New York City Docs

Clay had once said capoeira looked like a form of breakdancing. With the sweeping circular movements and spins, she could see why he thought that. But a lot of the moves were contained in other martial arts—they’d just been modified a bit and put to a beat. Capoeira had become a kind of art in motion in a lot of studios, rather than outright combat.

She twisted her body and went on her hands, both legs gliding over the other person’s bent head. Keeping the rhythm pulsing in her brain, she swept over and around and circled her opponent, her body constantly in motion, gaining speed as she went.

Her rival matched her move for move until there was nothing but the leaps and vaults and spins that swept her into another realm. Tessa likened it to a trancelike state, except she was aware of everything. Even the small commotion currently going on somewhere outside the circle. Her opponent backed up a few paces, still sweeping and twisting and ducking in time to her moves, but she sensed a change coming. Then he was leaving the ring and another player was entering. Not a craque, as she called experienced capoeiristas, but a novice.

She dialed down her pace and with a backward twist came face-to-face with her new partner. She faltered, almost falling right onto her head in the middle of a handstand before catching herself.

It was Clay.

What was he doing? And where was his daughter?

Those two thoughts ran through her head before Clay jumped high into the air, one leg sweeping over her as she came out of her handstand. She countered him with a leap of her own, her foot coming within inches of his chest as he spun back and went into a low crouch, one leg going beneath hers as she leaped over it.

Her heart began pounding, her concentration slipping in and out as they continued to parry and evade, advance and retreat. It was as if somewhere inside Clay he’d retained everything he’d been taught. Still a novice, but sure and confident and never giving quarter if she didn’t force him to. And she had to. She had to put an end to this or she was going to make a fool of herself in front of everyone. She edged in closer, still twisting and turning and leaning back whenever a foot or hand swished past her. She looked for an opening and found it within seconds. Making it look like an accident, she swept Clay’s legs out from under him in the batizado move she’d taken him down with all those years ago.

And he did go down, his back hitting the mat with a loud slap that reverberated through the studio. Breathing heavily in the absolute silence that followed—since the drums and other instruments had stopped playing—she stood over him, only vaguely aware that he’d suddenly moved with lightning speed, his legs scissoring hers and jerking them out from under her. She fell right across his chest.

Argh!

She opened her mouth to yell foul, but instead found herself laughing. He’d learned a thing or two since leaving the studio, evidently. Because even though she’d gotten the best of him, he hadn’t let that stop him from turning things right back around.

The sound of someone clapping in a slow, rhythmic way broke through everything else.

“This!” It was Marcos, and far from being angry at how she’d stopped the session he seemed delighted. “There is still that same fire between you. You must bring this to the exhibition.”

What? Her eyes widened in horror, and she leaped to her feet with a clumsiness she’d never had in the ring before.

No, no, no!

This was Marcos’s plan for the big finale he’d talked about?

There was no way in hell she was going up against Clay during that exhibition. She wouldn’t have even done it now if she’d known her friend was going to throw him into the ring while she was there.

Clay stood as well, leaning down to her ear. “Did you know about this?”

Well, if Marcos wasn’t angry, Clay more than made up for it. Because he was furious.

“No, I did not know.” Her voice came out as a hiss that matched his.

Several other players came into the circle and slapped Clay on the back, everyone laughing and talking at the same time, completely unaware of the tension flowing between them.

“What better way to end the exhibition than to have two doctors from West Manhattan Saints enter the roda together?” Marcos smiled at both of them. “We will have posters made up with your pictures and—”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” Clay’s voice cut off the spiel in midstream. His easy charm was nowhere to be seen.

Tessa swallowed hard, trying not to let the pricking sensation in her gut mean anything.

Marcos countered, “But it will be perfect.”

Perfect? A perfect disaster maybe.

She shook her head, agreeing with Clay, even as the jabbing in her midsection increased. “It won’t work. There’s not enough time to practice. The festival is only three weeks away.”

