Page 11

Chapter 11

Anders

M y clenched fist hovers beneath the metallic door plaque while I muster up the courage to knock.

Dr Chris Thompson

I always wondered why my brother never changed his last name to Erikson so he’d have the same name as Mum and me. Unlike my father, his dad was around for the first few years of his life, perhaps that’s why.

According to Mum, he was a bit of a bastard anyway, roughed her about when he was home from working on an oil rig for a few months a year. By the time Chris was three, his dad stopped coming around.

My father, on the other hand, is a bigger mystery. Mum claims she had a one-night stand with a Swedish guy, which is why my name is Anders. It’s not a typical British name, but it’s the only thing I got from my sperm donor. I made a weak attempt at trying to find him when I was a preteen. Mum got pissy when I started asking questions though, so I let it go. Between my mum and brother, I had all the parents I needed.

I finally cave, giving the door a gentle knock.

“Come in,” Chris calls through the thick mahogany door.

I ease it open, peeking my head in first. The curdling in my stomach settles when I lock eyes with my brother. I knew seeing him would ease the trepidation I’d been dealing with for the past forty-eight hours.

“Anders, I wasn’t expecting you today. This is a nice surprise.” He beams at me, closing his laptop and moving the sheets he was studying to the side, giving me his undivided attention, as always.

“I hope you don’t mind me popping by. I brought sushi.” I raise the carrier bag in my hand like it’s some prize, stepping in and letting the heavy door close behind me.

“Aw, you’re the best. Come sit.”

“You wanna eat in here? You’re not worried about your office smelling fishy?”

Chris chuckles with his whole chest. “Well, I’m certainly not going out there. The second I leave my office, five nurses and three patients will ask me for something.”

“Fair.” I shrug.

I flop onto the plastic chair on the other side of his desk and start removing containers from the paper bag.

“Bloody hell, Anders, you brought enough to feed the five hundred.”

“Yeah, sorry. I may have got a little carried away. I’ve not been up to eating much the last few days; I just got my appetite back.”

My brother’s eyebrows draw together in a harsh line.

“Why, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

I blurt out the lie I’ve been effortlessly telling people for the past few days. “Just a tummy bug.”

He climbs from his seat, leaning over the table to place the back of his hand on my head. I swat his hand away, knowing full well I’m a regular temperature.

“I’m alright now, it’s passed.”

“Hmm, well, I don’t know how I feel about you coming to a hospital when you’re unwell. You could infect other patients.”

Fuck, I hadn’t thought of that.

Chris’ eyes form thin slits like he doesn’t quite believe what I’m saying. So, I scramble to my feet. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t think. I can leave.”

“No, it's fine. You’re here now, so we may as well enjoy lunch together. Be careful on your way out and use hand sanitiser, though.”

Chris stands, opens the windows wide and pumps the duty-sized hand sanitiser sitting on the corner of his desk, lathering his hands in the stuff. He nods at the bottle, and I follow suit. Looks like he bought my whole tummy bug bullshit.

We dig into our food for several minutes in what Chris probably thinks is companionable silence, but my skin prickles with nerves as I brace myself to ask the questions I came for.

“Orchiectomy,” I blurt out.

“What? Chris splutters, almost choking on a piece of nigiri.

I grab a bottle of water I brought, quickly open it and hand it to him. He gulps it down, rubbing his broad chest and clearing his throat until the sushi is successfully dislodged.

I’m messing this up.

“Sorry,” I mumble, shoving more sushi in my mouth so I don’t have to speak and can gather my thoughts.

“What’s up, Anders?”

He pushes the container to the side, leaning on his elbows and linking his fingers in a classic doctor pose. I make a show and dance of munching my food like I can’t speak with a full mouth.

“Why are you randomly blurting out the names of surgeries?”

I force myself to swallow the remaining food and cut to the chase. “Have you ever performed an orchiectomy?”

His brows pinch together in confusion before he answers. “Years ago, when I was training, but that’s not my field anymore. I’m more focused on transplants, which you know. Why do you ask?”

“Is it a complicated surgery? Can you die from it? Like, does it hurt after?” A flurry of questions escape me. I can tell by the look on his face I’ve said too much.

“Hold up, Anders, is something wrong? Have you found a lump?” Genuine concern creases his features.

Fuck, I should’ve known this line of questioning would make him think the worst, but I didn’t know who else to speak to.

After I saw what Jahmar had done to that man, I wondered about the procedure and the risks. Jahmar seemed to know what he was doing as if he’d performed surgeries before. I had to wonder, though, how safe it would be to perform something like that in a fucking bedroom with a lack of proper medical equipment. Could a man survive that kind of invasive surgery in such conditions, and how would it feel after? I can’t imagine someone removing my testicles. I mean, I know it happens to cats and dogs every day, but when it comes to humans, it’s because of an illness such as cancer. Why the hell would patients opt for a backdoor orchiectomy with Jahmar if they were genuinely ill? This shit isn’t adding up.

“Anders,” Chris raises his voice, snapping me from my chaotic thoughts.

“Shit, sorry. I’m fine. My balls are great. Lump free and full of life.” I cringe as the words leave my mouth.

Chris looks at me like I’ve grown a second head before straightening his face and softening his tone like he does with patients. “Someone, you know, maybe? I’m happy to answer any questions they might have.”

“No, honestly, it’s fine. I was just curious. You know I’ve always been fascinated about the work you do.”

That’s a fucking lie, and he knows it. I’m proud of my brother; of course, I am, but I think you have to have some sort of god complex to be comfortable with cutting people open and removing their organs.

“You look a little pale. Maybe we should discuss something lighter while we eat,” Chris suggests, tentatively smiling at me.

He knows something’s up; he isn’t going to push, though. Chris never does. I jump on that opportunity and change the subject. “Seeing anyone new?”

He grins and goes back to eating his sushi.

“Come on, spill,” I push, happy for the reprieve. Chris rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Oh, come on, you always used to fill me in on your endeavours.”

“Fine, did you see that cute blond behind reception?”

“I did. Isn’t he half your age and a subordinate?”

My brother has always had a habit of dating people he shouldn’t. He waves me off, but I raise an eyebrow at him.

“You sure that’s a smart idea?” I ask teasingly.

“Oh, come on, Anders, you know what hospitals are like. Everyone’s fucking.”

“You’re such a dog.” I laugh and go back to eating my food while he gushes over the receptionist.

Ugh, I’d rather not think about my brother banging twenty-year-olds, but if it makes him happy, so be it.

He’s a man who knows what he wants and goes after it. Maybe I should take a leaf out of his book. Although, what I want is a six-foot psychopath that chops off guys’ testicles for fun. Not sure what that says about me.