just play one in real life."
Eddie laughed, kind of like he used to. But then Eddie must have remembered the girl, and what he most likely thought of as the seriousness of the situation, and sobered.
"Just fix her," he said quietly.
Max gave her a local, waited for it to kick in, then put in a row of tidy stitches. When he was done, he stood to admire his handiwork. "Not bad."
"Maybe you should have stuck with plastic surgery."
"Haven't you heard? We shrinks go into the business to try to straighten out our own heads." He motioned to Maddie. "She's going to need some iron. Some fluids. Some good meals. Sounds easy, but she probably spends her whore money on pot and booze instead of food."
"She's not a whore."
"No? Then what's she doing out here?"
Eddie didn't answer.
Max looked up from packing his supplies to see Eddie watching her with a strange intensity. "You're not obsessing, are you?" Max hoped not. Once Eddie got locked in on something, he didn't let go. The last thing he needed was to get mixed up with a hooker. "There's a new receptionist at my office. Real nice girl."
"So?"
He tried another angle. "Have you taken any of the pills I sent out with Jason?"
"No."
"I've heard good things about them."
"Maybe I like things the way they are."
"Eddie, you have a problem. A problem that can be treated. But instead, you just let it get worse. You've got to quit punishing yourself because of what happened four years ago. That's over. Done with."
Max was losing his patience, and for a psychiatrist, that wasn't good. He liked to be in control at all times. "When you first holed up out here, I thought that was what you needed," he said, his voice rising, the girl on the bed beginning to stir. "To get away from everything. But hell, Eddie. I never expected you to make it a lifelong statement."
"I didn't ask you out here for one of your lectures."
"You're wasting your life. Don't waste your life."
Eddie didn’t seem to be breathing.
They'd been friends long enough for Max to know that the degree of Eddie's stillness was a measure of his anger.
"What you're forgetting is that it's my life to waste," Eddie said.
"This sounds self-righteous, but I've dedicated myself to helping people with problems like yours." Max hated to do this to Eddie, but he couldn't take it anymore. "I can't keep coming back here, seeing you stagnating like this. Next time a rattlesnake bites you, or you crack a rib, or find some whore with a sliced-up arm, don't call me. Call somebody who doesn't care."
~0~
A sound.
Cracking.
No, popping.
Over and over.
Maddie woke to find Eddie sitting on the footboard, bare feet on the mattress, cracking his knuckles while he stared at her.
The expression on his face wasn't one of poignant concern, as it well should have been, considering her condition. Or even guilt, considering the way he'd manhandled her. Instead his face, his beautiful, unshaven, bloodshot-eyed face, held a certain curiosity laced with irritation.
"Didn't anybody ever tell you that cracking your knuckles will make them big?" Her voice came out a raspy croak.
"That's always been a major concern of mine. That, along with worrying about whether or not every letter of the alphabet is fairly represented in alphabet soup."
That was pretty good. Not great, but good.
He continued to contemplate her in the rudest way. His thick, dark brows lifted in what she hoped was feigned boredom.
His hair was wild. Or wilder than usual. He wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off. He rubbed his face, the movement providing her with a glimpse of muscled armpit. He looked sexier than ever. Damn him.
"Didn't anybody ever tell you not to break into people's houses?" he asked blandly.
"Oh that. Actually—" She pointed to somewhere behind her, off in the distance. "The door—it was unlocked."
Hands braced on either side of the mattress, she attempted to scoot herself a little higher in bed. Pain shot up her arm, so she stayed right where
editor Elizabeth Benedict