“No shit!” He was dialing as he spoke. Of course it went to voice mail. He schooled his tone to something below outrage. “Mr. Hazelton, this is Dr. Ryan Ward, PGY-2. I just noticed that there’s a mistake in the duty schedule. My name is down for tomorrow, Thursday, and Friday, even though this week was confirmed as my vacation months ago. I will forward you the confirmatory emails, listing my days off.” His voice rose despite his effort at control. “I can’t work those days. It’s not possible. Please contact me ASAP.” He gave his number and email and hung up.

  Clicking through his emails, his breath coming short, he found the relevant ones. Could I have screwed up? But no, there in black and white was the confirmation of time off July 15 through 19. Tomorrow through Sunday. He forwarded them back to Hazelton. For good measure, he copied them to a text as well and sent that.

  For ten minutes he paced the limited floor space, his phone in hand. A first-year resident came halfway in, glanced at his face, and backed quickly out. Ryan rubbed his forehead, trying to settle down. It was a mistake. Someone else’s mistake. The schedule might be harder to challenge than a holy Bible, but that didn’t mean he had to accommodate someone else’s mistake.

  Eventually he stuck his phone in his pocket, grabbed his cane out of the corner, and headed home. He still needed to pack, and there was no reason not to do it while waiting. He had to park a block down from his crappy apartment building, and stomped his way back, thumping his cane with more force than necessary. The apartment smelled like pizza, but there was no sign of his roommates.

  Both guys were also residents, so it wasn’t unusual to have the place to himself, but he’d kind of hoped for someone to bitch to about this fucking mess. Still, it let him avoid their crass comments about not getting laid, which would’ve chapped his ass tonight. Maybe it was for the best. He headed for the bathroom, taking his phone with him and cranking the volume so he’d hear it through the shower.

  He’d gotten out, dried off, put on a T and shorts, had packed most of his shit into his bag, and the thing was still stubbornly silent. He checked it again, in case he’d missed the chime of an email or text, but there was nothing. Crap. Fuck! Now what?

  He’d planned to hit the road early in the morning and if his leg didn’t force him to take a break, he’d get to York by lunchtime. York and John and the kids, all waiting. Well, Mark wasn’t flying in till tomorrow night, but still, home and family were just six hours away. John was six hours away. But until he was officially cut loose, it might as well be a year.

  He could just go. It was a mistake, obviously. But if his supposed slot wasn’t filled, he was leaving his colleagues in the lurch. Community Medicine wasn’t as crazy as Emergency, but the low-income clients they served tended to come with multiple untreated problems. A simple broken finger was likely to become trauma plus diabetes plus Cushing’s Disease. Not to mention that missing your shift without permission was a reason to get dumped from the program, unless you were unconscious in an ICU yourself. Shit!

  He got on his laptop and went back through his emails. The reason for a schedule change was pretty obvious— Elizabeth West had crashed her motorcycle down in Iowa and she was in ICU there, with a C-6 compression fracture. Which majorly sucked for her, and Hazelton had sent out an email on Sunday, asking for volunteers to fill in for her, until a real reorg could happen. But Ryan was sure he hadn’t volunteered. Or did I?

  In a frenzy of self-doubt, he ran through his sent emails. No. He’d emailed back as requested, bowing out of this week but offering vaguely for next, if still needed. Not tomorrow. Not this fucking Thursday on his wedding day. He rubbed his face, and forwarded that response email to Hazelton again too, with as polite a note as he could manage about Please contact me ASAP since I’m leaving town.

  Then he hit Skype for John. He had time to get a beer and a hunk of cheddar out of the fridge before John texted him, ~Ten min

  ~OK

  He slumped on the couch with his phone beside him and his laptop on his knees, and gnawed his way through the cheese while scanning for cat videos. Not that he was a cat fan. Not really. But they were funny buggers, with the way they tried to preserve their dignity at all costs. The nonchalant butt-licking after a slapstick disaster was always good for a laugh.

  When his Skype chimed, he was in a better frame of mind and was able to switch on with a smile. “Hey, babe.”

