Maybe nervous isn’t the right word for how I feel.
I’ve been confused. Irritated as hell. Questioning nearly everything I know about the man who at one point I referred to as my savior. Richard has been a constant in my life since I was Annaliese’s age, and he’s always teaching, always guiding, and always pushing me. He’s the reason I have what I have.
But hearing their relationship from Annaliese’s perspective has me piecing together a different story. And it’s one I don’t fucking like.
“You’re here early,” Richard calls out to me as soon as he turns the corner to the hall of offices, and I push off of the wall the moment he pulls his keys from his pocket.
“I am. Had a few things I wanted to run through with you first thing.”
Richard is a smart man, and what he hears and sees has him hesitating as he slowly unlocks his door. He reaches to flip on the light, gesturing for me to go first.
I pull out a chair from the front of his desk to sit and cross an ankle over my opposite knee, bouncing it erratically.
I let Richard take his time settling in, watching with anticipation as he removes files from his briefcase and stacks them neatly in the center of his desk. He hangs his coat on the mahogany coat rack behind him before unbuttoning the sleeves of his dress shirt. He flips the cuff up and folds it over, his movements meticulous and measured.
He lets me sweat in silence as he takes his time, the only sound is the fabric of my scrubs rustling as my leg continues to bounce.
Once he sits down at his desk, he fires up his computer and finally looks at me. “What’s got you so wound up this morning?”
I inhale sharply through my nose, feeling my nostrils flare. I drop my leg so both feet are flat on the floor and I lean over with my elbows resting on my thighs. “Why didn’t you tell me Annaliese was a diabetic?”
I pose it less as a question and more as a fuck-you statement. Richard’s movements stutter, just for a second, before finally pausing his set-up. He leans back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest.
“I didn’t think it was applicable to her job here.”
Her health is going to be intertwined with her job, no matter where she works or what she does with her life. I learned a lot over this weekend with Annaliese staying at my place. I learned a lot about the woman she’s become. This beautiful, kind soul who lives to help others. A woman who still has a little girl inside of her, begging for her father’s approval while simultaneously questioning their relationship. A woman with a chronic illness that she works so hard to keep in line, while shaming herself into hiding it.
A woman who went from being my boss’s distant daughter, to an annoying assignment, to a coworker, to someone I want to call a friend. There’s something else brewing inside me too, something that speaks to the warm-blooded male in me. I’ve grown to care about Annaliese in a way I haven’t felt before, in a way I didn’t think I’d ever feel. But I felt it before this weekend; I felt it before I pulled strings and called in favors to get her in on the transplant case with Dr. Anderson. It initially hit me on the day of our first surgery, when I had told her she was only watching. One look at her standing so far away from the table that she couldn’t see what was going on had my heart thumping heavy in my chest.
And after living through the fear of losing her, of seeing her suffering and needing help, my feelings have morphed into something a hell of a lot stronger.
Something that I can’t ever let her dad know about.
“I’d argue that any chronic illness is applicable to someone’s job since it’s not something that’s completely within her control.”
His brows raise slightly. “Did something happen to her?”
My heart thuds in my chest as I ponder his words, wondering how genuine they are.
I want to tell him about the last three days. I want to tell him how I slept on the couch with her each night because she was scared to be alone. A guest bedroom in someone else’s home was too open for her, too isolating. It conjured up memories of a child alone in a cold hospital room, and she felt vulnerable.
I want to tell him that I woke twice in the middle of that first night to the sound of her rushing to the bathroom, where she would hunch over my toilet and vomit up everything she ate. And that I held her hair away from her face and rubbed her back until she stopped sobbing. That she even fell asleep curled up in front of the toilet once, with her head propped against my thigh while I slept with my back leaning up against the vanity so I didn’t have to wake her. Mostly, I want him to feel something akin to guilt for the way he’s let their relationship falter, but Annaliese made it clear she didn’t want him knowing. And if I told him I was with her day and night for the last three days, he’d likely have more questions for me that I’m not ready to answer yet.
“No. I just noticed her sensor peeking out from her scrub sleeve.” Not a complete lie.
Richard nods in understanding, pausing for only another second before leaning forward and opening the first file on his desk. “Good. I don’t want her running around the hospital acting like a baby.”
I can’t help but let my jaw fall open. I wasn’t sure what to expect from Richard, but I expected a hell of a lot more compassion than he’s giving.
“Care to elaborate on that?”
He senses the tone behind my words, and his head ticks up. His face hardens; his stoned expression hard to decipher.
“Because from the time I’ve spent with her,” I say, drawing my words out. “I’d say she’s anything but a baby. It sounds like maybe you don’t know your daughter as well as you think.”
“Watch your tongue, Colt,” Richard bites out.
I cross my arms over my chest and lean back in the chair to meet his gaze. We stare off at one another, the tension thickening around us. I wouldn’t call myself a fighter, most of the time I’m too apathetic to care about much, but it’s different with Annaliese. She’s stuck to me, embedded so deep between my ribs that I feel her with each breath I take.
