The doctors date, p.13
The Doctor's Date, page 13
Also tired. He was abruptly so tired he wanted to lie on top of the papers and pass out. In fact, the urge was nearly overwhelming.
Erin wasn’t sure he cared for Xanax.
Though he attempted to keep working, it was almost impossible. Erin had hoped to feel euphoric, easy, to have his anxiety melt away, but instead he felt as if he were fighting a room full of cotton, and a great deal of it had worked inside his body, particularly in his head.
No getting around it. He’d need to lie down for a moment.
He wanted to lie on the bed, but when he tried to get up, he was so dizzy he fell to the floor with a thunk, landing so hard on his right hip he cried out.
This is bad. For several seconds or possibly half a minute, Erin sat there, the room spinning as he attempted to figure out what to do. A distant, casual thought occurred that he wasn’t having a good reaction to the drug and probably shouldn’t have taken it. He also noted how calm he was about that fact.
It really did work on anxiety. Somehow Erin had missed the part where he’d be too dizzy to enjoy his freedom from the squirrel cage inside his mind.
Oh well.
He was debating whether he should simply nap on the documents or try again to stand up when a knock on the door startled him.
“Erin?”
Owen. Owen was at the door. Erin winced and let his head fall forward. The room adjusted its axis accordingly and continued to spin.
“Erin.” The door opened, and Owen appeared beside Erin, touching him. “What happened?”
Erin would have had difficulty with this situation on a good day, but he couldn’t manage it with this cotton in his skull and his sense of balance on a Tilt-A-Whirl. Still, he had to do his best. Above all, he had to protect the investigation.
He braced himself against the floor with one hand and gestured at the mess of paper. “Don’t look at any of this.”
“I’m looking at you. What happened? I heard something fall, and you cried out.” When Erin only hovered there, listing with his eyes half closed, Owen raised an eyebrow. “Have you been… drinking? You don’t smell like it.”
Erin wanted to lie, but he’d begun to fear he’d harmed himself. He opened and shut his mouth a few times, then huffed in despair as he crumpled. “I can’t do it. It’s too complicated, and I’m too dizzy.”
Gone was the amusement from Owen’s voice. He was in doctor mode now, running his hands over Erin, checking his vitals, pulling Erin’s eyelid open wider to examine his pupil. “Your pulse is fine. More than fine, in fact. You’re a little flushed, your speech is slurred and different than your usual pattern, and your pupils are slightly dilated. You’re high. On what, Erin?”
Well, Erin had nothing to do but confess now. If he tried to dance his way out of this, Owen would drag him into the hospital. “Your Xanax.”
Owen startled. “You—what? You took some of my Xanax?”
Erin nodded—carefully. “Two.”
“Have you ever taken a short-term anti-anxiety medication before?”
No more moving of his head, Erin decided. “No.”
“Then… why….” Owen ran a hand over his mouth. “Okay, let me regroup. I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could ask for help getting a prescription if you needed it. I’ll do better to make you feel you can trust me. Because as I suspect you’re learning, these drugs are not one-size-fits-all, nor are their doses. I would never have prescribed Xanax to you, and never that dose. If you needed a short-term situational anxiety crutch, I’d go with one milligram of Ativan to start, letting you go up to two milligrams if you needed it. Especially given your reaction to Xanax. But if you’re having generalized anxiety overall, I’d refer you to the woman I see in Duluth and let her set you up with a long-term antidepressant.”
“I don’t need an antidepressant.”
“Hmm.” Owen’s half smile made Erin’s insides flutter. “Are you the HR director of a hospital, but you have a bias against people who take antidepressants? Don’t make me think less of you, Andreas.”
Oh no. Erin’s face screwed up in concern, and he reached for Owen, but he seemed so far away. He gave up and let his hand fall. “I don’t have a bias. I….” Oh, words were so impossible right now. Owen’s mouth was so beautiful, though. His bottom lip was shiny and slightly plump, and Erin wanted to bite it. He’d be brave enough to do it right now if he could lift his damn head.
