Chapter 9
The Drunk Doctor
“Sofia? What is it?” I asked with my heart lodged in my throat.
I was used to getting calls at three in the morning, but they were usually from the hospital. Seeing the name of someone close was jarring.Please don’t let it be Sara,I thought.
“He’s, um—here.”
“Who? Where?”
“Your boss. I closed the bar a few minutes ago, but he is barely coherent. I wasn’t sure if I should send him in a cab or not.”
She was asking me. I pressed a hand to my heart, calming myself down. It wasn’t Sara. I rubbed the sleep off my eyes. “No—uh, no. I’ll drive him home.”
“Mind letting yourself in?” Sofia asked. “Got someone upstairs waiting for me in bed,” she said playfully, and I smiled, shaking my head. I didn’t even bother asking who it was because it was usually a different person every time. It would take someone incredibly special to make it into her bed on a repeat night.
“Yeah, I got the key. And hey, Sofia? Thanks for calling me.”
“No problem.”
She hung up the phone, and I slipped into sweats and my white sneakers. I grabbed the first pullover I could find. At three in the morning, the air would be crisp.
Dr. Medina was twirling an empty shot glass on the bar with his index finger when I found him. All the lights were out except for one near him. He looked up when he heard the door open.
“Carolina!” he said with a huge grin that reminded me of his first week on the job. “Look! It’s Carolina Doctor, I mean—Doctor Carolina.”
I looked around, but there was no one else in the room but him. “Come on, hotshot. I’ll take you home.”
“But the drinks are here.” He looked at the glass bottles of liquor on the shelf.
“I’m sure you have drinks at home.”
He shook his head. “No alcohol in my home. Ever. It’s a rule,” he said, nodding like a child.
Oh my god. Was he an alcoholic? Is that why he was so angry when he believed I was partying on all my days off? That would explain a lot. It would certainly explain why he was murderous on the night he drove me home when he thought I’d be driving after drinking.
“I’ll get you some more on the way home,” I lied. He’d pass out as soon as he got there.
I stood next to him, letting him lean on me for balance.
“I have to pay,” he said.
“It’s okay—”
“No. The pretty bartender. Where’d she go?” He looked around the bar as if he just noticed Sofia had left.
“She knows you’re good for it. Besides, she knows where you work. You can close out your tab tomorrow.”
Leading him to my car proved difficult. He was more off-balance than I thought he’d be, and suddenly I regretted not asking Sofia to stay up and help me. Funny how the lives of doctors and lives of bartenders are so similar; we both get our sleep when we get our sleep. Or we don’t.
Before I opened the passenger door, I grabbed his wallet from inside his jacket. I was no skilled pickpocket, but he was so far gone, he didn’t notice. I pushed his head down with my free hand to protect him from banging his head on the roof of the car.
Once behind the wheel, I grabbed his driver’s license and copied the address onto my navigation device. His home was less than fifteen minutes away.
We entered the security code to his front door incorrectly twice before getting it right. He kept mixing numbers at first. Once inside, I was surprised there was a security system at all. There was nothing anyone would want to steal. The house was spacious and luxurious, with its crown molding and marble kitchen island, but there was no furniture on the main floor. Not a single item decorated the walls. Maybe he had just moved in.
After asking where his room was, he led us there. Getting up the stairs was more challenging than getting him in my car, but we finally made it. I was relieved to see he had a bed, even if it was the solitary item in the room apart from a dresser.