Five Of Wands

Chapter One "Thank fuck today's over with." Travis scooped his disgusting scrubs off the bench and tossed them in the general direction of the hamper. Much to his surprise, they went in. He adjusted the slipping towel at his waist and grabbed his soap and washcloth from his open locker. "A sixteenhour shift has never seemed so long." "Says the senior resident." Harlan toweled his shaggy blond mop dry. "Sounds to me like you've forgotten all those eighty-hour weeks we put in when we were first years."

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Travis snorted. "More like I tried to block them out." He slipped off his watch and laid it in his locker. "Believe me, today brought it all back. They were a man short in pediatrics, and with that new flu strain going around, yours truly got tapped to fill in." Harlan pulled on a pair of jeans. "You love kids." "Kids are great." Travis shuddered. "I just happen to appreciate them more when they aren't puking all over me." "What's the matter?" Jeremy Bowman stepped out from the other side of the lockers, fullydressed with a smirk on his otherwise handsome face. His short, black hair was still slick from his shower, and his blue eyes were filled with disdain as he looked at Travis. "Does the Crown Prince of Atlanta Northern think he's too good to clean up a little vomit?" "I don't know, Dickwad, but when I find this prince you're always yakking about I'll ask him." Travis flipped Jeremy a cheerful bird and watched the fucker go. Harlan whistled. "I see that relationship hasn't improved any." "Did you really think it would?" Travis stared at his best friend in disbelief. "I knew you were an optimist, but that's pushing the power of positive thinking, even for you." Travis had met both Harlan Keel and Jeremy Bowman nearly four years ago when they'd started as interns at Atlanta Northern together. He'd taken to Harlan instantly, the two of them bonding over the long hours, dismal pay, and non-existent personal lives of interns. Jeremy, on the other hand, had resented Travis from day one. Resented the fact that Travis came from money, hated that Travis' father was chief of staff at Atlanta Northern and generally despised every other one of Travis' personality traits. Lately Jeremy'd taken to calling Travis the "Crown Prince of AN." Travis always laughed it off, but the truth was, it was a bigger joke than even Jeremy knew. Travis' dad, Dr. Aaron Gordiani, didn't show mercy or favoritism to anybody. Least of all the son he barely tolerated and largely regarded as a screw-up. Harlan waved a hand in front of his face. "You still in there?" Travis blinked. "Huh?" Harlan grinned. He and Travis were the same age -- both of them pushing thirty -- but when Harlan grinned like that he looked like a fresh-faced kid. "Man," Harlan said, "you are trashed. You should grab a shower and--" He cut off as the locker room door opened and Matthew Hooper came in. Matthew took one look at Travis wrapped in nothing but a towel and said, "Excuse me. I'll come back later." He was gone before either Travis or Harlan could protest.

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Harlan sighed. "So, I guess you guys couldn't work it out, huh?" "Matthew's idea of working it out involves him doing whatever the hell he wants and me putting up with it." Travis rubbed his bare chest, the ache almost physical, even after all this time. "Look, I'm going to hit the shower and call it a night, okay? I'm done for, and I've got to be back here at six for rounds." "Sure, guy." Harlan clapped his shoulder. "Check you later." One thing internship and residency had cured Travis of was any sense of modesty he might've had a few years back. Communal locker rooms and showers would do that for a guy. He heard the outer door open as Harlan left the locker room, but Travis paid it little mind. He had one focus and one focus only. An unlimited supply of hot water. The soaking spray worked minor miracles on his aching muscles and even helped clear the tired haze clouding his brain. He'd just soaped himself into a thick, all-over lather when the door to the shower room opened and a naked Matthew came inside. He must've been watching, waiting for Harlan to leave. Travis wiped the water from his eyes, appreciating the view even though he was major league pissed. Matthew was ten years older than Travis, but at forty he had a body most twenty year olds would kill for. A neurosurgeon, he spent his off days in all manner of adrenaline junkie pursuits -kayaking, rock-climbing, para-gliding -- that, combined with his religious daily workouts, kept his body tight, honed, and chiseled. He had a strong, sexy jaw and deep brown eyes Travis used to let himself get lost in. That was before Travis realized Matthew intended for him to be a dirty little secret, one of many. Travis rinsed lightning quick, killed the water, and grabbed his towel. "What are you doing in here?" Matthew finished adjusting the water at his own station, turned the nozzle wide, then stepped under it in all his nude glory. "Same as you," he said over the pounding of the water. "Trying to get clean." Since the surgical floor had its own locker and shower rooms, Travis didn't bother to comment. He gathered his plastic soap dish and wet wash cloth, turned his back on Matthew, and left. He made it back out to the locker room before a dripping, towel-clad Matthew caught up with him.

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"For God's sake, would you wait a minute?" "Why? You're so hard up these days you're hoping for a quickie in one of the stalls?" He'd meant for it to sound snarky, but Travis was so exhausted it came out sounding more resigned than anything. "I told you six months ago I was done sneaking around and I meant it." He snatched a pair of boxer briefs from his locker and tugged them on without taking off the towel he'd knotted around his hips. "So what?" A nerve in Matthew's jaw ticked. "I agree to march in the next Atlanta Pride Parade or you and I are through?" "You know it's not like that." Underwear in place, Travis let the towel drop and reached for his jeans. "I never expected you to become something you aren't. But it's not like you're in the closet, Matthew. A hell of a lot of people at this hospital know you're gay. People you told." Travis zipped his jeans and grabbed his shirt from inside the locker where it was hanging. "You're not my attending. Hell, we aren't even in the same department." The dull pound of a headache started building behind his right eye. "There was no reason you and I couldn't date openly." He did a hasty, two-fingered button job on his shirt, then shoved his sock-less feet into his tennis shoes. "You wouldn't even have dinner with me at a public place." Matthew's cheeks went red. He was getting mad, the way he always did when the two of them had this conversation. "You know why I wanted to keep our relationship quiet. Your father--" "My father knows I'm gay and wouldn't give a happy fuck what I did whether I was gay, bi, or as straight as stainless steel post." He grabbed his stuff -- wet things included -- and raked it all into his bag, then slapped his watch onto his arm and clicked the clasp. "Let's not make this about my dad when we both know it's not." He faced Matthew down. "What this is really about is you wanting to fuck other guys and have me on the side. Sorry, but I don't intend to be anybody's second course." Matthew turned his head to the side. Travis was familiar with the move. It was what Matthew did whenever he was mad as hell and trying to get a handle on his emotions. A minute later, Matthew turned back around, iron calm once again in place. "We can work this out, honey." His voice turned husky, cajoling. "I miss you." He took a step into Travis' personal space. "I miss you like crazy. You've got me tied in knots." Six months ago, those words might've done their job, but Travis had seen too much of Dr. Matthew Hooper in action to believe them. He'd heard through the hospital grapevine Matthew was seeing a sweet young thing from radiology. The same sweet young thing Travis suspected Matthew had been doing for much of their relationship. Travis ducked and dodged just as Matthew made another move that would've put them way too close. "If you're in knots, it's your own damned fault." Travis hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. "I told you what I could and couldn't live with six months ago. You're the one who walked out because you didn't like the terms." Leaving Matthew to stew on that, Travis exited the locker

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room with way more bravado than he felt. He was pretty proud of himself until he ran smack into Jeremy standing just outside the locker room door. From the look on Jeremy's face, he'd heard a good chunk of the conversation. Travis figured he had two ways he could play this: be embarrassed and try to brush it off or get mad and confront Jeremy's eavesdropping head on. He went with mad. "What's the matter, Bowman? You so desperate for entertainment you have to hang outside the men's locker room these days looking for extra excitement?" Jeremy shrugged, the cocky grin never leaving his face. "I saw Doc Hard-on creeping in and figured the two of you were good for a couple of cheap thrills." Jeremy gave another shrug. "I don't see what all the cloak and dagger's about. Half the hospital knows you're fucking." The grin slid into the familiar smirk. "You really hedge your bets, don't you?" He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "Not only do you have your daddy's golden touch on everything you do, but now you're sleeping with the head of neurosurgery. What's your plan, Gordiani? You want to be the youngest chief of staff AN's ever had? You going to take over when the old man retires? Fill your daddy's Italian leather loafers?" The notion was so absurd, any other time, Travis would've laughed. Tonight he was too disgusted to do more than make a rude noise in the back of his throat. "You don't know my father and you damned sure don't know me. If you did you'd know what an asshole you've been making of yourself all these years." He glanced toward the locker room. "As for Matthew, if you're looking for a cheap thrill, be my guest. You can have the bastard." And on those parting words Travis left Dr. Jeremy Bowman the one way he'd never thought to see him in all the years they'd known each other. Travis left him speechless. *** Cal was sitting at the kitchen island waiting up for him when he got in, like always. The only difference tonight was there were two bottles of Guinness Extra Stout chilling in an ice-filled Tupperware bowl on the counter. "Fancy," Jeremy said. "I assume we're celebrating something if you've pulled out the good beer and our 'company's coming' ice bucket." "Smart ass." Cal cracked open both beers and passed one to Jeremy before reclaiming his place on the stool. He took a long, slow sip, his Nordic-god good looks shining through even under the crappy kitchen fluorescents. "Ah. Been waiting for that all day, but I couldn't start without you." His smile showed a row of blindingly white, perfectly straight teeth the likes of which dentists drooled over. "You're looking at the youngest junior partner the esteemed firm of Slover, Whitfield, Danman, and Yarrow has ever had."

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Jeremy let out a war whoop, set down his beer with a slosh, and grabbed Cal in a spinning hug. "Damn, but I'm proud of you." He kissed Cal square on the mouth in the way only a best friend and an ex-lover could, then hugged the man one more time for good measure before returning to his stool and reclaiming his beer. "Not that I'm surprised. You've won every case you've taken on." "Maybe, but there are other attorneys at S.W.D.&Y. who can say the same thing that haven't been offered this opportunity." Cal shrugged. "Maybe the partners like my ass." Jeremy nodded. "You do have a killer ass." "Buns of Steel, baby." Cal took another swig of Guinness. "Okay, your turn." "Well, my ass isn't near as nice as yours but I do try--" "Nothing doing." Cal plucked the beer out of his hand, ignoring Jeremy's outraged yelp. "You can have this back when you tell me why you walked in here with that hangdog look on your face." "Hangdog?" Jeremy grinned. "You're starting to sound like Granny Littrel." "Granny's a smart girl." Cal steeled himself like a drill sergeant. "Spill." "Fine." Jeremy knew when to give up. Cal was a force to be reckoned with when he wasn't riding an adrenaline high. "It's really not even that big a deal. It's just... have you ever been so sure you knew a guy -- I mean really knew what he was like inside and out -- only to find out after years of having him pegged you might've been wrong from day one." "Oh," Cal said. He handed Jeremy the beer back. "I get it." "Get what? I haven't told you anything yet." "Sure you did. After twenty years of friendship, I speak Jeremese." Cal sounded way too pleased with himself. "Something happened today that finally made you realize Travis Gordiani may not be the spoiled, little, rich boy you've always believed he is and now you don't know how to handle it." He should've known Cal would see through his bullshit, the way the guy always did. "I hate when you do that." "What are friends for?" Cal's laugh was as warm and welcoming now as it had been the first day they'd met when they were both grubby-kneed ten-year-olds. "How'd you know this was about Gordiani, anyway?" Jeremy hated thinking he was that transparent.

