Will & Patrick Fight Their Feelings (#4) (11 page)

Yes.
Patrick lifts a brow but stays silent. He’s a hero for keeping his trap shut on the anti-Kimberly tirade that’s aching to spill out. And no matter what Will says, he’ll be sitting all the little Pattersons down for thorough sex education, because he isn’t going to simply trust Kimberly to pony up. Not when it comes to people he cares about anyway.

“There’s your pattern,” Patrick says.

“What?”

“Not feeling like enough. Hating yourself.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Patrick tosses the extra blanket off, goes up on both knees, and grips Will’s chin, staring into his eyes. “You’re enough. Got it?”

“Okay?” Will sounds embarrassed, but he wraps his arms around Patrick’s neck. “You’re enough too.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“Maybe it is.” Will pulls Patrick down on top of him, forcibly cuddling him against his chest.

“No, it’s not. I’m amazing. I’m brilliant. I’m—” Patrick rubs his cheek against Will’s soft fur.

“You’re enough, Patrick.” He kisses the top of his head and Patrick feels so cared for his eyes sting. “Now can we turn out the lights and be enough here in bed together? I don’t want to talk anymore.”

Patrick should pull away. His heart thumps and his mouth’s dry, and he might vomit. He’s feeling things that aren’t part of the deal and if Will finds out, he’s going to pity Patrick. Worse, he’ll feel betrayed. Patrick’s lied to him. He’s said he doesn’t love him, said that he never will.

The truth is he already does.

And it sucks so much. He
loves
Will. It goes beyond
feelings
and
caring.
Patrick’s
in love
with him. It’s not what they’ve agreed to and it’s not what Will wants. It’s not what Patrick wants either.

Right?

“Go to sleep,” Will says, dropping another kiss on Patrick’s head. “I’m beat. And you’ve got Shane’s surgery tomorrow. You need to be rested.” He somehow manages to roll over and get the opposite nightstand light turned off all without relinquishing hold on Patrick. Once they settle back into their usual position in the dark, Will’s heart rate slows beneath Patrick’s ear. It takes a while, but eventually Will drifts off, his steady breaths puffing against Patrick’s nape.

Patrick turns his face to Will’s chest and smells his skin, wiping his stinging eyes against the soft fur. Pressing a kiss to Will’s sternum, he wraps his arms around him more tightly. Will snuffles but doesn’t wake.

Eventually, Patrick closes his eyes and lets the steady thumping of Will’s heartbeat lull him into sleep.

Leaning back in his chair at Good Works, Will wishes he had a trustworthy friend he could talk to about his arrangement with Patrick. He’s still abuzz with memories of the sexy boundaries they pushed the night before. He closes his eyes, remembering Patrick’s hand over his mouth, taking his breath, and the spanking Patrick gave him—the one he’d waited his whole life to receive.

Will’s going to bubble over if he can’t
tell
someone. He stands up, pacing behind his desk, unable to contain his giddiness. How is it possible he’s lived in this town most of his life, but there’s truly no one he can trust to share these experiences with? No one but Patrick. And that makes him grin all over again remembering Patrick’s helpless orgasm against Will’s hip. Patrick had wanted it too. He’d wanted Will.

He cares for me. He loves me. As a friend, sure. But love is love.

Will waltzes around his office, champagne in his veins. Glancing at the wall clock, he notes he only has an hour before his meeting with Don about additional funding for Patrick’s neuro department. That’s how Will’s started to think about it now: Patrick’s department. It makes him happy to think there’s something here in Healing that might keep Patrick around after the divorce goes through.

Maybe it’s selfish, but knowing Patrick the way he does now, he doesn’t want him to ever leave. If nothing else, he needs Patrick in his family as a friend. Dozens of Christmases into the future, he wants Patrick out on the farm with him, opening gifts and eating Grandma Betty’s pie. For dozens of New Years’ Eves he wants to dance at least one song in Patrick’s arms.

Sitting at his desk again, he opens his laptop and tries to focus. He works through four urgent emails from Owen and one from his director of competitive grants. Then he tests his BG, and injects the appropriate bolus of insulin before starting in on his mid-morning snack.

The phone rings, and before he finishes saying hello, his grandmother is talking over him.

“Darling, you simply must bring Patrick over for dinner soon. Reba misses him.”

Will laughs. “Hi, Nonna. How’s it going?”

“It’s ‘going,’ as the kids say. But I’m not joking about bringing Patrick by. Things have been unusually dull since the holidays ended, and even if he’s a charming little pill, he makes Reba laugh.”

“He likes you too.”

“I have some news.”

“Oh?” Will’s pulse races. “About our ‘project’?”

“My new lead panned out. There’s a rumor that Frankie Molinaro got married this past weekend.”

“And?”

