Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

If suffering from a fever stole the last vestiges of dignity from a man, being coddled by a werewolf was completely emasculating.

"I don't care what my bloody temperature is. I'm exhausted, wracked with body aches, and covered in foul smelling sweat. Can't you please just let me sleep?"

"Blame it on Troy. He told me that if I don't give him a number before he gets back to town, this will be the first stop the ambulance makes and they'll drag you back to St. Pat's. So the choice is yours." The damned werewolf was making ultimatums.

His hand felt heavy as he reached for the bloody instrument. "Fine, hand it over. You can go away now."

"Sorry, can't do that. Troy's orders. I'm to watch you like a hawk."

"I've never seen you watch a hawk."

"Amusing. Close your mouth."

Samuel closed his eyes to avoid seeing John, who was sitting in the chair beside the bed, undoubtedly staring. When the stupid thing beeped, he gave it a glance and turned it off. "Not so bad... tell Troy 99.1."

"Give me that." John held the thermometer in one hand, and the cordless phone in the other. "Troy, how do I recover the last read? Thanks... 101.6... okay, I'll let him know. See you in a few.

"Would you like some clear broth, Your Insufferableness?"

"So you're not hauling me off to the hospital?"

"Not yet, at any rate. Since your fever's coming down, Troy has offered to spend a few minutes teaching me to drive. Do you want Amanda to sit with you, or come with us?"

"I'll be fine indefinitely, take the girl, enjoy the sunlight. But first explain to me how a college professor can live in the US for four years and not learn how to drive."

John seemed to relax slightly. "Small campus, small town, I could get wherever I needed to go on my bike. And driving would hardly get me to London in any case."

"When do you return?"

John looked puzzled. "What? Oh, I'm taking an extended leave of absence. The Dean is willing to work with me, for a time at least. But I've actually been considering accepting a post nearby."

"Why would you do that?"

"Let's just say, I have hope that we can resolve our old business."

He was alone after that, fighting a battle with exhaustion. At first he was drifting on a tide of delirium, his maudlin thoughts awash in a sea of uncertainty. Where would he be in a few months? Where would John be? Who would be left in his life? And then he gave himself over to sleep.

He dreamed of Maine, walking along the coast with John; the tide was coming in, and Troy was calling to them from a row boat. Troy was turned to the shore, waving and smiling as a swell crested behind him. Samuel tried to yell, but Troy kept waving as the water engulfed his boat.

He felt the panicked beating of his heart as he lay on his bed, gasping for breath. Troy, in danger. No, just a dream. Samuel fought his way to consciousness. He could hear Troy in the kitchen, happily chatting with Amanda and John. Troy and Amanda. Troy in danger. Bloody hell!

"John!"

And the man was at his side. Urging him to lie back and breathe slowly. Trying desperately to calm him. But Samuel couldn't allow himself to be soothed. Troy.

"Troy! I can't calm him."

And then the boy was assessing him. Touching his forehead, counting his pulse. Samuel was having trouble catching his breath.

"Easy, Samuel. Easy." And then the boy spoke softly to John. "Not convulsions, maybe a panic attack. But it could also be something more serious. Call Dave. If he's still in town, ask him to bring the ambulance here."

"Troy, please, no ambulance. I'm all right. Just give me a minute to breathe." Samuel watched as John struggled between the desire to follow his request and real fear for his well being. Their panic was the motivator that he'd needed. When he spoke again, it was in a calm voice. "I'm fine, but I do need to speak with Troy. Alone."

John gave a shaky smile, but closed the door as he left the room. If that was all it took to gain the man's cooperation, maybe he should be ill more often. Or maybe not. Samuel didn't care for the muzzy headed feeling that encompassed his mind.

"Troy, I've done you a disservice in not speaking with you sooner. We need to discuss your growing feelings for Amanda." Samuel was fighting through the pain to focus on Troy. The boy looked mildly surprised at Samuel's declaration.

"Is that what prompted your panic attack? I truly don't see that it's any of your business, Samuel." Troy's face took on a pinched, closed expression. Suddenly the boy looked harder, older.

Samuel tried to hold on to reason. "Troy, she isn't thinking clearly, and frankly neither are you. The fact that we haven't admitted her to the clinic does in no way remove your ethical obligation to maintain a professional distance emotionally."

"Ethical obligation?" Troy sounded more angry than confused.

"Yes, medical ethics. The guidelines for treating family may be somewhat nebulous, but those for romantic partners are quite clear. Don't."

"Learned all of this in medical school, did you? Was that Johns Hopkins or Harvard? Or do you even know? You have no room to lecture me about ethics, Dr. Crane."

Samuel took three slow breaths. His hands were shaking as he fisted them in the sheets. He could feel the heat in his face. He could also see Troy's anger falter. The boy sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on Samuel's shoulder, concern winning out over anger.

Samuel felt his own temper wane. "Troy, you really should learn the difference between rage and respiratory distress. Yes, I've had bad choices thrust upon me. And I've made some others, all on my own. Perhaps they enable me to speak from experience. You know that I wish only to save you heartache."

But Troy was clearly finished with the conversation as he stood and stiffly straightened his sleeves. "You should let John take care of you tonight. I'll stop by tomorrow to check on you. Good night, Samuel." The door closed behind Troy with a decisive click.