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"Wasn't hard to figure out. You've been jonesing for the guy for four years." Cal ignored Jeremy's stuttering protest. "So, what made today the day that changed your mind about the guy?" "May have changed my mind," Jeremy corrected. "The jury's still out." He repeated the conversation he'd overheard between Travis and Matthew Hooper. "I was so sure Gordiani was another rich asshole getting by on his dad's money and name. Now I don't know." "I'm not buying it." Cal's sharp eyes studied Jeremy's face like he was getting ready to cross-examine a witness. "I've been listening to you talk about him for too long not to notice how you've been softening toward the guy. For the past year I've heard more about what a competent doctor Travis Gordiani is -- how good he is with his patients, how he's conscientious to the point of being compulsive about it, how much respect he shows the rest of the hospital staff -- to believe you still see him as AN's heir apparent." Busted again. Jeremy's attitude had been changing, and he didn't exactly like it. "Doesn't matter if I do find out I was wrong. The guy hates me." "Only because he sees you as Jeremy the Prick, not Jeremy the Great Guy You Really Are." Cal killed the rest of his stout and tossed his bottle in the trash. "Your problem is, you don't do anything halfway. If you like somebody, you become the best friend he ever had. But point you to someone you think is a jerk--" "And I become an asshole supreme." Jeremy held the cool bottle to his forehead. "So, how do I fix this, oh, wise and fearless leader?" "First you do some recon, find out if you were really wrong about the guy." Cal zigzagged his fingers over the counter, thinking. "If you were, you let him see that you actually do have a good side." Cal made it sound so easy, but Jeremy knew better. Med school and residency hadn't given him much of a chance for a personal life, but Jeremy'd had his share of hook-ups and flings over the years. A couple of brief relationships not withstanding, Travis Gordiani was the only guy to really get under his skin, to keep him up late at night with lurid fantasies of things Jeremy knew he could never have. To realize he might've been wrong -- that all this angst and animosity was of his own making -- was a bitter pill Jeremy wasn't sure he could swallow. If he was right about Travis, Jeremy had made one of the worst mistakes of his life and he probably had fuck-all chance of fixing it.

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Chapter Two Six a.m. was an ungodly hour to start rounds for a guy who'd just pulled a sixteen hour shift. Despite his exhaustion, Travis hadn't slept worth a damn. Both the confrontation with Matthew and the run-in with Jeremy had kept playing through his head until he'd finally crashed sometime around one. When his alarm went off at five, Travis woke up a red-eyed, growling mess. The only thing that saved him was the massive infusion of caffeine he'd had in place of breakfast. Rounds were a disaster. He started with yesterday's patients, most of whom were feeling better enough today to be surly. One little girl actually bit him when he tried to look at her throat. Another little angel by the name of Tyler gave him a repeat of the day before by throwing up all over his clean scrubs. Travis pasted on a smile, patted Tyler on the head, and then went for a much needed change of clothes. The rest of the morning didn't go any better. Glenda Oaks, the charge nurse over the cardiac ward, chewed him out because she couldn't understand orders she thought he'd written for one of her patients. It took Travis nearly ten minutes to convince Glenda those weren't his orders and that wasn't his patient. He left her grumbling about not being able to read doctors' handwriting, then left her to find the resident responsible. From there, the morning was a blur of examinations, marking charts, filling out orders, and discharging the lucky few well enough to leave. By twelve-thirty, Travis was dead on his feet. His empty stomach was making noises like a caged tiger and his caffeine reserves were nil. He figured his best bet was a cafeteria run. The cafeteria at AN was the stuff every joke about hospital food ever told was based on, but Travis was pretty sure even they couldn't screw up a salad. He threw together a heaping plate from the salad bar and grabbed himself a twenty-ounce Coke from the cooler. He paid the cashier and grabbed a seat thinking he was finally going to catch his first break of the day. Jeremy Bowman cured him of that notion when Jeremy and the greasiest double cheeseburger Travis had ever seen joined him. Travis ground his teeth. "Don't you have somewhere else to sit?" He glanced around the dining room. It wasn't even half full. "Here's fine." Jeremy took a hefty bite, closing his baby-blues in pleasure. The picture was so erotic it made Travis that much madder. "I've had the day from hell, Bowman." He wadded up his napkin. "Go away." "I feel you. My day sucked the big one, too." Jeremy took a swig from his glass of iced tea. He pointed at Travis' salad. "You always live off that rabbit food?" "Maybe." Truth was, Travis liked junk food as much as the next guy -- right at the moment he'd give his last dollar for a three-cheese pizza with extra sauce -- but this was the first time in four

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years he could remember Jeremy ever starting a conversation that didn't begin with an insult. Travis felt like he was treading water in the deep end with no way out of the pool. He decided to proceed with caution. "You always eat like that?" He pointed to the burger, which actually didn't look half bad now that he thought about it. "Only when I lose a patient." Jeremy took another bite. His eyes closed again, but not before Travis saw a flash of raw pain. "Shit." Travis tossed his greens around with his fork. They'd all been there, but that didn't make it any easier. The first time he'd lost a patient, Travis had been an intern working a trauma rotation in the E.R. There'd been a bad wreck on I-285, a mom and three kids in a minivan hit by an eighteen-wheeler going eighty. By some miracle, the kids had made it through with only minor injuries, but the mom was already bleeding out by the time the rapid responders rushed her through the trauma unit's doors. Travis and his attending at the time, Dr. Ramona Stowe, did all they could, but the patient died five minutes after they started working on her. He could still remember the look of devastation on the husband's face when Ramona gave him the news. He looked at Jeremy, who was wiping the grease off his fingers with a wet-nap. "Sorry." "I keep telling myself it was her own damned fault." Jeremy guzzled his tea, then set down his glass and wiped his mouth. "Heart patient, been coming here for years, always seemed to end up with me." He balled the used wet-nap and tossed it onto the table. "Three confirmed blockages, suspected cardiac event last year around this time. Wouldn't follow up with any of the specialists I set her up with." He let out a long, slow breath. "Husband brought her in this morning, complaining of angina." He pinched the bridge of his nose like he was staving off a headache. "She arrested while I was doing her workup. I tried to restore a normal rhythm after she coded but I..." He looked away. "I pronounced her at 10:43." Travis wasn't sure what possessed him, but almost of its own free will, his hand found the back of Jeremy's and squeezed. "This one isn't on you." He smiled at the other man for probably the first time since he'd known the guy. "Contrary to your opinion of yourself, you aren't God." Travis half expected Jeremy to pull his hand away and revert to the nasty status quo between them. Instead, Jeremy laughed, the sound rusty but real. He turned his hand over and folded his fingers in with Travis' like someone who desperately needed the connection. Travis was still marveling at the odd shift in their dynamic when a shadow fell across their table. "Excuse me." Matthew was standing over them, mouth set in a hard line. "I thought I was in the cafeteria." He looked down at their joined hands. "Not a gay bar during happy hour." Travis cursed the white-as-paste skin he'd inherited from his mother. He knew he had to be the same shade as the uneaten cherry tomatoes on his plate. He had no idea which way Jeremy swung, but given the way the guy felt about him -- temporary reprieve not withstanding -- he

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figured Jeremy was going to be furious at Matthew's implication. Travis tried to take back his hand. Jeremy wouldn't let go. He looked up at Matthew, cocky as he ever was. "You think I'd need to take him to a gay bar to get my freak on?" Sounding once again like the Jeremy Bowman Travis knew, he said, "I think maybe I'd take a page from your book and sneak into one of the changing rooms down in radiology to bang him." He trailed his thumb over the back of Travis' hand, right where Matthew could see it. "Isn't that where you and that X-ray twink you're fucking go for a nooner every other Thursday?" Matthew gripped the plastic tray he was holding tight enough to break it. Giving the two of them the dirtiest look in his repertoire, he said, "Enjoy your lunch," and stalked off. "'Enjoy your lunch?'" Jeremy shook his head. "Somebody really needs to teach that guy the value of a good exit line." Travis couldn't help it. This new side of Jeremy was such a shock he burst into laughter. Jeremy joined him, their hands still clasped tight. "Sorry. Was it too much?" "No, but if we sit here much longer holding hands in the middle of the hospital dining room, people are going to talk." Travis eased his hand away. "I don't care what people say about me. I've been out since I was eighteen. You, on the other hand..." "Right, because I care so much about my stellar reputation." Jeremy rolled his eyes. "I've certainly done my best to earn myself an A1 asshole rep with you." Travis studied him for a minute. "So, why change it now?" "I heard you and Hooper arguing last night in the locker room." Jeremy traced the rim of his empty glass with his index finger. "I wasn't spying. I left my keys in my locker. I was coming back to get them when I heard you." Travis forked up a bite of his salad. "And we were so entertaining you couldn't walk away?" He shoved the bite in his mouth lest he say something a lot worse. "I heard what you told Hooper about your father," Jeremy said. "Was that true or were you bullshitting him to get his sympathy?" Travis swallowed, then washed the bite down with Coke. "Have you ever seen me with my father? Ever, in all the time I've been here?" "No." "But you've seen my dad plenty of times, right?" Travis twirled a finger to indicate the hospital at large. "Around this place, I mean."

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Jeremy nodded. "The guy more or less lives here." "Exactly. Didn't you find it a little odd the old man and I work together almost every day and yet we never take time to grab lunch or even a coffee break?" The idea of sharing a meal with his father was so ridiculous Travis let loose a bitter laugh. "The bastard barely acknowledges me when he passes me in the hallway." "Ouch." Jeremy went back to his burger, and the two of them ate in silence for a few blessed moments before Jeremy said, "So what's the deal with you and the Chief?" "Uh-uh." Travis swigged some Coke, relishing every caffeinated sip. "You've spent nearly four years being a total prick to me. One civil conversation doesn't mean I'm going to start spilling my guts to you like we've been best friends since church camp." "You went to church camp?" Jeremy took another bite, swallowed, and then licked his fingers. "That figures. I always had you pegged as the choir boy type." Travis wasn't sure whether to be amused or insulted. "Where'd you spend your summers? Boy Scout Camp?" "Not even close." Jeremy laughed, this one a little huskier than the others. "I'm a lot of things, Gordiani, but Boy Scout isn't on the list." The way he said it made Travis hot in a way that had nothing to do with the June heat or the cafeteria's spotty air-conditioning. Before he could get good and worried about it, Jeremy changed the subject. "At least tell me about you and Hooper. " He must've seen Travis' reluctance because he said, "Oh, come on. It's not like I can't find out through those gossip hounds upstairs." Travis exhaled a long, slow breath. "I'm guessing that's how you found out about Matthew and the ex-ray tec." "Wasn't hard. I asked a couple of nurses, mentioned Hooper's name, and they were off and running." He picked a sesame seed off what was left of his hamburger bun. "If I'd known the two of you were on the outs, I wouldn't have said what I said last night." "Well, hell. If I'd known you had a conscience, I might've told you my sob story the first day we met." Travis pushed his plate back, not really full, just done eating. "Matthew and me, we--" Their conversation was cut short by the buzzing at his waist. He checked the code. Pediatrics. "Stimulating as this is, I've got to go." "Go, but don't think you're off the hook." Jeremy was eyeing him in a way he never had before. "We aren't finished yet."

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Travis wasn't sure whether to take that as a threat or a promise. *** Room 412 was in chaos when Travis got there. Three nurses flanked Dr. Ava Bruno, the pediatrics attending, as she worked over the tiny patient in the too large bed. Travis knew the kid well. Nicholas Wilson, nine years old, admitted with bacterial pneumonia and a temp of onehundred three that refused to break under piggy-backed doses of acetaminophen and ibuprofen. Yesterday the little guy had been sick as hell but breathing on his own. Today he was intubated, the ventilator forcing his lungs to work with a harsh, unnatural rhythm. Nicholas' young, terrified mother sobbed in the corner, making herself small while the pros worked over her boy. Travis spared her only a quick, sympathetic glance before his eye caught on the cause of Nicolas' increased trauma. The angry, strawberry-colored blisters covering a good portion of his body.