Owen tweaked his nose. “What are you thinking about so hard? You look like you’re trying to stare a hole through my face.”
“I’m thinking I’d take your antidepressants if you’d lean down so I could bite your lip.”
Owen gaped at Erin, eyes wide.
Erin marveled at how the drug melted away the terror that had rushed in after his confession.
Eventually Owen spoke, though his voice quavered a bit, and it cracked toward the end. “If you weren’t high, I might take you up on your offer.”
Erin sighed. “If I weren’t high, I wouldn’t have the courage to say such a thing. This isn’t fair. I shouldn’t have told you I’d taken the drug.”
“Oh, so you think I’m the kind of man who would take advantage of someone compromised?”
He made a good point. It was just…. This time Erin managed to find Owen’s face, to touch the beautiful, lush lip for himself. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I was thirteen.”
This time when Owen startled, Erin felt the gasp of air rush into Owen’s mouth because his fingers were still there. He felt Owen tremble too. This was delicious.
“You—what?”
“I said I wanted to kiss you. Didn’t you hear me?”
“But—but we didn’t know each other then.”
“We met. In fact, I saw you two other times after that, though the second time I don’t think you saw me.”
“Erin.” He took hold of Erin’s wrist, gently moving his hand away. “Believe me when I tell you I’d love to have this conversation with you, to hear everything you want to tell me. But I want to do it when you’ve come off this drug and won’t hate me for listening to you when you have no filter.”
Without question, Erin knew Owen was right, but in this moment, Erin refused to be reasonable. “You don’t have any idea what it’s like. To have so much inside your mind you can’t think, but to have nowhere to put it, no one to tell it to. To want to share things with someone but to have no courage, let alone words, to open your mouth. Now I have the courage and the person to confess to, and you’re telling me no.”
Owen laced his fingers through Erin’s, holding them fast. “I know exactly what it feels like, every bit of what you just said. For the record, it’s part of why I’ve been on long-term antidepressants and have seen therapists and psychologists regularly since I was eighteen. So yes, I understand. Better than you can possibly comprehend.”
Erin could barely breathe. He wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. “Everything is a mess. I keep trying to fix it, but I think I’m making a bigger disaster.”
Owen’s other hand grazed Erin’s cheek briefly, then retreated. “I can help you, if you want me to. I’ll help you with more than upsetting your father. I’ll help you with anything you want.”
“Why?”
Owen’s eyes fell closed slowly. Turning his head, he pressed a soft kiss against the tips of Erin’s fingers reluctantly, as if he couldn’t help himself.
“Because I like you, Erin. Because every day I get to know you better, I realize I misjudged you when I first met you. I thought you were an extension of your father, but you aren’t. The day you undid the no-dating policy….” His grip on Erin tightened. “You’re incredible. You’re amazing. You’re fascinating. I want to get to know you better. I want to help you. You never had to bid on me. You only ever had to ask me.”
It was a lovely speech, but Erin couldn’t stop fixating on one part. “But I didn’t tell you the whole story about how I met you. I want to tell you everything.”
Owen’s thumb brushed the inside of Erin’s palm. “Can I hear it when the Xanax has worn off?”
That was fine too, he supposed. Erin felt so soft and suggestible. Also, the thumb against his skin felt wonderful. “Is that all you want? To hear the stories?”
“If you’re referring to the kisses, I’m happy to accept those too.”
“But I have to initiate them. I don’t like it.”
Owen’s thumb slid to the heel of Erin’s palm. “We’ll make a deal. You sleep this off, and if you come up to me after and touch my face, rubbing your thumb along my chin like you’re doing now, I’ll do the kissing for you.”
Sleep sounded so good. Except there were so many problems with it. “I can’t get to my bed. Plus we were supposed to go to dinner. And I don’t want to be alone when everything is spinning.”
“I’ll call and cancel dinner. I don’t think you’re up to going tonight.” He smiled as he pushed back Erin’s hair. “As for getting into bed, I’ll carry you. I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep too.”
