"Why what?" He does the cuff buttons, smoothing the fabric.
"Why did you... let me take control?"
Jax looks up. He smiles. It’s a soft, crooked thing, entirely disarming.
"Because you hate being left out of the process, Max," he says. "And I figured you’d want to verify the output personally."
I stare at him. My chest aches, a different kind of tachycardia.
"You are..." I search for a word. "Impossible."
"Yeah, well." He fixes his own clothes, tucking himself away. He hops down, picks up the needle driver, and places it back on the tray. "Class dismissed?"
I slide off the table. My legs feel like jelly. I feel unmoored, but anchored at the same time.
"Class dismissed," I agree.
I grab my white coat. I put it on, buttoning it up, hiding the disarray. I am Dr. York again. The Ice King.
But as I walk to the door, I can still feel the ghost of his hands on me. The armor is compromised.
I pause at the threshold.
"Jax?"
He looks up from the tray.
"Your technique," I say, my voice steadying. "It was... adequate."
Jax grins, wicked and knowing. "High praise, coming from you."
I walk out into the hallway. I make it to the elevator before I realize I am smiling.
And I realize something else.
I am in trouble. Serious, catastrophic trouble.
Chapter 8
The Inspection
Jax
Blood is hard to get out of cuticles.
I learned this in Kandahar, and I am relearning it today in the elevator ride up to the ground floor. I’ve scrubbed my hands three times, but there is still a faint, rusty crescent under my thumbnail.
It was a messy one. A construction worker fell onto a rebar spike. We saved him—barely—but I look like I just wrestled a shark in a ketchup factory. My scrubs are soaked. My hair is matted with sweat. I smell like iodine and adrenaline.
All I want is five minutes in the office to eat a stale bagel and stare at the wall before I have to write the report.
I kick the door to Office 104 open with my foot, balancing a stack of charts and a bag of chips.
"Honey, I’m home," I call out, stepping inside. "Don't panic, but I think I have a piece of liver on my shoe."
I stop.
Maxwell isn't at his desk.