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Chapter Three Travis' heart landed somewhere around his feet. He'd seen this before -- never in person, it was too rare, thank God -- in medical journals and textbooks. Unless he was wrong, and he was praying with every fiber he was, this kid could well be looking at a death sentence. Travis came closer to the bed, and that's when Ava spotted him. Leaving Nicholas with the nurses, she snatched up his chart in one hand and snagged Travis' wrist with the other, yanking him into the hall. "What the fuck did you do to this patient, Doctor?" The last word sounded like a slur instead of a title. Travis was nonplussed. He and Ava had always gotten along. He'd never even heard her raise her voice, let alone curse. He proceeded the way one might wing his way through a mine field. "Me?" "You were the one who admitted him three days ago," Ava said with fire in her eyes, "and you saw him again yesterday. Talk me through it." Travis nodded woodenly. "Half our staff's had the same late season flu that's been bringing in so many patients. HR's been plugging me in where they've needed me until I can get back to my normal rotation and I..." He swallowed as Ava's fingers balled into fists. "I was working the ER when Nicholas' mother brought him in day before yesterday presenting with wheezing, a high fever, and a productive cough with yellow sputum. I ordered a complete blood panel and a chest x-ray. His WBC combined with the read of his X-ray led me to diagnose bacterial pneumonia." He almost faltered under her unrelenting stare but forced himself to focus on the protocol. "I ordered blood gases, at which time I felt his saturation levels were significantly diminished enough to warrant an admit and nasal oxygen. I ordered Lactated Ringers, a continuation of the acetaminophen/ ibuprofen rotation the kid's mom was doing at home, and two-hundred fifty milligrams Biaxin every twelve hours." He found a weak smile for the sweet little boy fighting for his life in there. "Nicholas told me he was a 'real good pill swallower' so we went with tablet form." The smile fell away. "I checked on Nicholas myself yesterday. He was sore, complaining of flu-like symptoms, but I attributed those to residual effects of the pneumonia." Ava's whole body was vibrating. Travis was glad AN still kept active patient charts in metal clip folders. The death grip she had on the thing could've crumpled cardboard. "And what's your diagnosis after looking at those blisters?" Her tone was pure acid. "Without doing a full examination--" "You've done more than enough." Ava whacked him with the chart, astounding them both if her expression was an indicator. A crowd was starting to form in the hallway: nurses, techs, a couple of patients, and to Travis' mortification, Jeremy was also heading their way.

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Ava recovered before he did. She clutched the chart to her chest like she hadn't hit him and said from between clenched teeth, "The mucous membranes in Nicholas' eyes, throat, and mouth are blistered and his skin is beginning to shed. Can I make it any clearer?" "Stevens-Johnson Syndrome." He'd known it the minute he'd seen the rash, but saying it out loud felt so wrong Travis almost tripped over the words. It was a rare disorder, one in which the skin and mucous membranes went haywire due to exposure to some pathogen or medication. At best a patient was looking at a painful, burning, blistering rash that could take weeks -- even months - to heal. At worst they were talking necrosis, a total skin shedding, blindness, and even death. Some cases of Stevens-Johnson Syndrome were idiopathic, but a large portion came from allergic reactions to a particular family of meds. None of which explained why Ava was pinning Nicholas' illness on him. "We both know this can happen sometimes with patients who are as sick as Nicholas is," Travis said carefully. "It's tragic, but it's hardly my--" "Nicholas Wilson is allergic to sulfonamides." Ava threw the chart at him, leaving Travis no choice but to catch it against his stomach. The metal edge bit through his scrubs, but he ignored it. "Biaxin isn't a sulfa," Jeremy said, fully involved in the conversation now. He came to a stop beside where Ava and Travis were facing off. "No, but Bactrim is." Ava stabbed a finger at the closed door of Room 412. "I guarantee you a blood test will show that little boy's blood is full of it." "No freakin' way." Jeremy again, his voice sure and steady. "No way would Travis make a mistake like that. He's too damned anal." Travis wasn't sure whether to thank Jeremy or smack him. He went with neither and instead flipped open the chart and pointed to his original orders. "Like I told you," he thumped the page, "two-hundred fifty milligrams Biaxin every twelve hours." Ava didn't blink. "Charts can be changed." A punch to the gut wouldn't have had as much force as an accusation like that. The assembled crowd took a group exhale; Jeremy mumbled, "Shit," under his breath; and Travis went from scared to royally pissed in two point five seconds. "Accusing me of making a mistake that could cost a kid his life is one thing, a terrible thing because A, that poor little guy may very well not make it and B, I know as sure as I'm standing here I didn't do it." He stuck his finger in Ava's face, not caring that she was an attending or that his career was on the hook. This was about honor and damned if he was going to let his be dragged through the mud without a fight. "But to accuse me of doing something as unethical, immoral, and illegal as falsifying medical records is crossing the line, Sister."

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"I'm not your sister, you lying jerk." Ava pushed his finger aside. "We have a witness who says you ordered her to give Nicholas eight hundred milligrams of Bactrim. She also claims to have seen it in the chart. Nicholas' mother is backing her up." "If the kid's mom heard Travis say he was giving her son a sulfa, why didn't she speak up?" Jeremy narrowed his eyes. "She knew he was allergic, so why wasn't she screaming bloody murder? And why didn't this nurse-slash-witness notice Nicholas had a sulfa allergy notated on his file?" "Mrs. Wilson didn't realize Bactrim was a sulfa, Bowman, and what business is it of yours, anyway?" Ava snatched back the chart from Travis. "As for the nurse, Gordiani can ask her himself when he faces the hospital board at four o'clock this afternoon to address his actions." She stalked back into Nicholas' room before either one of them could squeeze in the last word. "Oh, God." Travis sagged against the door. He folded both arms over his head and closed his eyes. "I'm so fucked." As the sound of departing feet indicated the dispersing of the crowd, Jeremy said in a low voice, "Somebody apparently wants you to be." Travis lowered his arms and looked at Jeremy. "You believe somebody's setting me up?" He'd been positive Jeremy would believe the worst of him, that Jeremy would think he was the kind of guy who'd make a life-threatening screw up, and then lie about it. "I wouldn't have gone to bat for you with Ava if I didn't. The questions we have to answer now are who and why." Jeremy led him by the elbow farther down the hall. "We also need to get you a good lawyer." Travis blinked. "You think the Wilsons are going to sue me?" Jeremy gave him a grim nod. "I think that's the one thing in this whole miserable mess you can count on." *** "I don't know any lawyers." Travis sank into a chair in the lounge, eyes still a little too glazed for Jeremy's liking. "Do you think I should pick one out of the phone book?" "Relax. I know a guy. Already called him." Jeremy'd called Cal the minute they'd left the ped's floor. Cal had been knee deep in depositions, but as Jeremy had known he would, he'd promised to been there in fifteen minutes flat. Travis looked at him with guileless eyes. "Why?" "'Why what?"

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"Why everything," Travis said. "Why today in the cafeteria, or a while ago in the hall? Why go to the trouble of finding me a lawyer?" Before Jeremy could answer, a voice from the doorway said, "That's a good question, one you should be asking yourself." Jeremy wasn't surprised to see an angry Matthew Hooper hovering like a buzzard at the lounge entrance. Travis' eyes still weren't tracking just right as he blinked up at Matthew. "What are you talking about?" "Did you really think I wouldn't hear about the accusations against you?" Matthew snorted. "All department heads have been notified. It'll be all over the hospital by dinner time." Travis raked his hand through his hair. "Gee, thanks, Matthew. I feel so much better now." Some of the shocky glaze began to fade from his eyes. "You wanna knock the caps off my teeth while you're down here?" "Those are caps?" The band around Jeremy's chest loosened some now that Travis seemed to be coming off autopilot. "And here I thought you were just a fanatic for dental hygiene." "I have a good dentist." Travis didn't exactly smile, but the corners of his mouth weren't pinched quite so tight as they had been. "Oh for the love of--" Hooper reigned himself in, fists clenched as he approached the table. His eyes were hard on Travis. "What are you even doing down here with this guy?" He stabbed a finger in Jeremy's general direction. "Everybody knows the two of you hate each other. If you were set up, Bowman's got to be the one who did it." Jeremy had figured Hooper was going to take it there. He'd been expecting it. He leaned back and waited to see if Travis reacted to Hooper's suspicions. Travis reacted all right, but not the way Jeremy thought he would. "What do you mean 'if I was set up?'" Travis' voice came out as coarse and hard as granite. He didn't get out of the chair, but his tone was such that Hooper actually took a step back. "I didn't mean--" "Yes, you did." Travis' hands made fists of their own. "Do you actually believe, even for a second, that I'd forge a chart to hide a mistake?"

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"A mistake not even a rank med student would make," Harlan Keel said as he shouldered past Matthew and strolled over to the empty chair on Travis' other side. "Sorry I couldn't get here sooner, bud. I just finished my shift." Travis sighed. "So much for the whole hospital not hearing about this until dinner time." Harlan shook his head. "I don't think word's spread everywhere yet. Bowman called me, told me to get my ass down here ASAP." Harlan shot Jeremy a smile. "Thanks, man." At Travis' raised eyebrow, Jeremy said, "Cal mentioned you might need some character witnesses if the board takes this thing all the way." Obviously fed up with being ignored, Hooper stamped his foot and said, "Are the three of you stupid or just too naive to live?" Once the three of them were looking at him, he scaled it back. "Of course they're taking it all the way. Travis…" Hooper's voice became sickly sweet. "Sweetheart, do you even understand what this means?" Jeremy hadn't punched anyone since his senior year in high school but the way Hooper called Travis sweetheart sure as hell made his fingers itch to rework that clown's nose. "Oh, I think I do," Travis said. "You either think Jeremy tried to screw me over by poisoning a nine-year-old kid and framing me for it, or you think I'm so incompetent I did it myself and committed a felony to cover it up." Jeremy wasn't sure which part made him happier: Travis nailing Hooper on his bullshit or hearing Travis call him Jeremy instead of Bowman. Hooper tried to play it off. "The first one I'll stand by: this guy's bad news and he's got the stones to pull of any number of despicable tricks." He gave Jeremy a look that would've withered a lesser man. "I don't hear you denying it, Bowman." "My granny gave me a little piece of advice I'm gonna pass on to you, Hooper." Jeremy gave a lazy stretch for Hooper's benefit. "'Son,' she said, 'never get in a puking contest with a buzzard. You can't win, and in the end you'll only frustrate yourself and amuse the buzzard.'" Harlan snickered, and Travis' lips actually twitched. Hooper ignored him. "About the other thing… of course I don't think you'd ever intentionally break protocol." He scratched the back of his neck. "But residents are under a lot of pressure, and after realizing a mistake like that, it would only be natural for you to be tempted to--" "Enough." Travis' face was coloring with reddish blotches, like he was mad to the point of boiling. "Thanks so much for your support. Now go away."

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"I came to help you," Hooper said, "and you're a fool if you think you can get out of this without me." A smug flash of power flared in his eyes. "Do you have any idea what will happen if the board finds against you?" "Loss of license, a malpractice suit, and everybody's favorite: criminal charges." Cal came into the lounge, looking every bit the litigator in his hand-tailored Italian pinstriped suit, leather oxfords, and red silk tie. "Since we aren't going to let that happen, I see no need to dwell on it, do you?" He gifted them all with a smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial, then said, "Now I'd appreciate it if all of you would kindly get the fuck out of here while I confer with my new client." *** Travis liked Cal. He hadn't been sure what to expect when Jeremy said he was setting him up with a lawyer, but the capable, easy-going, confident guy calmly discussing his options with him in the deserted doctor's lounge wasn't the picture that came to mind when Travis thought "attorney." "They're going to suspend you pending an investigation," Cal said as they were wrapping up. "There's no real way around it, and at this point, it's better for us anyway. Once they formally suspend you, I have the right to get my own investigators working on your behalf, especially if they try to bring criminal charges, which I fully expect they will." Travis was glad he hadn't eaten anything heavier than a salad for lunch. "Will I have to spend the night in jail?" "Not if I can help it." Cal made a couple of notes on the yellow pad he'd been using to keep a running commentary. "Right now we have a he said/she said situation between you and the nurse. If the police do come in, you and your accuser will both be questioned. As your attorney, I'll be with you every step of the way." Travis gripped the laminated edge of the table. "I'm just glad Jeremy thought to call you. I'm not sure how much all this is going to cost, but my grandmother left me some money and--" "Easy, Tiger." Cal squeezed his shoulder. "This one's on the house, as a favor to Jeremy." "I can't let you do that." The mantra that Gordianis didn't behold to anyone -- even if Travis wasn't a true Gordiani, like his dad claimed -- had been drilled into Travis from the time he was old enough to catch the meaning of the words. "I can write you a check today--" "Consider it a service to me," Cal said. "There'd be no living with Jeremy if I let you pay me." Okay, that was news. "You and Jeremy live together?" When Cal only nodded, Travis asked, as casually as he could manage, "So, how long have the two of you been a couple?"

