The Doctor's Recovery

Two episodes later, after an esophagus repair caused by a knife-swallowing dare and a botched face-lift performed by an unlicensed fraud, Mia slept with her good leg pressed against Wyatt’s feet and her face turned toward him. Wyatt remained wide awake, rooted in the chair like one of his mother’s plants. Unable to move. Or perhaps unwilling to move. He should leave. He had to leave.

Reaching for the laptop, he settled it on his lap, pressed the power button and prayed Mia had finally adopted the habit of password protection. The desktop filled the screen, the movie program already launched and no request for a password. Some things hadn’t changed.

Wyatt hit the mute button on the TV sound, checked on Mia and pressed Play. Twenty too-long minutes later, he closed the laptop and tried to smother the queasiness rolling through his stomach. Resting his elbows on his knees, he inhaled, forcing air deep into his lungs to crowd the panic out of his body. Nothing in the ER or in a medical tent in Africa ever left him this raw, exposed and twitchy. All that from watching a video.

He glanced over at Mia’s bandaged arm resting on top of the covers and winced at the reminder of a disoriented Mia hacking through her wet suit into her flesh with her dive blade as she thrashed around to untangle herself from the kelp and fishing line. All while running out of air. He rubbed his chest, drew another breath. Then another because he needed the reminder: he wasn’t drowning. He wasn’t trapped under the ocean, out of oxygen and time.

He leaned toward the bed and held Mia’s good hand between both of his. The contact satisfied nothing. He wanted a reaction. He wanted her to wake up, squeeze his fingers and reassure him that she really was alive. How pathetic had he become?

Mia Fiore needed a keeper. She needed someone to watch out for her and keep her from putting her life at risk again. She needed someone to show her that she was worth more alive than dead. She needed someone to love her beyond all reason.

Fortunately, that someone wasn’t Wyatt. He lived only within reason. Clearly when he was with Mia, he lost his common sense. He’d suffered a panic attack from simply watching the video of her accident. If he actually witnessed another one of her near-death incidents, he’d probably lose his mind altogether. That was an unacceptable flaw. He’d been trained to be a doctor, not a lovesick fool.

He held on to her hand, reluctant to let go. He’d forgotten how well her hand fit inside his.

Another few minutes wouldn’t matter. It wasn’t as if he needed to touch her to feel better. He just wanted some time to remind his body that his feet were planted on the ground, not the deck of a dive boat.

Besides, he’d be leaving soon to return to Africa. And he had every intention of boarding that plane with a sound mind and his heart intact.

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