Private Practice (15 page)

Chapter Seventeen

“Don’t try to figure women out, Ty,” Junior advised. “Not even your cute little doc. You’ll just end up with a migraine. Might as well ask me to kick you in the head. At least then you’d know why your head hurt.” Satisfied with this gem of wisdom, Junior tossed back the rest of his beer and then placed the empty bottle on the bar and signaled Earl for another.

Tyler rubbed a hand across his face. He already felt like he’d been kicked in the head. Had felt that way since the moment he’d seen Ellie and Roger in a lip-lock on her front porch. The image still burned in his mind; her, nearly naked and completely irresistible in a scrap of a red dress, and big, blond, muscle-bound Roger not resisting her.

“She’s not
my
cute little doc. I swung by her place this evening to see if she wanted to take a ride. I thought we’d go somewhere romantic and talk, but when I pulled up Roger was there and they were kissing like he’d just gotten home from war.” Jesus, he sounded like a hysterical schoolgirl. He picked up his beer and took a long drink.

“Roger Reynolds?” Junior’s eyebrows shot up. “Man, he gets around. I kinda thought he didn’t close the deal with Melody because he batted for the other team.”

“Me too, but apparently he switch-hits.”

“Now that’s just greedy.”

“I agree. Know what really pisses me off? He leaves town for ten years, comes back and ditches Melody first thing, and everybody looks at him like some fucking do-no-wrong golden boy. I live here my entire life, spend the better chunk of it trying to run a decent business, do some good where I can, and, sure, have a little fun here and there, and everybody sees me as an irresponsible troublemaker only out for a good time.”

Junior turned to look at him square on. “That’s not true, Ty.”

“Sure it is. Ask anybody.”

Earl Rawley stopped in front of them to deliver a fresh beer to Junior. “Hey Earl,” Junior said. “You think of Tyler as an irresponsible troublemaker?”

Earl frowned and sized him up. “Wouldn’t say so, no. Mighta said different when he was younger, but not since he’s been old enough to set foot in my establishment. He pays his tab in full, tips like a gentleman, holds his liquor fine. Never starts any trouble”—Earl aimed a hard look at Junior, and then shifted his attention back to Tyler—“but he’s quick to step in when stepping-in is called for. I wish I could say the same about all my regulars.” Earl punctuated his statement with another pointed look at Junior before snagging the empty bottle and walking off to serve another customer.

“See? Earl doesn’t think you’re an irresponsible troublemaker.”

“Earl likes me ’cause I settle my bill and don’t break up the place. Not exactly a ringing character endorsement.”

“Okay, fine. We’ll ask someone else. Hey, Red—”

“Christ, cut it out,” Tyler said quickly when Junior called out to Ginny, but Junior ignored him.

“C’mere, girl. I gotta question for you.”

Ginny slunk over, sleek as missile in a skintight red tank dress. Tyler immediately thought of Ellie plastered against Roger in her flirty red dress and gritted his teeth.

“Yes, boys?”

“It true you ladies think of Tyler here as only good for a one thing?”

Ginny stared at Tyler speculatively. “Well, Junior, I’m not speaking from firsthand experience, you understand, but I can confirm Ty’s rep as a first-class personal toy. They don’t call him Footlong Longfoot for nothing.”

“Awesome,” Tyler murmured. “Thanks.” He pushed his beer away and started to get up from the bar.

Ginny stopped him. “Shush up, I’m not done yet. Plenty of girls around here would love to tempt big, bad Tyler Longfoot into something more than a fast thrill, but for the longest time it was pretty obvious that’s all
you
wanted. Nobody minded. God knows you had some fun coming to you after growing up with Big Joe for a daddy.”

“Wow, I feel much better now, knowing women have been sleeping with me because they felt sorry for me.”

“Oh, please. Nobody slept with you out of pity. I’m just saying all the girls who climbed on your bike knew exactly what kind of ride to expect and decided to sit back and enjoy the scenery. You’re sexy as hell and could charm the pants off my eighty-year-old auntie, but you were always up-front about what you had in mind. You never made promises you didn’t intend to keep, and you never left any hard feelings behind when you eased out the door. But, alas”—she fluttered her eyelashes and sighed—“I fear those freewheeling days are over. More’s the shame ’cause I never got a ride.”

“Don’t give up so easy, Red,” Junior piped in before Tyler could give him the shut-the-fuck-up stare. “My boy’s still on the lookout for fast thrills.”

