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“Hey, it’s Annie. We have your results back for the CRP and CRP.”

I checked my watch. It was five in the evening, so that had been pretty fast. “What do you have for me?”

“I sent them to your email. White blood count and CRP are elevated, but neutrophil is only slightly over the average range.”

“Hemoglobin and hematocrit?” I asked, putting her on speaker and pulling up my email.

“Normal range.”

“Thank God,” I muttered, tapping on the uploaded report.

“Yeah.” Annie paused. “Dude, I have to know—is this the same Ruth Coldwell that set you up with that shitty date?”

“Yeah,” I laughed softly, glancing up like I might see Ruth. But she was on the other side of the wall of the tiny kitchen. “She was my date Friday.”

“Oh my God.” Annie sounded equal parts astonished and gleeful. “This is fantastic. I mean, not fantastic that she’s sick, but it’s soromantic. You swooped in and saved her all hero-like.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’ll fill you in on more later. For now, I need to get her POC squared away before I head out.”

“Sure. Need anything else?”

I ran through Ruth’s symptoms in my head, but I’d come well prepared as it was. “No. Did you have any trouble rescheduling my patients?”

“There’s one I was hoping you would see,” Annie said, and I heard her clicking her mouse. “Geraldine Sarrow. She reported chest pain, but she says she’s not going anywhere and only wants to see you.”

“Geraldine,” I sighed. She had chronic heartburn that manifested as chest pain, but it was best to make sure it wasn’t anything worrying all the same. “Alright. I’ll get Ruth situated here and head over there. Thanks, Annie.”

“Have a good night,Dr. Hero.” I heard the grin in her voice, and she hung up before I could snap back.

“Not a single one of them respects me,” I muttered, zoomingin on Ruth’s report. After reading it top to bottom, and feeling reassured that the amoxicillin would knock out her infection, I returned to the living room. I’d already cleaned up and packed away my supplies after her procedure, so I sat back down at the chair and angled it toward the table I’d moved into the living room. The air conditioner churned to life, blasting my face with a blissful waft of cold air. Ruth’s apartment was so small, it only hummed for thirty seconds before shutting off again and leaving the air cool and tinged with the scent of antifreeze.

I wasn’t sure which pharmacy Ruth used, so I pulled out my prescription pad from my leather bag and wrote her a prescription for antibiotics and another for a decent painkiller. Then I pulled on another pair of gloves before I turned in my chair and clicked the clamp on the IV closed. I knew it would wake her, but I ripped open an alcohol pad and scrubbed the IV port taped against her skin.

Sure enough, her eyes fluttered open, landing on me with bleary confusion. I smiled, waiting for the alcohol to dry. “Sorry to wake you.”

Ruth blinked fast, inhaling sleepily and starting to sit up. “Oh, s’okay. How long was I asleep?”

“About two hours. I’m going to disconnect your saline bag and lock your IV port. I’d like you to keep it in just in case that infection gives us trouble.” I hovered my hands over the tape on her arm. “Sound okay?”

“Sure,” she rasped out. She gave me a sleepy blink. “Are you… I mean if you’re—” She frowned, blinking hard. “Wait.” Shepatted around her lap until she found her glasses. With her good arm, she slid them back into place. “You’re leaving?”

I nodded reluctantly. “Yes, I have to go check on another patient. Can you have Gemma come over to help you tonight?” I peeled away the tape with as much efficiency as I could, but I knew that part always stung.

“Yeah, of course.” Ruth winced as I removed the rest of the tape. “She’ll insist on it anyway.”

“I can tell,” I said honestly. When I reached for the syringe of saline, she stiffened. I angled a reassuring look her way. “It’s just a saline flush.”

“Oh.” She pushed her glasses against her face even though they hadn’t gone anywhere. “Right.”

I disconnected her primary IV line and connected the extension tubing to her port. Pushing the plunger on the saline flush, I said, “I have a patient who’s asking for me, so I’m going to check in on her. I want you to stay off your knee if you can.” I clamped the saline line, and briskly, I unhooked the syringe before curving the tube up and taping it back down. “The antibiotics I gave you through the IV will hold you over for the night, but tomorrow morning you need to fill those prescriptions,” I tilted my head toward the table behind me, “and make sure you take them.”

“Sure.” Ruth watched me, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. I had the sudden urge to suck it right back out with my mouth. “Thank you. I don’t know how insurance works with these sorts of things, but I’ll call your office tomorrow.”

“Don’t. It was my fault you got hurt in the first place.” I gathered everything up, and stripping off my gloves over the papers and packaging, I tossed it all into the red trash receptacle I would take back to the center to dispose of. “I’ll handle it.”

Her face went a soft shade of pink. “I can’t do that, Cal.”

“Ruth.” I took her hands in mine. “You can. And relax.”