Doctor Charmer (Doctors of Eastport General)

4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Ivy

“ T hink happy thoughts. You’re going to feel a little pressure.” He presses his thumb to my forehead, and a blinding light shoots through my head.

“Ouch.” I wince as he inspects the laceration with a practiced eye, the proximity sending a different kind of ache through me. Get it together, Ivy. You’re in a hospital. Yes, he’s ridiculously handsome, but your body is pumping gallons of adrenaline, which is why your emotions are all over the map. “If that’s your scale of a little, I must’ve been using the wrong scale all these years.”

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s a nice cut. But it won’t ruin your beautiful face if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Trust me, the state of my face is the last thing on my mind right now,” I reply, brushing off the compliment but secretly pleased by it.

“Good,” he says, signaling for a nurse who arrives with sutures at the ready. She steps next to the bed, grabbing the instruments. “I got it.” She flashes him a look of surprise before taking a step back.

“I’m going to stitch you up, and I wouldn’t want vanity to be a distraction.” The nurse stands in the background, her hands in front of her looking out of place, and I get the sense she’s normally the suture queen.

My momentary flash of concern fades when I glance up into his eyes. His gaze is not on the top of my forehead where I’m injured, but at my face. A slow inspection that makes the nonexistent walls of the exam room close in. “Vanity?” I scoff lightly. “I’m more concerned with how this will affect my intimidating coach glare.” I flirt to deflect him from inspecting too closely. The quicker he completes this exam, the quicker I get to see the girls.

“Ah, I’m sure it’ll add character,” he assures me, his tone suggesting he’s enjoying this far too much.

“Character, huh? Well, in that case, do you have any sutures in red? It’ll make me look badass,” I challenge, earning a chuckle from him that rumbles deep in his chest.

“We’re not up in the pediatric ward. Black will have to do. Sorry to disappoint,” he teases back as he begins the procedure, his hands steady and surprisingly tender.

“Is that so?” I say, trying to focus on the banter instead of the slight sting. “And here I thought your specialty was charming women into submission.”

“Only the stubborn ones,” he says, locking eyes with me for a moment longer than necessary.

“Sounds like you’ve had practice,” I shoot back, feeling a spark igniting between us, warming me from the inside out. I’m used to being flirtatious. It’s part of my nature. But he’s keeping up with my every step.

“Maybe,” he concedes with a smirk, tying off the last stitch with a flourish. “But I must admit, you’re giving me a run for my money, Coach Springwood.”

“Call it a talent,” I reply, my heart skipping a beat when he smiles at me again. The air feels charged, full of something potent and brewing, like the dark roast coffee I favor—bold and rich with an undercurrent of sweetness. “And since you’re now covered in my blood, I think you can now call me Ivy.”

He pauses, giving me a look of appreciation, as if I’ve gifted him my most prized possession. “Reggie.” He clears his throat. “You can call me Reggie.” I don’t respond, focusing on the swirl of warmth in his blue-gray eyes.

His hands slow; he’s almost done, and I know I will miss his presence. “Cozy place you’ve got here.” My eyes scan the small sterile exam room. It’s all white and silver with everything within my view, either shiny metal or plastic. My eyes settle on the tray of metal instruments next to my head, now half covered in bloody gauze and torn sutures. “I see you’ve set out the good silverware for me.”

“Only the best for our most… headstrong visitors,” he counters without missing a beat. His index finger lingers as he admires his handiwork. This close, I notice the slight curl of the corner of his lips. He’s satisfied.

“Headstrong? Is that doctor speak for ‘has a hard head’?” My heartbeat is steady, and I attribute it to the man in front of me.

“Let’s just say your skull is as resilient as your spirit.” His thumb lifts my chin, and I stare up at him from a different angle. His focused, blue-gray eyes are as calm as his demeanor. He reaches into his lab coat and pulls out a pen light. “Look directly at me.”

“I bet this is your favorite part.” Two can play this game. I can flirt with the best of them. It’s one of my most favorite things to do. Pushing men out of the comfort zone they love to live in while doing the opposite to women.

His snicker is his only response. “Don’t look away.”

“That’s what she said.” And he loses it. This calm, cool, collected, and charming doctor loses his stuff. His hand freezes, a warm chuckle, soft and low, deep in his chest, fighting to escape. He takes a step back, his hand lowering as it shifts to a full-on laugh.