Ginny shook her head at Junior, and then gave Tyler a disconcerting look. “Men are so clueless sometimes. The only thrills this one’s interested in nowadays involve a certain diminutive doctor. See?” She swept Tyler’s hair off his forehead in an affectionate gesture he found oddly moving. “He’s got the shell-shocked eyes. We all knew it would happen one of these days, but still. If you listen closely, you can hear hearts breaking all across the county, because deep down, Tyler’s always been a keeper.”

“Thank you,” he said softly, truly overwhelmed.

She patted his cheek. “That, or because this idiot here shot your dick off.”

Beer sprayed from Junior’s nose as she walked away. “Jesus.” His eyes did a quick, nervous slide to Tyler’s. “Nobody in their right mind thinks I shot your dick off. You want me to spread the word your nickname still fits, I will. No problem.”

“Uh, no thanks. The less time people spend discussing my dick, the better.”

“Well, I can’t speak for anybody else around here, but to me, you’ve never been irresponsible or useless. You’re loyal. You stick by your friends and don’t hold a grudge, even when one does something crazy and stupid in a drunk, jealous fit. If Ellie can’t see your good qualities, you have to find a way to make her look harder.”

Tyler stared at his boots. Junior tended to look at his friends with kind eyes, but he was right about something. Tyler had been a lot of things in his life, but never a quitter. He wasn’t about to become one now, with Ellie.

…

“He should buy a lottery ticket,” the young, somewhat intense ER doctor told Ellie, “because luck was definitely on your father’s side tonight. Somebody called 9-1-1 right away, based on his lethargy, confusion and his complaints about fatigue and thirst. On top of poor diet and lack of attention to his blood sugar levels, he picked up a flu, and the combination brought on ketoacidosis. Thankfully, he’s responded to treatment. But if he doesn’t learn to manage his diabetes better, his luck’s going to run out, and one of these days he’ll end up in a coma.”

The hospital’s harsh white corridors, sharp, astringent smell, and pervasive atmosphere of controlled chaos usually didn’t rattle Ellie, but tonight the combination produced slippery waves of nausea. She concentrated on the doctor’s tired, gray eyes. “I know, Dr. Pendleton. We’re working on it.”

His eyes flashed with something close to sympathy. “I’m sure you’re doing all you can, Dr. Swann.
He
needs to work a little harder. I’m going to check on him one last time before I head home, and I’ll tell him the same things I just told you. After I’m done, you’re welcome to visit with him.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate…” What? Saving my dad’s life, caring enough to deliver a lecture to him when he’s ignored all mine? “I appreciate everything.”

His smile conveyed understanding. “No problem.” He started to turn away, then stopped and glanced back at her. “Oh, and his friend, Ms. Greene, is in the waiting room at the end of the hall. As she isn’t a spouse or relative, I wasn’t able to disclose much about your father’s condition. I’m sure she’d appreciate any details you’d care to share with her.”

Ellie hoped her face didn’t reflect her complete and utter surprise. Since when did her father have a friend decent enough to sit in a hospital waiting to hear his condition? She nodded and made her way to the waiting area, glad she’d taken three minutes to change out of the slutty red dress and into jeans and a T-shirt before she’d rushed to the hospital. In the waiting room she spotted an attractive auburn-haired woman who might have been anywhere between forty and fifty holding a Styrofoam cup and staring off into space.

“Ms. Greene?”

The woman turned. A weak smile touched her lips and she held out a pretty, manicured hand. “Yes. And you must be Dr. Swann. I’m sorry to meet you like this.”

“No, no. I appreciate your calling me.” She shook the woman’s hand. “Can you tell me what happened to my father tonight?”

“Of course.”

They settled into two of the institutional-grade black vinyl and steel interlocking chairs populating the waiting area. “Frank was exhausted, dying of thirst, and he seemed confused by simple questions. We were worried, so we called the paramedics. He handed me your card and asked me to call you right before they loaded him into the ambulance. Then they were gone, and I haven’t heard anything concrete about his condition.” Sharon shook her head. “Does he have—?”

“Yes, he’s diabetic,” Ellie supplied. “But the doctors have his blood pH stabilized. They’ll monitor him while he’s here, which will most likely be a few days.” She swallowed a rude remark about Frank’s bullheadedness before adding, ”When he’s on his own again, he’s going to have to do a lot better at self-regulating.” Because she couldn’t hold back the suspicion, she went on. “Tell me, Ms. Greene, had he been drinking when this happened?”

