Doctor Holliday (Doctors of Eastport General)

Chapter 5

Thursday, December 7 th

Lucy

Lucy stepped out of the postpartum room and stood for a moment to get her bearings. She had delivered so many babies. She’d seen babies born into happy families, parents thrilled to be welcoming a baby. And she’d seen young, unwed mothers who had delivered and given their babies up for adoption. She had even seen a few mothers—married and unwed—give birth while handcuffed to the rail of their bed and then be whisked away to jail on drug charges.

She had delivered babies to very young mothers before, but Logan might be the first fourteen-year-old girl Lucy had guided through labor and delivery. She sucked in a deep breath now, faces in her mind of young girls she had seen at the clinic—there for birth control or abortions or treatment for sexually transmitted diseases. It had taken a bit for her to not think about Callie anytime she had a patient her age or younger, but Lucy was a professional.

Tonight, though. Logan. This one blew her mind.

She made her way down the hall on weak knees that had nothing to do with kneeling on cement earlier. Logan’s baby girl had arrived tiny—just over five pounds and only eighteen inches long—but she appeared healthy. Thankfully, Thatcher had called 911, and the EMTs were there waiting to take the baby and Logan to Eastport. Lucy had climbed into the ambulance with the girl who reached for her hand and squeezed hard enough Lucy thought her fingers might break.

Once at Eastport, Logan had been examined in the ER and taken to a postpartum room on the thirteenth floor. Lucy had been torn about handing her over to Dr. Love; she wanted to stay with the girl and make sure she was okay. But she knew Dr. Love would take good care of her, too. Not to mention, she had her own child to get home to. Never mind that Callie was grown; times like these, Lucy wanted to smother her daughter with love.

She hit the release bar on the door at the front of the maternity ward and sailed out intending to go straight home. But a flash of movement in the waiting room caught her attention.

Blue and red plaid. Worn denim. Work boots. Thick dark hair mussed as if he had been running his fingers through it constantly.

“Hey.” It was Keaton Thatcher. His warm brown eyes were bloodshot and droopy, and the skin under them was dark with exhaustion. There was a smear of blood on his jeans, but he didn’t seem remotely concerned about it.

“Hey. What’re you doing here?”

He arched his thick brows in disbelief. “Really? A kid just has a kid in my stockroom, and you wonder what I’m doing here?”

Lucy nodded and sucked in a deep breath.

“Do you know her?”

“No.” He shook his head.

Lucy had heard part of Logan’s story. Not a good home life, but according to the girl, it was more neglect than abuse. Not her father or stepbrother who had assaulted her. In fact, she claimed no one had assaulted her. That she had willingly taken her clothes off and let her stepbrother’s friends do what they wanted to prove she was cool. That she was sexy. That she could hang.

It made Lucy’s skin crawl. Lost in Logan’s recounting of the afternoon when she’d had sex with four older teenage boys, she didn’t notice the way the guy was pacing the hospital corridor now.

“You don’t think I had anything to do with that?—”

“No.” Lucy shut him down with a quick shake of her head. “No. She’s with a DCYF investigator right now. She told them she just found your door unlocked and ducked inside because she was cold and didn’t feel well.”

Gaze locked with hers, the guy clenched his teeth and nodded. “ Didn’t feel well . Jesus. She was in labor. What the hell was she doing so far out by herself anyway?”

“What the hell was she doing spreading her legs—” Lucy bit her tongue and shook her head.

“I know. You can’t tell me the circumstances.” He nodded. “I understand. I just wanted to make sure she and the baby are okay.”

Lucy huffed out a sigh and rolled her head on her neck.

“Yes, both of them are okay.”

“Thank God.” The little prayer of thanks sounded exceptionally grumbly. Lucy got it. She felt it to her soul.

“Um.” She gave herself a mental shake. “Thank you. For calling me. Though I’m not sure how you got my number?—”

“Called Alyssa.”

He had called his ex-wife rather than just calling 911.

“You could have just?—”

“The kid was freaking out. Demanding I not call an ambulance. She said she didn’t want the baby. She wanted me to leave her alone to die.” Keaton had turned his back and paced away from Lucy, but now he turned to look at her and threw his hands up in defeat. “I have a little girl. I panicked.”

Lucy flinched.

As stressful as tonight had been for her, it was also somewhat routine. Probably not for a small business owner. One who happened to be a divorced girl dad.

“Yeah.” She licked her lips. “It’s okay. I’m glad you did call me.”

