Eve: Drink Of Me (F&L Story #2)

Eve: Part 1

Part One

Eve presided reluctantly in her very own personal hell. She wasn't sure which was worse: her baby brother knocking on death's door as he lay sleeping in a generically chrome and wood hospital bed...or that she "chose" to wallow in her misery and grief alone.

For the third time in as many hours, she sat upright in the gray vinyl chair, snapping her spine ramrod straight. No. Carey was not dying. Maybe he was only paying the Grim Reaper a friendly, quick visit, but he - was - not - dying. Eve would not allow it. If he even dared to skip one heartbeat or forget to breathe one breath, she'd do what she'd always done when he turned bratty. Kick his ass.

The large door swung open, and in sauntered a ragged, wrinkled bum...texting on a brand new iPhone. A frown creased the bum's brow as deeply as the rumples in his faded, black t-shirt. Eve bolted across the room and planted her feet in front of Carey's bed.

The thumb-walking vagrant barged right into her. "Who are you?" she demanded, catching her balance.

He looked up from his phone, and grinned...so incredibly slow, Eve wondered if she imagined the change. "You must be Eve, the sister," he said in a faint, but distinct, southern bayou twang.

"That's right," she said, and repeated, "Who are you?" And where is Dr. Rudy? she added silently. He should have been here to check on Carey over an hour ago.

He tucked the ridiculous phone into his back pocket and thrust out a hand, "I'm Dr. LeBoeuf, from the oncology department. I'll be caring for Mr. Sanborn in the near future."

Eve shook her head. The hell he will be! Carey's life will NOT be placed in the hands of a mental-ward escapee. "Dr." LeBoeuf indeed. Eve almost snorted, a bad habit she picked up from her roommate, Emma.

She took a determined step forward. The crazy man took a step back, his grin slipping. Eve advanced again and again, until his back hit the wall and he stared down at her with wary, warm brown eyes. "I don't know who you think you are, but you've got until the count of three to leave my brother's room," she said. "And if you're still here, then I'll take my size sevens and shove them up your nose and out your little toe, and if that doesn't work, I'm sure your shiny toy will make a wonderful butt plug, considering how it plays music and vibrates."

"Now, Ms. Sanborn..." he began.

"One."

"I really am a doctor," he tried again.

"Two."

He tugged on his ear. "Ms. Sanborn, this is unnecessary..."

Eve narrowed her eyes. "Thr--"

"Dr. LeBoeuf!" a pretty, little nurse burst into the room. "You're needed! It's Mrs. Granger again."

He muttered a curse and pushed past Eve to the hall. The nurse followed on his heels.

That...man...was a doctor? That rumbled, disheveled poster boy for the Alliance of Every Mother's Greatest Failure? Surely not.

Okay, she'd be honest. He was kind of cute. With those baby brown eyes and slow grin... But come on! Anyone who could afford an oncology education could afford a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt, or at least be smart enough to swipe a set of surgical scrubs from the supply closet. Eve was pretty sure that dark blot on his chest was once a drip of ketchup, and his chin seemed to have an aversion to being shaved on a regular basis. The Rockefeller Cancer Institute was supposed to be the best cancer treatment center in the state. And they employed him?

Curiosity grabbed her by the throat. Slowly, she trailed after the nurse to the end of the corridor. Dr. LeBoeuf disappeared into one of the other patient rooms. Two more nurses crowded in behind him, and an orderly, pushing a cart filled with emergency equipment that made Eve's stomach clench. If she never saw another defibrillator again, it'd be too soon.