Bristling, I resist the urge to tell him not to call me that. The resistance subsides, and I just nod, crossing my arms. What else am I going to do with the money? I have my nice condo, my nice car. Steak twice a week, organic groceries, and a team of people to clean my place. Tickets to hockey games and plenty for the occasional tropical vacation. What the hell else do I need?
“It’s a waste of his estate,” Cal spits, looking at me like he knows so much better. Looking like he’s bitter about not getting an even share of my father’s inheritance. After his parents died, my dad might have reached out a hand to my cousin, but he wassorely mistaken if he thought our dad might take from Alena or I to give more to him. “You’re just dumping it into a hole.”
“A good thing it’s my money, then,” I grind out, standing abruptly. I can’t be in this room for a second longer. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have patients to see.”
“Russell, wait.” I pause in standing to turn and look at Ronald, who says, “There’s still the matter of your attendance at those events I emailed you about. This is a huge donations season, and your father?—”
“I’ll go,” I say, though I definitely don’t want to. Not alone. But he’s right—the holidays are huge for donations, and if the clinic is already suffering, the last thing I want is to lose what money we would normally receive.
Without bothering to say goodbye, I turn and walk through the shining glass door.
The drive to the hospital is all highway, all fucking assholes who don’t know how to use their turn signals. I half consider canceling the rest of my appointments, rescheduling them so I can figure out what to do about the clinic.
But when I shrug into my doctor’s coat and head to the first appointment of the day, I’m pleased I decided to stick it out.
Because here’s Juliette Harper, sitting in a little chair with a phone to her ear, her son crisscross next to her, quietly playing with a toy triceratops.
“Oh,” she says, her eyes flashing when she sees me, her mouth making a perfect‘o’for a fraction of a moment before she fixes her face and hides her surprise. Quickly, she ends the call on her phone, thought the buzzy voice on the other end is trying to say something. “It’s you.”
I thinkcouldn’t have said it better myself, but say, “Mrs. Harper, good to see you again.”
And when she corrects me, “Ms.Harper,” I get far too much satisfaction out of it for my own good.
Chapter 6
Jules
For a single, horrifying second, I think this man—who must be Dr. Burch—is going to tell me that I need to leave.
He saw me with that IV in my arm, and heard that I was in the crash, and I almost expect him to tell me I shouldn’t be here, at the appointment, and that we should reschedule so we can go home and rest.
I can’t reschedule. It was already enough of a headache to try and get today off from the firm. Gus’s other doctor retired, and now the pharmacy is giving me a hard time about his prescription. We need this visit, and I figured since they cleared both of us, and we were here anyway—and I have no idea about the state of my car—that we might as well see our way through the appointment.
Gus was thrilled to eat in the hospital cafeteria. Ettie didn’t pick up, but Sienna did, and she reluctantly agreed to give us a ride home after. I promised I’d come early to help her with the booth, but she said I didn’t need to.
I will. I hate feeling like I owe people, and I know it’s not going to be fun for her to drive through traffic and whatever’s left of the pile-up to get over here.
“Dr. Burch,” the tall doctor says, holding his hand out to me, “it’s nice to meet you. Again.”
Fuck me. He smells like something woody and warm, with a light coating of salt-and-pepper stubble and a matching head of hair. I want to run my fingers through it, see if it’s as soft as it looks.
I blink to clear my thoughts, and luckily that’s sped along by the five-year-old next to me, who isn’t as shy as he normally is around doctors. Around most people, Gus is quietly friendly, but I can only assume he’s associated doctor’s offices with bad news, with me being in a sour mood.
“And I’m Gus!” His triceratops forgotten, Gus gets onto his knees in the chair and holds out a tiny, plump hand in the doctor’s direction. For some reason, my heart does a little flip as I watch Dr. Burch reach out and take Gus’s hand in a no-nonsense way, which only makes Gus beam wider.
“It’s nice to meet you, Gus,” he says, grabbing a stool and settling down onto it. God, if he looked nice before in just the button-up and slacks, now he’s practically cat nip. His handsomeness must be the most generic kind, because there’s something about him that’s undeniably familiar to me. Like smelling a perfume but not being able to remember who you know that wears it.
“Since Dr. Elliot retired, I’ll be taking over. I’m a board-certified cardiologist and thoracic surgeon, specializing in pediatrics. I’ve worked on several other cases like yours. Let’s see…”
He scans his way down the iPad in his hand, apparently reviewing Gus’s chart. This office is decorated with paper bats and jack o’ lanterns. It wasn’t like this before, when we were seeing Dr. Elliot, but I simply can’t imagine this massive man in front of me carefully cutting out the shapes, taping them up himself.
“…mild ASD with presenting murmur, and I see he’s taking Lotenvix for that?”
“Right,” I say, doing my best not to fidget in the chair. “He’s been on it for about a year, and it’s helped with the shortness of breath, the swelling.”
“Mhm,” Dr. Burch lowers the tablet and leans over to his desk, pumping hand sanitizer into his palm and rubbing his hands together. My eyes latch onto the movement, and I swallow, knowing I shouldn’t be staring at him, shouldn’t be thinking about a surgeon’s hands.
Strong. Precise.
