TAKING OVER TROFIM (Dominion of Brothers series Book 4) (14 page)

“Okay, so let’s just juxtapose,” Mr. Bilspence paused a moment, wiping at his brow revealing he was already growing nervous. “I know you docs don’t like doing that much, but, humor me a bit and say I do both these things, and I come back, and you’re still hearing whatever it is you’re hearing.”

Shay understood the concern and frankly he couldn’t blame the old guy. Mr. Bilspence had already had his chest cracked open once, only to find there hadn’t been anything wrong. Just a bad combination of heart meds had his blood pressure spiking irregularly. But his doctor’s oversight was why Mr. Bilspence was now a new patient in Dr. Laszkovi’s cardio clinic. “One possibility would be to have a sonogram done and watch it for a while, see if we see anything. Could just be some scar tissue from the previous surgery.” Shay punched in a few notes of his own and waved the man to button his shirt back up. “Let’s take this one step at a time, shall we? If we still detect something next visit then we’ll schedule you a stress analysis and go from there. The main thing is to keep fit, but know your limits, and don’t go pushing them until we do know for sure what’s going on.”

Mr. Bilspence nodded. He seemed to like that idea best.

“Be sure to stop and see Nurse Penny to set up your appointment on the way out. If you start to experience any new symptoms, make a note of it and call us immediately.”

“Sure thing, Doc.”

Shay walked out, his eyes on his tablet, and for the second time that day walked right into Sarah. He caught his breath taking a step back.

“You’re going to be such a great doctor.” She fluttered her lashes at him with instant flattery that had nothing to do with whether he was really any good at being a skilled doctor or not. The comment, though he was certain she meant it as a compliment, grated his esteem.
What did she mean by
going
to be? He was a doctor, already, as in
is
.

“I’m already a doctor, Sarah.” He brushed past, keeling side ways to avoid as much bodily contact as possible. And just as before, she fell in behind him, right away her voice chatting
or was it chiding
? He never paid enough attention to know the difference. But, as he winced from the sound, he could relate for that briefest of moments with the men that often shuddered under the constant berating from nagging wives.

He felt sick suddenly. Just the threat that this could be his life made his stomach churn and he was only grateful he had yet been able to stop for lunch.

“Send a page to Dr. Laszkovi that I’m ready for him in room 115.” He dropped the request as he passed the nurses’ station on his way back to Mr. Londonaire’s room, feeling the ever more presence of the noose tightening around his neck, adding a choking feeling to his flipped stomach muscles. He didn’t even bother say anything as he quickly shut the door, shutting off the passage for Sarah to follow him. Mr. Londonaire may be her father, but at the moment he was a patient, and was entitled to patient-doctor confidentiality. Or just some solitude for himself.

Back in his routine, Shay went through the motions, asked the questions, listened to the man’s heart and lungs. Front, back, undersides. More questions. More observations. He tapped the file on his tablet, and read over the data that had finally been uploaded. “Blood work checks out, chest x-rays—” Shay tapped at a few more windows on the screen. “It’s looking good. Just waiting on—” there was a knock on the door and Dr. Laszkovi let himself in. “Ah, here is he is now. This is Dr. Laszkovi, our Chief Medical Doctor and Surgeon.”

Merle reached over and shook his head. “Nice to meet you, Doctor. Shay here—” he coughed, “I mean, Dr. Wilks here, is coming right along, huh?”

“Coming along, sir?” Pavle was always professional in his position, Shay had always observed. Never assuming any personal connection with patients.

“Dr. Wilks here is engaged to be married to my daughter, Sarah.”

Shay felt the blood leave his face. Utter shock marred his brain and felt lightheaded already. He wasn’t even aware he’d taken a step back. Pavle turned looking at him, Shay locked eyes with him, expecting the scrutinizing brother to threaten to throttle his ass but instead they looked at him with surprise that quickly melted to something else. Shay wasn’t sure what, because all he could feel then was sheer panic inside himself.

Pavle straightened, suddenly glancing at his own tablet, punched a few things then commented to Mr. Londonaire, redirecting the man’s attention to his own quick run of the mill examination, and away from the panicking young doctor that was withering back into a corner.

