Page 48 of The Goalie in Room 1

“Okay…tell me—” I said as I walked into the clinic’s PACU, only to stop abruptly.

The recovery room might as well have been a battlefield. Michael Devenport stood on one side, his hands on his hips, his head bowed. Davina Devenport posted up on the opposite side of the room, Cash on the bed between them, her arms crossed over her chest, her foot tapping as she stared the man she married down.

“Jesus. I’d tell you two to behave, but I know it wouldn’t do any good. Both of you go find something else to do. Fuck if it helps. Just make sure it’s not in my office.”

Davina cackled and stormed out of the room, tossing over her shoulder, “He wishes.”

I shook my head and looked at him. “You didn’t?”

“Yes, I did. I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Well, dude, telling your wife you’re the doctor isn’t factually inaccurate, but…”

“Maritally stupid. Yes, you’ve mentioned this in the past.”

“I’m starting to side with Davina since you seem to need reminding on the regular.”

He flipped me off and followed after his wife. Hopefully to buy her something expensive. I turned toward Cash’s monitors, checking over everything. His heart rate and oxygen saturation were lower than I’d like, but… I pulled up his medical record, searching his post-op recovery notes.

Glancing between his current readings, the ones the staff had documented since he was put under, and the ones in the chart from prior surgeries, Cash was in the window, albeit at the bottom of it. I pulled the rolling stool over and sat next to Cash’s bed.

He looked…like a surgical patient in recovery. His face still lay slack and pale. A nasal cannula replaced the intubation tube I was glad I hadn’t witnessed being placed. The thought of it gave me a chill as it was. But the steady beeping of his monitors, even if they weren’t quite where I’d want them to be, kept me from being too unnerved.

“You are a troublemaker,” I whispered. “You already know that though. You’re probably cracking up at the fuss everyone is making.”

His hand lay on the bed next to his leg, and I wanted so badly to take it in mine. The urge grew until I found myself glancing at the wall of glass that was open so the recovery staff could monitor Cash. They weren’t my people. My surgical suite shared the PACU with several other surgical units on this floor.

Which meant I needed to watch myself. In hopes of keeping myself from doing something stupid, since leaving Cash’s bedside was not something I had any desire to do, I sat beside him and drafted the operative notes for his surgery.

The surgery went off without a hitch. The graft fit perfectly. Cash’s flexion and range-of-motion tests after I placed the graft were textbook, if not better. Nothing indicated anything other than a flawless repair. I crossed my fingers that the success of the operation would carry over to his rehab.

Just as I submitted the note and set my tablet down, my phone buzzed.

Phoenix

How’s our boy?

Me

In recovery, sleeping off the good stuff.

Phoenix

Good. We have an issue.

Me

You couldn’t have led with that? What’s up?

Phoenix.

The room downstairs won’t work.

Me

Phoenix, what the hell? There’s three bedrooms down there. Surely one of them…There’s no fucking way he can sleep on the second floor. He can’t navigate all those stairs.

Phoenix