“I will train you myself. And it will be a good thing if the moves don’t look so planned. It will help people see that anyone can train in capoeira.”

“Sorry. No.” Clay headed out of the ring, going to where one of the other members held Molly and taking her.

The little girl, unaware of the tight lines of her father’s jaw, brought the side of her hand down on Clay’s shoulder with a quick whack. “Fun!”

No, it hadn’t been fun. Clay’s outright rejection hurt more than she wanted to admit, but he was right. Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point just from being in the practice ring with him. If she had to go up against him in front of thousands of people…

She’d be a wreck.

No, Clay had made the right call. And if she knew him, nothing would change his mind.

Not Marcos… or anyone.

Peter Lloyd was seated behind his desk, writing furiously on a report, when Clay entered the room. He had no idea what the hospital administrator wanted. In fact, he’d only met the man a couple of times. Once when he’d decided to transfer to the hospital to be closer to his apartment and his mom and dad’s place. And the other had been when he’d come in to fill out the paperwork. To be suddenly called down to his office made no sense. Unless there was something he still needed to do to finish his file.

“Ah, Dr. Matthews, come in and have a seat. I’ll be with you in just a moment.” True to his word, the man kept writing while Clay lowered himself into one of the leather chairs that flanked his desk.

Nothing like trying to intimidate your prey.

Only Clay wasn’t intimidated. He’d done nothing wrong.

Mr. Lloyd glanced up from his papers and pulled another sheet in front of him. “You’ve heard about the yearly Health Can Be Fun festival we hold to fund cancer research by now.”

Clay immediately tensed. He still hadn’t volunteered to do anything. He’d meant to do it this week, but then the capoeira session had messed with his head. As had Tessa. She seemed just as anxious to avoid being paired together as he was.

Except in Central Park. She’d certainly seemed willing to be paired in a completely different way when they’d been there.

“If this is about the sign-up sheet, I know I haven’t put my name on it yet, but I will. I fully intend to support the campaign.”

Tessa’s mom came to mind. How great would it be if someday cancer no longer took loved ones from their families?

“Good, good.” The man pushed the paper away. “Glad to hear it because a special opportunity has just presented itself.”

“It has?” Clay had no idea what the administrator was talking about. But he got the feeling he was about to find out.

“Actually, the opportunity is for you and Dr. Camara. It’ll provide great exposure for the hospital.”

His gut clenched. Had Tessa actually come back here and said something about the capoeira studio? She’d seemed just as against it as he was. Or had that all been an act?

He forced his mouth to say the words. “What exactly does this opportunity entail?”

Mr. Lloyd sat back in his chair. “I hear that you and Dr. Camara used to train together at one of our sponsor’s studios.”

He heard the words through a buzzing in his skull that was growing louder by the minute. “Are you talking about Traditional Capoeira of Brazil?”

“Yes. So you already know what I’m going to ask.”

Clay shook his head. “Not really.” Actually, he did, but he was hoping against hope he was wrong.

“The owner of the studio stopped by and made a convincing argument. He said this could be a huge draw to the festival. It would help the studio, and it would help the hospital. A win on both sides.” Mr. Lloyd reached behind his desk and pulled out a rolled-up poster board. When he slid the rubber band off the tube of paper Clay’s clenched gut tightened even further. It was an old snapshot of him and Tessa at his ceremonial induction, when his first cord had been presented to him.

Tessa’s leg was outstretched and poised just behind his knee. It was right before he’d gone down. Only the image had now been blown up to gargantuan proportions.

Hell. He and Tessa looked happy.

Really happy.

Looking at her face, he could remember what they used to be like together.

“I don’t think Dr. Camara is going to agree to this. In fact, I’m pretty sure this would not be a good idea.”

The administrator frowned. “You’re new here, aren’t you, Dr. Matthews.”

“As of a week ago, yes.” That was when he realized he wasn’t actually being asked if he would like to participate, he was being told.

