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“All the same, I’d like your thoughts.”
It was like Rodregez knew I wanted off the grounds as soon as possible and was hellbent on doing all he could to keep me here.
I followed behind him down the hospital corridor, and Cat followed me, nosing around at the staff and how they interacted with patients while our hands kept us joined.
Another of the doctors was up ahead. One who pissed me off constantly because he wore the wrong size coat, and not only did it look scruffy and unprofessional, it was also fucking unpractical.
“Dr. Deane!” Rodregez called out, and the scruffy man who was leaving his office turned to face us. His tiny eyes squinted behind giant glasses, taking us in as the space between us all decreased.
He ushered a couple from the room.
The man was everything I’d want in an employee. Clean, professional, and hard to read. I liked that for one reason only. Men and women who were hard to read were a nightmare in every situation, aside from the everyday situations here. Where they had to keep bad news from the vulnerable, I could tell this guy would be good at that. My only concern was his age. His experience could only be so high with him being so young.
“Dr. Rodregez! Mr. Cole…and guest.” Dr. Deane smiled at Cat, his prominent front teeth overpowering the greeting. “This is Dr. Mercer Novaletti and his partner, Feebee. Dr. Novaletti is interviewing for the general practitioner role following Dr. Levinsten’s retirement.”
My head bobbed, the hood now down, as it was whenever I roamed around in this place.
The people here needed to trust those who cared for them, and they couldn’t do that when I was dressed like what some would call a fucking vigilante.
The baby doctor and his girlfriend, who sat in a wheelchair at his side—one that looked like it could rival the price of a yearly wage here—were examining me.
Narrowed eyes questioned what the fuck my role here was.
They could blow my cover.
And they were about to. Any fucking second.
Dr. Novaletti’s eyes narrowed a little more on me. The innocent light blue color looked anything but innocent behind jet-black lashes. His mouth opened, but only to breathe.
“Yes, before you ask, I am.” Remington Cole. Then, I realized he wouldn’t ask anything because the man couldn’t fucking talk. A tight smile moved to my lips, and I felt like a fucking fool. I changed the subject. “How old are you?”
“He’s twenty-eight,” his girl answered for him.
“Is this how you communicate with patients?” I asked them both, my eyes moving from one to the other.
A fast finger drifted over a touchscreen keyboard from his pocket, and a voice with the slightest mechanical twang, that was no more than an annoying buzz to me, sounded from a speaker on his perfectly pressed lapel.
“Not usually, but she reads me well enough to do that if needed.”
I had no idea what he said until I looked away, facing Cat while feeling shame—something I’d never before had—regarding my disability.
But she took it all away, mouthing the words he said.
Not usually, but she reads me well enough to do that if needed.
Lucky bastards probably got that through years of commitment to each other.
But I was lucky, too. Lucky for a second chance with my girl, and I wouldn’t fucking blow it this time.
My fingers tightened around Cat’s dainty hand, squeezing gently with appreciation, my thumb rubbing her skin again.
They examined that, too.
Save it for the patients, Doc.
“My age isn’t an issue. I can assure you it doesn’t impact my work.”
Cat did her thing again, which resulted in Rodregez explaining that our odd behavior was because I was deaf.
