Page 49 of The Goalie in Room 1

Yes, I’m aware there are three rooms down there, but what you don’t know is the water heater busted. Apparently, it’s been leaking for a while. We have to gut that corner of the house. It’s not just the drywall, but the flooring and subfloors have to be ripped out too.

Me

Okay. I’ll figure something out for Cash, but we really need to put something in place for residents who aren’t ambulatory. A carriage house or an addition, or something so we can accommodate people with limited mobility.

Phoenix

Agreed.

Let me know what you figure out.

“Fu-uh.” A soft, grunting partial curse came from Cash, barely audible over the equipment in the room and the noise from the recovery unit outside the room.

My eyes flew to him, and I waited. He moaned. His head rolled.

“Cash, can you open your eyes for me?” I asked, standing so he could see me if he woke.

Fluttered eyelids and a furrowed brow. The second highlighted the beads of sweat on his forehead. But it was the ashy color of his skin and his oxygen levels, after a glance at his monitors, that freaked me out. Taking a deep breath, I huffed out a sigh of relief, remembering Cash was an elite professional athlete. His respiratory and heart rates were normally low. I studied them so closely I had them memorized.

Still, Michael needed to get his ass back here—sweating, ashen, respiratory and heart rate dropping off—none of it was good. I shot off a text, receiving a thumbs-up. I reminded myself that with any other patient, I wouldn’t have an issue with Michael’s response, but Cash wasn’t any other patient. A fact that became clearer the longer I knew him. The longer he remained like he currently was.

I sat back down to wait for Michael. If my eyes stayed locked on Cash, sue me.

“You rang?” Michael asked as he walked into the recovery room.

I ignored him and instead answered the question he should’ve asked and didn’t. “He’s coming to, but he’s sweating and ashen. And it’s getting worse.”

“I see that,” Michael said as he approached the bed. He glanced between the monitors and Cash. Despite wanting to stand at Cash’s bedside, holding his hand and brushing his knuckles with my thumb while I combed the sweat-dampened hair from his forehead, I forced myself to keep my ass on the stool.

“Cash? Open your eyes for me,” Michael asked, his eyes focused on the monitors yet again.

Mine stayed locked on Cash’s face. Waiting. Hoping for a response. Other than a few garbled words and brow-scrunched moans, Cash lay just as he had for over the last nearly two hours.

Michael checked him over—pen light flashing over Cash’s pupils. He sighed, sucking his teeth as he swiped across the screen of the tablet he’d carried in with him.

The sucking teeth thing irked me. It had from the moment I met him. But it was his sigh that concerned me. The two together set me on edge. Me, Dr. Thaddeus Vale, worried about a patient. Yeah, I worried about all of them, but not like this. Not like Cash worried me, but he wasn’t just any patient. I wanted to fuck him. I wanted to kiss and touch and sleep next to him.

None of which was appropriate. At this point, I didn’t think I knew appropriate anymore. At least not when it came to Cash. My normally rigid sense of self and ethical behavior had been on hiatus since the moment I laid eyes on the man in the bed.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, already knowing what his answer would be.

Michael’s gaze caught mine, but instead of answering, he asked, “What’s his discharge situation? Do you know?”

I nodded. “He has a shared living situation.”

“So, roommates?” he asked.

“Yeah. And worse, he no longer has a first-floor room.”

“Well, he’s not going anywhere anytime soon, so that doesn’t matter much yet.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“He’s hyper sensitive to the opioids. We knew this. It’s noted in his record from prior surgeries. You see how he’s reacting. It’s why you called me.”

“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “What are you recommending?”

He sighed. “If he had a partner, significant other, or a parent, I might could release him to go home, if the person could understand the risks and symptoms of overdose, and that’s if he was alert with a steady heart and respiratory rate…but…there’s no way. Not right now. And especially not with him living in a shared space with roommates and not having a lower-level bedroom. I’ll give it some time before deciding, but I might need to admit him.”