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Cal tilted his head to the side, stared at him for a second or two, and burst out laughing. Suddenly Travis didn't like him so much. "Oh, sweet Jesus." Cal clutched at his sides. "You and Jeremy are priceless. The two of you, you really need to get a room and get it over with." "Huh?" Travis felt like he'd walked into a joke told punch line first. "Jeremy and I have been best friends since we were, as my Granny likes to say, 'Knee high to a grasshopper.' When we figured out we were both into guys, we had ourselves a turn as fuck buddies for a couple or three years, then we wised up and realized we loved each, just not like lovers." He shook his head, still grinning. "We've been roommates since college, probably will be until one of us settles down. My money's on Jeremy hitching up his wagon to somebody special first." He looked Travis dead in the eye as he said it. "If you want the rest of Jeremy's story," Cal glanced at his watch, "you'll have to ask him. The board's about to convene." Travis' only response was a nod. He followed Cal out of the lounge with the vague thought in the back of his mind that this might be the last time he walked out of this room as a licensed physician. Jeremy and Harlan were waiting for them right outside the lounge. Matthew was nowhere around, and for that Travis was grateful. The four of them made their way to the elevators at the end of the hall in silence. The executive offices were on the top floor. They were met by an assistant who ushered Travis and Cal into the main meeting room, but made Harlan and Jeremy stay in the reception area. Travis faltered, but Jeremy gave him a reassuring smile and a soft squeeze to his hand. The last thing Travis saw as the doors closed behind him was Jeremy's face. It gave him the strength to greet what he was pretty sure was going to be a kangaroo court. Most of the board members were already in place. Carson Bond, the president and CEO of AN, sat at one sloping end of the oblong table. Travis' father, as Chief of Staff, took the other end. The rest of the seats were filled in with an even mix of bureaucrats and MDs. Only one seat was vacant, and Travis hoped it stayed that way: his mother's chair. "Dr. Gordiani." Mr. Bond greeted Travis with a smile as phony as the toupee threatening to take a nosedive off his scalp, then turned to Cal. "I'm sorry, son, but this is a closed meeting. You'll have to wait outside." "I'm Dr. Gordiani's attorney." Cal pulled a card from his breast pocket and pressed it into Mr. Bond's hand. Bond studied the card. "Calvert Litrel. Any relation to Livy Fay Litrel?"

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Cal smiled the way most southern folks smiled when talking about family connections. "That would be my grandmother." Bond did a double take and Travis was pretty sure he heard several of the board members, including his father, murmuring. Livy Fay Litrel was one of the most affluent and richest women in Atlanta, last of the old money blue-bloods who still lived in one of city's few surviving antebellum homes. She was a socialite's socialite, and any grandson of hers would be considered a heavy hitter by default. Jeremy hadn't just gotten him an attorney: Jeremy'd gotten him a power house. "Your grandmother's a fine woman. Known her for years." Bond tucked the card into his pocket with a smile. "Not that I think Dr. Gordiani is going to need a lawyer, mind you. I'm sure this is all just a misunderstanding." "In that case, why don't we get started?" Cal might as well have said, "Show me what you've got." Bond showed the two of them to their seats. He was about to call the meeting to order when the boardroom door was flung open and a dark-haired dervish from Travis' worst imaginings burst in. Her cleavage was hanging low, her heavily-lined eyes were narrowed, and she was loaded for bear. "Sorry I'm late," Nancy Wyndham-Gordiani said after she'd blown Travis a kiss. "Someone," she shot Travis' father a dirty look," neglected to inform me about this little meeting. Good thing I have my spies." She didn’t sound like she was joking. "No one would dream of leaving you out, my dear." Dr. Philip Lyons held out Nancy's chair, his eyes on her neckline the entire time he was talking to her. "We were just getting started." Mr. Bond called the meeting to attention. Once the Robert's Rules crap was out of the way, Bond got to down to the dirty stuff. "Since this is a staff matter, I'll let our Chief outline the issue for the board. Aaron?" Travis' father didn't bother to rise. He took a lazy look at the men and women gathered around the table -- eyes only briefly landing on Travis -- before beginning his discourse, a basic recounting of the same story Ava Bruno had laid out. Only this time, when the word "witness" came up, Travis had someone on his side, ready and waiting. "I assume she's coming to this meeting, correct?" Cal glanced at each of the board members in turn before smiling at the Chief. "That won't be necessary," Aaron said with his typical air of unquestionable authority. "She's said she's ready to make a statement if and when it becomes necessary. That's good enough for me."

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"Uh-huh." Travis was shaking inside, but Cal didn't sound rattled in the least. "So tell me, Dr. Gordiani, what's your take on this situation? Do you believe this nurse when she says she saw your son tamper with Nicholas Wilson's chart after he ordered her to give the kid Bactrim?" Kelly Minger, the board secretary, cleared her throat, "That's hardly an appropriate--" "Let him answer," Nancy said. She was leaning over the table, eyes filled not so much with maternal interest as bloodlust. If there was one thing Travis knew about his mother it was how much she loved to see his dad on the hot seat. "Whether I believe her or not is irrelevant." The Chief folded his hands on the table, a perfect picture of cool confidence. "I've made it clear to Mr. and Mrs. Wilson the ball is now in their court." Cal gave a single, clipped nod. "Somehow I figured as much." "I'm glad you understand each other," Travis said through tight lips, "but would someone mind explaining it to me?" Bond stepped in. "Because of the allegations against you, the board feels it has no choice but to distance ourselves and the reputation of Atlanta Northern from this entire debacle. We've no choice but to suspend you without pay pending the outcome of a full investigation." "Cutting through the legalese," Cal said, "it means the hospital has thrown you under the bus. They've made it clear to the Wilsons the blame lies solely with you. Because you're a resident and not an intern, they're trying to say you were acting as an independent, not as an agent of AN." He eyed Bond like a guppy in a shark tank, Cal being the shark. "If you think that strategy's going to hold up in court, you're either out of your mind or you've been sampling some of the good stuff from the hospital pharmacy." "If and when this goes to court," Bond said with perfect calm, "I'm confident our lawyers can handle the situation." He smiled a smile that was probably meant to be kind but was really sort of nauseating. "The good news is, Dr. Gordiani is independently licensed and insured. He's free to practice medicine elsewhere until this is straightened out." He leaned in and patted Travis' shoulder. "You were as good as finished with your residency, anyway, son. No reason you can't go ahead and join a private practice. Heck, you can set up your own." Right, because most up-and-coming physicians couldn't wait to partner with a guy facing possible felony charges. Travis didn't trust himself to speak so he stewed in silence while the board finished out the meeting. Bond reminded him he could appeal the decision if he wanted. Travis' only answer was a shrug. As the board members filed out, Jeremy and Harlan rushed in. Jeremy came straight to Travis. "How did it go?"

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"Pretty much the way Cal said it would. They suspended me." Travis took a deep breath, the first decent one he'd drawn since the meeting started. "Bastards wouldn't even tell me the name of the nurse who accused me." "Not unexpected, given the situation." Cal slung an arm around his shoulder and squeezed. "Overall, it went--" "Horrible," a shrill voice said form the other side of the conference room. "It's one thing to hate me, but to humiliate Travis…What the hell were you thinking?" Nancy had the Chief backed against the far wall of the conference room, one long, Frenchmanicured nail stuck in his face. The Chief was holding his own, arms crossed, mouth slanted in a firm, fuck-you line. "You're the one who insisted the boy do his residency here." The Chief flickered a brief glance at Travis before looking back down at his ex-wife. "I told you to keep him away from me, but as always, you had to have your way." "You didn't mind me having my way when I used my father's connections to get your sorry ass a residency here back when you were a barely-passing med student from a third rate school out of Jersey." Nancy clicked her nails together like a cat sharpening her claws. "Without me and my family's money you'd be just another second-rate sawbones wiping snotty noses and lancing boils for a living." "And you've never let me forget it." The Chief's eyes went to Nancy's chest. "Nice boobs, by the way. Are those new?" Nancy smiled in the way black widows did right after they mated. "The best your alimony checks can buy." "Are they always like this?" Jeremy said in Travis' ear. "It was worse when they were married." Jeremy actually shuddered. "You could've intervened on Travis' behalf, could've made the board see none of this was his fault." Nancy was back in full tirade, her voice rising with every word. Travis was grateful the rest of the board members had left the conference room. "Why should I do that?" The Chief had never sounded more smug, more condescending than he did in that moment. Travis knew what was coming -- had seen this scene played out so many times it was a permanent recording in his head -- but he also knew better than to try stopping it. "Travis is a grown man," the Chief continued. "If he hasn't got the balls to stand on his own, he deserves to suffer the consequences."

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"He's your son, for God's sake." Nancy's voice nearly reached an octave only dogs could hear. "So you say." The Chief locked eyes with Travis then, just as Travis expected him to. "I'm still waiting for proof on that." The crisp, sharp sting echoed around the conference room as Nancy slapped the Chief hard across his right check. "You, Aaron, are a revolving SOB."

"Doesn't she mean revolting?" Harlan leaned in to whisper.

"Afraid not," Travis said. "You'll see."

"You're a son-of-a-bitch no matter which way you turn." Nancy blew Travis one last kiss and

sailed from the room. The chief followed after her without a word to any of them.

Travis looked at the three astonished men standing next to him and said, "Drinks are on me."

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Chapter Four Harlan and Cal both declined. Cal had depositions to finish -- not to mention the extra work on Travis' case -- and Harlan had early rounds. It ended up being just Travis and Jeremy. Travis wanted to hit a bar -- probably to get so shitfaced he couldn't walk -- but Jeremy had a better idea. "Where are we going?" Jeremy almost laughed, but he held it in. "I told you the last four times you asked, you'll see when we get there." Travis rolled his eyes. "Why don't you just drop me off at home? I need to figure out my options, work some stuff over in my head." "In other words, sit on your ass, drink until you're dizzy, and brood about your future or lack thereof." Jeremy turned from the main road onto the private drive. "That's exactly what you don't need to do. You need some time to decompress, and that's what you're gonna get whether you want it or not. Let Cal do his job and give yourself a few minutes just to be." Travis leaned back against the car seat, not exactly relaxing, but maybe loosening a little. "I haven't thanked you for calling him. I owe you." "Consider us even for all the years I treated you like shit." He spared Travis a quick glance before training his eyes back on the long, winding driveway. "Why didn't you believe I was the one who'd set you up?" He'd been trying to find a gentler way to ask, but Jeremy finally decided to rip the Band-aid off and go for the bald, ugly truth. "Honestly, I thought about it. The one-eighty you did between yesterday and today -- from hating my guts to eating lunch with me -- made me wonder if maybe you weren't setting me up for something." "I wouldn't--" "I thought about it," Travis said again, "for all of two seconds before I realized you could never do it. For one thing, you're too in-your-face to ever use a kid to do your dirty work." He laughed, a tired but genuine sound. "If you had it in for me that bad you'd kick my ass and be done with it. For another thing, you're too much of a soft touch to ever hurt a kid." It did weird and wonderful things to Jeremy's insides to hear Travis call him a soft touch. "I could say the same thing about you." "Is that why you all of sudden started being nice to be after four years as a dedicated jerk?"

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Jeremy sighed. He had a lot of explaining to do. Might as well get it over with. He pointed to the house that was just now becoming visible up ahead. "Do you know where we are yet?" Travis squinted. "The Litrel house?" "Yeah. I figured maybe you'd been here before for one of your rich-boy fundraisers or something." "Right, because my folks are so anxious to take me places, tight family unit that we are." Travis shook his head. "I came here a long time ago, back when my fifth grade class did a tour of antebellum Atlanta." The hesitant smile returned." I remember Mrs. Litrel showing off the bloodstains on the parlor floor from where the old place had been used as a hospital by 'those filthy Yankees.' Her words, not mine." "Sounds like her. Granny Litrel, she's a real firecracker." Jeremy swallowed. "She's the one who raised me after my mom went nuts." Travis turned sideways in his seat. "Excuse me?" "Not very PC of me, huh? My mom, she's schizophrenic. Never should've had a kid to begin with, but for a while she was on some meds that made her think she could handle it." The pain came back on him, but after all these years it was ghost pain: there, but not powerful enough to do more than pull and itch. "My father was some guy she picked up for the night in a downtown bar for the express purpose of having a baby." "Damn." "Yeah, that was pretty much my grandmother's reaction." Jeremy smiled over the memory of his grandmother. "My grandma was the Litrels' housekeeper. She lived in a cottage on the backside of the property." He sighed. "She'd worked so hard to get my mother into an independent living facility. She hadn't counted on Mom being quite that independent. After Mom got pregnant, Grandma moved the two of us into the cottage with her." "And that's how you met Cal." "Yeah, but not until Cal was ten and his parents dumped him here because they were going through a divorce and neither of them wanted him." Jeremy steered the car around the circular driveway to the back of the house. "Until then they'd been living in Tennessee and hadn't even bothered to visit Miss Livy. She and Cal barely knew each other." "Sounds familiar," Travis said, "only my parents didn't have the decency to give me away when they split up." "How old were you when they divorced?" Jeremy pulled his car to a stop and put it in park.

