Clara nodded. “I will.”
“Great. Well, you’re cleared to go, and I’ll see you again for our next annual checkup. But if you have any concerns in the meantime…”
“I’ll call you.”
“Good.”
When the doctor left, Clara grabbed her things and let Holden escort her out. They were halfway down the hall when she heard a familiar voice.
“Youknowthat this is bullshit. Someone’s setting me up.”
Then she spotted him. Malcolm stood in a small office off the hall. He wore jeans and a sweater and was arguing with an older man in a white lab coat.
“Malcolm, you’re the only common denominator.”
“I know I am, but it’s not me!”
Holden’s arm tightened around her waist and he urged her forward. “Come on.”
Was Malcolm losing his job?
She looked at Holden, about to ask what he thought, but that deep frown was set into his brows, the same one that had been there since she’d passed out.
Suddenly, she didn’t want to talk about Malcolm. She wanted to know what was going on in his head.
She waited until they were in the car and driving to break the silence. “Thank you for staying with me.”
“I didn’t want you to be alone.”
She studied his body. The way the muscles in his arms seemed thicker and tenser than usual. The whites of his knuckles as he held the wheel. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She didn’t believe him. The words came too quickly, like they were rehearsed.
“Areyou?” he asked softly.
No. But that had nothing to do with their hospital trip. “I’m glad Dr. Bennett confirmed I’m okay.”
He nodded, and she wanted to ask him a hundred more questions. About what he was thinking. About the fear in hiseyes. But she forced herself to wait, because something in her gut told her that this wasn’t a car conversation.
When they got home, she kicked off her shoes and headed toward the kitchen for water. “I think it’s a takeout and early-to-bed kind of evening,” she said over her shoulder.
“I might take the couch tonight.”
She stopped, her chest rising on a deep inhale before she slowly turned, a flicker of panic kicking at her ribs. “The couch?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, so you can have the space to rest.”
That was bullshit. She rested best when he was holding her, and there was no doubt in her mind that he knew that.
“You’re pulling away from me.” Her words were barely a whisper, but they sounded loud. They cut through the air, sharp like a knife, slicing through the silence.
He looked up at her, and a million emotions passed over his face. Fear. Sadness. Even regret. “I’m not—”
“Don’t lie to me.” She stepped forward. “Be honest, Holden. You owe me that. I can take it.”
At least, sheshouldbe able to take it. She’d survived cancer—she should be able to survive anything he threw at her.
