Risking the Crown (The Crown 2)

Sonny piped up. “It’s from Wes Blakefield. He sent you every possible Wranglers memorabilia there is.” She tapped at the basket. “Cups, koozies, a signed football, and it looks like that’s his jersey number.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” I hovered over the monstrosity of football crap.

“Read the card. Read it,” they urged.

This wasn’t how I wanted to receive a gift. Not with everyone gawking around me. And not from a current patient. This was wrong on so many levels.

Sonny shoved the envelope into my hands. Cautiously, I pulled the card from inside.

Thanks, Doc

WB

That was all it said. I pushed the note back inside. I wasn’t going to read it aloud.

“You all can get back to work now.” I tried to shoo them from the basket as I wrestled it into my arms.

“It is from him.” There was a chance half of them were going to faint right there. “Oh my God. Wes Blakefield sent you a gift. You know what that means, right?”

I looked at them blankly. “It doesn’t mean anything. He’s a patient. Of course I’m going to donate everything in the basket.”

They looked shocked.

I scrambled for an explanation. “It’s against hospital policy. You all know that.” I held the basket tighter to my chest, wondering what in the hell had urged that man to send this to me.

“Good night.” I marched out of the hospital, knowing how ridiculous I looked, trying to keep the cellophane from blowing back into my face.

The next day wasn’t any better. As I was leaving for my shift, another delivery arrived. This time, the quarterback land-slided me with every type of chocolate on the planet. And these weren’t ordinary chocolates. They were imported from France, Switzerland, and Germany. Had I mentioned in conversation at some point that I was a chocoholic? I couldn’t think of a single personal thing I had revealed to him. I was professional toward him, even if he was a flirt and a player. I never encouraged him to send gifts or pursue me, did I?

I scowled at the fancy boxes tied with exotic silk ribbons. There was another card attached. I read it in the silence of the doctors’ lounge. I crumpled it in my hand. Who was this guy? He thought he could send presents and chocolate and I’d what? Just fall into his arms and beg to get in his bed?

I knew his type. I’d met them all over D.C. Funny thing was, once they found out I was a surgical resident, I suddenly seemed less attractive. That was until I met Ben.

Ben was another resident in my program, and after studying and working together, it seemed to make sense to be roommates. Roommates turned to sex when we were both in the apartment together. Somehow that felt like enough of a relationship to me. After a year, I knew we were a good match. He was handsome and smart and not intimidated by my work. We had everything in common. He was the perfect guy on paper. I could go through a list and check off all the things I wanted in a partner. Except one. The most important one.

But all of it changed the day I found out my roommate was fucking another woman.

I couldn’t help it. I ripped into the chocolates and started eating one of the pretty pink ones. By the time I looked down, I had eaten six. I crammed the lid on top and lifted the boxes in my arms. I needed to get home. Thinking about Ben pissed me off. It reminded me why I was here alone. Why I had left D.C. Why I didn’t bother to split things in the apartment and had driven to Texas with only a car full of clothes.

I wiped an angry tear from my cheek and raced past the nurses. I didn’t want to hear about my admirer. I wasn’t up for girl talk. They didn’t know what I was going through. Broken by one asshole, just to be pursued by another.

The next day, I slammed the cabinet to my locker, eager to get out of the hospital so I could make it home and take a shower. I had been in surgery for six hours putting a twenty-year-old’s leg back together after it was smashed in a car accident. The concentration and focus it took had wiped me out, but the surgery was a complete success. With rehab and physical therapy, he’d be able to walk again, and we were able to give him hope for more than that.

Sharing the news with his parents after the surgery was a relief. Their faces lit with joy, and I knew I could leave the hospital knowing I had kicked ass today.

I stood to leave the doctors’ lounge and stopped when I saw Sonny. She was holding a long white box.

“Oh no. Not again.” This was the third day in a row.

“These just came for you.” She approached me, her eyes giddy.

I took the box from her arms and placed it on the bench next to me. There was a card on top, but I was afraid to read it.

“Thanks.” I dismissed her with a frown.

I could tell she wanted to stay and see what was inside and who it was from, but I needed the lounge to myself. We both knew the Wranglers’ quarterback had sent the surprise.

I pulled the lid from the box. I stared at the dozens of orchids spilling from the tissue-lined center.