“Getting comfortable, so I can try to get some sleep.”

“You don’t have to suffer along with me.”

I raised an eyebrow at her ridiculous statement. “Where you go, I go. If you are in misery, then I’m going to be there to help you. Now, get some rest.”

****

Lane wasn’t any better in the morning, so I called the local physician’s office and rolled my eyes when I heard one of the women in the office actually squeal when the receptionist told her who was on the phone. The squealer got on the phone and asked how she could help me. She had that nervous little giggle in her voice that some women get when they talk to me. I tried to be as polite as possible without getting annoyed.

“Well, Ma’am—”

“Tammy,” she corrected while cutting me off with another giggle.

I sighed. “Tammy, my girlfriend is sick and I need Dr. Malone to come to my place and see her.”

“Oh, my goodness, I’m sorry Mr. Falcon, but Dr. Malone doesn’t do home visits. Can’t you just bring her in?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Can you please just check with him? When I moved here, the mayor told me because of my…status he would have Dr. Malone make an exception for me.”

“I don’t know who—”

This chick was going to be tough to crack. A little charm might go a long way with this one. “Tammy, sweetheart, I know you’re just doing your job, but it would be a huge favor to me personally if you could just check with him or even let me speak with him. I will pay him cash. Please?”

There was silence for a moment, but then she said, “All right. Let me put you on hold.”

I did a fist pump. Being a celebrity sometimes had its perks. “Thank you.”

Tammy returned to the line and asked, “What’s the address? He can come out during his lunch hour.”

I rattled off my address and thanked her profusely before I hung up. For a fleeting second it crossed my mind that all the women in that office now had my personal information, and I hoped they didn’t plan a visit themselves.

Back in the living room, Lane’s face was pale, and dark circles had formed under her eyes as she watched television.

“Hey,” I greeted her as I sat down next to her. “How you feeling?”

“Lousy.” She attempted to scoot away from me, but I grabbed her around the waist and slid her back to me. “What are you doing? I can’t get you sick.”

“I don’t care about that.”

She snuggled into my side. “You may not, but your fans will if you can’t make your shows.”

“You’re more important then my shows.” And I meant that. She was my everything. “Dr. Malone will be here around lunch time to check you out.”

“I guess you do have some pull after all.”

I rubbed her arm and kissed her blazing-hot forehead. “I don’t know why you continue to doubt my mad skills.”

A chuckle turned into a slight cough as she leaned away and reached for the toilet paper roll I had brought her in lieu of tissues. The cough was starting to sound worse, too. I hoped this doctor hurried up.

After my attempt to get Lane to eat some chicken noodle soup failed, there was a knock on the door. Relief flooded me as I knew this man could help her in way I couldn’t.

On the other side of my door stood a stout little guy, who couldn’t be much taller than five foot. His red hair was thin on top, but still thick on the sides, while his neatly trimmed beard perfectly matched the color of his hair. He kind of reminded me of one of those munchkins from the Wizard of Oz, just a slight bit thinner.

“Dr. Malone?” I questioned since he didn’t have a white coat on or anything, merely a pair of khaki pants and a cheap looking button down shirt.

The man pushed by me and walked into the living room without a word. If he wasn’t my only chance at getting Lane better, I would’ve tossed him back out the door on his ass for being such a pompous dick.

His beady eyes shifted onto Lane who sat shaking on the sofa under a blanket. “You the sick girl?”

Lane nodded and licked her dry lips. “Yesss, sir.”

For being such a little man, he seemed like he could intimidate the shit out of people when he wanted.

“Fever?”

Lane shrugged. “We don’t have a thermometer, but I think so.”

The doctor narrowed his eyes at me. “What kind of person doesn’t keep a thermometer on hand?”

I flinched at his snippy tone. People didn’t usually speak to me that way. “The kind of person who is very busy.”

He laughed, but it was thick with sarcasm. “Son, don’t tell me about being busy. I’m busy from the time I get up, until the time I go to bed seeing patients. Even making house calls to our new resident celebrities because they feel too prestigious to come down to my clinic, yet I guarantee you I have one at my house.”

My jaw ached as I ground my teeth together to keep me from lashing out. Instead I took a deep breath. “I guess I’m slacking then.”

Satisfied with my answer, he sat the small black bag he carried in with him on the coffee table and opened it. He produced the thermometer and cleaned it with an alcohol wipe before placing it under Lane’s arm. Dr. Malone also pulled a stethoscope and went to work listening to Lane’s lungs. A couple seconds later the thermometer beeped, and I attempted to read it over his shoulder before he blocked my view.