You can’t. You’ll lose her too. And then what will you have? Nothing.
It’s always his voice in my head. His words that come back to haunt me when I get low.
Why can’t I silence him? He’s been dead for more than thirty years. Killed in a bar fight that should have been the first sign for me to stay the fuck away from alcohol.
Instead, I followed him down that path. But where he took his rage out on the world around him, at least I only hurt one person. Myself.
Was that because I’m a better man? Or because my self-imposed exile left me no other choice?
Natasha stirs in my arms, and her ass brushes my aching dick. Only my boxers and her thin t-shirt separate us. My dick goes from half-hard to aching in a heartbeat.
I press a kiss to the curve of her neck. She smells like my shampoo, and I’m unprepared for the possessive growl rumbling through my chest.
“You stayed,” she whispers.
I risk a deep breath, happy when my ribs only send a dull thrum of pain through my torso. “You seem surprised.”
Natasha turns in my arms and blinks up at me. Fuck. There’s a lifetime of sadness in her gray eyes.
“I haven’t made any of this easy on either of us.” She reaches up to stroke my cheek. “He’ll find me eventually, Doc. I can’t stay. But I hope you know how much I want to.”
“I’m not letting you go that easily.” My fingers cup the back of her neck, squeezing gently. “It’s been years since I’ve feltanythingbut alone. When I met you, my heart started beating again. It didn’t matter that you wouldn’t give me the time of day. I still wanted you. With you, I’m alive again.”
Tears shimmer in her eyes. “That’s exactly why I have to go.”
Arguingwith Natasha won’t get us anywhere. Yet. So I shuffle out to the kitchen to make us some coffee. My left leg is back to normal—thank fuck—and while I won’t be chopping wood or carrying anything heavy for a while, I’m feeling pretty damn good for someone who had a tube in his chest only thirty-six hours ago.
I add the beans, jab the button to start the grind, and check my phone. Shit. When did that text message come in?
Raelynn: I gave you last night for free, Doc. But it’s time to pay the bill. Check in or I’m coming over. With Ry.
It’s barely 8:00 a.m. I thought I’d have more time.
Doc: I’m fine. Tell McCabe to go back to diaper duty.
The chocolatey scent of the Guatemalan blend curls around me as the first drops sputter into the pot. She’ll give me a few hours. Maybe half a day if I’m lucky.
I’ve earned a little luck in my life, haven’t I? Apparently not, since another message comes in too quickly.
Raelynn: Any word on Nat?
I should come clean. After all, that’s what I require from my patients. Every time I saw Raelynn after her shoulder injury, I asked her if she was in any pain. If she was taking it easy. If she was doing her physical therapy exercises. And every time she tried to hedge—or outright lied to me—I called her on it.
But while Natasha might trustmeat this point, she doesn’t trust Hidden Agenda. Knowing her history, I can’t blame her. She—and her brother—should have been safe with two MPs guarding them twenty-four-seven. Yet Parker still got in. And found her on Blakely.
Doc: Working on it.
Setting the phone down, I say a little prayer she’ll accept that—for now. Before I can pour the coffee, however, the phone vibrates again.
Raelynn: You slipped up last night, Doc. Natasha? Not Nat? I know you’ve been in contact with her. I reckon I’ve got two hours before West asks me for an update, and I won’t lie to him.
Fucking hell.
Doc: She’s here. But if you show up now, she’ll run. I need time. Please. Give me today?
The phone rings, Raelynn’s name flashing across the screen. I send the call directly to voicemail.
Filling the mugs, I return to the bedroom and hope Raelynn doesn’t break down my door in the next few hours. It’s a real possibility.
