Challenge (9 page)

Indie, on the other hand, looks perfectly confident in scrubs and trainers. Maybe it’s the whole doctor/patient fantasy that gets me going, but I’d like to explore everything underneath that fabric.

Tearing my eyes from her, I flick the light off. The room is cast in complete darkness aside from the faint glow of the outside light streaming in through the curtains. She moves to deposit her mobile and glasses on the end table before slouching down in the chair.

One part of my brain wants to say so much—crack a joke about what kind of knickers she wears under those scrubs, or ask her if she wants a shag after all. But the other part forces me to remain silent. This whole thing feels platonic but strangely intimate. Hearing her soft breaths, smelling her fresh scent. Her general presence is…comforting. I actually
like
having her in here. But having a woman near me and not slipping myself inside of her is foreign to me.

A heaviness creeps over me at the realisation.

She’s a necessary distraction. Nothing more. I need her here because if she’s not here I’ll have time to think about what’s really going on with me. That scares me more than anything.

No matter how simple they say the surgery will be, it’s still surgery. I’m still getting knocked out. They act like this will make me good as new, but part of me fears that I’ll never get back what I’ve lost. I was on such a lucky streak prior to this. Then, in one quick instant, everything in my career came to a crashing halt. My positive momentum, thwarted. What if I never operate the way I did before? What if this is a slow decline to a sad, pathetic end?

At least if I stay broken there’s a reason for not playing well. If I’m fixed and sucking, then what?

“Are you actually scared?” Indie’s voice is quiet in the darkness, but it’s a question that speaks volumes to my insides. She turns her head and eyes me from the chair.

I swallow slowly before answering, “Yes.” It’s the first honest thing I’ve said in ages. I roll to my side so I’m facing her. I can barely make out the glossiness of her eyes.

“Is it for more reasons than just the surgery?”

Christ, it’s like she sees right through me. “Maybe.” The air is heavy with dread and fear and everything I’m too afraid to fully admit to myself.

She remains silent for a few seconds and brings her feet up to prop on the side of my bed. Her bright white ankle socks glow in the dim lighting. It’s a small movement but it feels meaningful, like she’s trying to get closer but not make it obvious.

“You don’t have a girlfriend, right?”

My stomach shakes with a quiet laugh. It’s such an innocent question dropped into such a heavy environment. “No. I’m afraid I’m not the girlfriend type.”

“I didn’t think so.” Her tone sounds relieved and it makes me scowl.

“You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?” I’m more than curious about Dr. Prichard and the way he watches her when she speaks and touches her whenever he gets the chance. Plus, how he calls her Indie in front of patients really grates on my nerves.

I can see her smirk through the darkness. “No. You’re safe. It’s not a part of my plan. Not yet anyway.”

“Your plan? This sounds interesting.” I grin and see her chewing her lower lip while her finger wraps around a loose strand of her hair.

“Maybe I’ll tell it to you sometime.”

It’s a promising sentence. “Let’s count on it.”

Then, as if her presence soothes my insomnia, my eyelids begin to droop. I think I see hers close first, so I allow myself to drift off to sleep, enjoying the scent of lemons clinging to my bed sheets.

M
Y ALARM ROUSES ME AND
I stretch, feeling blissfully rested. This is the first time in ages that I’ve been awakened without wanting to gouge someone’s eyes out. When I come to more, I see that I’m still in Camden Harris’ room. How is it possible I slept better in this chair than in the on-call room?

I glance over at the bed to see Camden’s hand draped over my ankles that are propped by his side. It feels a bit peculiar—his large hands clasping my narrow ankles. Almost like cuddling, which is not something I’m at all familiar with.

Growing up, my parents weren’t the snuggle in bed type. They are both archeologists who still spend all their time in the field, so I rarely see them enough to experience any type of genuine affection. My grandmother who raised me was the same. She believed sending me to year-round boarding schools was what was best, so I only went home a couple of times a year.

Additionally, since my romantic relationships are extremely limited, sleeping with someone, even as innocently as this, is something that feels odd.

I check the time and exhale when I see it’s not yet eight o’ clock. Reality casts over me, along with the light of day. Sickness settles in the pit of my stomach. I just slept all night in the room of a VIP, semi-famous footballer whom I’m supposed to operate on tomorrow. There is a definite blurring of lines happening here.

I stare at his sleeping face and try to remember what possessed me to say yes to him last night, other than the fact that he’s a charming sod. Drunk on the cocktail that is the Camden Harris pheromones, maybe? I mean, honestly, as a twenty-four-year-old female with eyeballs, when a man like him asks you to stay, how can you resist?

My decision to stay may have had something to do with the fact that I want him to be Penis Number One, and it was nice to get to know him a bit to confirm his girlfriend status. Regardless, sleeping with him without
sleeping
with him is surely something Belle would whack me over the head for. She’s always warned me that Penis Number One types are the heartbreakers.

But she doesn’t realise how easy it is for me to detach from people. My upbringing conditioned me to do just that. Every summer and on holidays, girls left school to go spend time with their families while I was always left behind. Honestly, I didn’t care much either way. Going home wasn’t much different than staying in school. I was still alone. My parents weren’t around most times. Even as an adult, I haven’t seen them since my grandmother died two years ago. They do send cards with sizeable cheques on my birthday and Christmas. Other than that, they continue to live their lives with bones.

