New York City Docs. Tina Beckett

finger at the second joint. He’d insisted the doctor reattach it, even though the digit would never bend again but would stick straight out. He’d just wanted to “be whole.”

      Clay asked their group to form a ring around Marcos just like during practice to keep everyone back and then knelt beside her.

      She glanced at her watch, timing the length of the seizure. Two minutes from the time Clay’s phone had rung. If it lasted longer than five minutes, they were in trouble. Right now, though, they were helpless to do anything except wait it out and hope that an ambulance arrived soon.

      “What does he take?” Her eyes went to the man who’d voiced that Marcos had epilepsy.

      He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just saw something on the calendar on his desk about a doctor’s appointment. I asked, and he told me. I had no idea until a couple of years ago.”

      Marcos went still suddenly, all his muscles going lax. Glancing at her watch again, she murmured, “Just over three minutes from the time you got the call.”

      Despite the medical emergency, the music was still playing and there was activity on the dance floor. Not everyone knew something had happened on this side of the room, which was probably a good thing, since she could just barely hear the sound of an ambulance in the distance.

      A man in a tie broke through the ring and stood over them, introducing himself as The Pied Piper’s owner. “What happened?”

      Clay spoke up. “We’re doctors and our friend had a seizure. There’s an ambulance en route. If you can clear a path to the door and let the EMTs get through, we’d appreciate it.”

      All it took was a motion from the owner to get three beefy men to come over. He explained and they immediately opened up a swath of space. Within another minute a duo came through, wheeling a stretcher.

      Marcos was just starting to regain consciousness, trying to weakly wave away their attempts to help.

      Tessa leaned close to him and whispered in his ear that he needed to go with the EMTs and get checked out at the hospital. “Did you take your meds?”

      He blinked at her as if he might deny taking anything, then nodded. “Yes.”

      The medical services pair quickly took her friend’s vitals and checked his pupils, asking a few standard questions about whether he’d hit his head and how much he’d had to drink. Marcos was still too confused to really answer much, so they put a collar around his neck just in case and bundled him back through the crowd on the gurney, with Tessa following close behind. Clay turned to talk to the other guys from the studio, probably reassuring them that he’d let them know what was going on as soon as he knew something. He caught up with her just as they reached the ambulance. The EMTs recognized her from the hospital, so they didn’t question her when she said they’d meet them at the hospital.

      Then the ambulance was off and Clay was flagging down a taxi.

      There was silence on the way to the hospital. Her stomach churned in her gut as her thoughts raced. Marcos had epilepsy? He was a grande mestre in capoeira, a level that took many years and a whole lot of training to reach. She couldn’t believe someone hadn’t discovered this sooner, although most epileptics whose seizure activity was well controlled could live normal lives and do most of the things that other people did. Except drive. And even that depended on the type of seizure activity.

      But Tessa had never seen any evidence of even a petit mal seizure.

      A taxi pulled up to the curb and they both got in.

      Clay wrapped an arm around her waist and slid her next to him. “Sorry, honey. He’s confused right now. Maybe he forgot to take his meds this morning. And if he had anything to drink…”

      “I know.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Anything could have triggered it. We’ll have to wait and see what he says when he’s a little more with it.”

      “I know he’s special to you.”

      She closed her eyes. “Yes. Very.”

      Warm fingers cupped her chin and lifted her head. “How ‘very’ is very?”

      What did he mean? “I’ve known Marcos my whole life. I’ve been at that studio since I was a kid. Marcos took over as owner when I was a teenager.”

      “Is there something more to it than that?”

      “More…?” She sat straight up, eyes widening. “What the hell, Clay? Do you think I would have asked you to leave the club with me if there was anything going on between me and Marcos?”

      His fingers tightened to prevent her from jerking away. Instead, she glared up at him, anger pulsing at her temples. “The way he talks to you…”

      “We’re friends. He’s friends with my parents.” She shook her head. “Just like your parents and mine are friends.”

      “Exactly.”

      She sighed, her indignation beginning to unravel at the seams. “He’s almost twenty years older than me.”

      “Since when has that mattered?”

      She could see his point. But her and Marcos?

      It was true that she and Clay had originally met through their parents—at a Christmas party his folks had thrown years earlier. The second they’d seen each other it had all been over. And when they’d danced.

      She and Marcos had never shared that same spark. Not when they first met… and not after all these years of working together. She saw him as a mentor. Someone to learn from.

      “We’re friends.” She placed a little more emphasis on the words this time around.

      They pulled up to the hospital, and she was the first to leap out of the cab, hurrying up the walkway while he had to stop and pay the driver for the short ride. Even so, he caught up with her before she reached the double doors of the emergency room. “Wait.”

      She slowed her pace. “You can go ahead and go home. He’s my friend. I’m going to check on him.”

      “He’s my friend, too.” Once they were through the doors he stopped in front of her. “It was an honest question. If we were going to go back to my place, I wanted to know the score. I don’t encroach on anyone’s territory.”

      “I can’t believe you just said that. I’m no one’s territory.”

      He laughed. “No. You’re not. You were always your own woman. Someone who knew exactly what she wanted out of life.”

      A flash of hurt went through her heart. At one time that “want” had included Clay.

      “No more than anyone else.”

      There wasn’t any time to say more because one of the ER doctors met them in the hallway, nodding a greeting at them. She quickly explained why they were there. “Marcos Figuereiro. The man who came in with epilepsy.”

      “Dr. Simon is back there with him right now. Exam room three, I think.”

      They made their way to the cubicle and Tessa called through the closed curtain. “Drs. Camara and Matthews are here to see Marcos.”

      “Come in. We’re just getting some background on him.” Randy Simon’s words came through loud and clear. A large man with a booming tone and optimistic manner, he was good with patients and family alike.

      Clay drew back the curtain and motioned her in first, then followed her. Dr. Simon draped his stethoscope around his neck and glanced up at them.

      “He has epilepsy?”

      Marcos growled, “I am right here.”

      “So you are.” Randy’s brows went up an inch, but he smiled down at the man and went back and forth with him about his diagnosis and medical history. It was like pulling teeth, though, to get anything out of the man.