“The studio has been one of our sponsors for a number of years. In fact, their exhibitions always attract quite a crowd.” He sent Clay a smile that looked genuine for the most part. “Hell, even my wife went over and took a few lessons from them after seeing it one year. So what do you say?”

There was a pregnant pause while the administrator’s eyes remained on his.

What choice did he have?

“I guess I say yes, provided Dr. Camara agrees.” Tessa was going to have his hide. “Have you already spoken with her about it?”

“I thought I’d leave that to you. She was already planning on taking part in the exhibition, so this shouldn’t be much of a surprise to her.”

Oh, it was going to be a surprise, all right. And not a good one. He’d be lucky if he came out of there with his head intact.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Great move, Clay.

He sighed. Surely they could work together for five or six hours without killing each other. And it would benefit the hospital and those in need. No big tragedy. They were both adults. They would get through this and come out stronger on the other side, right?

“Oh, and we’ll want to get your and Dr. Camara’s formal permission to use this poster. We’ll put some of them up in the hospital entryway and some other places. It’ll help get the word out about one of the highlights of the festival.”

Highlights?

It just kept getting worse.

The last thing he wanted was to have a spotlight placed on that picture of him and Tessa together. Not because it was embarrassing or humiliating but because it hit too close to home—was too much of a reminder of what he and Tessa had once meant to each other.

She was going to blow her top when she heard about this. And his parents. They were going to get their hopes up that he and Tessa would get back together. At least his mother would. Of that he had no doubt. He was somehow going to have to figure out a way to nip that in the bud. Because there was no hope. No hope at all.

A single night of summer madness? Well, it looked as if the exhibition might turn into exactly that.

He left the office and headed for the bank of elevators. Once inside one of them, he punched the button for the third floor and leaned against the wall, waiting for the doors to open. When they did, he was surprised to see Tessa there. From the furrowed brows and flashing green eyes he gathered she was upset with someone. Well, so was he.

As he made to step off the car he found a hand planted flat on his chest, pushing him backward. She moved into the space and pressed all the buttons one by one.

What the…?

The doors closed, and it started moving up—with him and Tessa as its only occupants. She turned toward him. “What is going on? I just got a call from Marcos that you’ve decided to take part in the capoeira exhibition after all.”

He tried to wrap his head around her words and failed. He’d only just come out of Lloyd’s office. Surely word couldn’t have gotten back to her or Marcos this fast.

“Did you already know about this?”

The doors on the next floor opened and, when no one got on the car, closed again. The elevator continued on its course.

“Know about what? That you were going to go to the administrator and ask him to put you into the exhibition?”

“No. That would have been you.”

“Me?” Her eyes widened. “Why would you think…? Hardly. I thought you said you didn’t want to do it.”

“I don’t.”

“Then who…?”

“Marcos.” They both said the name at the same time. Clay’s muscles relaxed and he leaned back against the wall of the car. Lloyd had said it was Marcos, but he’d only half believed the man.

The elevator stopped again, the doors opened and then closed once more. He could have gotten off and walked up the two remaining flights of stairs to his floor, but he didn’t. “So what are we going to do about it?”

“What can we do? Between Marcos and Peter Lloyd they’ve got us right where they want us.”

He laughed. “And where is that?”

“Putting on a show for anyone who wants to watch.”

For some reason a lurid image came to mind, of Tessa again sprawled across his chest. But this time, instead of leaping to her feet, he stopped her, his hand sliding into her hair and angling her head within reach of his mouth.

He swallowed hard, trying to banish the mental picture. It didn’t work. So he trickled a bit of gasoline on the spark to make her aware that she was treading on dangerous ground. “Then we’d better make that show worth their while, don’t you think?”

This time her face tipped up to look at him. Seeing what was written there, her lips parted and she blinked. “That could be awkward, Clay. Very awkward.”

“Could it?”