“I don’t want to sleep in here. I want to sleep with you.”
Another catch of Owen’s breath. Erin decided he enjoyed making him do that.
“You want to sleep with me?” Owen’s voice broke at the end. “In my room?”
“In your bed,” Erin clarified, in case Owen had any funny ideas about a couch.
He waited for more arguments, but the next thing Erin knew, he was being scooped from the floor, cradled to Owen’s chest, and carried from the room.
Erin huddled against Owen, inhaling as he clung to his neck. “You should carry me more often.”
“You’re far more adorable high than I ever would have predicted, for the record.”
Erin snuggled deeper into Owen’s arms. “I’m not adorable. I’m highly skilled and competent, and a savvy business individual.”
“You’re adorable,” Owen repeated, whispering into Erin’s hair.
Everything became so fuzzy. Erin felt as if he were floating, surrounded by the warmth and smell of Owen, but too soon he fell slowly into bedding that smelled the same, only more faintly so.
“Don’t leave,” Erin called out as Owen’s arms moved away.
“I won’t.” The bed shifted as Owen lay beside him, bringing his heat once more. “I’ll stay right here.”
He didn’t put his arms around Erin, though. Hold me, Erin tried to call out, but the billowiness of the pillow, the weight of the blanket, and the feeling of Owen’s breath hitting his face from the space beside him lulled him too sweetly into the sleep his body needed.
Sometimes, Erin thought, when I look at you, I still hear the music, and I wish I could ask you why it makes you sad.
Something brushed his forehead, something soft and warm and slightly hesitant. Or perhaps Erin was already dreaming, sliding deeper into the folds of the drug and the peaceful arms of sleep.
OWEN STARED at Erin’s quiet, serene face in slumber, glad he didn’t have to try to hide how stripped he felt right now.
Sometimes, when I look at you, I still hear the music, and I wish I could ask you why it makes you sad.
Erin’s words had been slurred, but Owen had understood them and known exactly to what they referred. The damn violin. Except unlike the people at the hospital and around town who occasionally felt compelled to comment on it, who made Owen freeze up and want to curse Ram for getting sick and dredging this crap up in the first place, Erin’s whisper made Owen ache in a different way.
Sometimes, Erin, I wish I could tell you.
Clearing his throat, Owen rolled onto his back, pushing away thoughts of the hated instrument, focusing instead on sorting out how and why Erin had ended up on the floor high as a kite when he should have been napping. Erin completely unlaced, saying the damnedest things.
I’ve wanted to kiss you since I was thirteen.
It took every ounce of restraint Owen had to not reach over and smooth the errant curls away from Erin’s face. When had they met when Erin was thirteen? Owen had a nearly eidetic memory. How could he forget Erin, especially if they’d met with enough of an impression that Erin had wanted to kiss him?
And apparently still did….
Owen kept himself from touching Erin, but he wasn’t able to drag his gaze away from Erin’s plump, slightly parted lips. Would Erin have actually bitten him if Owen had let him? It had to have been the Xanax talking. If Erin remembered saying all that, he’d be embarrassed.
If he did remember, if he called Owen’s bluff….
Owen stared at the ceiling, suddenly overly warm.
He got out of bed—carefully, not wanting to wake Erin—and tiptoed out of the room. He didn’t know what to think about what would happen if Erin’s Xanax-fueled confessions were more than chemical nonsense. He did know, however, he needed a better peek at why the man had been so stressed he’d gone hunting for pills.
Erin’s first words when Owen had entered the room had been don’t look, and he seemed to mean the piles of paper strewn everywhere, so naturally it was the first place Owen searched. Crouching in the center of the sea, he took it in, frowning.
It looked like financial printouts for the hospital, going back some time. Picking up a stack with neon flags sticking out the side, he saw Erin had made some preliminary notes on them. Erin was trying to find something. What, though? Errors? Irregularities? Missing money? After plunking himself down, Owen sifted through the stacks until he found the earliest one and began to see if he could figure out the puzzle.