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"Fifteen, but we can talk about that later. Right now we're talking about you." His tone made it plain they weren't getting out of the car until they'd finished the conversation to his satisfaction. "You can start by telling me how you ended up living with Mrs. Litrel." "Right." Jeremy hated that he was so nervous, but there was no help for it. He'd been a complete dick to Travis, and no matter his reasons, if Travis didn't accept them, all the explanations in the world would be useless. Jeremy wet his lips. "So my grandmother took me and my mom in -- me mostly; my mom spent more time in the county psych ward than she did here -- and took care of me in between cleaning for Miss Livy. Grandma, she was good to me. Spent most of her free time with me, tried her best to fill the gaps my mom left behind." "Sounds like a nice lady." "She was." Jeremy knew his smile was sad, but he didn't bother trying to hide it. "We did okay, me and Grandma. Miss Livy helped raise me, too. She spoiled me almost as rotten as Grandma did. After Cal came, it was like she had two grandsons instead of one. She certainly never treated me like the help's kid." He sighed. "Things went along pretty smooth until I was nearly twelve and my mom was released from the hospital." He saw sympathy in Travis' eyes mixed with a doctor's understanding. "She was taking her meds so they had to release her." "Yeah. My mother was good at that, following protocol as long as somebody was standing over her making sure she swallowed every last pill." Talking about his mom always made Jeremy tired. "Unfortunately, my grandma couldn't handle Mom. Couldn't make her take her meds, couldn't control the violent outbursts when she didn't. She begged the hospital not to release my mother, but they did it anyway. Said they couldn't hold her as long as she was asymptomatic." Travis picked up Jeremy's hand, his fingers toying lightly with Jeremy's fingertips. "Why do I have the feeling this story has an awful ending?" "Because you're a smart guy." Jeremy turned his hand over so they had full palm-to-palm contact. "I was in school that day. Cal and I, we'd both started the sixth grade at Easton Academy." "Swanky," Travis said without humor. "Yeah. Miss Livy insisted on paying for mine." Jeremy's mouth was like sandpaper despite the fact that this was a story he'd relived a million times or more. "I remember it was raining, and Miss Livy came to pick me up. I thought that was strange because she hated driving in the rain. She usually asked Grandma to come get Cal and me on rainy days." He wiped at the sweat on his forehead with his free hand, then cranked up the car's AC. "My mother'd gone into one of her delusions and strangled my grandmother to death with a lamp cord. Thought she was a witch come to steal her baby."

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"I'm so sorry." Travis brought Jeremy in close so their foreheads were touching. He stroked Jeremy's hair. "God. Just…God." "Yeah." Jeremy's laugh sounded hoarse in the space between them. "I bring you out here to make you feel better and here I end up telling you all this shit." He pulled back, but not far. "The reason I did is because I wanted you to know it wasn't you. The reason I was such a rotten dickhead around you. I mean, it was, but it wasn't." "Uh huh. Thanks for clearing that up." Travis didn't let go of his hand. "Miss Livy took me in after my grandma died. She told me I was equal to Cal in everything -has always treated me that way -- but everybody in Atlanta heard about what my mom did. Everybody I went to school with knew she got sent to a hospital for the criminally insane over in Alabama." He felt like a scrawny kid again, all his secrets laid bare for those ruthless preppies to eat him alive over. "Those rich kids never let me forget what I was or where I came from." "And so you automatically hate people who come from money?" Travis made a rude noise. "Pretty weak, Bowman. Pretty weak." "I know. Look, I saw you at AN -- heard you were the chief's son -- and I figured you were just like those dumb fucks I went to school with." "You thought I'd landed the residency because of my father, not my brains." "Right." Damn but it sounded bad out loud. "Gee, thanks." Still, Travis didn't pull away. "I know I'm the real dick here. I started realizing I'd misjudged you a long time ago, but it was easier to keep pretending I hadn't than to try fixing things." Jeremy swallowed his pride and went for broke. "Didn't help that you were one of the sexiest, smartest guys I'd met in a hell of a long time." Travis narrowed his eyes. "You're making it really hard to stay mad at you." "Good. Now you know how I felt when I heard you and Hooper talking last night, and I realized you were a lot like me: just a regular guy with a screwed up a family trying to make the world a better place one patient at a time." "Okay, now you sound like an E.R. re-run." "Maybe, but you're smiling." Jeremy cut the engine. "Come on. I want to reintroduce you to Miss Livy. I doubt the taste you had of her in fifth grade did her justice. After that, I want to show you something."

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Travis followed him without protest. He might not trust Jeremy fully yet, but they were getting there. Jeremy was damned sure gonna take what he could get. *** The house was a lot like Travis remembered it: a picture of a south long passed. Horsehair plaster walls, weathered wooden floors, and antiques out the wazoo. He was almost willing to bet the Litrels didn't own many pieces of furniture not crafted by someone with the last name of Chippendale, Sheraton, or Hepplewhite. "How did they manage to hang on to all this stuff during the war?" he asked Jeremy as they made their way through the formal dining room past an English sideboard that was probably worth more than his car. "I'd have thought the Yankees would've torched and pilfered everything. I remember asking one of the teachers on the tour back in fifth grade but nobody would answer me." "No, I don't suspect they would," said a voice tinkling with laughter from behind them. Travis turned to see Miss Livy herself, looking just the way he remembered her with a halo of white curls and a barely-lined face too young to belong to the grandmother of two grown men. She was wearing smart slacks and a short-sleeved sweater that brought out the pink in her cheeks. She glanced at Jeremy. "Do you want to tell him the family secret or should I?" "And deprive you the honors?" Jeremy took her by the arm, leading her into the parlor and motioning for Travis to follow. "I wouldn't dare." Jeremy seated her, true southern gentleman-style, on an honest-to-God settee. "Miss Livy, this is Travis Gordiani. Travis, may I present the incomparable Livy Fay Litrel." "Incomparable, my eye," she said as they took seats in a couple of occasional chairs surrounding a marble-topped coffee table. "Watch this one, Travis. He's a charmer." She leaned across to pat Jeremy's knee before smiling again at Travis. "So, you were one of those poor souls they dragged along on that dreadful Old Atlanta tour, I take it." "Yes, ma'am, but I enjoyed it." Travis remembered the seven boring homes that came before Miss Livy's and corrected himself. "Well, I enjoyed this one, anyway. It was fascinating." "I'm not sure which one of us is more a relic of old Atlanta: me or the house." She winked at him. "Unfortunately, almost every word you heard on that tour was a carefully crafted load of mule poop." Travis blinked. "Ma'am?" "Such manners. I like him, Jeremy. Hang on to this one. I think he's a good enough match for my favorite grandson."

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Travis started to protest, but Jeremy just grinned and said, "I'm telling Cal you called me your favorite." Livy gave another one of those light-the-whole-room laughs. "Cal's my other favorite." She turned back to Travis. "I imagine you were told this place was used as a hospital by the union army during Atlanta's unfortunate occupation, correct?" "I was." "Well, then," Livy said, "change the word 'hospital' to 'brothel' and you'll have it right." Travis felt a smile pulling at his mouth. "You can't be serious." "Trust me, she is." Jeremy rolled his eyes. "She's taken great delight in shocking every guy I've ever brought home with this story." Two feelings hit Travis square in the chest, and he wasn't sure which one surprised him more: the jealousy over the faceless "guys" Jeremy'd brought here before him, or the pleasure that Travis was now a bona fide contender for Jeremy's affections. When he was finally able to speak past the dueling emotions, he said, "Well, then, I've got to hear this." Miss Livy nodded. "My husband's ancestral grandmother was a smart woman. One tough bird, you might say. Her husband rushed off to play solider, leaving her here with an expensive home, nine mouths to feed counting her two unmarried sisters and the family slaves, and a pile of Confederate cash that wasn't worth the paper it was printed on. She decided the best way to protect herself in occupied territory was to go into business. And what better business for a married gentlewoman with no real skills than the world's oldest profession." She folded her hands primly on her knee. "According to her journals, she rounded up other women in similar predicaments -- widows, wives and daughters left behind -- and opened the most popular and successful bordello in Georgia. The reason my late husband's family was able to prosper both during and after the war is a direct result of the lady's insistence on being paid with union currency." Travis had to admire that kind of grit and gumption. "What about the bloodstains on the floor, the ones the Yankees supposedly left behind?" "Family legend says the genteel Mrs. Litrel became greatly vexed with a customer who refused to pay." Miss Livy crossed her legs at the ankles. "She gathered every woman in the house. The lot of them overpowered him and stabbed him with his own bayonet in a rather personal region of his body." Travis could scarcely bear to think about that one. "I imagine that would do it." "Indeed." Livy didn't sound as if she found the prospect of stabbing a man's privates the least disturbing, maybe because he was a Yankee. "Not that I don't enjoy sharing our family scandals, but I can't imagine the two of you came all this way for a history lesson." She threw up her

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hands. "Me and my manners. Let me get you boys some coffee and teacakes." Miss Livy started to rise, but Jeremy stopped her. "Much as I hate to pass on your teacakes, I was actually hoping to take Travis on a tour of the grounds. Today hasn't been what you'd call his day." "I know." Miss Livy looked at him with warmth and understanding. "Cal called me a few minutes ago and filled me in as much as he could without violating client privilege." This time she leaned over to squeeze Travis' hand. "I have a few contacts on the AN board if you think that will help." "That's very generous of you, but I'm going to let Cal battle this one out for me." Travis was still touched by the offer. "If anyone can get me out of this, he can." "No doubt about that," Miss Livy said. "I've been gifted with the two most talented grandsons on the planet." "And on that note, we're leaving before she breaks out the embarrassing childhood photos." Jeremy came to his feet with a bemused smile and a tiny shake of his head. He bent down and kissed her cheek. "I'll see you later." She sent them off with a wave. Jeremy took Travis out a side door into the gardens beyond. Unlike a lot of antebellum home owners who'd sold off so much of their original lands their yards were now glorified postage stamps, the Litrels had at least five good acres left. Jeremy led him into a stunning formal garden Travis didn't remember from the tour. "Miss Livy had this done a couple of years ago," Jeremy said in answer to the unspoken question. "She said she was the only self-respecting southern woman she knew who wasn't growing something." He quirked a grin. "It's not exactly conventional, but then neither is she." Travis took a careful look at the garden. The planting beds, in various stages of bloom, were intersected with flagstone paths. Each bed had a pedestal in the center of it on which perched a marble statue. At the center of the garden was a reflecting pool over which loomed a pergola made of the same white marble as the statues. "It's pretty spectacular," he told Jeremy, "but I'm not getting the unconventional vibe." Jeremy picked up his hand and took him to the first bed, a wash of daisies and delphiniums. He pointed with their joined hands. "Take a closer look at that statue." Travis squinted against the late afternoon sun. As his eyes adjusted and the glaring marble came into focus, he realized he was looking at a knight in full armor perched on his steed, carrying a standard. Travis jumped back when it registered the knight was a skeleton.