“Call me Sharon, please. And no. Well, at first I thought maybe he’d been drinking. He had a hard time following our discussion and his breath smelled fruity, like a rum-punch, but I know he’s a beer man, so that didn’t really make sense. In retrospect, I’m certain he was completely sober, Dr. Swann.”

“Ellie,” she corrected. “‘Completely sober’ isn’t the way people usually describe my father.” She tried, but didn’t succeed in keeping the bitter edge out of her voice.

Sharon patted her hand. “He’s trying to change.” She sounded so reassuring and hopeful. Two more qualities Frank didn’t usually bring out in people. All in all, the woman seemed entirely too sweet and classy to have anything in common with her father. She also had a diamond-encrusted wedding ring on her left ring finger. “How did you say you knew Frank?”

“I didn’t say. I should probably let him explain—”

Just then Ellie caught Dr. Pendleton’s wave as he passed the nurses’ station on his way out. “I’ll go tell him he has a visitor.”

The older woman’s gratitude shone in her smile. “Thank you. Only if he’s feeling up to it.”

Ellie rose. “No problem. I’ll be back soon.”

Her hand shook when she reached for the door. A burning pressure swelled in her chest. Relief took many forms, she knew, including anger, but hers wouldn’t do either of them any good. Tamping down on it, she steeled herself and entered the room. Her father lay in the hospital bed, eyes closed, complexion ash gray. An IV dripped into his arm. Monitors hummed and recorded details of his heart rate, oxygen levels, and blood sugars. She stepped to the foot of his bed and checked his chart. When she glanced back at him, his eyes were open and locked on her.

“How do you feel?” Safe ground. He was, after all, in a hospital.

“Thirsty.”

She poured him a cup of water from the pitcher a nurse had left on the bedside cart and handed it to him.

While he drank, she moved on to the next obvious topic. “Your friend Sharon called me.” She didn’t know what else to say.
I told you this would happen if you didn’t take care of yourself?
She had, a thousand times, but Dr. Pendleton had already covered the diabetes lecture, so what was the point? “She’s in the waiting area, if you feel up to a visitor.”

“In a minute. I have something to say to you first.” He struggled to raise himself into a sitting position. She took the bed control from its coil around the bed rail and hit the button to elevate his head.

“That’s good,” he said when they were more eye-to-eye.

“What’s on your mind, Frank?” This would be short visit if he started in on her about anything. Right now she should be tracking Tyler down, explaining her whole stupid plan with Roger and begging his forgiveness. Oh, yes, and praying he wasn’t so mad or disgusted he’d tell her to get the hell out of his life.

“I guess I owe you an apology.”

She blinked. Frank, apologizing? “For what?”

“Friday night.” His eyes shifted to some point over her shoulder. “Tyler tells me I showed up at your place half-cocked, pounding on stuff and screaming at the top of my lungs. I don’t remember too well.”

“One of the things you pounded on was Tyler’s jaw, so I suggest you save your apology for him.”

“I already did. Look”—his glance bounced back to her face—“I know apologizing for the other night only touches the top of a whole big pile of crap I need to answer for where you’re concerned, but I have to start somewhere.”

Maybe her ears weren’t working right. Or her brain. “Start what?”

“Making amends.”

Who are you and what have you done with my father?
she wanted to ask, but the words wouldn’t come. “Why?” she managed.

“The program I joined. Apologizing and making amends is step nine, so I’m not exactly there yet. But I figure you’re here now and my stunt Friday might still be on your mind.”

Her heart started beating a little faster. “Frank, what program did you join?”

“You met Sharon, right?”

“Yes.”

“She’s my sponsor—my Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor. If I’m going to deal with the diabetes, I need to sober up. Didn’t help much today, but generally speaking.”

“No, no. Generally speaking, you’re absolutely right.” She ran a hand through her hair and waited for the tightness in her throat to subside. “Quitting drinking is a really, really good idea.” One she’d suggested many times and he’d waved off just as often.

“When Longfoot drove me home, he told me I could either get myself under control, or he’d convince you to be done with me. He also warned me that the next time I showed up anywhere cursing and throwing punches, he’d take another fist to the jaw, and then he’d press charges and have my sorry ass thrown in jail.”