“Well, looks like a clean bill of health, Mr. Londonaire. I’ll be sure to get these test results forwarded to Dr. Coldwell and unless you have any problems come up, we don’t need to see you again until next year for an annual.” Pavle punched in some notes, keeping himself between the man and Shay, as if trying to block some of the energy from passing between them.

“Thanks, Doctor.” Merle shrugged his shirt back on. “So Shay, we’ll see you on Friday then?”

Shay’s panic stricken face floated up to meet Mr. Londonaire’s, “F-Friday?”

“Yeah. Didn’t Sarah tell you?” His forehead wrinkled, “We’re holding an engagement party in your honor Friday. Your father sure is getting anxious to see the two of you walk down the aisle together. Usually fathers take a back seat to such affairs.” He laughed.

Shay thought he tried to respond. He wasn’t sure if he ever got the auto response words out. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to get out of there. Needed to get away.
Engagement party? With people? When the fuck did this happen? They hadn’t even asked him, or warned him.
Oh god! Trofim! No.

Shay rushed out. He hit someone. He didn’t know who, though something said in the back of his mind he should have. Blinded by his fear, he couldn’t see anything. Everything blurred. He was sweating— his heart pounding. The strumming of his blood coursing in his ears like war-drums was making him dizzy. He rushed or stumbled— or both, down the hall. He broke passed a set of double doors, knowing no one could follow him there. He vaguely heard the noises that spilled from his throat, words now clutching on the verge of sobbing. He crashed through another door, arriving in the doctor’s lounge and bunkroom; grateful that his panicked intrusion didn’t wake anyone. It also meant he was finally alone.

Shay fell back against the wall and sucked in a hard, deep breath. He could breathe. Panic stricken eyes searched the room but there was nothing there for him to hold onto. Something to grasp and bring himself back to a calmer though jaded reality.

He couldn’t go back out there. Sarah would be waiting to trap him, always trying to touch him. As if she thought her touch could lure him into her seduction.

He felt his stomach twist, making him nauseous.
Oh shit. He was going to be sick
. He glanced round in the dim light, looking for a waste basket or something, but then a pair of strong hands had him. Shay found himself in the hands of a familiar face standing before him, but not quite the one he needed. Shay could see the man’s mouth moving, but not hear the words.

He struggled to breathe— to hear.

Pavle.

It was Pavle talking to him, saying his name.

Then Pavle’s head turned away, diverting his attention to someone at the door. He was saying something to them, but whoever it was, they were gone before Shay thought to look.

Pavle.

Oh shit! Pavle was going to tell Trofim he was cheating on him.

Shay shook his head violently, and words spilled from his mouth. “I didn’t do this. I never wanted it. I didn’t do this. Don’t take him away from me.” Shay pleaded, “I can’t go through that again. I can’t live without Trofim.” Pleading became sobbing. And Shay felt Pavle’s arms holding him tighter, keeping him up. Trofim’s brother rifled through Shay’s pockets, then fished out the cell phone, and was instantly making a call. The arm that held him tightened around his waist and led him to a cot, and guided him down.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what time of night it is there! Ring his room!” Pavle shouted to someone on the phone.

Shay finally heard that.

“Trofim. No, it’s Pavle. Shay’s here. He’s okay, but upset. Touch him, calm him down.” Pavle spoke into the phone.

Yes. That’s what he needed. He needed to feel Trofim’s hand— feel his touch— hear his voice. The one that made everything else vanish like smoke on the wind.
Shay felt Pavle’s hand, holding the phone against his ear. He took the phone in his while he brought up his other to press the heel of his palm against his forehead. Then Shay balled up, dropping over on the cot, and rolling to his side. “Trofim?” He let out a desperate whisper.

“I’m here, Shay. I’m with you.”