When Jared stuck his head in an hour later, he had to knock twice before he got Owen’s attention. “Hey. What are you doing in Erin’s room, and why is he asleep on your bed? Also, I thought you were going to dinner?”
“Dinner got cancelled.” Except Owen realized he forgot to do that. Oops. He continued scanning the ledger in front of him. “Erin was tired. I let him sleep.”
Jared raised his eyebrows as his gaze swept over the piles. “What are you doing?”
Oh good Lord, he couldn’t let Copper Point’s biggest gossip gain an inch on this, not when Erin didn’t even want Owen looking at it. “Erin’s taxes. He doesn’t want his father’s accountant to do them, so I said I would.” Owen frowned at the final column, noted it on the scrap paper he had beside him, then glanced at Jared. “Everything good with you?”
Jared shrugged. “Good enough. Since you didn’t eat, want me to make something?”
“If you would, that’d be great. Leave a plate for Erin in the oven. I don’t know when he’ll wake up, but he’ll be hungry when he does.”
For a second Jared appeared to want to say more, but eventually he shook his head and pushed off the door. “I’ll bring your food up when it’s ready.”
Owen waved him off absently, absorbed in his work. There were so many documents. Why did Erin have them? Why so many years, why so far back? All Erin’s notes chased the total from one year to the next, in each budget line. He’d picked up tiny inconsistencies, what had been written off as bad record-keeping and then corrected. Audits? Except Erin didn’t seem to think so. He was going line by line, doing calculations of his own.
For every single year.
This wasn’t seeking a needle in a haystack. This was searching for four-leaf clovers in a field of wheat spanning to the horizon. The thing was, Owen could easily see what Erin was trying to do, and Owen was quite good at this sort of thing—better, he suspected, than Erin. He should have asked me to do this, not pose as his boyfriend and piss off his father.
As Owen ran his finger over a tally of numbers, Erin’s words echoed in his mind.
I’d take your antidepressants if you’d lean down so I could bite your lip.
Owen snapped the lead on the automatic pencil and tugged at the collar of his shirt.
Sometimes, when I look at you, I still hear the music, and I wish I could ask you why it makes you sad.
With a hollow pit in his belly, Owen paced the length of the room for several minutes before settling into his task again. When he had an impulse to put a particular artist on Spotify, he didn’t let himself question it, nor did he dwell on it, simply letting the music fade into the background as he worked.
At some point Jared brought in a tray with soup, bread, and tea, and Owen ate absently, sipping the tea as he entered the blissful trance of numbers.
Jared glanced at Owen’s phone. When he spoke, his voice had a careful quality to it. “Interesting… music. What is it?”
Owen picked up the phone long enough to read the title of the song. “Roxane’s Veil.”
“I mean the artist….”
“Vanessa-Mae.” A violin virtuoso he’d been particularly fond of back in the day. Owen stared at the numbers. “If you don’t mind, I’m trying to focus on these figures.”
“Yes, right. Sorry.”
Jared left, and Owen got back to work.
Something fishy was going on here. It was buried deep, but he knew he could find it. Owen pushed up his sleeves and got serious, spreading several of the year-end totals on the bed beside his own added columns. No question. Oh, it was subtle, and carefully, craftily done, but someone had shaved off quite a chunk of change each year. Since 1992 and possibly earlier. Hell, probably earlier. How and where it happened varied, but money continued to leak out in a steady stream. Thousands and thousands of taxpayer dollars.
Gathering up the most recent stacks representing the years he’d been at the hospital, Owen applied the same keen eye to these columns as he’d given the others, his heart beating faster and faster as he went. Oh, they were really sly about it now, because there were too many computers doing math and trying to catch you cooking books, but since he knew to look for it, he didn’t need long to find it. The skimming was still happening, as if this were a Las Vegas casino, not a northern Wisconsin county hospital.
If they’d stolen consistently through the years Owen hadn’t tracked yet—and Owen had no reason to believe they hadn’t—someone had embezzled over twenty million dollars from the hospital. It might even be closer to twenty-five.