  “Ryan.” There was a depth of satisfaction in John’s voice that always did funny things to Ryan’s heart. “Missed you. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

  “Me too. Although.” He tried for a middle of the road approach. “I might have to be a bit late. Like, maybe evening instead of noon?”

  John sat up, coming closer to the screen, the faint frown line between his brows deepening. “Problems? Are you feeling okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine. But, um, one of the other doctors isn’t. She took a spill on her crotch-rocket, and crunched a vertebra.”

  “Oh, ouch! That sounds awful. Is she going to be okay?”

  The worry in John’s gorgeous hazel eyes deepened, even though Liz was a total stranger to him. Ryan felt a rush of love. He’s such a good guy. “We hope so. Early days yet. Anyway, through some kind of glitch, I got put on the schedule for her tomorrow. I swear, I didn’t volunteer for it.”

  “Well, it’d be okay if you had. Eight hours longer waiting to see you isn’t great, but compared to a broken back?” John shook his head.

  “Neck. Yeah.” One more shift really wasn’t that awful, in the grand scheme of things. “I promise I’ll be there Thursday.”

  “Well, you’d better. I’m not sure taking vows over Skype is legal.”

  “Not happening. I’m going to kiss the shit out of my husband in front of Dad and Cynthia and everyone.”

  John’s deep chuckle tugged an answering smile from him. “I think you’ve already done that. More than once. Although not all at the same time.”

  “And not husband.” He liked the sound of the word more every time he said it. “So who all is in town already? Tell me about your day.”

  He relaxed into the couch, sipping his beer as John talked about how Drew’s boys were enjoying the treehouse in the backyard, and Torey’s adventures in her summer camp job. Lily had let Rufus into the basement, where he’d eaten several socks out of the laundry, but apparently puked them up with no harm done.

  “It’s just good she didn’t fall down the stairs.” Ryan had noticed that Torey’s little sister still dragged her toes a bit and tended to trip more often, although she was developing well for a kid with Down syndrome.

  “Right? I added a latch on the door.”

  Ryan sighed. “I miss Torey and Lily and even Rufus, the meathead.”

  John pouted exaggeratedly. “And not me?”

  “I don’t know.” Ryan angled the camera a bit, and stroked himself through his shorts. “Part of me might’ve missed you.”

  “All I am to you is a warm ass.” John’s tone didn’t manage to sound unhappy.

  “A very hot ass.” Ryan rubbed over his dick. But in truth, he was only half hard, and he yearned more for John’s hug than his ass. “Well, twenty-four more hours. Not that long.”

  “Right. So, other than an extra shift, what’s happening with you?”

  They talked for another hour, in which his phone did not ring, and his email didn’t ping. Eventually, John got Drew to stick his head in and say hi. Ryan’s favorite brother, his wife, and kids, were staying with John in the old yellow house until the wedding, to save money on a hotel. “Although I promise we’re not crashing your honeymoon,” Drew said. “We’re taking a couple days in the Dells, at a waterpark, before Mark’s concert. The kids’ll be in heaven.”

  “I bet, almost worth coming to a wedding for that.” Ryan laughed. “I can’t wait to see them.”

  “They’re growing like weeds,” John said. “I’ve been scaring Drew with teenager stories.”

  “Ha. You love having teenagers.” Ryan wished he’d had half of John’s patience with the kids, but between them, they’d done okay. “I’m so glad you all could come, bro.”

  His voice must’ve been off somehow, because Drew gave him a more sober look. “Everything okay?”

  “Just a bit of a travel delay. No big. I’ll see you soon.”

  Drew looked to the side, probably at John, and just said, “Can’t wait.”

  Then he was gone and John’s face filled the screen. “So. Two more days.”

  “Yeah.” That came out hoarse.

  “Scared?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “Me neither.” John smiled, slow and sweet. “It feels like I’ve been waiting forever for this.”

  From the very beginning, they’d fit together just right. Some of that peaceful certainty filled Ryan now. The extra shift was a nuisance. The wedding might be a scrambled second-best, despite Torey’s organizational skills. It might storm and rain and blow on their day. But this— marrying John— was the absolute opposite of scary.

