The M.D.'s Surprise Family (15 page)

It still made no sense to Peter. Dr. Harry Welles was one of the most respected physicians in the country, not just by organizations but by his peers. He had an office full of awards to testify to that fact. “You have a life, Harry. A rich, full life.” Harry's expression didn't change. Peter tried again. “You've helped so many people.”

That was just the point and Harry seized it. “Yes, I have. I helped put them back together again so that they could enjoy life to the fullest.” He sighed, looking suddenly older than his years. “But I never had the guts to do that myself.” He looked at Peter, his eyes searching to see if he was getting through to him. “I fooled myself into thinking that my work was far too important to trivialize with the acqui
sition of a wife and family when the truth of it was, I was too much of a coward to put myself out there like that, to risk having the greatest experience of my life.”

Peter had had no idea that his mentor felt this way. It was like finally unearthing the buried treasure after years of searching, only to find the chest filled not with gold but with air.

“And that is?”

“Falling in love.
Being
in love,” Harry added fiercely. A fond look came into his eyes. “I was very envious of you for what you had.”

He was talking about Lisa and Becky. Welles had been best man at his wedding. And Becky's godfather. Peter set his mouth grimly.

“I don't have it anymore.”

“But you could.” He made it a point to know things and he'd discovered that there was a spark between his protégé and the Songbird heiress. He'd heard nothing but good things about the woman. It gave him hope that Peter wouldn't make his mistakes. “I know that once this operation is behind me, I intend to try to make amends for being such a coward when it comes to life.”

An almost boyish smile curved the older surgeon's lips. “There's this anesthesiologist I've been meaning to ask out. I think I will once you put me back together.” It was a promise he was making to both himself and to Peter. Welles looked at him for
a long moment. “Don't wait until you're staring at your own mortality to do the right thing, Peter. “Life deserves to be held on to with two hands, not observed meekly on the sidelines. Don't be like me,” he insisted. “Don't someday find yourself looking back over a forty-year career with nothing to show for it but awards and no one to share them with. No one to share your life with.”

Peter refused to believe that the man saw his entire life in terms of failure. “That's just preoperative jitters talking.” They'd both heard it before. It was the flip side of making promises to God in return for a safe outcome to the operation.

Harry put his hand over the man's he'd chosen to be his doctor. “Doesn't make it any the less true. Think about what I said.”

Any further discussion was curtailed as a tall, pretty-looking nurse walked in, followed by a gregarious-looking male nurse.

Harry nodded at the pair. He knew them both. He made it a point to know everyone on the floor. It was one of the reasons everyone liked working with him.

“Well, I guess my ride's here.” He took Peter's hand in his one last time. “Think about what I said—” Then he added with a smile, “Just not during the operation. In there I want you thinking about nothing else but me.”

Peter laughed, trying to dispel the tension for
both of them. It was a serious operation with serious consequences. While he was flattered that the man had come to him to perform the surgery, he was still worried about the outcome.

“You've got it,” he promised.

“As long as
you've
got it,” Harry emphasized, then looked to the two other people in the private room. The space was the one concession he had requested because of his status in the hospital. He didn't feel up to sharing his condition and his uneasiness with any strangers. “Okay, boys and girls, time to show the old man what you're all made of.” The nurses flanked him on either side of the bed, mobilizing it by taking the brakes off all four wheels. “In case I don't get a chance to say this later, it's been very good working with all of you.”

“You'll have plenty of chances to talk all you want,” the blonde told him as they began to move the bed. “You're just trying to guilt-trip us, Dr. Welles.”

He looked at Peter as he was being pushed out of the room. “Damn, but these young ones are sharp,” he pretended to lament.

“Hey, we all had a great teacher,” the male nurse informed him, then pretended to level a critical look at him. “Now let's see if you can be a great patient.”

Welles sighed and shook his head. “The demands never stop.”

Peter walked behind the gurney as the nurses pushed it to the service elevators in the center of the hospital. He blocked the chief of surgery's words from his mind and focused only on one thing.

Saving the man's life.

T
he operation had been a complete success.

Lasting well into five hours, it had been as close to textbook perfect as anything he'd ever done.

Textbook perfect.

It was a term he'd heard the older surgeon use more than once over the years he'd worked under and then with the man. It had always been applied with praise at a job well done.

Peter cleared his throat, feeling as if he was going to choke as emotions crashed into one another, leaving him dazed, disoriented.

Textbook perfect.

Except that the patient had died.

Not because of anything he, as Harry's neurosurgeon, had or hadn't done. He shoved his fisted hands deep into his pockets, fighting the assault of helplessness he felt. The blame wasn't with him, wasn't with anyone, really. But it didn't change the way he felt.

Lost. Cheated. And so damn angry he thought he was going to explode.

It seemed to have been going so well. The conditions were as good as they got. In a way, it had been almost an easier surgery than he'd been braced for. Moving carefully, he had managed to get at the aneurysm that could have ended Harry Welles's life at any moment and had excised it with all the skill and precision that his years of surgery had enabled him to develop.

Not a thing had gone wrong then.