Laugh tears build in the corner of his eyes, and I give him my best what did I say shrug. He tries to avoid my gaze, turning to his staff. Both the technician and the nurse are biting their tongues so hard I fully expect them to be next on this exam table. They both stare at Dr. Morgan, and I’m not sure if their laughter is from what I said or his reaction. I suspect the latter.

He points a finger in my direction, his gaze locked on the nurse. “She started it.” His words cause the entire room to burst into laughter, each of their laughs feeding the next and the next.

“I could stay all night, but I’m playing a Bat Mitzvah later tonight. Don’t forget to tip your waitresses.”

Dr. Morgan turns to face me with a brilliant smile I won’t easily forget, a silent thank you expression on his face. I can’t imagine the stress he must face daily and feel honored I provide a moment of joy to him and his dedicated team.

“Now, where were we?” He wipes the tears from the corner of his eyes and steps in front of me, that penlight back in his hand.

“You were giving me that whole Count Dracula vibe— look into my eyes .”

“Don’t you mean my gorgeous eyes?”

“Do you mean mine or yours?” I push his button to see how he’ll react.

“You already know how I feel about yours.” Bullseye. He holds my head steady, the light pen pointed at the top of my head. The light flashes across one pupil before he waves it away and does the same on the other side. “Looks good.”

“Aww, how sweet? You are good for the ego.”

He takes a step back, but not before I catch the smirk on his face. He turns toward the nurse. “Can you check on the condition of the driver?”

“Griffin. Griffin Smart.” I shout the name out loud, taking with it all the air in the room. Saying his name is like getting kicked in the stomach. Guilt floods over me, and I lower my head. I’m sitting here safe, unhurt, flirting with a handsome doctor, and my team could be… I stop myself from falling into the rabbit hole.

I watch the nurse scamper away, and Dr. Morgan’s voice shifts to the technician. “And can you see how the rest of the team is doing?” The echo of the metal of the curtain being pulled back-and-forth signals that we are alone, and the weight of everything that happened hits me.

The truck barreling toward us. Me screaming instructions to the girls, in the back of my mind wondering if it might be the last command I ever give them.

I sense him before I feel him. A shift in the air, a comforting warmth that wraps around me before he speaks. “This could have been so much worse. It looks to be just a head laceration. You should consider yourself lucky.”

His finger on my chin lifts it until I’m staring up at him. The look on his face is a mirror to my soul. Gone is the humor, the lightness—it’s now filled with a reverence of gratitude.

“Not the word I would use…” He holds my gaze with a calmness, as if he’d stay like this for as long as I needed it. And I do. “… until just now.”

He whispers, “Me too.”

I have no clue how to process his words. Three different meanings fade away as I am distracted by his intense glare, those calm, blue-gray eyes now swirling as if my words have kicked over a hornet’s nest. His gaze rises to the top of my head, and he tips forward two inches, and I close my eyes with thoughts of him kissing my head wound. It would be unprofessional, extremely forward of him, and is exactly what I want right now.

“Like I said,” he says, and I snap open my eyes. He’s shifted away from me, his movement a moment ago just him inspecting my wound. “You’re in good hands.” He rips the gloves from his hands and tosses them in the bin in the corner of the room.

He’s standing three feet away, but it feels like three hundred. For days, I’ve been surrounded by people. First, my family was over for the early Christmas celebration. Then a chatty group of co-eds that refuse to let a moment of quiet penetrate their world. I haven’t experienced such tranquility in days; the silence is almost deafening. I should embrace it, but all I feel is loneliness. All I hear are Dr. Morgan’s words: It could have been worse.

I hear the gasp escape my mouth, an unrecognizable sound that takes a second for me to realize its origin. Strong arms wrap around my shoulders, his hands gentle, careful to avoid my sutures.

“It’s just us. It’s okay. Let it all out,” he whispers. “Nobody needs to see you like this but me.”

His words are perfection. Just what I need to push aside the embarrassment and shame of being that woman. His words allow me to drop the facade I always hold up for the world of the strong coach in control.

“It’s just me and you. Reggie and Ivy. Let it out.”

And I do. I press half a cheek into his chest and let the tears roll. I follow doctor’s orders. This may be the only moment I will have to do this. After this, I have to focus on the kids and Griffin. They’ll be looking for me to be strong. To put the pieces back together. To be the solid wall I’ve always been.

But that will have to wait. For right now, I’m just Ivy. And he’s just Reggie.