“And, if you remember, Frankie is the son of Stun-Gun Stan.”

“Never heard of him.”

“P’shaw. Your father would be appalled, but your ignorance makes my old heart sing. Never change.” Will can almost smell her perfume, a sense memory triggered by her laughter. “Let me put it this way: Stun-Gun Stan is a very important man, William. He’s a banging success, if you catch my meaning. And he has only one son, Frankie. Very pampered. Very, very spoiled.”

“And what does this have to do with me?”

“Yesterday, Frankie married a nineteen-year-old former porn star, a girl he’s known less than a month. Apparently, she’s a reformed sex addict and brand-spanking new Christian. She’s declared herself a born-again virgin, or some such nonsense. The crux is she refused to sleep with him until he married her.”

Will whistles.

“Oh, yes.”

“So this means…?”

“Bets are flying hard and fast on this one. Most believe Frankie’s recklessness is going to cost him. They say there’s no way the marriage will last, and what do you think Stun-Gun’s going to do when his only son is disinherited from the Molinaro Trust?”

“What
can
he do?”

“That, my darling, remains to be seen. But let’s just say that Stan holds sway over people who have the power to change things. Keep in mind: sometimes another’s folly is your own salvation. Never forget to be thankful for the idiots in this world. I suspect your Patrick would agree. Now, let’s see what the next few months bring, shall we?”

“Wait, you said bets are flying. Are there bets on my marriage too?”

“Of course. The odds are considered so good for your marriage’s dissolution it’s not even an
exciting
gamble, but darling, life has taught me one thing: men will throw their dicks and their money at anything.”

After Will gets off the call with his grandmother, he finishes his snack and stares into space for a good fifteen minutes, trying to figure out why Frankie’s probable eventual divorce makes him feel so blue. He should be happy. If Stun-Gun Stan wrangles a way out of the consequences, he and Patrick might catch a lucky break. Yet all he can think is if that happens, he won’t wake up to Patrick’s head on his chest anymore. No more spanking. No more giving Patrick his breath. No more carbonation in his veins. No more urge to turn cartwheels down the hall.

He knows it’s wrong. Patrick deserves to be free of Will’s mess, but he can’t help hoping Frankie stays happy with his porn-star wife longer than anyone expects him to. He’s not ready to give up his own situation just yet. Not when he’s discovering things he never knew about himself. Not when he’s finally getting to know the real Patrick.

Not when they both still want each other so much. Surely they can coast and just be happy for a while longer.

He forces himself to let it go and heads out to Brown Gargle on his way to the hospital. With a Buckaroo in hand, Will sits in Don’s office. They’ve been talking about some last-minute bids from a couple of ballsy contractors who have undercut nearly everyone else competing for the additions to the neuro department. Will’s not certain they can actually get the job done for the estimates they’ve submitted, and in the end it could end up costing them more than the higher, more realistic bids.

“I agree completely,” Don says. “I suspect Dr. McCloud would argue that any dollar saved in the building process can be funneled back into equipment or nurses’ salaries.”

Will nods. That is indeed what Patrick would say. He’s heard all about it a few times now.

“Unfortunately, Dr. McCloud couldn’t make this meeting. And a decision needs to be made about what we’re going to suggest to the board. You and I are agreed. Dr. McCloud is absent. I say call this meeting adjourned.”

Will laughs and looks at his watch. “Wow. We wrapped that up in under ten minutes. Maybe we should schedule more of these meetings when he’s in surgery.”

Don winks. “Surely you realize some of the time we waste flogging dead horses with Dr. McCloud is just an excuse to get you riled up.”

“I don’t know. Patrick is very passionate about this project.”

Don nods with a sage expression. “Indeed he is. He’s also very passionate about you.”

Will flushes but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. He knows Don can see it on his face. Literally, given that he’s still sporting a small scab from the beard burn.

“But I have to agree,” Don says. “A quick, easy meeting like this one is a good break.” He shuts his folders and prepares to stand up. “Now, I’m going to meet Jean for lunch. Won’t she be surprised when I’m on time for a change?”

The office door bangs open, cutting Don off. Patrick stalks in, pulling at his surgical cap and cursing under his breath. Will’s heart thumps as he looks from Patrick to Don and back again, a rush of adrenaline making his head spin.

“Dr. McCloud, is there a problem?”

Patrick slumps into the chair next to Will. “That’s a big fat yes, Donny. Very observant of you.”

Will’s stomach tightens. Patrick is supposed to still be operating on Shane Hammond. He reaches out for Patrick’s hand, but his attempt to comfort is dismissed with a fast shake of Patrick’s head.

Don says, “Will, you’ll need to excuse us, please. This is a matter of doctor/patient confidentiality.”

“Oh! Of course. Right.” He nods and steps outside the door. Don’s assistant isn’t at his desk.