Shocked that my alarm hasn’t roused Cam by now, I carefully slip my legs out from his grasp and kill the annoying chirping. I slide my glasses on and smirk as a thought hits me.
He noticed I had different glasses on last night.

Shut up, Indie. This is not the time to swoon.

He still hasn’t moved a muscle, so I lean over and press my hand to his throat. I am pleased to feel a pulse and learn that he’s just a heavy sleeper. The nurses will be rounding in here soon. If I hustle, I can get a shower in before Prichard is ready for me.

I smooth down my scrubs and throw my stethoscope around my neck. Shuffling quietly over to the door, I peer out and see the coast is clear. It’s quiet in this VIP wing, so escaping unnoticed shouldn’t be too difficult.

I exhale with relief a moment later when I’m striding past the nurse’s station and realise how easy it was to get away with something. It all felt positively thrilling and even a bit—

“Indie!” a deep voice says, startling the bejesus out of me as I’m fixing my name tag. “You’re here early. Well done. I was just heading to Mr. Harris’ room.”

My heart hammers in my chest as I swerve to find a bright-eyed Prichard staring at me from around the corner. Camden’s sister, Vi, is standing next to him looking fresh as a daisy, which is just offensive at this hour. Where’s this Beardie nurse when you need a pick-me-up?

“Dr. Prichard. I didn’t see you there. I erm…was just checking the vitals of Cam—Mr. Harris and all looks well.” My head is nodding stupidly, but I’m powerless to stop it. “He’s sleeping soundly, so…there’s that.”
Shut up, Indie, you sound and look like a moron. Stop moroning!

Prichard puzzles his brow at me while I straighten my mess of hair self-consciously. “Very well then. Glad to hear it. You remember Mr. Harris’ sister, Vi. We’re heading his way to measure his knee for the replacement graft. Since you’re here early, you can join us.”

I hesitate for a split second, really not wanting to go back into Camden’s room already. Part of me was hoping to avoid him until he is knocked out and draped with blue cloths in the OR tomorrow. I really don’t seem to make the best decisions around him.

Plus, the way his sister seems to be staring at me is something I don’t really want to stick around for. I don’t know how Camden handles all his family hovering and meddling all the time. It’s seven-thirty in the morning for goodness sake and he already has a visitor. I’m surprised one of them didn’t sleep over with him last night. All that togetherness and rule by committee nonsense would seriously drive me mad.

But I’m also not willing to lose out on this surgery. So, despite my nerves, I follow the good doctor and Vi like the perfect little student I always was.

Time to put on your business face, Indie. No awkwardness. Just professionalism.

Prichard waltzes in and heads over to the window to open the drapes instead of flicking on the harsh overhead lighting. Vi reaches Cam’s bed and begins shaking his arm in an attempt to wake him.

“Mmmm…yes,” Camden’s voice murmurs sleepily in a deep, throaty timbre. “Stroke lower, Indie. Don’t be shy,” he finishes and I swear on my life, I almost puke.

“Camden!” Vi shouts and punches him hard in the stomach. “You pig!”

He harrumphs and lets out a blast of air, wincing against her mighty blow. “Fuck, my knee! Bloody hell!” He reaches down to grasp his leg as I watch the entire scene in horror.

“Don’t bloody hell me, you pervert!” Vi chastises him like a scolding mother.

“I was sleeping! I can’t help it!” His eyes finally open more and immediately land on me. His lashes are dark and hooded around his sapphire blues. Damn, he even looks sexy now—horny, sleepy pig and all. “It was some dream,” he adds, scowling down at the chair where I was lying moments ago. He looks at me and my cheeks feel as if they are going to melt right off my face.

Prichard’s deep chortle distracts all of us. “Well, I can’t say the boy doesn’t have good taste.” He looks over at me, not the slightest bit bemused.

I straighten my glasses and frown. What is happening right now? If these blokes think I’m the hot, nerdy librarian type, they are going to be sorely disappointed. Those are the types that pull a pencil out of their buns and their silky locks tumble down to their shoulders, right? I can’t even remember the last time I brushed my hair.

Despite my intense discomfort over this entire situation, I smile politely and glance back to Camden, who’s lost all good humour on his face. He’s indiscreetly shooting daggers at Prichard, making me want to throw up again. If I could cover myself in an invisibility cloak and disappear, I totally would.

Prichard clears his throat and finally begins explaining to Cam and Vi where the scope incisions will be located on Cam’s knee, all while taking measurements. Cam listens intently but keeps eyeing me over his shoulder with a smouldering look that’s thankfully going unnoticed by everyone else.

“Indie will be on one side, running scope two,” Prichard adds, “And I’ll be here, running scope one. Then we’ll make one more incision for the camera to show us what we’re doing in there. It’s a minimally invasive surgery and, because of this new 3D grafting technique, there won’t be any need for bone drilling.” Cam’s nostrils flare in response to the last part, but Prichard doesn’t seem to notice and continues, “You’ll be able to go home the same day.”

“So one more night here and I’m good as new?” Camden asks, his voice stiff.

“Nearly,” Prichard answers. “You’ll feel normal when you go home. You’ll start physical therapy immediately. But to get back your full mobility on the pitch, you need to have the graft removed, which is why we’ll have you come back in one month for the follow-up surgery.”

“It’ll take a day or two for the swelling to go down around the incisions both times,” I add, feeling Camden’s tension and trying to calm his nerves. “But exercise is actually good for helping your incisions to heal.”