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CHAPTER SIX

~  *  ~  *  ~  *  ~  *  ~  *  ~

Friday’s party night came and Shay found himself ushered in by his father and his second wife, Eloise. A woman Shay had refused to acknowledge as his step-mother. It was a childish rebellion, but one he could afford, for everything else about his life his father managed to keep a tight noose around his neck. Including the party, Shay had called his dad up and they had argued until his dad threatened to call one of his buddies down at the courthouse to talk about suspicions of drug involvement which included his son,
Dr.
Shay Wilks. That was when Shay relented. Because he knew his father just might try it. And then Shay’s career as a doctor, as a heart surgeon, would be over before it ever started.

Now he was decked out in a tux he didn’t rent, arm and arm with a fiancée he never proposed to, and playing masquerade to a crowd of people he didn’t even know; all while wearing the mask of a life he didn’t want.

Not one friend or associate of his had been invited; though it seemed his father was out to mock him as well by having Judge Leverette among the invited guests. Shay was a stranger in the world his father was determined to lock him away inside. And as it whirled by him, Shay did his best to keep his manners on his sleeve and the vomit that bled in his throat down.

The grand dinner with all the stops was an expense Shay knew his father didn’t have money for. He tried not to think about it, but the hatred seethed in his veins regardless. He couldn’t prevent the assumption that his own money may have been squandered to afford it. Just so the former Senator Benjamin Wilks could show off for his political friends with slipping hopes of buying back supporters for the next election. Conversation and introductions filled with such titles as judge, judge, attorney, representative, judge— outnumbered but didn’t overpower the remaining titles of banker, banker, chief financial accountant and the plethora of CEOs Shay was introduced to. Benjamin Wilks catered to them all with two dimensional offers that if the stress got bad enough his good ol’ son would be the one to save their tickers and keep them immortal so they could live long enough to reap the grandeurs of wealth and no less back him as the next vice president of the United States.

It was sickening the way they carried on. Like they were some elitist group out to conquer the world no matter what to the poor public. Why, his father was even kind enough to make excuses to his queries as to why his son was fulfilling his residency at Queens General Hospital where Shay had to serve to the lowly public. But never fear, his son was going to be relocating to a private sector more suitable to their distinct needs, soon.
Shay wasn’t even sure what any of that meant. Had his father promised black-market hearts to his compatriots?

Conversations of politics and right-wing activists remained the hot topics at the table when they ate. Shay’s blood boiled over more than a few times as accusations were blurted out how it was the gays’ fault for the woes of the world. The downed economy was the fault of allowing gays to live. Ebola existed because the government allowed same sex marriage to take place. Someone’s friend had a car wreck all because the grocery clerk they’d just left from was gay and somehow that caused the driver to become careless and run a red light.

Shay had tried to leave, just to hide in the men’s restroom until it was over, but a heavy hand from his father was quickly pulling him back down into his seat at the table again. The hate and warning look in his father’s eyes bearing down on Shay with a short tolerance.

A toast was made and the crowd of guests chanted for the young couple to kiss. Shay barely remembered even standing up for it. He looked at the hopeful girl before him, saw the blushing smile on her face and the way she batted her eyelashes.

Shay glanced down at his hands and rubbed them, feeling the cold clammy sensation elevate. His champagne glass still on the table untouched much like his food. He glanced out to the sea of faces; his father’s eyes seemed to burn through the crowd at him— watching— waiting for the commitment. Warning him to follow through or else.

Shay leaned in toward the young girl, her head tilted up, lips only partly puckered out, but cautious so not to look like a goldfish in waiting. He fidgeted then stalled. The cast of eyes closing in, he felt claustrophobic, while the one set of eyes stuck out the most, smiles of adoration morphed to look more like evil mockery in Shay’s head. He leaned in a little more, feeling the sweat bead up on his face. But, then he saw Trofim’s face in his mind, an expression of hurt that Shay’d gone and kissed another.

Shay’s breath instantly hitched with guilt. Then something buzzed against his hip and rang out a chain of beeps. He froze, it buzzed and beeped again. Sarah broke the pose first and looked down at the pager clipped to his belt, they both saw the red light on it flashing.

“That’s the hospital, isn’t it?” She spoke, seeing the medic code of numbers on the pager screen.

Shay felt the relief and wiped at his forehead, taking the pager in his hand and clutching it tightly, and then quickly left the banquet hall.