My father’s head jerked backwards, a stunned expression mirroring his face. “I-I know who my wife is.”
“Are you sure about that? That horrified look in your eyes tells me you don’t. Or perhaps you do. Maybe you do know, or at the very least, suspected all of the ugly things that cunt you married and fathered two children with is capable of.”
He sputtered for a few moments, his hazel eyes circling the room, as he tried to find words to fill the moment.
“She’s dying, Jacob. She didn’t want me to tell you, but she has an inoperable brain tumor. It’s already caused her to have one major stroke. Doctors give her only about six more months to live.”
Pinching my lips, I cocked my head to the side. “Is she in any pain?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” I responded, staring him directly in his eyes. “Now get the hell out of my office,” I seethed, hands fisting in my pockets, searching for something to hit.
I guessed my father finally recognized that I wasn’t going to bend. He took a couple of steps backwards before turning and exiting without another word. I was left there still bristling with anger. So much so, that sitting down to read a couple of research studies I’d planned on reading wasn’t about to happen.
I started to get that jumpy feeling I got when I need to be in the ring and hit something or someone. But since it was the middle of the day, that wasn’t going to happen. I had surgery in another hour, which would serve to calm me down. I decided to head to the nurses’ station to check on the board to see who was scheduled to operate with me, since Grace would be with another surgeon.
While walking down the hall from my office to the board, I mentally went over the procedure I was going to be completing to help me remember everything, and calm my nerves. Thankfully, my father was nowhere to be found in the hallways, but the memory of his appearance lingered in my mind.
“Dr. Reynolds.”
Immediately, my eyes rolled at the sound of her voice. I paused and glanced over my shoulder by way of answering.
Suzanne’s smile widened. “Looks like we’ll be in the OR together today.” She moved closer.
I lifted an eyebrow.
“I’ll be the surgical nurse assisting you for the batwing surgery.” She giggled.
I narrowed my gaze. “The arm lift,” I corrected.
“Yeah, that one. I was thinking maybe we could go over the surgery beforehand. You know, maybe—”
“Unless you’re the one cutting into the patient, that won’t be necessary.” I turned and walked away, still feeling her eyes on my back.
“Hey,” another feminine voice rang out as soon as I rounded the corner, but this I welcomed. “Where’d you disappear to after the meeting?”
“I had to print out some articles in my office before surgery,” I explained, unfamiliar with explaining myself to anyone, let alone a woman, since I left home as a teenager.
“Are you all right?” Grace questioned, her hickory eyes searching mine.
I blinked, shuttering all the emotion that was still coursing through me. “Perfect. Still pissed you won’t be in surgery with me.”
Those dimples that appeared as she grinned helped to extinguish just a portion of the fire that’d begun to burn in my chest ever since I first laid eyes on my father in that auditorium.
“Sorry about that.” She sounded decidedly non-apologetic. “But maybe this’ll make up for it.” She pulled two tickets from the front pocket of her scrub shirt, holding them out to me.
I took the two tickets from her hand and read them. My gaze lifted to hers.
“NFA tickets.” It wasn’t a question. It’s obvious what these were.
She nodded. “I saw all the recordings you had of those NFA fights, especially of that Luke McClennan or McDonald—”
“McConnell,” I corrected.
“That’s it. Luke McConnell. He’s fighting here in Williamsport this weekend. It’s supposed to be a big deal. Anyway, we’re going.”
“You bought us tickets.” I don’t know why this stunned me so much. “Why?”