Clay remembered playing these games with her many times in the past. Suddenly all thoughts of his mother getting her hopes up fled as those memories crept closer to summer madness. “They have a poster already made up. The one taken at my batizado.”

“The one where I… And afterward we went to your place and…”

“That’s the one.”

Two more floors came and went. After the next one they’d be heading back down the way they had come. The doors opened and this time a nurse got into the elevator. He nodded a greeting at the newcomer, who turned to stare at the readout, her head craning to the side, probably wondering why so many floors were lit up.

Tessa’s cheeks turned a shade of pink he recognized all too well.

She was the one who’d pressed all those buttons. And he realized he’d squandered his chance to act on their time alone. Except that little camera in the corner—which he hadn’t noticed until just now—would have caught them in the act. Good thing someone had interrupted or the poster the administrator hung on the walls might be even more suggestive.

Not the kind of staff behavior Mr. Lloyd would approve of.

There was silence for two floors, then the nurse got off, leaving Tessa and Clay alone once again. Despite the danger, he couldn’t resist pressing just a bit harder. “So we’ll have to practice,” he murmured.

“More than likely.” She flushed even more.

Hell, he’d love nothing more than to crowd her against that wall and mash his lips to hers. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest. Time to cool things down a little. “What day were you planning on going over to the studio?”

The elevator stopped again, and this time Tessa pushed the button to hold the doors open. “This is my floor. But I’ll be over there Tuesday at five.”

“I’ll see you there, then.” Three days from now. “To practice.”

She stepped off in a hurry, saying nothing more. Soon the doors slid back together and cut her off from view.

What the hell had he just gotten himself into?

This was crazy. Except the anticipation flooding his veins and infiltrating his thoughts said something completely different. That the only crazy thing was thinking about what would happen when the exhibition was over and done.

And when he and Tessa finally went their separate ways. Once and for all.

CHAPTER EIGHT

TESSA’S ATTENDING WAVED to her as he walked past the desk where she was reading through some of the newer protocols on melanoma. It seemed research was showing that the depth of the tumor wasn’t always the best predictor of whether or not it would metastasize, rather it depended on the type of melanoma itself. So even very thin tumors could be deadly.

“Do you want to check on your patient this morning?” he called.

“Mr. Phillips?” The elderly gentleman was still recovering from surgery on his broken leg. “Have you gotten the results back on his scan?”

Brian backtracked until he stood in front of her. “I was just going to check the computer to see. We can stop by my office on the way.”

“Sounds good.”

She followed him down the corridor to where some of the staff offices were. Once there, he sat behind his desk and she slid into one of the chairs in front of it. Tapping the keys on his computer, he soon pulled up the file and turned the monitor so they could both look.

Flipping through the different slides, he soon got to one that made Tessa lean forward. “Oh, no.”

Mr. Phillips’s liver had a couple of hot spots on it, as did his lungs. “I see them. We’ll need to talk to the patient and then assemble a treatment team.”

Tessa’s heart contracted. The leg break was now suspect, as well—although it could be coincidental, due to his age. They wouldn’t know for sure without a bone scan. And at almost eighty she wasn’t sure what kind of intervention his body could handle. If they’d caught the cancer earlier…

Memories of her mom’s fight came winging back. It had been a similar case, only her tumor had been deep-seated, roots extending down to the lower levels of the dermis before it had been caught. By then it had been too late. It had spread everywhere.

None of that helped them right now, though. All they could do was come up with a plan.

Brian looked up. “Thoughts? He’s officially your patient.”

And this was where the weight of responsibility became heavy. It was one thing when you worked under someone and they made the final decisions. Tessa was rapidly coming to a time in her career where she would make those choices. As much as she might wish it were different, to have it any other way would be a cop-out. Brian was basically handing this case to her. She should be ecstatic. Instead, she was swamped by indecision. But she’d better snap out of it or she may as well hang up her scrubs right now. So she stiffened her spine.