It was after the incision had been sewn up and his part in saving Harry's life had been completed that the crisis had occurred. As the chief of surgery was being brought up from under the anesthetic, Harry's blood pressure, which had been borderline but never dangerous all of his adult life, had suddenly spiked. It brought on a seizure, and then the man's heart had stopped.

They'd gone into code blue measures immediately. It was all a blur now, details melding together in his brain. The battle had been endless.

Eternal.

And futile.

All tolled, he'd fought for over forty-eight minutes, refusing to give in, refusing to listen to the death knell rendered by the monitor that showed Harry flat-lining. He absolutely refused to believed that someone as vital, as influential, as Harry could just be there one moment and not the next. Not when the operation was a success.

In the end, all his measures to save the chief of surgery were to no avail. Harry was gone. Not because of him, but on his watch.

The pain was overwhelming.

The knocking that echoed within the room mimicked it.

Peter wasn't even sure how he had gotten from the operating room down to his first-floor office. He remembered pushing past Raffety, the assistant surgeon, snapping at the nurse who tried to say something to him and the next thing he was really aware of, he was standing here, staring out the window. Seeing the sun shining and wondering how that was possible on a day like today.

Whoever was knocking on his door refused to stop. Instead, the noise became louder. It got to the point where he couldn't ignore it any longer.

“Go away,” he growled, not even bothering to turn around so his voice could carry better.

Finally, the knocking stopped. He saw the door
being opened in the window's reflection. It gave his anger somewhere to go.

“Damn it,” he shouted, finally turning around, “I said go away.” And then he stopped, caught off guard. Raven stood in the doorway, her hand resting on the doorknob. He struggled to rein in his anger. “Now isn't a good time, Raven,” he told her woodenly.

“I know.” Her voice was soft, gentle. Raven closed the door behind her and crossed to him. “George called me.”

It took him a second to process the words. It wasn't easy. Like the aftermath of a devastating forest fire, his mind felt burned out and in ruins. “I don't understand. Why would Grissom call you?”

She touched his arm. He felt stiff, like a mere statue of the man she'd fallen in love with. “Because he's worried. Because no one else, including him, has the nerve to approach you.” She paused, her eyes never leaving his face. With all her heart, she wanted to be able to reach him. To lift the burden he'd so obviously slid onto his shoulders. “He told me what happened.”

“He told you I killed Harry?” Peter sincerely doubted it. The hospital administrator was nothing if not careful with his wording. But that was exactly what he'd done. Killed Harry.

Peter sighed. He hadn't even discussed the surgery with her, trying very hard to keep the lines
between his professional and private life drawn and clear. Not that there had been very much of the latter until Raven had waltzed into it. But the more time he spent with her, around her, the more blurred the lines became.

And they shouldn't be, he silently insisted. Moreover, he didn't deserve the compassion he saw in her eyes, either.

Raven tried to touch him, but he pulled back. “You didn't kill anyone,” she insisted.

He laughed dryly, shaking his head. “You weren't there.”

Though everything in his manner told her to, she wasn't about to back away. “George said that you had closed up, that you'd gotten the aneurysm. Peter, you did your best.”

Peter shrugged carelessly. “My best wasn't good enough.”

He couldn't really believe that, she thought. They both knew he was the best in his field. “Yes, it was. No one could have foreseen what happened.”

He looked at her, angry at Raven for trying to make him feel better. A great man had died on the table after he'd operated on him. He didn't
want
to feel better, didn't deserve to feel better.

“I should have,” he snapped at her, turning away.

Moving, she got in front of Peter, forcing him to look at her. “Why? Are you God?”

For a second, as the question echoed in his head, a strange smile played on his lips. “Funny, that was the first thing Blue ever said to me,” he remembered. “Your brother looked into my office and asked me if I was God.”

“Well, you're not, you know.” Her voice was both firm and understanding at the same time. He wondered how she managed to pull that off. “What you do in that operating room is perform little miracles, but it doesn't make you God.”

There wasn't anything she could say to make him feel better about what had happened. Why hadn't he reviewed the pre-op history and physical more closely? Why hadn't his mind flagged the fact that Harry's blood pressure was just at the acceptable limit?

He tried very hard to hold on to his temper, which was shredding right in front of him. “Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but just go.”

He nodded toward the door, but Raven didn't budge. She didn't want to leave him, not when he was so bent on blaming himself. “I don't think you should be alone at a time like this.”

And then his temper snapped. It was almost as if he was standing apart, watching himself shout at Raven. “What you think doesn't matter. I want to be alone, understand? I
am
alone.”

She took a deep breath, her eyes never wavering from his face. He couldn't tell what she was think
ing and part of him was ashamed for the way he was behaving. But he couldn't help himself and understanding was the last thing he wanted right now.

“All right,” Raven told him quietly, “I'll go. But whether I leave this room or not, you are
not
alone. You never will be.”

Turning on her heel, she crossed to the door and opened it, moving quickly so that he wouldn't see the tears gathering in her eyes. He'd turned away from her. She couldn't have him turning back because of guilt, because he'd seen the tears. She didn't want him that way. She wanted him turning toward her because he needed to. Because he needed her as much as she had come to realize that she needed him.

