The Boy Toy - Nicola Marsh Page 0,36
was all on him. His insecurities, his hang-ups. He knew he had to get past them, and in a way that was what spending time with Samira was about. She was easy to be with, and she liked his quietness rather than pushing him out of it. It gave him time to open up if he wanted to, and he liked having that choice.
“You know Amelia can help with that, right? Once she starts her program, you should join.”
Davey shrugged, disinterested, kicking at pebbles under his feet.
“She helped me.”
Davey’s gaze flew to his. “Really?”
“Yeah, I stutter.”
Davey’s eyes narrowed in skepticism. “No, you d-don’t.”
“Yeah, I do. But I did a lot of speech therapy, and Amelia taught me loads of stuff, which means I can control it most of the time.”
“Wow.” Davey visibly brightened, pulling his shoulders back, standing taller. “I w-want to t-talk like you.”
“Work hard with Amelia and you can, buddy.” Emotion clogged Rory’s throat at the hope lighting Davey’s eyes. “Tell the others too, okay? Amelia’s really cool, and she has other therapists to work with her too.”
“Will you b-be around?”
He hadn’t intended to. Rory envisaged handing over the money and only popping in occasionally. But if his presence helped kids like Davey, he’d be here every week if he could.
“Sure, I’ll drop in as much as I can when I’m not working,” he said, holding up his fist, waiting until Davey did the same and bumped it. “It’s going to be okay, mate.”
And for the first time since he’d met this kid, he saw that Davey believed him.
He liked bonding with these kids and giving them hope. But it would mean jack if he failed the Renegades audition and couldn’t come up with the ten grand Amelia needed.
He already knew how important the audition was, but now more than ever he had to nail it. These kids depended on it.
He wouldn’t let them down.
Seventeen
Samira may not believe in fate, but that old karma train had pulled into her station.
She stared at the patient referral from an inner-city hospital; in particular, the referring doctor.
Dr. Manish Gomes.
Considering there couldn’t be too many doctors in Melbourne called Manish, she assumed this was either a cosmic joke or Manish’s way of getting her to contact him.
The patient had postsurgical complications for a fractured tibia and had just left after an intensive session. She’d usually touch base with the referring doctor if a case was particularly involved like this one, but reaching out to Manish seemed like playing right into his hands.
If this was a game, that was. Perhaps this was a coincidence? Busy doctors in city hospitals signed off on referrals all the time; it didn’t necessarily mean he’d wanted her to call him. Regardless, she never took shortcuts on patient care, and contacting Dr. Gomes would be the right thing to do.
Blowing out a breath, she picked up the phone and dialed the number on the bottom of the referral. A direct line, considering it didn’t match the hospital number at the top of the form. Hoping to leave a message, she waited as it rang five times; voice mail would kick in any moment. After all, what were the odds of actually catching a doctor in his office on a Monday morning?
Odds not in her favor, apparently, when he picked up. “Dr. Gomes speaking.”
Her heart sank. She knew the voice. It was him. Mom’s Manish, the man of her dreams, whoop-de-do.
“Hi, Manish, it’s Samira.”
“Hey. So you got my referral?”
So much for coincidences. He’d wanted her to call him, the rat fink.
“I did, thanks. The session went well, but I wanted to touch base to see if you had any other concerns about the patient?”
“No concerns, other than that you didn’t call me.”
She bit back a grin at his low chuckle. She may not have a spark with this guy, but he had a knack for making her laugh.
“I’ve been busy.”
“You’re avoiding me, even though we agreed to be friends.”
She had no response, other than hell yeah.
“Mondays are manic here at the hospital, but I’ve got a forty-five-minute scheduling gap in an hour. Want to grab a coffee?”
Samira glanced at her appointment calendar on the screen in front of her. She’d asked the receptionist to block out the afternoon to catch up on paperwork. Yet she hesitated. A guy saying he wanted to be friends and actually being okay with it tended to be miles apart. She’d been through it before, where they’d use friendship as an excuse to get