“I concur with what you just said. His daughter flew in to see him pretty soon after surgery, and she’s got medical power of attorney in the event that anything happens, if I understood her correctly.”

The daughter whose name was Tessa. The memories of Mr. Phillips protecting his modesty seemed bittersweet now.

“Good,” Brian said. “DNR order?”

The tightness in her chest grew. DNR… Do Not Resuscitate. “I don’t know. I was hoping the section was all he’d need.”

“I’ll need you to check on that. Talk to the daughter.”

She knew that Brian didn’t mean to sound brusque. It was part of remaining objective enough to do what was best for the patient. And she should be grateful that he was guiding her through the necessary steps, because right now her head was spinning. She’d lost other patients, especially when she’d done her trauma rotation. But there was something about this one…

Maybe because she and Clay had worked side by side on him—as if by joining forces they could double their healing power. But there was an inferno raging within Mr. Phillips’s body that would take a miracle to put out.

“I’ll talk to her.”

“I was going to go down with you, but the fewer people in the room when he hears the news, the better.” He studied her across the desk. “Are you up to this?”

Was she? This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation. And she could probably say the word and Brian would go down in her place and handle everything. She wouldn’t ever have to see Mr. Phillips again. But sometimes caring about a patient meant having to relay difficult news and muddling through it the best you could. And if she was ever going to be able to do this job on her own, she was going to have to take the bad with the good. Walking with the patient, working together to make the very best choices, brought its own rewards—even if that reward was in bringing honor and dignity as they made end-of-life care decisions.

But they weren’t there yet. The team would meet and come to a joint recommendation. That was, depending on what Mr. Phillips wanted to do.

“I’m up to it.” She stood. “I’ll let you know what the feeling is from Mr. Phillips and his daughter.”

“Call me if you need me.” He glanced back at the screen, where those bright spots seemed to glitter an unspoken accusation at her. “And, Tessa, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to see this any more than you did. Sometimes these things just don’t follow any pattern.”

Maybe they did, though, in this case. The tumor hadn’t been all that deep, and she’d gotten down to clean margins. But somehow those cancer cells had ventured outside that dark circle and burrowed deep inside Mr. Phillips’s body. She wondered if Clay knew yet.

Probably not. He was an orthopedist. That’s where his efforts would be concentrated. No need to even contact him with the news. Besides, he could pull the results up just as easily as she could, if he wanted to.

“Thanks. I’ll let you know how things go.” With that, she left his office. About halfway down the hallway she stopped and leaned against the wall, drawing a couple of deep breaths and trying to organize her thoughts. No sooner had she done that and gotten on the elevator that her time with Clay in this same space filled her head and made tears spring to her eyes.

The back-and-forth innuendos and laughter seemed crude now.

You’re being ridiculous. This is part of being a doctor. If you can’t handle it, you’d better get out now.

Someday she would take a patient’s diagnosis in stride, as Brian did. As Clay probably did. But today was not that day. Not with the anniversary of her mother’s death still clinging to her thoughts.

The elevator stopped one floor down and opened, leaving her staring at the glare from the brightly waxed linoleum tiles. It took the elevator doors marching back toward each other to make her reach out to stop them. She stepped off and glanced at the board that listed the patients and room numbers. Mr. Phillips was still in room five, down to the left.

When she arrived she heard laughter coming from inside. Giving a quick knock and forcing a spring to her step to avoid looking like a funeral director, she entered the room.

Someone was sitting in a chair next to the head of the bed, a grin on his face that was as big as Mr. Phillips’s. Two pairs of eyes swung toward her. But it wasn’t the man’s daughter who sat there. It was Clay.

He kept smiling, but a subtle shift took place as his eyes met hers. She made her own lips curl, although it took an enormous force of the will to get those muscles to tighten.

She glanced around the room, hoping his daughter might be there. But she wasn’t. Just Mr. Phillips and Clay.