“Is she suicidal?” he asked and then he spun around on his heel and dropped his head to his hands and groaned. “Fuck. I know you can’t answer that. I’m just—I keep seeing her in my head, hearing her cry. Telling me to let her die.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows but said nothing. She couldn’t tell him anything about Logan’s state of mind, even if she did know. And she didn’t. She had said a quiet goodbye to Logan and slipped out before things got too heavy in the room.

“Do kids that age kill themselves?”

She wasn’t sure if the rugged whisper was a rhetorical question. But she did know kids that age did attempt and succeed at suicide.

“How old?” Her voice was scratchy with emotion. She cleared her throat and tried again, “your daughter?”

“Ten.”

“Little blonde? With big brown eyes?”

He nodded.

“I’ve seen her a time or two with Alyssa over at school.”

Keaton tipped his head back and stared at the fluorescent lighting in the hall. Lucy gave him a moment to collect himself.

“I would kill anyone who laid hands on her.”

It wasn’t exactly what he was thinking. And yet, four teenage boys, old enough to know better, had sweettalked a very young girl into taking her clothes and spreading her legs, and so yes, it kind of was exactly what he was thinking.

“I know. I get it.” She nodded.

Because the mother in her would go to war with the doctor if anyone hurt her daughter.

Keaton cleared his throat.

“I can give you a ride.”

Lucy tipped her head. “What?”

“Your Lexus is in my parking lot.”

The reminder was like a slap in the face. This day still wasn’t over. She still had to go home and put away any groceries worth saving. She wanted to sit with Callie and share her day. Hopefully Callie had found something to eat, but Lucy’s stomach was rumbling. The salad she’d scarfed down for lunch was long gone.

And she would have to get up and do all of this again tomorrow.

“Thank you.” She nodded her appreciation. Today, tonight, and tomorrow weren’t Keaton Thatcher’s fault.

He nodded toward the elevator bank and followed her when she moved in that direction.

“I’m on call,” she told him as the stepped into the car when it arrived.

“Hmm?”

“I’m on call. I would have ended up here delivering her baby anyway.”

“And you don’t need to stay on overnight?”

“Her stepmother requested another ob-gyn.” She couldn’t say more. Lucy had seen the woman from afar when she arrived at the ER, but she had stayed with Logan rather than approach her. Apparently, Dr. Love was the stepmom’s doctor. All good, as Alonso Love was a good, efficient doctor. But what Lucy didn’t get was how Logan’s stepmother could claim to not know the teen was pregnant.

Keaton drilled his index finger into the L button and let his hand drop to his side. A bad instrumental version of “Silent Night” played in the elevator.

“Kind of like that at the store, huh?” He leaned back on the wall as if he was suddenly too tired to hold himself up. “The nativity scene.”

“I’ve never thought of the nativity scene in medical terms.” Lucy shook her head. “Not gonna start now.”

He flashed her a quick, weary grin.

“Agreed. Bad idea.”

He was cute. Obviously nice-looking with the thick hair, broad shoulders, and dark eyes. But that grin was boyish and cute.

Like this was a good time to notice something like that.

“Keaton Thatcher.” Still wearing the grin, he reached out to shake her hand.

“Lucy Holliday.”

They shook, his grip firm and warm around her hand.

She dropped her gaze to his left hand, looking for a wedding band. The little dash of relief she felt when she didn’t see one didn’t last long. No wedding ring didn’t necessarily mean single.

“Your daughter is on the girls’ golf team at Eastport High, right?”

“She was.” Lucy nodded, feeling a pang of sadness, homesickness already. And it wasn’t she that would be leaving home, but Callie. “She’s a senior.”

“Do you worry?”

They turned away from each other when the doors shrugged open.

“About her leaving home? Going to school?”

Lucy knew what he wasn’t saying. Did she worry about someone taking advantage of Callie? Of course she did. Didn’t matter how mature or smart a girl was; parents worried.

Or maybe, just some parents did.

“I do.” She nodded.

“I’m kind of glad Alyssa has an older stepson,” Keaton announced as they made their way out the emergency entrance. “Maybe he can keep an eye on Ruby as she gets older and has to deal with mean kids and school.”

Lucy held her breath. His comment stuck way too close to what she had just witnessed and heard, and yet, she couldn’t tell him that.

“This is me.” He nodded at a white Ford pickup truck as they neared it. “Want any coffee or food before I take you to your car?”

“No.” Lucy climbed up into the passenger seat and buckled her seatbelt. “Thank you, but I’m beat. I just want to get home to my daughter.”

He looked her way, and their eyes met as he started the truck. He didn’t say a word. Simply nodded and put the truck into gear.