As soon as my kitchen door closed, I took a deep breath and counted to ten, shaking out my shoulders and bouncing on the balls of my feet.
How dare he think I would ever not have Phoebe’s best interest at heart?
I spread my legs and stared at the floor, stretching out my neck for five counts, then tilting it to the right, left, and ceiling, repeating the process until my heart rate was under control. We were at a breaking point, a crossroads, a boiling teapot on the stove someone forgot about, and it just bubbled over, but I had to hold it together until Phoebe was better.
Emotional detachment.
It was one of the first phrases taught at med school, and I had to dig deep right now because I was too emotionally attached to Phoebe and Mark, and I was especially emotionally attached to Duck, Chick’s best friend. This evening, we operated on him because we found a small mass in his stomach—I was emotionally attached.
And I fucking hated every second.
Drawing one more shaky breath, I sat down at the kitchen table and pulled Phoebe closer. She needed a shot of antibiotics and intravenous fluids. The fluids I could give easily through the loose skin on the back of her neck, and I took the liquid from my bag and put on sterile gloves before prepping the needle. She squirmed and squealed when the needle pierced her skin, and that was good. You wanted a kitten that reacted to pain, not one that was out of it.
About ten minutes later, she already looked fifty times better, so I took out the IV and gave her antibiotics. Also, I made sure Mark had the prescription needed for the additional antibiotics, gave her an extra shot for pain and inflammation, and slathered ointment on her incision before sending a selfie to Bev, knowing she was probably worried sick.
The last item Phoebe needed was a cone that worked. Luckily, Melissa had already figured that part out, and it was brilliant. Her solution was to reinforce another cone of shame, so there wasn’t any way Phoebe could take it off. Phoebe struggled with the cone while I cleaned up. Finally, she quit fighting it, turned in a circle, and laid down on the towel. Her glare was not happy.
“You’re welcome,” I mumbled, capping the needles and putting them in a separate sterile bag to take to the office and dispose of later. Then I snapped off my gloves and threw them in the trash.
Now there was nothing left to do but face Mark.
My body vibrated with the intensity of the emotions I was feeling. Anger, pain, and desire rolled off me in waves as I slid open the kitchen door. He was waiting for me on the other side. His body snapped taut with tension. He’d removed his vest and equipment, standing before me in nothing but a tight white T-shirt, slacks, and those black boots polished to a high shine.
“How is she?” he said, biting off the words and reaching for the bundle.
I’d removed the frozen vegetables Mark stuck on the bottom to bring down her temperature, but passed her over, curled up on top of the fluffy towel. He lifted her to eye level, and she raised her head, trying to head-butt him but only bumping him with the cone.
His little girl was going to be just fine.
“She’s already on the mend. That cone’s been Phoebe-Proofed, so she shouldn’t be able to take it off, and there are two scripts for you on the kitchen table.”
“I’m going to put her in the bedroom.”
“Yeah, I’m going to change. Then we need to talk.”
“Yes, we do,” he said, turning and walking to his room. Not mine.
What did I expect?
I peeled my shirt off as soon as I got to my bedroom, shutting the door before undressing the rest of the way and grabbing a comfy shirt from my pajama drawer and leggings. When I walked back out to the living room, he stood by the couch with his legs spread and arms crossed. His muscles rippled, and his tattoos seemed to dance across his skin.
He was stupidly good-looking, and it pissed me off even more that I was thinking about his freaking muscles when he dared to question my competence. Giving up trying to remain level-headed, I settled for passive-aggressive and sat down on the couch, crossing my legs and looking in the other direction.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye and watched him grind his jaw back and forth like he was waiting for me to talk first, so he could unleash whatever shit he wanted to get off his chest.
“This isn’t working anymore,” he said, staring at the wall like he was trying to bore a hole through it. “And you don’t have a right to kick me out when you’re treating Phoebe because you don’t like what I have to say. You wouldn’t have done that to any other client.”
“You never had the right to question my competence and suggest I would do anything to compromise Phoebe or any of my patients.”
“Yeah, I get it. That was uncalled for, and I apologize, but why the hell didn’t you tell me about Wilmington?” he said, throwing his hands in the air and pacing back and forth in front of me. “That seems like a pretty big decision, don’t you think?”
Wilmington?
I lowered my head and ran my fingers through my hair, taking a deep breath to calm the roaring thoughts pulsing around my brain.
“A big decision? A big decision? That’s an understatement. It’s a huge decision, but it’s also my mine, Mark, because you are nothing more than the King of Mixed Signals. You call me sweet nicknames, but you’ve been clear you’re not relationship material from the start. Don’t catch feelings, Jenna. What makes you think you deserve to be a part of any decision I make, hmm?”My voice was getting louder, but as I got worked up, he continued to pace, keeping his emotions guarded.
I watched his body language. His shoulders were tight and bunched, and he kept running his hands through his hair. His mouth was set in a flat line, and his lips were so thin they were barely visible. He wasn’t spewing hateful words my way, but his silence was deafening.