But it wasn't something she could make him see, or even wanted to make him see. This was something Peter had to figure out on his own.

And maybe he never would, she thought as she kept walking, trying hard not to give in to the overwhelming hurt that was growing inside her chest like a beast that required tribute.

Raven didn't cry until she got into her car.

 

The pounding woke her. It took her a second to orient herself. It was the sound of a fist beating against her front door.

She'd fallen asleep downstairs in the family room after putting Blue to bed. The boy had sensed that
there was something wrong and asked her about it. She'd managed to put him off by saying she was just feeling under the weather. She didn't think Blue really bought the excuse, but, unusually sensitive to her feelings, he'd let it go for now, which was what she'd been hoping for. The boy was one in a million.

The pounding grew louder.

It was definitely coming from the front door. Connie was spending the night with a friend. Nerves began to stand on end, jumping around within her. There was no one else in the house except for her and Blue.

Scrambling to her feet, she immediately hurried to the closest phone to call the security company whose services she employed. The receiver was in her hand and she'd already pressed the automatic dial button when she heard Peter's voice.

“C'mon, Raven, open the door.”

A deep male voice echoed from within the receiver. “Empire Security, how may I assist you?”

Peter? What was he doing here? Distracted, confused, she told the voice on the other end of the line, “Never mind. False alarm.” Replacing the receiver, she hurried to the front door. Even before she reached it, she called out his name. “Peter?”

“Yes, it's me. Open the door, Raven.” And then he added, “Please,” in a voice she'd never heard before.

Undoing the two locks on the front door, Raven opened it and stepped back. “Come in.”

He looked awful, she thought. Like a man who had spent the last few hours fighting demons for the ownership of his soul. Since he was here, she assumed that he had won. But the look in his eyes gave her no clues. The term “dead man walking” whispered across her mind.

Peter said nothing as he walked in, looking neither left nor right. Steeling herself for whatever was coming, she moved in front of him and led the way to the family room.

Since Blue hadn't appeared at the top of the stairs, wanting to know what was happening, he hadn't woken the boy up. She was hoping to keep it that way. She wasn't sure that whatever Peter had to say to her could or should be witnessed by an eight-year-old.

Once they were inside the family room, she turned to look at him. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Scotch? A hair shirt?” she couldn't help adding.

It took him another long moment before he said anything. “I'm an idiot.”

Raven stared at him in amazement. “You certainly know how to throw someone a curve, don't you?”

The word “throw” made Peter wince. He had no idea how to make any of this up to her, only that
he had to try. “I came to apologize for throwing you out of my office today.”

They saw things differently, she thought. But then, she was beginning to think that it was in his nature to assume the blame. Heroes did that, put themselves in front so that the bullet got them first.

“You didn't throw me out, Peter,” she reminded him. “I left voluntarily.”

She was kind, he thought. That was inherently in her nature. “After I told you to.”

She smiled then, looking up into his eyes. Silently asking him to stop blaming himself. “That's hardly throwing.”

She was a mystery to him. “Why aren't you angry at me?”

“I think you're angry enough at yourself.” There was compassion in every syllable and unlike earlier that day, he realized that he both needed and wanted her compassion. Because it made him whole.
She
made him whole. “I think you're feeling so many things right now that it scares you to pieces and all you can do is lash out.”

She had his number. A protest automatically sprang to his lips, but he let it go. It would have been a lie anyway. Very slowly, he blew out a breath and then nodded. “That about covers it, I guess.”

Raven pressed her lips together, holding her
breath. Watching him. “So you're through?” She asked.

He nodded. He wasn't accustomed to apologizing and had no idea how his apology had been received. Was she asking him to go? “Do you want me to leave?”

“Not unless you want to.” Holding perfectly still, resisting the impulse to throw herself into his arms, she looked up into his face, trying very hard to read it. “Do you want to?”

“No. No,” he repeated. “I don't. I don't ever want to leave you.”

Again he'd thrown her a curve. Raven was afraid to think she'd heard what she believed he'd said. He was going to have to spell things out to her.

“What are you saying?”

Peter didn't answer her directly. Instead, for just a moment, he reflected on what had happened that morning. “Funny how life can be. One second, the operation's over and we're congratulating ourselves on a job well done, the next, we're fighting to save that same man's life.”

He had no idea how to say any of this, except to just plow through it and hope that, in the end, it would make sense to her.

Looking for the inner strength that she seemed to possess, he took her hands in his. “Harry opened up to me this morning. It was almost as if he knew
he might not come out of it alive. He told me he thought of himself as a failure, a coward.”

“Dr. Welles?”

She'd only met the man that one time outside of Blue's operating room, but she knew that Harry Welles had been a highly respected surgeon, one of the top men in his field. Blair Memorial didn't appoint just anyone as their chief of surgery. The kind of reputation that Harry Welles had did not come easily.

Peter nodded. “He said it was because he'd never had the nerve to risk having a wife and family of his own. He told me that he was afraid to get involved for the long haul.”

She understood what he was telling her. What Harry had been trying to tell Peter. “Like you,” she whispered.