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"The death card," Jeremy said. "A lot of people assume it means physical death, but it usually means change." "Death card? As in tarot cards?" Travis couldn't help but whisper the word. In some parts of the south, anything to do with tarot cards was considered tantamount to devil worship. "Miss Livy reads tarot cards?" "Taught me and Cal to read them, too." Jeremy laughed out loud. "You should see your face." Jeremy pulled him gently down one of the side paths. "Don't worry. She's still a card carrying Methodist. Miss Livy, she just believes like Hamlet said. 'There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio…'" "So now you're a connoisseur of fine literature, too?" "Nah. Just couldn't resist a chance to see Mel Gibson in a pair of tights." "I don't know what to make of you. The change…" Travis shook his head. "It's so fast." "Maybe, but do you like it?" Jeremy asked the question casually, no pressure. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." It was the only part of his whole fucked-up day Travis could take any comfort from. "In that case, why don't you kick back and just go with it for a while. The rest will fall into place." Jeremy's smile promised as much, and so did the gentle pressure of his hand on Travis'. "Come on. I actually brought you out here to show you something." They walked over a wooden-plank footbridge spanning a man-made stream, past some willow trees that swayed over the water with a grace that calmed Travis just to see it. The scene was almost Zen. "Your grandmother's style is eclectic." "I'll have to tell her you said that. She'll add it to her roster at the next garden club meeting. Here it is." Jeremy showed him to a magnificent stand of roses, at least five different colors, the blooms so spicy they bordered on overpowering. "This is the one I wanted you to see." The statue was of five young men, each holding a long stick. The appeared to be arguing, like maybe they'd been trying to build something but couldn't agree on the specifics of the design. "You'll have to tell me what it means," Travis said. "I'm a relapsed Baptist. My old preacher would sooner sacrifice live chickens in the pulpit than read a tarot card." Jeremy leaned against the split-rail fence bordering the roses. "Does your relapse have anything to do with being gay?"

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Travis snorted. "Gay's right up there with the live chickens and the tarot cards as far as my old church goes." "You can always come to church with me, Miss Livy, and Cal. We don’t care what you are as long as you bring something tasty to the third-Sunday potluck supper every month." "Heathen." Travis wrinkled his nose. "The statue?" "It's the five of wands." Jeremy turned, his body still propped on the fence. "It can mean a lot of things. Disagreement, competition, strife -- especially in the workplace." "No wonder you brought me down here." Travis studied the five fighting comrades. "Might as well engrave my name on a plaque underneath the thing." "The purpose of the tarot -- for those who don't think of it as a cheap party trick -- is to use it for a deeper examination of your life." Jeremy turned back to look at the roses. "I watched you with your parents today, heard a little of what you were talking about. Your dad doesn't believe you’re his kid, does he? That's why he's so cold to you." Travis should've been embarrassed to have his life thrown out there in all that ugly detail, but it was easy with Jeremy. Easier than it was supposed to be. "Yeah. A parting gift from my mom when they were divorcing. Dad and I had never been really close. His career's always been his baby. But we at least had some semblance of a relationship. He could stand to sit at the same table with me." Travis watched a green walking stick crawl along the top fence rail. "During their bust up, my mom found out he'd cheated on her with one of his nurses so she decided to fix him a good one. Unfortunately, she fixed me, too. Told him I was the kid of some guy she'd boffed on a spa vacation in Cabo." Jeremy winced. "I take it he's been trying to prove you aren't his ever since." "Yeah. He tried to get the divorce judge to order a DNA test, but the judge wouldn't go for it. He saw my dad as another rich guy trying to get out of paying child support. Soon as I turned eighteen, Dad started pressuring me to do it. 'Travis,'" he said in mockery of his father's stern command, "'you and I will never be anything to each other until I know for sure you're mine and not some other sucker's bastard." "But you wouldn't do it because you want to mean something to him now." Jeremy faced him fully then, his back against the fence. "You want something more substantial than a piece of paper holding you to the guy." It stunned him how much Jeremy saw. "Something like that." Jeremy cocked his head to the side. "Did it cross your mind your dad may have--"

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"Not for one hot second. The esteemed Dr. Aaron Gordiani would never dirty his hands. Not like that." His sigh was soul deep and bone tired. "Whoever did this to me and poor little Nicholas…it might not have even been personal?" Jeremy made a rude noise. "Sure as hell feels personal to me." "Me, too, but I have to look at it from all sides to get the whole picture." He sidled closer,

grateful to have Jeremy on his team. "Isn't that what the tarot would tell me to do?"

"In this case, I think the tarot would tell you it's time to look at where you are and what you

want. If you want to come back to AN, you're going to have one hell of a fight on your hands.

When we prove your innocence--"

"When and not if?"

"When," Jeremy repeated. "Even when you're cleared, you're still going to have shit coming at

you from your father. I think something out there's trying to tell you it's time to put this behind

you now so you can move forward with a clear path."

Travis swore under his breath. "You make it sound so easy."

Jeremy rubbed his fingers up and down Travis' right arm. "I'm smarter than that."

"I know. Look, I just want to forget for a while. Can we do that?"

"Sure." Jeremy's eyes twinkled. "Miss Livy has a statue for every card. Wanna see?"

"Yeah." Travis laughed. "I guess it's good I don't have allergies."

*** Jeremy dropped Travis off at his car, which was parked in the back lot at AN. He walked him

around to the driver's side of Travis' Toyota.

"Sure you don't want me to follow you home?"

"Yeah. I wasn't blowing smoke before when I said I needed time to process all this." Travis

scratched the back of his neck. "That doesn't mean I don't appreciate what you did for me today."

"Maybe I should start guiding walks as some New Age cure all," Jeremy said. "I could call them

'Miss Livy's Tarot Garden Spiritual Cleansing Tour.'"

"Sounds like a colonic gone bad." Travis palmed his keys. "The garden was great, but I was

talking about all of it." He put his free hand on Jeremy's shoulder. "No matter what happens, I won't forget today. The way you opened yourself to me… I don't think anything else could've reached me. Not after all the shit that's gone down in the last twenty-four hours."

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Jeremy leaned into him, pressing Travis against the car with the weight of his body. "Does that mean you won't kick my ass if I kiss you now?" Travis' laugh was low and husky, the flush on his checks barely visible in the dim glow of the lot's security lights. "If you're brave enough you can always try it and see." "God knows, I love a challenge." Jeremy cupped Travis' neck, thumb working over his jaw, and took him in a full, open-mouthed kiss. Jeremy didn't care that anybody who happened by could see them, and apparently, neither did Travis. He wound both arms around Jeremy's neck and kissed him back with a force that left them both sweaty and panting. When they finally pulled back, Jeremy had to adjust his zipper. "Damn." "Uh-huh." Travis seemed to be having problems with his own inseam. "I think that's my cue to go." Jeremy wanted to follow Travis home, take him to bed, and keep him there until the shadows in Travis' eyes went away and his fleeting smiles became not so fleeting. But Travis was too raw right now, and Jeremy had pressed enough advantages for one day. He pulled Travis into a tight hug, savoring the spicy scent of the man one more minute. "Be careful driving home. And think about what I said, okay?" "I will." This time it was Travis who kissed him, a brief but satisfying buss on the lips. Jeremy watched Travis pull away, staring after his car like a lovesick school kid hung up on his first crush. It wasn't until the Toyota's headlights were a dim glow on the road in front of the hospital that Jeremy went back to his own car. He'd just put his hand on the door handle when a voice from the darkness said, "You aren't good enough for him." Jeremy was prepared for a fight until he saw Matthew Hooper step out of the darkness. Douche bags like Hooper he could handle. "At least I'm trying to be. What about you?" "What do you think I'm doing out here talking to you?" He looked at Jeremy as if Jeremy hadn't showered in a couple of weeks. Hooper pulled an envelope from the front pocket of his lab coat. "Give this to your lawyer friend. I don't imagine Travis will take any help from me." He didn't sound hurt, just matter of fact. Jeremy took the envelope between two fingers. "What is this?" Hooper gave him a dark look. "You'll see." With that hanging between them, he walked away.

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Chapter Five "What do you think?" "Like I told you last night, knowing who she is helps, but I can't question her directly." Cal took a sip of his coffee. He and Jeremy were seated at the breakfast bar, going over the paper Hooper had given him for the fifteenth time. There wasn't much on it -- just the name of and some basic facts about the nurse who'd accused Travis -- but it was a place to start. "If I try, she's only going to give me the same story she gave AN, and it will tip our hands." He pushed his fingers through his bed-head. "Any idea how Hooper got this info?" "Don't imagine it was hard. He's a department head. The board kowtows to him every chance they get. Probably all he had to do was ask." Jeremy went to the coffee pot and refilled his cup. "What are you going to do?" "Our firm uses an investigator, guy named Rob Watts. I want to bring him in on this, see if he can work us into his schedule." Cal finished his coffee and set the cup back in the saucer. "He's the best, and whatever this Katie Bolton is hiding, Rob will find it." "Fine," Jeremy said, "but you send the bill to me." Cal folded his hands on the countertop. "You know I have no problem charging you outrageous sums of money, but don't you think you're moving things a little too fast? As in light speed?" "You think I'm doing all this so Travis will feel like he owes me something?" The coffee he'd just drunk left an acrid tingle on Jeremy's tongue. Cal didn't blink. "Are you?" "No. How can you even ask me that?" "Look, I know you care about Travis. I can also tell from what I saw yesterday that the guy hasn't had a lot of choices in his life. That crappy family of his has bullied and pushed him into every decision he's ever made." Jeremy hated it when Cal was right. "You got a point?" "My point is, if you want Travis in any way more than just a conquest of some guy you've been wanting to screw for four years, you owe it to him to give him every choice available to him." "So you're saying I should what, back off?" The thought of backing away from Travis left Jeremy cold all over. "Nothing of the kind. I'm just saying you can be a steamroller when you want to be. I think Travis has had enough of that in his life. For once in your life, try letting somebody else call the shots." Cal got up and stretched, then leaned over to kiss the top of Jeremy's head the way he

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used to when they were kids and Jeremy was scared of the dark. "Consider it free advice from somebody who knows you better than you know yourself." He plucked the paper off the counter. "Another piece of advice, and this one you'd better listen to or I'll kick your scrawny tail: leave Katie Bolton and the Wilsons to me. Do not approach them at the hospital, and do not do any of your own investigating." Jeremy opened his mouth, but Cal quelled him with a look. "I know you, so don't even think of denying it. You aren't Holmes and I'm not Watson." He cuffed Jeremy's arm. "If you want to help Travis, you'll listen to what I've said." He looked Jeremy in the eye. "All of it." Jeremy didn't leave his seat for a long time after Cal left the room. *** For the first time in four years, Travis woke without any real sense of purpose. Always before, even on his days off, he'd known what he was here for. He was in the business of saving lives, or at least making them brighter. Now he wasn't even sure if he still wanted the job, much less if he'd be able to keep it once this nightmare was over with. He spent his morning on auto pilot, cleaning his apartment, watching a couple of mind numbing game shows. The boredom didn't break until lunch time when Jeremy showed up bearing Chinese food. Travis sniffed, his stomach growling in appreciation. "Ginger chicken?" He stepped back to let Jeremy into the apartment. "Yep." Jeremy strolled into Travis' kitchen like it was the most natural thing in the world and put the bag on the counter. "So now you're thinking, 'Not only does the guy know my favorite food, he knows where I live.' You're probably wondering if Cal also does restraining orders." Travis felt something inside him ease, that unnamed knot that'd been taking up most of his chest all morning. "I'm willing to forgo the restraining order if you've got eggrolls." "Chicken and shrimp. Harlan said they were your favorite." Jeremy started pulling paper cartons out of the bag. "He's the one who told me where you lived and what you liked to eat." "Pity." Travis went to the cabinet for plates. "It was kind of exciting to think of you skulking around the bushes in a trench coat trying to catch a glimpse of me." "Considering it's eight-five degrees in the shade, I'll pass on the coat." They filled their plates and headed for the sofa. "If you're lucky, I might be good for some really trashy phone calls." While they ate, Jeremy updated him on "their" case, as he called it. "Hooper was waiting for me after you left last night with the name of the nurse who accused you. Do you know Katie Bolton?"