  ****

  Ryan reached for his phone almost before his eyes were open next morning. No texts. No emails. What kind of bullshit is this?

  He sent another email to Hazelton, then downed a double-sized coffee into his churning stomach and went to the hospital, trying to give the patients his best work, despite the way his emotions were bouncing around. It’s not fucking fair! He didn’t realize he was glowering until a little girl broke into frightened tears.

  He avoided watching the clock, but still caught himself thinking, I should be crossing the state line about now. I should be passing our motel. I should be pulling off the highway at York’s exit. I should be almost home.

  It didn’t help that every patient seemed to have some kind of mystery illness, demanding tests and analysis. Where are the simple ear infections today?

  He ducked into the break room for a cup of crappy coffee. Nita was ahead of him, pouring her own dose of brown, warmish beverage, and she grimaced after the first sip. “I’m warning you, it’s worse than usual.”

  “How is that even possible?” He tasted his own. “Ew.” He chugged it anyway.

  “Did you get your vacation days sorted out?”

  “Not yet. If I haven’t heard, when the shift is over, I’m going to camp out on Hazelton’s doorstep.” With an axe.

  “I bet.”

  She hurried out but he lingered in the sanctuary of the break room, trying to get his game face back on. He’d worked through a bout of food poisoning once. He could manage a bit of distraction. He had a job to do, even if I’m supposed to be on vacation.

  He was at the nursing station, deep in the medication database on his phone, trying to decide whether two meds would interact badly, when Hazelton appeared at his elbow. “Dr. Ward? May I see you for a moment?”

  “Yeah!” Hazelton’s flinch told him that was too loud. “I mean, yes, sure.”

  “The consulting room over here?” Hazelton led the way, then sat at the little table. Ryan shut the door and sat across from him.

  “Dr. Ward, I have to apologize. I checked my records and you are correct. You were scheduled for five days off, beginning today.”

  He nodded.

  “You’re certain you don’t want to fill the shifts I scheduled? I could give you a longer break at a future date.”

  “I’m positive. I need to be in Wisconsin tomorrow. Must be.”

  “Very well. I’ll make sure you’re removed from the rest of the schedule. But.”

  “But?”

  “I’m afraid I have to ask you to finish out today’s shift. Dr. West, who did volunteer, will fill in tomorrow, but today we’re really shorthanded. Dr. Kotter had to leave after vomiting on a patient.”

  Ryan made a mental note to give Kotter hell for the rest of the month. The newest newbie should be able to find an emesis basin in any room. There was no excuse for contaminating a patient. “Okay.”

  Hazelton stood, and held out his hand. “Again, Dr. Ward, I do apologize for the mix-up.”

  Ryan took it, but didn’t say “No problem.” On the other hand, he didn’t say Why didn’t you read your damned emails? either. So that counted as a win.

  Once he left the room, he paused to text John. ~OK, all set. Leaving tonight, after shift. I can get Mark at the airport at eleven. Be there around midnight.

  John’s answer pinged back quickly. ~I’ll keep the porch light on.

  For just a moment, before heading back to the diabetic with COPD and seven conflicting meds, Ryan let himself remember a night, four years ago. He thought back to pulling up at that old yellow house in the snow, with the porch light burning and his whole future with John waiting to begin. There was enough warmth in that memory to carry him through the next twelve hours.

  Chapter 4

  The next evening, John answered Ryan’s call with an uneasy feeling in his gut. By now, Ry should be on the road, cruising west on 94. Maybe he’d taken a pit stop. “Hi, there, What’s up?”

  Ry’s voice was a tired growl. “Motherfucking car needs a motherfucking alternator. I’m stuck, and I can’t pick up Mark.”

  “Ah, hell.” John turned, meaning to step out the back door into the yard, but a crack of thunder reminded him it was pouring out. He headed up the stairs instead. “I can get Mark.” The plane wasn’t due in for another three hours. Lots of time. “Can you rent something?”

  “I could, if I wasn’t stuck in a podunk town, with a local car rental that closed at seven.”

  John glanced at his watch. Seven-forty. “I can come get you. Mark can wait at the airport.”

