I’m selfish. I love that I’m the one who saves their life. Me. Being a doctor is a feel-good drug, and it’s filled with selfishness.
“I’m doing what I have to do,” I say, not liking the compliment. I don’t know what to do with them. They make me uncomfortable. My own scars start to itch, and the phantom drag of my dad’s scalpel has each old wound burning again. A sharp inhale escapes me, and I freeze, letting the tilapia skin dangle from the tip of the tweezers as my body works through the past.
“Doc, you okay?” Bullseye asks, wrapping his bear paw of a hand around my wrist.
The sudden, unexpected touch has me jerking back and dropping the fish skin on the floor. I’m not mad, but I’m embarrassed. Everyone in this club has their skeletons, and mine haven’t come to the surface yet. I don’t plan on letting them out either. They will stay locked inside of me for the rest of my life.
“I’m fine, sorry. What can I help you with, Bullseye?” I say with a quick clearing of my throat. I take another skin from the sterilized tray and gently lay it over the other side of Moretti’s neck.
“I have an appointment, Doc. It’s a bit personal this time.”
As if having to examine his junk isn’t personal enough, but it isn’t like Bullseye to lead with this. He isn’t a personal kind of guy. He does things that others consider personal, but he has his emotional button turned off. Nothing is personal to him. I pinch my brows together in concern, lay the tweezers in the sterilized tray, and take a step back from Moretti.
I haven’t voiced this out loud, but there is no medical concern as to why he hasn’t woken up. His brain scans are perfect. His body is healed to the point where I’m just trying new experiments to help with his appearance. In my medical opinion—I do not think Moretti will ever wake up again. I’m going to have to talk to Reaper about setting up a meeting with Moretti’s brother to discuss pulling the plug. His organs are still good, and Moretti can save a lot of lives. All I know is it has been a year, and there has been no change.
Honestly, a different doctor would have called it quits a long time ago.
“Sure, Bullseye. Come on, step into my office and tell me what’s on your mind. We can get started on your physical.” I undress from the PPE and turn toward my office just as my cell phone rings on the desk. I hurry behind the desk to make sure it isn’t a blood bank telling me my pick-up is ready. It’s my Mom.
I never ignore my mom.
“Bullseye, give me a second, okay? It’s my mom.”
“Sure, yeah, go ahead. I understand.” He sits down and rubs his palms down his thigh. He seems nervous. He’s sweating. “I can come back later,” he mouths when I place the phone against my ear.
My head gives a slight shake. “Hey, Mom. Everything okay? I’m with a patient.”
“Eric, sweetie, this won’t take long. Can you come over later for dinner?”
That’s weird. Our dinners are always on Sundays. It’s Wednesday. Something has happened. I lean forward and press my elbows on the desk. “Mom, what’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”
Bullseye cocks his head and smooths a hand over his mouth, worried from hearing the stress in my voice.
“I don’t want to talk about it over the phone, sweetie. Just come to the house, okay?”
“Mom, I don’t like this. Please, I’m going to be riddled with anxiety until you tell me.”
“It isn’t something to be discussed over the phone. Come over for dinner and bring wine. Okay?”
I sigh and rub the bridge of my nose with my fingers. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there at six.”
“Good. Now, tell me you love me.”
I snort and roll my eyes. She has done this shit since I was a kid whenever we are on the phone. Growing up, it was the perfect way to embarrass me in front of my friends. Now I don’t care. I’m not afraid to admit I’m a momma’s boy through and through. She’s the only person who’s been there for me through everything. She’s killed for me. She killed the man she thought was the love of her life. Telling her I love her is the least I can do.