into the room to meet our next patient. Michael was a poor kid from the Tenderloin district of San Francisco. He went to college on a basketball scholarship – one he risked losing if his ankle didn't let him play next season. As soon as we walked into the room, I saw the look of fear in the boy's eyes.
“Please tell me I'll get to play next season, doc,” the kid said, tears welling up in his eyes.
Michael wasn't interested in a basketball career – he had other things planned. So, in many ways, he was different than most of my patients. But basketball is what paid his way through school, and was his ticket out.
“What are you studying, Mike?” I asked, sitting down across from him.
“I'm pre-med,” he said.
“So you want to be a doctor like me, huh?”
Morgan shot me a look as if to tell me to be careful.
“ I actually want to focus on oncology ,” he said with a small shrug.
“So basketball is just a hobby?” I asked. “Something you're good at?”
Michael nodded.
I looked over the x-rays and noted that it was a clean break. It should heal fairly well on its own, probably didn't need my help. But I knew why he was sent here instead of to another clinic.
“Well, good news,” I said. “You should be back in and ready to play before the season starts.”
“Really, doc?” Michael's face lit up.
“Yep, and I don't even think you need surgery or rehab,” I said. “Just good old-fashioned rest and relaxation. The break is clean and will heal if you let it.”
Those were the cases I lived for. The moment I could tell a kid he was going back into the game, and that his life wasn't going to be in shambles all because of a fall or the hit to a knee. We finished up with Michael, and as I exited the room, Morgan stopped me.
“Why is he coming to you?” she asked me.
“Why wouldn't he?” I answered.
“His condition didn't seem severe enough,” she said. “It's a break and doesn't need your expertise.”
“Better safe than sorry,” I said, turning and walking down to Lila to hand her the paperwork.
“But how is a poor kid like him even going to pay for this visit?” she pressed.
I turned and looked her in the eye. “Plain and simple, he doesn't.”
“Does he have insurance?” she pestered me.
I shrugged her off, not wanting to get into the logistics of it all. I didn't want her to think I was bragging about myself. But she kept peppering me with questions.
“Listen, Dr. Brooks,” I said, in an attempt to shut her up. “I make good money doing what I do, so if I can take a pro-bono case now and again, I do it. It's that simple.”
“So his visit, the x-rays – everything was free?” she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.
“That's what I just said, wasn't it?”
She looked stunned, as if she couldn't comprehend the idea that I had a heart. I knew we'd gotten off to a bad start earlier, and maybe I was wrong in the way I'd talked to her, but I wasn’t so different from Morgan. I got into this field to help others too; kids like Michael who'd been marginalized or pushed to the fringes because they couldn't afford help.
As Mike walked out in his crutches, he smiled at me.
“Thanks, doc,” he said.
“Wait, Michael, I need to ask a favor of you before you leave,” I said.
The kid stopped and turned toward me with a look of earnestness on his face.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Promise me that even though basketball pays for your schooling, you won't let it suck you in,” I said. “Go to medical school if that's what you really want to do . You'll make a fine doctor, son.”
“Thanks, doc,” he said. “And I will. It's my dream.”
Michael grinned from ear-to-ear as he walked out. I turned and looked at Morgan, and she looked stunned. “Believe it or not, Dr. Brooks, I do have a heart.”