  “No way. I’m still almost five hours from you. Each way, if you come for me. And I’d have to ditch the car, and do it again to pick it up later. Listen, the garage was still open where I stopped for gas, and he has the part. He’ll get me on my way by nine a.m. tomorrow. I’ll be there by noon. Wedding’s not till four-thirty. We’ve still got this.”

  John kicked his door shut and dropped onto the bed. “This sucks.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Maybe your wedding present should be a new car.”

  “Present?” Ryan sounded worried. “I didn’t get you a present.”

  “Oh, no, me neither.” He’d keep the bookends he’d carved for Ry’s next birthday. “I just mean, instead of toasters.”

  “Have people given us toasters?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “You’re an odd man, John Barrett.” But at least Ry’s tone was lighter. “Anyway, the car’s fine. Other than the alternator. And I wouldn’t want to park a new one on my street.”

  “True.” He plumped the pillows higher under his head. “Where will you spend the night?”

  “There’s a creepy little motel conveniently next to the gas station. Almost like they planned for this.”

  “Magical alternator-destroying gas pumps?”

  “Mm, probably not. If I do disappear in the night, give Mark my guitar.”

  “Like Mark would want your guitar.” John’s phone signaled an incoming text and he held it lower to look. “Speak of the devil. Hang on, Ry.”

  Mark’s message said, ~Flight delayed by bad weather out your way. Now scheduled to arrive at midnight

  He texted back, ~Sorry to hear it. I’ll be picking you up. Ryan’s stuck in Wisconsin

  ~Stuck bad?

  ~Just till morning. Keep in touch

  ~Sure

  He went back to his call. “Turns out Mark will be an hour late anyway. So I can get him, no problem.”

  “Say hi for me. Tell him I hope he came up with something non-sappy to play at the wedding.”

  “I dread to think.” It wasn’t true, just something to say. For all his love of weird and experimental and metal, Mark had a sweetly sentimental streak. He’d choose something good.

  “I can’t believe we’re getting so close. And I’m still so far away.”

  “Me neither.” A crash from downstairs made him jump, and lunge up to his feet. “Crap, something broke. I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

  “That’s okay,” Ryan said in his ear, as he leaped down the stairs. “This is just being traditional, right? No contact before the wedding? I’ll call you when I head out in the morning.”

  “Sleep well.”

  He tapped out and fumbled the phone into his pocket as he hit the last step. A hand on the rail let him swing round into the hall. Two long strides, and he reached the living room where Rufus sat, panting and shaking, in the wreck of what had been an end table. A lamp cord was tangled around his shoulder and one big hairy paw was stuck through the broken shade.

  “Jesus, Rufus!”

  “I’m so sorry!” He hadn’t seen his soon-sister-in-law Grace, where she knelt by the couch, picking up shards of the broken ceramic lamp base. “I’m afraid he’ll cut his paws on this.”

  “Yeah, hang on. Watch your fingers.” He hurried over to the dog, wrapping an arm around him. Rufus’s panting shook his whole body, and he whimpered as John tugged his straining leg up out of the shade. “Come on, dog,” John muttered. “Bend that elbow. Work with me here.”

  “He was whining at the door, so I went to let him out,” Grace said. “Right as I opened it the lightning flashed, and he freaked out and ran in here and tried to crawl under the table.”

  “He’s scared of storms.” John managed to get Rufus free of his bits of lamp and pulled the dog into his lap. Sometimes Rufus would fight a hug, but right now he leaned in hard against John’s shoulder. “We tried the Thundershirt and three kinds of drugs and desensitizing. The desensitizing helped. He’s not half as bad with thunder now, but lightning still flips him out.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, I should’ve said. There are times we just let him pee on the floor, rather than try to make him go out in a storm.”

  Grace managed a chuckle. “I think he did that too. By the door.”

  A voice from the hall said, “Hey, can I help?”

  Ryan! For just an instant, John’s whole body yearned toward that voice. Then his brain caught up, with the awareness that it was just Ryan’s brother. They sounded alike. The deep disappointment was stupid. Ryan will be here tomorrow. He tightened his hands against Rufus’s sudden lurch. “Get the vacuum, please? The dog broke a lamp.”

 

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