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"I've worked with her briefly, but not enough to say I really know her." Travis searched his memory for anything he might've done to Katie Bolton that would cause her to lie about him like this. "I can tell you this much: I had no contact at all with her while I was treating Nicholas Wilson. I don't remember seeing her on the peds floor or in the E.R. the night I admitted the little guy." "Cal wants to hire an investigator his firm uses to check her out." Jeremy put his fork down and cleared his throat. "I told him I'd be willing to pay for it." Travis held back his smile, but barely. "I'm guessing Cal told you that would be a bad idea." "Yeah. It's just that Miss Livy set me up with more money that I really needed for med school and I wanted to help." He sighed. "That really makes me sound like a tool, doesn't it?" "No." Travis set his nearly empty plate on the coffee table and scooted closer to Jeremy on the couch. "You sound like a nice guy who's trying to be there for me. But if we're going to have any kind of relationship, we're going to come into it on equal footing. I made that mistake once, getting involved with a guy who ran the show. I don't want to screw up what could be a really good thing by doing it again." "Relationship?" Jeremy's voice was soft, the pulse point in his neck visible and fluttering like crazy. "I like you. I'd like for us to spend time together, maybe see where this thing goes." Of all the things Travis was confused about, Jeremy Bowman wasn't one of them. He'd been intrigued by the guy for years, even when he thought the other man was a complete prick. Now that he knew Jeremy wasn't, Travis wanted to get to know him, find out if Jeremy was as good as he seemed on the surface. "I'd like that," Jeremy said. He set his own plate aside, and then the two of them were kissing, a no-holds-barred redo of what they'd shared the night before. Soon kissing turned to necking, and necking was about to turn into something more when the phone rang. "Shit." Travis tore his lips away from Jeremy's, fingers stilling on Jeremy's belt. "I should just ignore it." "Go ahead." Jeremy was breathless and his hair was standing on end. "I'm not going anywhere, and it might be important." Travis grabbed the phone off the coffee table. He didn't recognize the number on the caller ID. "Hello?" "Dr. Gordiani?" "This is Travis Gordiani." Apprehension started low in Travis' gut. "To whom am I speaking?"

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"This is Blaine Wilson, Nicholas' father." The voice was tight and angry. "Mr. Wilson." Jeremy whipped out his cell phone, probably to call Cal. Travis grabbed the Coke he'd been drinking with his meal and had a swallow to wet his dry mouth. "What can I do for you?" "It's not what you can do for me, you son-of-a-bitch. It's what you owe my son." Wilson's voice went low and nasty. "The hospital's denying any responsibility. They told us you lied. You made my boy sick and you lied." "I'm sure they did, but that doesn't make it so." Travis took a deep breath, the effort having little to no steadying effect on his nerves. "I'm not sure how you got my number, but from now on I'm going to have to ask you to contact me through my lawyer, Calvert Litrel. His number is--" A click and the dial tone told Travis Wilson had hung up. "Guess he already has Cal's number." Travis lowered the phone with shaking hands. "The question is, how did he get yours?" Jeremy still had his phone open though he had yet to make a call. "I have a pretty good idea." Travis reached for Jeremy, needing the contact. "Remember what you said yesterday about making decisions that will ease some of my strife and help me move forward with a clear path?" Jeremy nodded. "I want you to come with me while I work on decision number one." *** Travis left Jeremy in the outer office, walked right past his father's open-mouthed assistant, and entered Aaron Gordiani's inner sanctum without knocking. His father seemed to be expecting him but for all the wrong reasons. "If you've come to beg for my help you can show yourself back out." He went back to the papers he'd been working on. Travis was dismissed. "Did you give Blaine Wilson my phone number?" Travis learned a long time ago his father was a bully. The only way to deal with him was to bully him right back. "My unlisted number?" "So what if I did? I figure if you're man enough to be a doctor you should be man enough to take what comes when you fuck up." Aaron looked at Travis, then, and the bastard was practically smiling. "I gave him your address, too."

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"You do realize I can sue both you and AN for giving out the information in my private employee files." "You don't have the balls." Aaron leaned back in his chair. "You'd be surprised what I've got," Travis said. "I'll pass the info about your little stunt along to Cal, see what he wants to do with it." "Is that what you came here for?" Aaron's face began to color. "To threaten me into helping you get out of this mess you're in?" "Actually, no. I came to straighten out the mess you and your ex-wife made of my life fifteen years ago." He never took his eyes off his father's face. "I stopped by the lab on the way up here. Since half the hospital already knows you don't think I'm your kid, I didn't figure you'd care if we did the test here." Aaron had the nerve to look surprised. "You mean a DNA test?" "I gave the lead tech a buccal swab not five minutes ago. All you have to do is go down there and give yours. We'll be good to go." Aaron narrowed his eyes. "I suppose you want me to pay for it." "No, Dad. This one's on me." Travis would've laughed if it hadn't been so sad. "I've already taken care of it with the accounting department." He turned to leave. "They'll call us in five to ten days with the results." "I suppose you think I'll bail you out if you do turn out to be my kid." "You know, I almost hope Mom was telling the truth." Travis turned back to face his father. "The thought of being related to such a stone-cold SOB scares the shit out of me." He gave his father his back and opened the door. "Don't worry. If I do turn out to be your prodigal, I learned a long time ago not to expect anything from the great Gordiani. See you later, Chief." The click of the office door was the only reply Travis got. *** Cal called them before they'd gotten out of the parking lot. He requested an emergency meeting at his office, emphasis on the emergency. Jeremy made a U-turn in the middle of downtown traffic -- resulting in several drivers giving them the Georgia state bird -- and then they were on their way to the tony, high-rise complex where the firm of Slover, Whitfield, Danman, and Yarrow had recently relocated. Cal was in his office, sitting behind his desk with messy hair and no tie. Jeremy's stomach flipped. This was big.

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Cal motioned them to sit in the sleek visitors' chairs opposite his desk. "The Wilsons and their attorney were just here." He looked at Travis. "Did Jeremy tell you about the investigator I want to hire?" Travis nodded. "I'm all for it." "Good," Cal said. "We're going to need him. Something about this case stinks, and I think her name is Lisa Wilson." "You suspect Nicholas' parents?" Travis didn't sound necessarily surprised, just cautious. "Not the father." Cal leaned forward, elbows on the desk, fingers steepled. "I believe Blaine Wilson's rage was genuine. He kept going on about his son's pain, how you should pay for what you did. Lisa never said a word, just kept crying into a tissue." He narrowed his eyes. "She kept her head down, like she couldn't bear to look me in the eye." He leaned back in his chair. "It wasn't until the lawyer mentioned getting the police involved that she actually spoke. Know what she said?" Jeremy was on the edge of his seat. "She said, and I quote: 'I don't want the police involved in this. We've all suffered enough. All I want is enough money for my baby to be taken care of for the rest of his life.'" Cal made a disgusted face. "Then she finally looked at me for the first time since the three of them barged into my office and said, 'Can't you just make him settle with us or something? I heard he's worth millions.'" "She's after the wrong guy." Travis' face was blank. "My father may be worth millions, but I'm not." "I told the Wilsons and their attorney -- a real bottom feeder I'm going to enjoy eating for breakfast, by the way -- they'd be hearing from us, and soon. Here's my problem: what kind of mother, if she really believed her kid had been used and abused by a crooked doctor, wouldn't want him prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law?" Cal looked at Jeremy. "What do you think Granny Litrel would do if it were you or me in Nicholas' place?" "She'd bring plague, pestilence, and panic upon everyone involved," Jeremy said without hesitation. "And so would most any mother if she wasn't hiding something she didn't want the police digging up." "Exactly. Ya'll go on home now." Cal picked up the phone. "Time for me to do some excavating, see where Mrs. Wilson's bodies are buried." ***

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By the time they got back to his apartment, Travis was feeling more hopeful than he had since his ordeal began. He invited Jeremy into his kitchen. "You hungry?" "I could eat. Why, you gonna cook for me?" "I wouldn't call grilled cheese sandwiches and canned tomato soup cooking, but yeah, I am." "Are you kidding?" Jeremy bellied up to the center island. "After all the microwave pizzas and Lean Cuisines I've lived off of lately, I'll consider anything that hasn't been exposed to radiation a delicacy." "A man of simple tastes, just like me. I'll have to remember that." Travis made quick work of supper, and the two of them shared it at the island, the conversation as wholesome and comforting as the food. Travis couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so relaxed with another man. Jeremy even helped him load the dishwasher. "I see Miss Livy raised you right." "Oh hell, yeah. To this day she reminds me I'm not too old for her to take a switch after if she thinks I need it." Jeremy laughed. "The sad part is, she's not joking." "I envy you," Travis said as he placed the soup pot into the sink to soak. "At least you know she cares enough about you to bother." "Hey." Jeremy pulled him close. He stroked the side of Travis' face with a soapy finger. "Your parents suck. Doesn't mean you have to buy into their bullshit." "I'm starting to see that." Travis leaned in for a soft kiss. "I'm starting to see a lot of things I've been blind to." He backed Jeremy against the granite counter. "Would you think I was easy if I asked you to spend the night with me?" Jeremy's breathing sped up. "Depends. How easy would you think I was if I stripped down buck naked right here in your kitchen and raced you to your bedroom?" "How about you kiss me again and we'll call it even?" They made it to the bedroom. Barely. By the time they got there, they were both naked and both hard. Travis' lips were swollen from Jeremy's kisses, and he was pretty sure he had a stubble burn going on his neck. Maybe even a hickey. All he knew was he wanted more. They landed on the bed in a not ungraceful tangle of arms and legs, still kissing, neither of them willing to forgo contact for long. With other lovers, there'd been that awkward moment of who was in charge, but Travis experienced none of that with Jeremy. After the initial fumble for the

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bedside stash of lube and condoms, it seemed natural for him to open his legs and invite Jeremy inside. Jeremy didn't hesitate. His fingers worked magic, teasing and opening Travis' body like they'd been there before. The two of them choreographed a smooth rhythm, the kind that rarely went with a first time. Jeremy slid into him like the man was made to be there, Travis welcoming him with a tight, possessive clench. Too soon Travis was on the edge, Jeremy's hard thrusts pushing Travis to come before he was ready. Not that it mattered. Almost as soon as Travis spilled wet heat into the space between them, Jeremy stiffened above him and filled the condom in several short bursts. They lay like that for a few minutes, clasped together, fighting for breath. Sooner than Travis would've liked, Jeremy pulled carefully out of him and removed the condom. He padded naked to the bathroom and came back a minute later with a warm, wet washcloth. Travis had never had anyone clean him after sex before. It was an experience he could get used to. Jeremy took the washcloth into the bathroom and came back to bed. Travis had been half afraid Jeremy would leave. He exhaled a long sigh of relief when Jeremy crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over both of them. "What was that for?" Jeremy spooned in behind him. "Hmm?" God, he was comfortable. "That sigh." "Just happy." Travis sighed again as Jeremy nuzzled his neck. "If you aren't careful you're going to spoil me so rotten nobody else can stand me." Jeremy's breath was hot against his neck. "Nothing I'd like better." Travis fell asleep hoping Jeremy really meant it. *** Jeremy thought about playing hookey. He woke up wrapped around Travis -- his idea of a thick slice of heaven -- and seriously considered not moving for the rest of the day. "Don't you have six-thirty rounds?" came a sleepy voice next to his ear. Jeremy groaned. "I won't tell if you don't." Travis chuckled, the husky sound turning Jeremy on like a switch. "How about I promise to give you a repeat of last night as soon as you get off work?"

