The blood pumping through his veins was the only sound he could hear as he watched Dr. Adams’s mouth move. His fist tightened around the paperback still on his chest as he interrupted whatever the doctor was saying, “Just give it to me straight.”
Wait. If he did have some untold heart problem, he certainly didn’t rank high enough on the food chain for someone of Dr. Adams’s caliber to fly here and look after him. He wasn’t even a military doctor.
It still took a second to rein in his runaway imagination. Judging from the look on Dr. Adams’s face, he was still processing Landon’s sudden outburst.
“Give you what straight?” Dr. Adams asked, crossing his arms over his chest, a small spark of amusement lighting his eyes.
Well hell, now Landon didn’t want to answer that question. He’d jumped to conclusions, a stupid side effect of being confined to a hospital bed for so many days, but he was still completely confused. He figured it was best to just keep quiet. He didn’t want to embarrass himself any more than he already had. Silence filled the next few seconds. Neither man looked away from the other.
Landon noticed the fine lines of worry and the deep look of exhaustion etched on Dr. Adams’s face. The lines deepened when the doctor furrowed his brow. Landon knew that look—he himself had worn it many times throughout the years.
Landon’s heart did a twist for an altogether different reason.
Dr. Adams glanced over at the monitor next to the bed when the steady beep suddenly grew faster. “What just happened?”
This time the doctor gave him a practiced smile, cocking his head to the side as he studied Landon. The scrutiny had Landon instantly wanting to pass whatever inspection he was under and earn a real grin. This smile was only meant to encourage Landon to explain himself.
The strange tension running through his body intensified as the weight of Dr. Adams’s gaze moved down his body, then quickly back up before stopping at the paperback on his chest. Dr. Adams lowered his hand, using a single finger to edge the book over to get a better look. The doctor eased the book from Landon’s fingers and lifted it to scan the cover. This time when their eyes met there was genuine curiosity staring back at him. “A Game of Thrones. You’re doing some light reading, are you?”
That comment weirdly lifted Landon’s mood. It was his first time to tackle a George R. R. Martin novel. Yes, he got the books were all engrossing, but that was kind of the point. He needed something to fully occupy his overactive mind—absurdly over-imaginative based on all the scenarios he’d conjured in the last few minutes. It still took him a second to say, “I have an uncle who works in a library. He sends me books he thinks I’ll like.”
“It’s a good choice.” Dr. Adams crossed his arms over his chest as he stared down at Landon.
“You’ve read it?”
“No, not yet. It’s long and the author’s known to be very descriptive. My dad had a small library and encouraged me to read A Game of Thrones several times over the last few years. He met Martin once—” Dr. Adams’s tone changed before he abruptly stopped speaking midsentence. For the briefest of moments, the doctor seemed lighter, the lines around his eyes easing before he reached down again and ran a finger across the cover. “Martin left an impression on my father. He felt like once this series was complete, it would be a great tale for the ages.” Silence sat between them again as Dr. Adams seemed lost in thought until he lifted a hand and rubbed his eyes. “So you haven’t gotten very far?”
“No, I’m having trouble. It’s a struggle turning the pages.” Landon confessed with a sudden deep need to offer comfort and he wasn’t certain why.
Dr. Adams looked down at the immobilizer holding Landon’s bandaged arm and hand in place before nodding. “I’m sure it’s difficult. We have volunteers who can read to you. I can request one for you.”
“Yeah, they offered that to me today, but I was being my normal stubborn ass self and turned it down because I thought I could fucking manage.” He immediately stopped the train of thought and said, “Sorry about the language.”
“No problem. So, you don’t like to accept help. You’d rather figure it out on your own. I get it.” Dr. Adams nodded in perhaps unspoken agreement. “How’re your pain levels?”
“Hey, Landon.” Holly, a med tech he knew stepped inside the room. “Hey, Dr. Adams.”
Landon watched the good doctor slip back into professional mode. His face became blank and guarded again.
He didn’t acknowledge Holly’s greeting, but said to Landon, “I’m here because I’ve heard you’re rejecting your pain medication. There’s no sense in suffering, not right now.”