Private Partners (Doctors in Training 2)

He lifted his head from the cushions. “I couldn’t leave it like that.”

He looked terrible. His skin was colorless, there were hollows beneath his eyes and a fine sheen of perspiration glistened on his cheeks and forehead. She dropped her things and moved quickly toward him. “You’re sick.”

“Yeah. But that’s not the point. I didn’t want to leave with you mad at me. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Liam.” She pressed a hand to his forehead and caught her breath. He was burning with fever.

He was curled on his left side, his knees bent and slightly drawn up. “I never meant to add to your stress. I just wanted to help.”

“I know. Can you lie on your back, Liam?”

“Hurts.”

“I know. Just try for a minute, okay?”

He shifted, groaning with the effort. Anne lifted the hem of his shirt to reveal his lean abdomen, muttering to herself, “McBurney’s point is two-thirds of the distances from the umbilicus to the anterior superior iliac spine.”

Finding what she hoped was that point, she pressed her fingers into his right side. “Does that hurt?”

“Not too—” He gasped sharply when she released the pressure. “Yeah. Yeah, it hurts. Damn.”

Rebound pain. Even a second-year medical student knew that sign. “Liam, we need to get you to the hospital. I’m pretty sure you have appendicitis.”

And he’d probably been battling it for several days, she thought with a surge of guilt that the possibility had never even occurred to her before this. She’d been so caught up in her own problems and issues that she’d been all too quick to dismiss Liam’s illness as a minor stomach virus. The fact that he hadn’t really complained, even though he must have been suffering more than he’d let on, was no excuse.

“Stomach bug,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’ll be okay. We really need to talk.”

“We will,” she promised. “After you’ve seen a doctor. Can you sit up?”

He started to rise, then sank back down with a moan. “Going to be sick.”

“I’ll be right back.” She dashed to the kitchen for a plastic bowl, then hurried back to the couch.

Liam was curled up again, his arm over his eyes. “I think it’s passing,” he muttered.

“I’ll call for an ambulance.” She already had her phone in her hand and was dialing 911.

“Don’t need ambulance. You can drive me.”

“Liam, you can’t even stand up. I can’t carry you down to the car.” She only hoped the ambulance arrived before his appendix ruptured.

Anne sat perched on the edge of the waiting room chair, her arms wrapped around her middle, her heart in her throat as she waited for news. Liam had been rushed into surgery only fifteen minutes earlier, and it was apparent from the haste with which the staff had acted that his condition was serious.

Peritonitis, she thought with a catch in her breathing. If it had gone septic, Liam could very well be in critical condition.

And she’d waved it off as a “bug.”

She buried her face in her hands, a low groan escaping her as hot tears filled her eyes.

“Anne? I got here as soon as I could. What’s wrong?”

Lifting her damp face, she stood and threw herself into her father’s arms. “Daddy. Thank you for coming.”

He hugged her tightly, obviously concerned by the tremors that ran through her. “Of course I came. You called and said you needed me here. I’ll always come when you call me. What’s wrong, sugar? You said you aren’t hurt. That was the truth, wasn’t it? I did what you asked, I told your mother that you just needed my help with something and that she shouldn’t be concerned, but I can tell by looking at you that something is very wrong.”

“No, I’m not hurt.”

“Is it one of your friends?”