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Jeremy rolled Travis over and started kissing his neck. "Give me a repeat right now and we might have a deal." He was forty minutes late for work. Those forty minutes were worth every second of the butt-chewing Dr. Cosgrove gave him. First time in his life Jeremy ever took a dressing down with a smile on his face. He spent so much of the day smiling, in fact, half the people he worked with were looking at him like he'd lost his mind. Tina Berry, one of the new interns, came right out and asked him if he'd been smoking crack. Jeremy patted her on the head and laughed, causing Leonard Muncie, another intern, to make the sign of the cross. Jeremy's good mood lasted most of the day. He greeted patients with enthusiasm, made his rounds with a skip in his step, and counted down the hours until he could be with Travis again. He even summoned a polite nod when he passed Mathew Hooper in the hall. Things were going well until he went down to the vending machines for a quick pick-me-up and saw a dark-haired woman in pink scrubs he recognized as Katie Bolton arguing with a red-eyed waif in a deserted corner near the drink machines. He was too far away to hear what they were saying clearly, but he did catch the words "your fault," "bitch," and, "my baby." The smaller woman was gesturing wildly with her hands, like any minute she was going to pop Katie one. Katie seemed to be trying to calm her down. Both of them stopped talking as soon as he came into view. Red Eyes hurried away, leaving Jeremy and Katie awash in awkward silence. Katie cleared her throat. "Hi, Dr. Bowman." "Hi." Jeremy made a big show of fishing a dollar out of his wallet. "Poor woman," Katie said after a minute. " They're moving her little boy to a different hospital today. Guess she just needed someone to vent on, you know?" God help him, Jeremy thought maybe he did know. "Was that Nicholas Wilson's mother?" "Yeah, poor soul." Katie pulled some change from the square front pocket of her top and plopped it into the Pepsi machine. "Word is Nicholas is going to recover, but he'll need skin grafts and he'll be at least partially blind." She retrieved her Pepsi from the machine with a sniff. "I guess Dr. Gordiani messed the kid up a good one." She popped the top on the can and left the vending area with a sad head shake. Jeremy waited until he was sure she was gone, then pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

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Chapter Six Cal's investigator friend was good. Only took him three days to run down the link between Lisa Wilson and Katie Bolton. "According to Robb, Lisa Wilson used to work as a billing clerk at the same hospital where Katie Bolton completed her training," Cal told them over a working dinner at his and Jeremy's place. The three of them were sitting on the floor eating takeout Italian around the coffee table. "This is also, according to a couple of witnesses, the hospital where Nicholas had his first allergic reaction to sulfa." Travis wiped marinara sauce off his mouth. "Did any of these witnesses say for sure Katie Bolton was there the first time Nicholas got sick?" "It was hinted at, but the kid was only five at the time. Pure speculation." Cal took a sip from his water glass. "I do think Robb's got enough anecdotal evidence for us to get the police involved. We could be looking at attempted murder, extortion, Munchausen by Proxy -- God knows what we're really dealing with here. " Travis' thoughts had been running along those same lines, but just a few days ago he'd been sure the police would be coming after him. The idea of voluntarily calling them himself scared him senseless. Jeremy must've guessed his fears because he leaned over the table and took Travis' hand. "We're in this together, remember?" Travis held fast. "Make the call." And what a timely call it turned out to be. The police got to Katie Bolton's place just as she was getting ready to take a one-way vacation to Brazil. Seemed one of her old co-workers told her some guy had been asked questions about her previous working relationship with Lisa Wilson, and she figured maybe the jig was up. On the way to the police station for questioning, she asked for two things: a lawyer and a deal in exchange for rolling over on Lisa Wilson. Lisa, Katie told the D.A., was desperate for cash. She'd run up thirty-thousand dollars worth of credit card debt behind her husband's back and had managed to keep it from him by having her bills sent to a P.O. box. Now, though, the collection calls were coming, and Blaine was beginning to get suspicious. She'd lamented her woes to Katie, who'd been working at AN long enough to see the friction between Dr. Aaron Gordiani and his son Travis. It had been Katie's idea, after Nicholas came down with pneumonia and became Travis' patient just by pure happenstance, to give Nicholas the Bactrim -- which she said she'd stolen from the hospital's sample cabinet and administered with an adequate dose of antihistamines -- and then frame Travis for it by changing his orders on Nicholas' chart. Both women figured Nicholas would break out in a minor case of hives like he had the last time he was exposed to sulfa. They also counted on Chief Gordiani being so embarrassed by his son's indiscretion he'd be willing to pay

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big money to sweep the whole mess under the rug. Neither woman had ever heard of StevensJohnson Syndrome. Neither of them, Katie swore with tears in her eyes, meant anyone any harm. Travis listened in numb shock as Cal recounted the details. He and Jeremy were sitting by the phone in Travis' apartment. They had Cal on speaker. "My contact at the APD told me they picked Lisa Wilson up this afternoon," Cal said. "Right now she's charged with felony child abuse and child endangerment, but I'm sure more charges will be added as the investigation continues." Jeremy made a nasty face. "I can't believe those bitches thought they could get away with it." "Believe it or not, I've seen stupider schemes," came Cal's tinny reply. "Dumb criminals keep defense attorneys in business." "They might've gotten away with it," Travis said with a cold shiver at the thought, "if my father actually gave a damn about me." "Speaking of your father," Cal said, "I'm drafting a letter to the AN board demanding a full apology, that you be reinstated, and that your record be completely restored." "If you think that's the right thing to do." Jeremy gave him an odd look. "I do. Even if you decide you don't want to go back to AN, that hospital owes you something after the way they treated you." Cal cleared his throat. "Blaine Wilson called my office about an hour ago. Of course he's dropping the suit against you, but he really wanted me to tell you how sorry he is for everything Lisa and Katie put you through." Travis nodded even though Cal couldn't see him. "Did he say how Nicholas was?" "Hanging in there. He's lost vision in his right eye and has only forty-percent in his left." Cal sighed. "They've consulted with a couple of reconstructive surgeons over the last couple of days. They're estimating he'll need no less than seven grafts to repair the skin damage." Jeremy let loose a long stream of curses. "At least he's alive." If there was anything to cling to in the whole sordid mess, Travis could at least cling to that. "That's pretty much what his dad said," Cal told him. "Now that Lisa and Katie are going to get their comeuppance, Nicholas can start healing and so can you." "Thank you is a piss poor thing to say after everything you've done for me," Travis said, "but, thank you."

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"The best way you can thank me is to get back to doing what you do best," Cal said. "The world needs more good doctors. I'll call you as soon as I hear from AN." A click told Travis he'd hung up. Jeremy leaned over Travis to cut off the phone, and then he plopped back onto the couch. Jeremy was still giving him that weird stare. Travis was starting to wonder if he had something between his teeth. "What?"

"You don't want your job back?" Beneath the question was what almost sounded like a thread of

hurt. It took Travis a minute to understand what Jeremy was really getting at.

"Are you asking me if I want to work at AN again or if I want to work with you?"

"Shit." Jeremy let his head fall back. "Both, I guess."

"I don't think I'll ever be able to work with my father again. No matter what the results of the

paternity test say." Travis reached for Jeremy, the move almost automatic now, even though they'd been together less than a week. "Doesn't mean I wouldn't jump at the chance to spend as much time with you as possible: working, playing, or otherwise." Jeremy's smile was tentative but real. "This otherwise stuff sounds like it has possibilities."

"Let me take you into the bedroom and show you." Travis stood up, still holding Jeremy's hand.

"Tonight, after all we've been through, I just want to hold you. Just want to be with you. We can

make the hard and fast decisions after we hear the board's response to Cal's letter."

"I'm fine with that," Jeremy said, "as long as you keep saying we."

*** The board made them wait two days. Travis was actually surprised the AN powers-that-be got back to them so quickly. Instead of the pomp and circumstance of a board meeting, this time he got a call through Cal to meet in his father's office at four o'clock. Jeremy was on rotation, and

though Cal offered to go with him, Travis declined.

He had a feeling his father meant for this meeting to be private.

Aaron wasn't behind his desk this time. He was sitting on the office sofa, a pot of coffee and two

cups waiting on the table in front of him. Beside the coffee pot was a plate of coconut

macaroons, Travis' favorite cookies.

"Please," Aaron indicated one of the empty side chairs, "have a seat."

Travis eyed the cookies. "You got the test results back."

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Aaron swallowed. For the first time in Travis' memory, the great Chief Gordiani looked nervous. Travis wasn't going to make it easy on him. "Either you brought those cookies as a peace offering for denying your own son for the last fifteen years or you've found out I'm really not your kid and you're trying to break it to me gently." He shook his head. "Scratch that. There's not a gentle bone in your body." "I don't imagine you think so." Aaron poured coffee into both cups. His hands -- the same rock steady hands which had saved countless lives in a career even Travis had to describe as stellar -were shaking so badly coffee sloshed onto the tabletop. "But yes, you're my son." He passed one of the cups to Travis. "I never should have doubted it." Travis set the untouched cup aside. "If you're looking for me to argue with you, you're in for a disappointment." "If it's any consolation, your mother really was unfaithful to me. I hired a detective to look into it as soon as she told me you weren't mine." Aaron's voice took on a note of pleading. "She had multiple affairs, almost as many as I did." Travis wondered if the two of them had been trying to cancel each other out: some bizarre, adulterous version of tic-tac-toe. "Congratulations. The two of you finally tit-for-tatted each other into everlasting misery. Too bad you couldn't resist dragging me down with you." At least Aaron had the good grace to look guilty. "I didn't bring you here to talk about the past." He put a couple of cookies onto a napkin and pushed them in Travis' direction. "I want to discuss your future, specifically your future here at this hospital." His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, like he wasn't sure how his words were going to be received. "The board's prepared to offer you the public apology your attorney requested. You'll also receive back pay for the days you were suspended, and you'll be fully restored to your previous position in the residency program." "I see." Travis tapped his fingers on the leather arm of the chair. "Tell me something: did you get the board to agree to all this before or after you got the results of the paternity test?" Aaron shifted in his seat. "I don't see why that should--" "It matters to me," Travis said. "There hasn't been a single time in my life when I've needed you that you've been there. Even before the divorce I was second fiddle to your career, your mistresses, and everything else you felt like putting first." He got up. "You think Mom pushed me into this residency, but that's not true. I took it thinking I could fix things between us, that maybe I could finally make you see me as worthy of your time." Travis shook his head. "All I did was make an already bad situation that much worse for both of us." Aaron came to his feet as well. "So, because I've been a lousy father since day one, that's it? You're done with me and I don't ever get another chance with you?"

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Travis shoved his hands in his pockets. "Do you really want one, or is this all a show for the illustrious members of the AN board?" "I deserve that," Aaron said. "That and a hell of a lot more. But don't throw your career away to spite me. Atlanta Northern can do great things for you, son." "Maybe, but the price is too high." He thought back to Miss Livy's garden, to the statue of the angry young men and their five dueling wands. "I've decided to start picking my battles. I feel like I spend half my time fighting, especially where you and this job are concerned." "You're quitting?" Aaron was openly appalled. "No. but I've finally figured out having what I want doesn't mean I have to sacrifice every last shred of my own personal happiness." He made for the door. "Tell the board thanks for the offer but I'm taking my talents elsewhere." Aaron waited until he was at the threshold. "Travis… I'm a proud man. I wouldn't beg, but I do want to be a part of your life." Even after all his father had done, Travis didn't want to be deliberately hurtful, but he wasn't going to make any empty promises, either. "We'll see. Right now that's the best I can do." Aaron's reply was a muffled, "Fair enough." Travis went straight from his father's office in search of Jeremy. He found his lover in the cardiac ward, finishing up his shift. Jeremy handed the chart he'd just signed off to a nurse, wished his patient well, and steered Travis into the hallway so they could talk. "How'd it go?" Travis filled Jeremy in. He finished with, "Needless to say, I told my dad I didn't think AN was the right place for me. Not anymore." "I get it." The look on Jeremy's face said that while he understood, he didn’t necessarily like it. "So, where does that leave us?" "That depends." Travis led Jeremy into the stairwell, away from the curious eyes of his former colleagues. Jeremy followed without protest. Once they had some privacy, he said, "Depends on what, exactly?" "The answer to two questions." Travis had been building up to this moment. He told himself he shouldn't be nervous, but the herd of butterflies in his stomach weren't listening. "Question number one: is it too soon for me to tell you I'm in love with you?"

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Jeremy's eyes went wide first, then dark, sexy, and liquid. "Only if I don't get to say it back." He pulled Travis into a devastating kiss. "I think I've been in love with you for four years. I was just too much of a moron to recognize it for what it was." "As long as we love each other now," Travis said, "it'll make question number two easier to get you to agree on." Jeremy grinned. "Can't wait to hear this one." Travis leaned into him. "How do you feel about private practice? I was thinking we could hang out our shingle, Gordiani and Bowman, Family Medical Practice." Jeremy kissed his nose. "Change that to Bowman and Gordiani and we might make ourselves a bargain." "Why don't we go back to my place -- which I'd like to make our place, by the way -- and we'll negotiate the terms." Travis' breath tickled Jeremy's ear. "In bed." Jeremy couldn't get them down the stairs fast enough.

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The Five of Wands Copyright © 2009 by Sara Bell All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680 Printed in the United States of America. ISBN: 978-1-60370-878-4, 1-60370-878-2 Torquere Press, Inc.: Single Shot electronic edition / December 2009 Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680

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