Doctor Charmer (Doctors of Eastport General)

30. Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Reggie

T wo days later

I pace next to the elevator on the eleventh floor of Eastport General Hospital like an expectant father, nervous and waiting for news. I whip out my phone, checking to make sure I didn’t miss a text and making note of the time. Eleven fifty-three.

Where is she?

The ding of the elevator causes me to step back, a pattern I’ve repeated over a dozen times these last few minutes. I hear the laughter from the cabin car before the elevator arrives and breathe out a sigh of relief.

Finally.

The doors swing open, and a carload of college kids step out. In the center of the crowd is Griffin in a wheelchair, Chelsea on crutches right behind him, and the rest of the volleyball team.

They’re all wearing the matching gray-and-white T-shirts I’ve gifted them. “Cutting it close.” I give Chelsea a glare, and she snickers back.

“Griffin wanted to wait another six minutes to see if you’d have a heart attack.”

He rolls the wheelchair forward and gives Chelsea a happy glance and a wink over his shoulder.

Her light, playful smack on his shoulder lets me know they are officially a public couple.

Two of the girls behind them tug on strings holding a dozen Mylar balloons, a custom design that cost me a mint for rush delivery. One look and I know every cent is worth it.

“This way. Remember, quiet—she doesn’t know you’re here.” I lead the procession down the hall toward room 1103. It’s a private hospital room, one of the largest we have in the hospital. I press my fingertips to my lips, giving it a quick kiss before placing it on the nameplate of the patient: Ivy Springwood.

It’s a routine I do every time I visit Ivy in her recovery room after her surgery yesterday. She insisted on having the surgery right away. She claimed this way, she could stay in the hospital and monitor Griffin as he completes his recovery. But I sense she’s itching to race back to the volleyball court and try to spike again.

I press my finger to my lips, signaling to the team to be quiet.

They cover their mouths to prevent the snickers and laughs from escaping, and I wave a hand for them to step back. I push open the door only wide enough to slip into the room.

“There you are.” Ivy pushes up from the bed, propping a pillow behind her. She’s wearing the college T-shirt from a few days ago, not liking the hospital-issued gown. “I was beginning to get worried. It’s almost midnight.”

The mention of midnight paints a smile on my face. It has quickly become our hour. It’s when she signed the papers that first night, releasing her from the hospital. It was when she was officially no longer my patient, and I was free to pursue her. And tonight.

New Year’s Eve.

I glance at the hospital TV screen hanging from the ceiling, the image of Times Square in New York streaming. Millions of people crammed into that tiny space for hours to stare up at a tiny ball for all sixty seconds.

There’s only one place I want to be at midnight, and I am here. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.” I step to her bedside. My hand slips into hers with a tight squeeze. “I got you a midnight surprise.”

She tugs on my hand, pulling me forward, stealing a sweet kiss. “Better than this?”

I close my eyes and enjoy this last moment of privacy. Once the door opens, I will no longer have Ivy to myself. “Happy New Year,” I whisper.

“Not yet. Two more minutes. Any resolutions?” She presses her lips to my neck, and the sweet kiss threatens to take away my ability to speak.

“Just to do a lot more of this in the new year.”

I give her a peck on the cheek, and she replies, “Ditto.”

I look up at the screen. The giant golden ball with a hundred flashing lights has begun its descent. “About your surprise.” I slip my hand from hers and walk backward to the door. She pushes up to sit, brow pinched in the center of her forehead.

“What did you do, Reggie?”

I chuckle and hold open the door. I don’t have to say a word. The expression on her face says it all.

Hands to mouth, leaning forward in laughter, Ivy screeches at the sight of her kids. All of them. When I floated the idea by Chelsea, I expected one or two of the teammates. I’m familiar with where college kids would like to spend their New Year, and hanging out with adults in a hospital would not be anywhere on this list.

But I underestimated what Ivy means to each of them. Every one of them agreed in an instant, not hesitating when I sent them matching T-shirts and told them about the balloons.

“Oh my god, we totally are going to have to put these up on the team’s website as a fundraiser.” Ivy points to the T-shirt Chelsea models in front of her.

It’s a silver-and-white shirt, matching the school’s colors. Two volleyballs on the bottom half of the T-shirt and above it in large black Comic-Con font are the words girls, grab your balls.

I designed the shirt on my iPad in the waiting room yesterday when Angie refused to let me go to the operating room to assist with Ivy’s surgery. It was the right move by her, but Ivy is right: I don’t do idle very well.

After the operation, as I waited for her to be moved to the recovery room, I designed the matching Mylar balloons. Had them special ordered and rush delivery.

“If you do, I bet every dude on campus is going to order one,” Griffin says.

“Every girl too,” Dalia chimes in. “We’ll be able to afford our own van, finally.”

The volume of the television rises, and we turn to see one of the girls holding the remote. “It’s time.”

“Ten!” The countdown begins, and the air in the room electrifies with excitement.

“Nine!” they all chant as one. A synchronized team that does everything together. “Eight!”

“Reggie!” I hear Ivy call out but can’t see her amongst the bodies pressed around her.

“Seven.”

“Reggie!”

“Six.”

“Make way for him.” Ivy’s voice fills with a frantic need that somehow only causes me to laugh.

“Five.”

“This is not funny.”

“Four.”

“Get your cute little butt over here—”

“Three.”

“—and kiss me.”

“Two.”

The team separates, clearing a path for me, and I race forward.

“One!”

I reach her right at the stroke of midnight. My lips find hers, and I wrap her in a protective hug. She mirrors my embrace, and we become oblivious to the shouts an yells around us. Our kiss is for the entire team to see. For the entire world to see.

“Happy New Year to you,” I say, my eyes glazed over in happiness.

“Right back at you,” she whispers, pulling me in for another tight hug.

“To the happiest of all New Year. I see you.” I say the three words that I know she’ll hear, my voice steady. It's been a whirlwind of a week and this is only the beginning. Our beginning.

He looks up at me, the swirl of her dark eyes hinting at a similar journey. "The woman behind the flirts."

I nod, my heart full. I press a hand to my chest. "The man behind the charm."

"“I see you too,” she whispers back, a tear of joy rolling down her sweet cheek. "All of you."

I wipe away her tear, my thumb lingering on her soft skin, "All of us."

She leans up, pressing a ghost kiss to my lips. "To the New Year, and all it brings."

I hold her close, "there's no place I'd rather be and can't wait to see what comes next."

***