Our Last Chance (Heart of Hope 1)

“Can you come out and see what you can find out?” I’d hate to learn that Nick had made an error, but if he had, I didn’t see it.

“Sure. Hold on while I get my calendar.” A few minutes later, we’d made an appointment for next week. I wished I could get her there now, but I was sure the hospital would balk at my authorizing the extra fees for an emergency IT visit. Yes, they’d want the information for the lawsuit, but that wasn't the top of the list, especially if it was possible the software was in error. The contract put the responsibility of that fully on the hospital, not the software creator.

I sat back in my chair, feeling more unsettled than I had before walking in my office. I’d been sure that Ms. Mason’s death was due to her failure to give Nick a full rundown of her symptoms, and showing up too late. But now I had to consider that a lag in having the blood work and a missing chest x-ray order were to blame. That would put the responsibility of her death on the hospital, whether it was a software glitch or not. And if Nick made some sort of error, on him as well. I hated myself for thinking the next thought; had Nick been having PTSD-symptoms in the ER before Ms. Mason’s death?

I needed to talk to Dick about this, but was reluctant to do so. He wouldn’t like this information, and chances were he’d look at ways to take the blame off the hospital. While the hospital employed Nick, to blame him and then fire him would fix their PR problem if this got out. A computer problem that potentially put all patients at risk, would be harder to overcome. Chances were everyone who lost a family member or friend here would wonder if their death was due to a computer error. I thought of Eli who’d certainly add that to his list of grievances against Nick.

When I’d returned home to Goldrush Lake, the one thing I considered a positive, aside from being with my father and brother, was the slow pace at work. While smaller hospitals often had fewer resources, they also had fewer patients and potential legal issues over large city ones. Since returning to town, my stress level was high, not just from this, but also from my inability to stop myself from getting naked with Nick. That was one thing that I could do better at. What I couldn’t control was Nick’s mental health or computer glitches, and I was afraid one or the other was going to create big problems for the hospital.

17

Nick

Waking up next to Mia was lovely and sad at the same time. It had been one of my favorite things back when we dated four years ago. We hadn’t lived together, but we’d spent many nights together. I remembered feeling her lush warm body against mine as my first awareness in the morning. With a smile, and my eyes still closed, I’d touch her, slowly wake her with soft kisses until I’d slip inside her.

I didn’t do that this morning, although I’d wanted to. Today, we weren’t a couple. We weren’t in love, although each time I told myself that, my heart would clench like it was calling me a liar. She didn’t love me. I suspected she thought I was mentally unstable and possibly to blame for Ms. Mason’s death. She was in a position to ruin my career. My heart, no matter how it felt, had to accept that what Mia and I had four years ago was gone and couldn’t be recreated, even if we wanted to. Which she didn’t. Once again, her job was more important than me.

Not liking that my thoughts made me seem like I was having a pity party, I’d slipped from bed, showered and got ready for my shift at the hospital. When the coffee was brewed, she’d joined me in the kitchen. She’d taken a shower, but I was sure she’d go home to change so she didn’t show up to work in the same clothes she’d worn yesterday.

“Sleep okay?” I asked handing her a cup of coffee.

“Really well actually.”

“Me too.” I wanted her to know I wasn’t nuts.

Yet when I approached my first patient that morning, I felt agitated. Like every nervous neuron was firing. It wasn’t a good start to a long shift and it just got worse as I began to investigate the ailments my patients were presenting. I was second guessing my assessments and what tests to run. I ended up ordering a pregnancy test for a sixty-year-old woman well-past menopause. That made me look inept, but what really rocked my confidence was the constant feeling of stress. Not in a good way. In the past, the challenge of diagnosing and treating people led to adrenaline that was exciting. Today the stress was fear. I was scared shitless that I was going to mess up. No amount of deep breathing or stretching seemed to calm me down or loosen my tight agitated muscles.

Fuck, maybe Mia was right. Maybe I was nuts. Maybe I shouldn’t be working like this. I hadn’t missed anything, the pregnancy test notwithstanding. But I was being sued for malpractice, and my head wasn’t in the game like it should be. I was operating from constant fear I was going to fuck up instead of a competent physician looking to treat and help people.

“Your girlfriend is here,” Peggy said with a nod toward a curtained off exam area.

For a minute, I thought of Mia. Of course, she wasn’t my girlfriend. Peggy’s smirk told me it was Joyce. Jesus, just what I needed. Then again, chances were Joyce wasn’t sick. She was just here for her monthly Dr. Foster fix. On the other hand, what if she was sick and I missed it? It was wrong of me to dismiss her. Yes, she was the girl that cried wolf, but that didn’t mean she was lying every time. Fucking A I was a mess.

“You all right, Dr. Foster? I can see if someone else will see her,” Peggy said.

“I’ll see her.” Get a grip, Foster, I told myself. I went to the curtain and entered. “Ms. Maynard. What seems to be the problem today.”

“Oh Dr. Foster, I’m so glad you’re here. I was afraid you’d be on administrative leave or something.” She sat on the exam table in a tight-fitting tennis dress. The hem barely reached mid-thigh. The top buttons were undone, showing off her ample cleavage.

I quirked a brow. “Why?”

She looked at me for a moment and then shook her head. “Nothing. I think I sprained my ankle.”

“Let’s take a look,” I said, reaching down to her ankle. She’d already taken off her shoe and sock.

“You have such warm strong hands,” she cooed as I held her leg at the calf and did a visual exam.

For once she did seem to have signs of injury as the ankle was swollen and bruised. “Can you move your toes?”

She waggled her toes painted with bubble gum pink polish. “I guess it’s good I had a pedicure,” she said.

“Does it hurt when I do this?” I touched various parts of her foot and ankle, noting when she winced or told me it was sore.

When I was done, my instinct said sprained ankle. Before Ms. Mason’s death, I’d have said sprained ankle, wrapped it, and prescribed pain reliever, elevation, and ice. Today, I looked at the swelling and bruising and wondered if I should get an x-ray.

“Are you able to put any weight on it at all?” I asked.

“It hurts when I do,” she said, lifting her foot to my groin level. I put my hand under it before she got any ideas.