Will knows it’s wrong, and none of his business, but he can tell that whatever’s happened isn’t good. If Shane’s dead, everyone will know soon enough. He puts his ear to the door and listens hard.

“It wasn’t there in the scans.” Patrick’s voice is low, urgent, and frustrated.

“Start at the beginning,” Don says.

It doesn’t take long for Will to understand that while it’s bad—very bad—it’s not the worst outcome, because Shane’s alive and Patrick thinks he’ll stay that way. But apparently whatever went down in the OR isn’t good either, not by far.

Most of their conversation is medical mumbo-jumbo to Will, but what he gleans is this: an undetected mass of veins surrounded the injury site in some complex way that the scans hadn’t shown before Patrick cracked into Shane’s skull. And once Patrick was inside, there was nothing he could do. Shane needs intensive intravenous treatments to reduce the size and complexity of the vessels. To make matters worse, while Patrick was trying to close up, there was a massive bleed, causing further damage to Shane’s already traumatized brain.

All in all, Patrick had accomplished nothing of his original goal and potentially left Shane more damaged than he was before.

“Have you informed the wife?” Don asks.

“Of course. She didn’t take it well.”

Don harrumphs softly. “There’s nothing worse than the thought of your loved one being injured or dying. It strikes fear in the heart of everyone.” He sighs. “Well, I’ll go talk to his wife again, help her better understand what’s happened, and where we go from here.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Patrick says. “I’m going to watch the video from the surgery, work up a strategy—”

“No, you’re going to go home, have a shower, and a nap.”

“Excuse me? I’m not a toddler. You can’t tell me when I need a time-out.”

“Oh, but I can. I’m your chief of staff, and I’m ordering you to go home and rest. You can come back later. The patient isn’t going anywhere and there’s nothing you can do right now.”

Will hears Patrick huff and puff, but Don holds fast.

“Fine,” Patrick grunts, and that’s Will’s cue to go lean against the wall and try to look innocent as Don and Patrick leave the office together.

Patrick doesn’t stop to say anything to Will, charging off toward the physician’s locker room. Don grips Will’s shoulder. “Be patient with him. He’s hard on himself.” He leaves.

Will’s heart breaks for Shane’s wife. He can only imagine the hope she’d had this morning, and now…

“How much did you hear?” Patrick asks when he finally exits the locker room in his street clothes: jeans and a maroon shirt. Will’s waiting across the hall for him, determined to be a pillar of support no matter what Patrick does or says. “Everything or just parts?”

Will shrugs.

Patrick doesn’t smile. “I know you were listening.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I just—”

“Look, I don’t give a rat’s ass if you were eavesdropping or not. If you hadn’t been nosy, I’d wonder who the hell replaced my puddin’-pop with someone who actually knows the definition of the word ‘boundaries.’ I just want to know what needs to be spelled out and what doesn’t.” Patrick pinches the bridge of nose. “I’m all out of patience today.”

“Well, it’s not like you ever had a lot.”

Patrick glares at him, and Will sighs, reaching out to grip Patrick’s neck, tugging him close. He has to bend a little at the knee to get at the right level to look into Patrick’s downcast eyes.

“I overheard enough to know that you, Dr. McCloud, are a dedicated and caring physician.”

Patrick’s lashes lift, and Will’s breath catches at his raw vulnerability. It only lasts a moment before Patrick shakes himself free of Will’s touch, wipes a hand over his face, and starts toward the elevators.

“Whatever. We’re stopping by Jimmy’s on the way back.”

“Whatever you want.”

Waiting for the elevator, Patrick looks down the hallway toward the double doors leading to the surgery waiting room. “I told his wife already.”

“I know. I heard.” Will puts his hand on Patrick’s shoulder.

Patrick nods absently, still staring down at the doors. His eyes are narrow and full of thought, like he’s trying to work something out. “She spit in my face.”

Will’s mouth falls open, and his hand flexes on Patrick’s shoulder. “Who? Shane’s wife?”

Patrick nods.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

Patrick ignores him and rubs a hand over his nose. “I had a mother throw up on me once. When I told her son had died.” He’s quiet, talking softly, almost to himself. “You never know how they’ll react. It’s not based in logic. No way to predict it. Today, I was expecting tears, maybe confusion. Not anger.” Patrick shakes out his arms, like he’s shaking off the memory. “I never promised a miracle.”

This is the first time Will’s seen Patrick after an unsuccessful surgery, but he’s not surprised at how affected he is. No matter how cold Patrick tries to be, Will’s seen the pictures of Dinah and the foster kids in Patrick’s bag, he’s helped him design a state-of-the-art neurology unit that is, from the ground up, dedicated to the patients’ best interests first and foremost. He knows how much Patrick cares.